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LAWRENCE, F/IASS.
ST. NICHOLAS:
AN
Illustrated Magazine
For Young Folks
CONDUCTED »V
MARY MAPES DODGE
Potyf /
VOLUME IX.
Part I., November, i88i, to May, 1882.
THE CENTURY CO. NEW YORK.
/^^,A^. ^e_^^^
Copyright, i88z, by The Century Co.
Press of Francis Hart & Co.
New- York.
ST. NICHOLAS:
• V
VOLUME IX.
PART I.
Six Months — November, i88i, to May, 1882.
CONTENTS OF PART I., VOLUME IX.
PAGE.
" A Bit of Advice." Picture, drawn by F. S. Church . , , . 277
About OriERS. (Illustrated) John Lewees 194
Adventures of Prince Nezahualcoyotl. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren)..S(7«i^ C. Very 265
Agassiz Association. (Illustrated) Harlan H. Ballard 86, 181
261, 340, 420
All-Hallow Eve Myths. (Illustratedby Robert Blum; David Brown 23
Angel in an Ulster. An (Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill) , Washington Gladden 106
April Girl. .\n Poem. (Illustrated by Rosina Emmet) M. M. D 425
A Queer Barber Shop. Picture, drawn by J. G. Francis 354
Art and Artists. Stories of (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement. .115, 405
Ballad of Babette. The Poem. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Thomas Dunn English 104
Balloon E.xperiences. (Illustrated) John Leiocvs 30
Beggar's Button-hole Bouquet. The Little (Illustrated by Jessie)^ ,,
McDermott) ■ 5 ' ^^
Birthday Greeting The Editor. . . i
Bones and Bow-wows. (Illustrated by the Author) Frank Bellew 221
Brigham, the Cave-dog. (Illustrated by J. Barton and Joseph Pennell) . H. C. Hovey 426
Cap and Bells. ( Illustrated by the Author) //. Wintkrop Peine 89
Carnivoristicous Ounce. The Verses. (Illustrated by J. G. Francis) Mrs. M. E. Blake 43
Cat-tail. Lament of the Verses. (Illustrated by Walter Satterlee) A. Wolhaupter 448
Cave-dog. Brigham, the (Illustrated by J. Barton and Joseph Pennell) //. C. Hovey 426
Character of a Generall Robert Ward 413
Children's Country. The Poem. (Illustrated) Ellen M. H. Gales 400
Christ.vias Gift in the Olden Time. A Picture, drawn by Jessie McDermott 175
Christ.mas. The Poor Count's (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank H. Stockton 122, 189
Clown's Baby. The Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Margaret Vandegrift 198
Cornwallis's Buckles. (Illustrated by G. \V. Edwards) 296
Cow that Considered. The (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) . . .Sophie Swett 226
Cradle Song. Poem . . Margaret Johnson 299
Curious Drama. A (Illustrated) . . Edward Eggleston 300
Desert Island. One Day on a (Illustrated by the Author) , Daniel C. Beard. 51
Donald and Dorothy. (Illustrated). Mary Mapes Dodge 96
241, 279, 377, 469
Dream of Little Women, and Some Others. A Verses. (Illustrated J ,, , ,, j
by Mary Wyman Wallace) \Margaret Vandegn/t 252
Dr. Holland's Books Washington Gladden 211
Drummer-boy. Recollections of a (Illustrated by Allen C. Redwood, ) //a>-r)' il/. Kieffer 63
W. S. Conger, and G. W. Edwards) ) 138, 233, 307, 391, 456
Easter Card. Drawn by Addie Ledyard 495
Elberon. Poem M. M. D .' 58
Extension Table. The Knights of the (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Nellie G. Cone 19
Fairy's Gift. The Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 48
Fight. A Remarkable (Illustrated) 166
Five Little Mice. Verses. (Illustrated by Robert Blum) William Wye Smith 122
Francklyn Cottage at Elberon. The Picture, drawn by G. W. Edwards 59
Fun at Grandmamma's. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Bobby Stacy 152
Future Doge. A. . . Picture 207
Garfield. James A Noah Brooks 59
VI CONTENTS.
Page.
Generalu Character of a .• Robert Ward 413
Going to Sea. — A Talk with Boys. (Illustrated) Frank H. Converse 292
Grasses Grow. What makes the Poem iV. W. Fink 121
" Happy New Year, Baby !" Picture, drawn by Mary D. Lathbury 253
" Hard TO Hit " Ernest IngnsoU. 346
Hermann the Brave. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) H. Maria George. . 93
Hiawatha. Picture, drawn by Alfred Brennan 251
His Barque is Worse than his Bite. Picture, drawn by Frank Bellew, Jr 279
Hoosier School-boy. The (Illustrated by George D. Brush) Edward Eggleston 145
. 201, 324, 355, 434
How a Little Girl Suggested the Invention of the Telescope. \ 00
(Illustrated by J. E. Kelly)
How it PI appened. Verses. (Illustrated by Walter Satterlee) Susan Hartley Swett 386
How Johnny's Birthday was Kept Emma A'. Parrish 44
How TO Make Puppets and Puppet-shows. (Illustrated by the Author) Daniel C. Beard. 214
How TO Run Theo. B. Willson 290
Hundred Years Ago. A (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan and Robert Blum) . . W. H. Venable 152
" I Sent My Little Maiden." (Illustrated by the Author) VVilhelmina Grant 434
Jingles 47, 92, 106, 114, 122, 152, 158, 187, 223, 232, 336, 366, 434, 444, 455
Just for You. Poem Dora Read Goodale 210
Knights of the E.xtension Table. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Nellie G. Cone 19
Lady Ann's Valentine. (Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill) Sargent Flint 303
Lament cf the Cat-tail. Verses. (Illustrated by Walter Satterlee) A. IVolhaiipter 448
Land of Nod. The Verses. (Illustrated by V. N^hUg) .Mrs. Litey M. Blinn 224
LiLL's Search Mary N. Prescott 479
Little Beggar's Button-hole Bouquet. The Poem. (Illustrated by)^_ ^
Jessie McDermott) )
"Little Bird with Bosom Red. " Poem Mary E. Bradley 29
Little Dancing Leaves. Poem. (Illustrated) Liiey Larcom 8
Little Girl who Tried to Mind. The Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie \ji stacv 22
McDermott) 5
Little Old Bachelor. A Picture, drawn by J. Wells Champney 426
Little Penelope. Sir Joshua and (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) E. S. 1 36
Little Polly's Voyage. Poem. (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) Eva L. Ogden 128
Little Sister's Soliloquy. Picture, drawn by Mrs. M. Richardson. 35
Little Tommy and the Thanksgiving Collection. Picture 51
Little Women, and Some Others. A Dream of (Illustrated ^y \ Margaret Vandegri/t 252
Mary Wyman Wallace) 5
Lord Malapert of Moonshine Castle. Play E. S. Brooks 490
Love in .\ Noah's .\rk. Jingle Annie C. Davis 223
Lucy Gray ; or. Solitude. Poem William Wordsworth 412
Magic Pen. The Operetta. (Illustrated) E. S. Brooks 76, 1 70
Man in the Moon. The (Illustrated by George D. Brush) Sophie Swett . . 267
Man with the Pea. The (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) Jeremiah Citrtin 208
Max and the Wonder-flower. (Illustrated by Robert Blum) Julia D. Fay 185
Mean Little Boy. A Jingle Annie C. Davis 232
Men-and-Animal Shows, and how they are Moved about. (Illustrated > u/-jr„„, n Stoddarl Wi. 566
by R. B. Birch, James C. Beard, H. P. Share, and others) 5
Misunderstanding. A Jingle. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 92
Morning in London. Poem William Wordsworth 412
Mr. Weathercock. (Illustrated by Alfred Kappes) Fanny Barrmv 445
Murillo's Mulatto. (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) Mary E. C. Wyeth 17
Nervous Little Man. The Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Malcolm Douglas 165
Noble Life. A A'oah Brooks 59
Northern Myths. Stories from the (Illustrated by R. Blum and R. B. BiTch) James Baldwin 159, 643
"Oh, What a Cunning Little Baby Elephant!" Picture, drawn by
F. S. Church. ^ ^''*
CONTENTS. VU
Page.
Old-fashioned Thanksgiving. An (Illustrated) Louisa M. Alcott 8
Ollie's Drea.ms. Verses E. M. S. Bumstead 38
O.NE Dav on a Desert Island. (Illustrated by the Author) Dattul C. Beard 51
Onorata Rodiana Clam Erskiiu Clement 405
Otters. About (Illustrated) John Lewees 194
Out of Bounds. Jingles Thomas S. Collier 366
Partnership. Verses. (Illustrated by Mary Wyman Wallace) Margaret Vandegrift 300
Peterkins Give a Fancy Ball. The Lucretia P. Hale 26
Poet who Could n't Write Poetry. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Joel Stacy 158
Poor Count's Christ.mas. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton. . . . 122, 189
Porter's Iron ColL/\r. The (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) David Ker 196
Pretty Puritan. The Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Celia Thaxter.. 377
Puppet-shows. (Illustrated by the -Vulhor) Daniel C. Beard 214
Pussy and the Chip.munk. Picture, drawn by Daniel C. Beard 391
Question of Color. A Verses Nellie L. Tinkham 354
Raphael. (Illustrated) . Clara Erskine Clement 115
Recollections of a Drum.mer-uoy. (Illustrated by Allen C. Redwood, \ Harry M. Kieffcr 63
W. S. Conger, and G. W. Edwards) \ 13S, 233, 307, 391, 456
Remarkable Fight. A (Illustrated) 166
Reminding the Hen. Verses Bessie Chandler 405
Report Concerning the " Historical Pi " 500
RoUiND Stone. The (Illustrated by .\lfred Brennan) Jeremiah Curlin 273
Runaway Princess. The Poem. (Illustrated by F. II. Lungren) Emily Huntington Miller. . 167
St. Nicholas Treasure-bo.x of Literature. The
Thanksgiving for his House Robert Herrick 62
Morning in London William Wordsworth . 412
Lucy Gray ; or. Solitude William Wordsworth 412
The Character of a Generall Robert' Ward. 413
" Scene I. — Scene II." Picture, drawn by J. G. Francis 151
Schneider. The Tale of Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) W. A. Birch 432
School-boy Troubles. Verses. (Illustrated) Joel Stacy 272
Sea. Going to A Talk with Boys. (Illustrated) Frank H. Converse 292
Seasons. The Pictures, drawn by J. Dabour 136
Second Thoughts are Always Best. Verses Margaret Vandegrift. 241
Selfish Oyster. The Verses George J. Webster 467
Sending a Valentine. Verses Kate Kellogg 266
Shows (of .Men and Animals), and how they are Moved about. > ,^,y/;^,„ q stoddard ^14 Tf>(i
Illustrated by R. B. Birch, James C. Beard, H. P. Share, and others. ... 5 ' i '*• .i
Sir Joshua and Little Penelope. (Illustrated by .Mfred Brennan) E. S. L 36
Sir William Napier and Little Joan. Poem. (Illustrated ^y \ Ceiia Thaxter 1S7
Jessie McDermott) . . >
Slumber Song. Poem Edwin Oscar Cooke 30
Snow-filled Nest. The Poem Rose Terry Cooke 345
Some Balloon E.xperiences. (Illustrated) John Ltwees 30
Spideree. ( Illustrated by Alfred Fredericks) .' Z. D. Underhill 2
Stories from the Northern Myths. (Illustrated by Robert Blum and ), . „ id-win no i&i
R. B. Birch \ ""'" " 59. 4 3
Stories of Art and Artists. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement. .115, 405
Story of Wangse Pah and the White Elephant. The (Illustrated)^,, tr^ />' -
by"Boz") ) ■''
Susie Seedelmeyer and the Dog. Picture, drawn by Bertha Watson 223
Tale of Schneider. The Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) W. A. Birch 432
Tearing Tandem. The Jingle. (Illustrated by J. G. Francis) 47
Telescope. How a Little Girl Suggested the Invention of the (Illustrated by ^ ,gg
J. E. Kelly) ) "
Thanksgiving. An Old-fashioned (Illustrated) Louisa M. Alcott. 8
Thanksgiving for his House. Poem Robert Herrick 62
Vlll CONTENTS.
Page.
"There was a Young Maid of Selmuch." Tingle. (Illustrated by ) ^ „ ,, .,,
R.H.MuUer) ..... ''y. E. m.„!>on 455
" The Worthy School-master." Jingle. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) ...Joel Stacy 114
"They Did n't Have a Penny." Jingle. (Illustrated by J. G. Francis) 444
Thin Ice. (Illustrated by H. Sandham) William O. Stoddard 401
Three Foolish Fairies. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 468
Three Gifts. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Thomas Dunn English 347
Titian. (Illustrated) '. Clara Erskine Clement 406
To College — and Back. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) William Wye Smith 106
Tommy's Resolve. Picture, drawn by A. B. Beard 186
Too QtricK for Easter. Picture, drawn by Walter Shirlaw , 478
Tragedy in the Garret. A (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis Shepherd) Gertrude Huntington 464
" Up in the Morning Early." Picture, drawn by F. W. Sooy 290
Valentine. Lady Ann's (Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill) Sargent Flint 303
Valentine. Sending a Verses Kate Kellogg 266
Verney Ancestor. The (Illustrated) ' Paul Fort 38
Very Humane. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Malcolm Douglas. 323
Victory. The Verses. (Illustrated by R. H. MuUer) Bessie Hill . , , 347
Wallace of Uhlen. Poem. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) E. Vinton Blake. 25
Wangse Pah and the White Elephant. The Story of (Illustrated by ) ^i/ , a/- / r,- „
"Boz") \ -'' "'"''" '"'^ "^^^
Water Power. Verses. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) . , Joel Slaty 488
Weathercock. Mr. (Illustrated by Alfred Kappes) Fanny Barrow . ... 445
What Makes the Grasses Grow ? Poem W. W. Fink 121
"When I Work in the House." Jingle. (Illustrated by R. H. Mailer) Bessie Hill 187
Winter. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 278
Winter of Life. The Picture, dra^vn by C. D. Sauerwein 307
Wrong Man at the Other End of the Tube. The. . . Picture. 483
DEPARTMENTS.
Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Illustrated).
November — The Sun's Voice — .\nswering Voices — White Crows and Other Crows — Hearing Plants Grow —
A Butterfly Branch (illustrated), 74; The Wonder-day — The Birds — What About This? — A Vesper-bell of
Nature — A Music-loving Squirrel — Snow Embroidery — Quite a Different " Reason " — Eighteen Hundred
Carriages — Stand By the Deacon — A Cliristmas Serenade for Me (illustrated), 178; Happy New Year! —
Bees as Familiar Pets — No-hickory Land — The Historical Pi — Fish that Talk — .\\\ Important Question —
Boats of Stone — Another " Motherly Rooster " — A Bird that Helps Himself to Oysters (illustrated) — Why it
is Called a " Jackknife "— A Shoe-black Plant, 254; Introduction — The Laughing Plant — Good Taste Among
the Mighty — A Long Wagon, a Long Team, and a Very Long Whip — Valella-Saphoidea — Golden Wire — An
Eel that Curled Naturally — For Our Jack-in-the-Pulpit (illustrated), 334; Happy People — Coasting-sleds Made
of Ice — Turkish Envelopes — A Rose-boy — The Canary that Would n't Go, and the Canary that Would n't Stay —
Buttered Tea — Catch-all Pockets — Fairy Rings — A Few Words from Deacon Green (illustrated), 414; Good
Morrow — Baby Spiders at Play — An .\dopted Chipmunk — Growing Young Again — The Cat-Clock — Siempre
Viva — A Long Fast — Wholesome Medicine — A Gilded Library — Feeding an Odd Pet (illustrated), 498.
For Very Little Folk (Illustrated).
Bob and Bess ; As I Went Down to London Town, 72 — Which Lives in Your House? 176 — Changing Babies,
256- WTiat Strange Manners ; Jingle, 336 — Gustave's First Ride, 416 — Taking a Walk in Japan ; Silhouette
pictures for stories to be written, 496.
Plays.
The Magic Pen. Operetta E. S. Brooks 76, 1 70
Lord Malapert of Moonshine Castle . . E. S. Brooks 490
The Letter-box (Illustrated) 84, 180, 260, 338, 418, 500
The Riddle-box (Illustrated) 87, 1S3, 263, 343, 423, 503
Frontispieces — Miss Frances Harris, facing Title-page of Volume — The King's Favorite, 89 — Max and the
Wonder-Hower, 185— "The Prince Glanced Back," 265— Titian's Portrait of Himself, 345— An April Girl, 425.
MISS FRANCES HARRIS.
Painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. — Engraved by Closson from the Mezzotint.
ST. NICHOLA
Vol. IX. . NOVEMBER, 1881. No. i.
(Copyright, i88i, by The CENTURY CO.)
A BIRTHDAY GREETING.
Dear Boy .VND Gir<L who were the first to re;id the very first number of
St. Nicholas, where are you to-day ? Right liere, we hope, looking at this
page; and witli \'ou, tlinusands ujjon thousands of others. You have i^'rown
older, — several years older, but not too old to play with us, though we are only
eight to-day. Yes, you have grown older ; and of the rest, some who were
babies then are reading over your shoulders now ; and some who were big
brothers and sisters at that time are perhaps showing the pictures to their own
little ones who were nowhere at all when this magazine first came into life.
Weil, have we not all, first and last, had good times together? And do
we not all know more, feel more, and enjoy more, because of each other?
Certainly we do. And most certainly in the full, busy years to come the
friendly, beautiful crowd shall grow larger and larger, wiser and wiser, happier
and happier ! St. Nicholas says so. And whatever St. NICHOLAS proph-
esies must come to pass, because he has a special understanding with the
boys and girls.
Now, on his ninth birthday, snugly settled in his new head-quarters on
Union Square, overlooking half his native city, he naturally forms brave reso-
lutions, and thinking over the past and the future, is sure of some day
becoming " the very model of a modern " periodical.
Is he joking ? No. Or boasting ? No, indeed. The fact is, he can
not tell exactly all he feels as his ninth Christmas draws near, — that is,
not word b}- word, any more than \(ni know all that }'ou mean when you
cry "Hurrah!" on a happy day. He is only crj'ing "Hurrah!"
So, dear boys and girls, near and far, on the land, on the ocean, in cities, on
the mountains, wherever, and whoever, you may be, so that you bear the colors
of youth, St. Nicholas greets you, — and wishes you many happy returns!
Vol. IX.— I.
SPIDKREE.
[November,
SPIDEREE.
By Z. D. Underhill.
:i
\'
OnlL upon a time,
were very, very few
when there
men upon
the earth, and those few were
considered of httle importance, the
world, as all wise children know,
was peopled by fairies. The elves
then had everything their own way,
and you might have heard grown-
up fairies m those days speaking of men and women as
fanciful creatures that no sensible elfin child ought
to believe in. There has been a great change since
then, however, for nowadays plenty of respectable per-
sons actually deny the existence of the fairies altogether,
for the foolish reason that they have never seen them,
— just as if any fairy would take the trouble to show
himself to a person who did n't believe in him.
Fine times the sprites had then ! Think of swinging
on cobwebs, and taking a ride through the sunshiny air
on a floating bit of thistle-down; of flying about on the
backs of butterflies, and sailing over moonlit lakes on
water-lily leaves ; of being so small that you could creep
into a silky-soft morning glory to sleep, and be wakened
in the fresh dawn by the rosy light coming through
the pink walls of your room,— or of taking a nap in the
heart of a rose, where you would be perpetually fanned
by the sweet breath of the flower. An easy life the
elfin mothers led in those happy times ; for when their
tiny babies fretted and would not rest, as sometimes hap-
pened, they had only to hang them up in hare-bells and columbines, and let the wind rock them to sleep.
Old and young spent their time in merry dancing, and in frolicking, for they were a mischievous
race, and loved to play al! sorts of queer tricks on one another and on the animals that lived with
them in the woods and meadows. They would pull the bushy tails of the gray squirrels, and then
hide in the ragged bark of a tree, to watch them stare and hunt vainly about for their tormentors.
They would knock the nut out of a chipmunk's paws, just as he was going to put it in his mouth,
and hop about and giggle with delight, to see the angry little fellow sit up on his haunches and scold
l88l.|
S 1' 1 1) K R E !•:
till his voice could be heard
all over the woods. They
used to peep over the edges
of the nests, and make faces
at the young birds, until
the poor featherless babies
screamed harder than ever
for their mothers to come
home and protect them from
these naughty elves. They
took the bees' honey from
the holes in the hollow trees
where it had been so carefully stored by its busy
makers ; they used no end of wasps'-nests for
paper on which to wTite notes to one another ; and
they stole the spiders' webs for ropes.
But, in spite of all these freaks, they were kind-
hearted, and would not for the world do any real
harm to any living creature. Indeed, when there
was no rain, and the delicate plants were fainting
for want of moisture, troops of fairies would often
work hard for hours, bringing moss-cups full of
water from the lirook to refresh the drooping flow-
ers ; and more than one ncstful of young birds who
had lost their mother wure brought up by the kind
elves, who gave up their play to search for seeds
and worms for the helpless orphans. And the
squirrels and snakes, wasps, bees, and spiders, all
knew that much as the fairies might love to tease
them, there was no danger of their really hurting
them. So, in spite of a few quarrels and scoldings,
on occasions when the little people were really too
troublesome, they were all good friends, and very
merry and happy together.
I say that they were very happy, and so the\
were, but there was one thing which kept the fair-
ies from being perfectly contented, and made them.
even in the midst of their wildest gayety, keep an
uneasy lookout for the danger which might be lurk-
ing near. At that time there lived another race of
beings, who were no bigger than mortal children
of two or three years, but who to the fairies were
terrible giants. These were the goblins ; and instead
of playing about in moonshine and sunshine, and
giving all their thought to merry tricks and little
acts of kindness, they were of a cross and gloomy
disposition, and spent their whole time in accu-
mulating great heaps of gold and silver and
precious stones. They thought this the only
thing worth living for, and as fairy fingers were
much finer than their own, and could do far more
delicate work, it was the dearest desire of every
goblin to catch a fairy, and set him to polishing the
hard bits of shiny stone which were the pride of the
goblin heart. Many and many an unhappy sprite
had been snatched from his dance on the soft green
moss carpet, and carried off to this hateful slaver)'.
Where the
bad race of
goblins lived,
to what far
off and hor-
rible caverns
their unfort-
unate play-
mates were
carried, the
fays and elves
had never
been able to
discover; but
that it was a
long and ter-
riblejourney,
and that the
" PULUNC THE SQriRREL's TAIL AND MAKING
FACES AT THK VOUNG BIRDS."
end of it was
weary labor
under pitiless masters, — this at least they had
succeeded in finding out.
Now, at this time, in one of the greenest and
prettiest of dells, decked with ferns, and shadowed
ijy tall forest-trees, lived, among many others,
three young sprites. The oldest, who was named
Spideree, was \ery kind to his sister Violet, and
together they both took care of their little sister
Moonbeam, who was still so young and flighty that
it was often a hard task to keep her out of serious
mischief.
One evening, when tlie little people were all out
enjoying the light of the full moon, which looked
down with pleasure at their pretty antics, and
when no one of them had any thought of danger,
a dark shadow suddenly fell upon them, and the
King of the Goblins, clad in strange flying-gear,
swooped down like a bird of prey, and seizing
Violet and Moonbeam, one in each hand, flew
swiftly away with them. The shout of the whole
troop of fairies, when they saw their two com-
panions snatched away, was no louder than your
faintest whisper, yet to Spideree, who was standing
a little distance off, it sounded like a deafening
outer)', and he looked around, just as the goblin was
SPIDEREE.
[November,
starting upward. Quicker than thought, he threw
himself on the foot of the foe, grasped it tightly,
and in spite of all efforts to throw him off, clung
fast as they all rose together toward the sky.
On and on flew the goblin, shaking himself
angrily every now and then, to get rid of Spiderec,
who still hung on bravely, determined not to let
go until he had found where his sisters were being
taken, and in what way he could best go to work
to save them from their sad fate. But the goblin
was getting impatient at having this troublesome
lin-letter cut on one of the sides. This discovery
delighted him greatly, for he now felt assured that
the diamond must be the property of the goblin,
who had dropped it in his flight, and who must
have passed over the very spot where the diamond
was lying. Much relieved to think he now knew
in which direction to fly, he started off rapidly,
and flew until he was exhausted.
For some hours he rested in the warm coils of a
woolly young fern, and then he started again on
his wearisome journey. Many times in his flitjht he
elf clinging to him so firmly, and, as a last resort
he pinched Violet and Moonbeam, whose shri
screams so frightened their brother that in his ter-
ror he loosed his hold, and one more shake threw
him headlong to the earth, while the goblin him-
self mounted rapidly upward until he was lost to
sight.
Poor Spideree was stunned by his hard fall, and
when he recovered enough to raise himself up and
look about, there was no trace of his enemy to be
seen in the moonlit sky. Hurt and discouraged,
he lay upon the grass, unable to think what he
should do, and yet more than ever resolved not to
rest until he had saved his sisters.
At last he rose, tried his wings, and found that
fortunately neither of them had been broken in the
fall. Round and round he circled, just above the
grass-tops, searching on every side for some little
trace which might show him in what direction those
he sought had flown. Soon, his eye was caught
by a dew-drop, so bright that he bent down to see
what was the cause of its singular brilliancy, and
on coming close to it, he saw that, instead of a
dew-drop, it was a tiny diamond. It was so finely
cut that there were a thousand distinct sides, or
facets, to it, and it was for this reason that it
sparkled so. Spideree picked it up, and found, on
examining it closely, that there was a minute gob-
SPIDEKEE HEARS THE GObLlN HERALD I'ROCLAiM IIIE REWARD.
found bits of rainbow lying on the leaves over
which he passed, and joyfully picked them up, for
he knew that they were shreds of the rainbow
scarf which Violet always wore, and that she must
have torn them off and dropped them for the
special purpose of guiding him aright. Often did
he find himself astray, and forced to hunt around,
until he was cheered by the sight of a rainbow-
hued fragment glistening in the grass, or perhaps
of a tiny diamond flashing light from a myriad
points. Two more of these precious gems he
8..I
spiderep:.
found — the second had two thousand, the third
three thousand facets, and on cacli was the goblin-
letter, so small that none but fairy eyes could sec
it, but which showed whose property the jewel was.
At last, after many days, worn out with travel-
ing, with tired feet and drooping wings, Spideree
arrived in sight of a great and gloomy castle, built
of enormous blocks of solid stone, and surrounded
by a moat h hich prevented any near approach to
it. The draw-bridge was raised when he first came
in sight of it, and he stood and gazed across the
moat at the dark buildini,' which he knew must
be the abode of the King of the Cioblins, and in
which his little sisters, he felt sure, were con-
demned to perpetual labor, out of sight of the
bright sunlight, the flowers, and the friendly
wild creatures, which make a fairy's life one long
delight.
Although he had penetrated farther than any
.ndvcnturous member of his race had ever gone
before, and had made his way to the very castle of
the goblins, yet Spideree seemed as far off as ever
from success. Disheartened, he turned toward a
neighboring wood, where he took up his home in
an old tree-stump, and waited to see if perhaps
some fortunate chance would help him to gain his
object. Every day from his hiding-place he saw,
at midday, a long train of elves, chained together
two by two, come sorrowfully out of the castle,
cross the draw-bridge, and take their daily walk
under the guardianship of their harsh keepers,
who would not permit them to talk together, nor
even to take a single step out of the straight path.
Last among them came Violet and Moonbeam,
looking the unhappiest of all, for they had not
yet grown used to the hard life they were forced to
lead. Their brother watched them sadly, wonder-
ing whether he should ever find it possible to
release them from their servitude.
One day, when he was sitting perched on top of
one of the scarlet toadstools, a number of which
grew in his new home, frowning and shaking his
head as he vainly tried to think out some plan for
making his entrance into the big castle, he heard
what to him was a terribly loud voice, crying out.
As it drew nearer he recognized it as the voice of a
goblin herald, coming to announce news of public
importance. Carefully slipping behind his toad-
stool, to avoid any chance of being seen, Spideree
heard with delight the herald proclaim at the top
of his voice that the King of the Goblins had lost
three of his handsomest diamonds, one with one
thousand, one with two thousand, and one with
three thousand sides, and that whoever should find
and restore these to their riglilful owner should
have whatever he inight please to ask as a reward.
Now Spideree was a prudent as well as a brave
little fairy, and sat down to think about it, before
taking back the diamonds to the King. Goblins,
he remembered to have heard, were very treacher-
ous as well as cruel ; it would be better not to trust
them too far, he thought. And the end of it was
that he carefully hid the diamonds under a corner
of an old stump, and set out alone to see what
was to be thought of the state of affairs before
bringing out the treasures from which he hoped to
gain so much.
He went toward the castle ; the draw -Ijridge was
down, but at the end of it, just within the gloomy
door-way, stood a cross old porter, who said, gruffly:
" What do you want, Atom ?"
"If you please, sir," said Spideree, politely, " I
have news of his diamonds for the King ! "
" You ! " said the rough old porter. " What you
know can't be worth much. But come along to
my master, and he '11 soon find out what you have
to say for yourself ! "
Spideree followed the porter through the dusky
halls of the castle, until he stopped before a heavy
door, and knocked.
" Come in ! " some one shouted.
The porter threw open the door, and said, bow-
ing low: " 1 beg pardon. Your Majesty, but here 's
a conceited mite of a fairy thinks he 's got your
precious diamonds."
"Ha, ha!" roared the King. " ( jot my dia-
monds, has he ? Hand 'em over, sir, and then I '11
have you and the diamonds, too I "
" Please, sir," said Spideree's shrill little voice,
" I thought I was to have anything I wanted for a
reward."
"So you believed that silly story, did you?"
said the King. " Well, it was n't true, as any one
with any sense might have known. So give up
the diamonds."
" I have n't brought them with me, please, sir,"
said Spideree.
" As if I 'd believe that ! " growled the King,
and he picked up Spideree, and looked in all his
pockets, and even inside the lining of his hat, to
see if the gems were hidden anywhere about him.
His Majesty flew into a terrible rage as he went
on, for he thought Spideree had been only fooling
him, and at last, in a fit of anger, he tossed him
out of the window, shouting :
" Get out, you miserable, deceitful little mite !"
He was so angry that he threw Spideree far
across t}ie moat, to the hard bank beyond, which
for the little fellow was really very fortunate.
Bruised and sore, he picked himself up and limped
back to his woods. There he soon made for him-
self a healing salve of red cup-moss, and the juices
of some wood plants, well mixed together, which
in a short time restored him to his natural vigor.
SPIDEREE.
[November,
For a whole day and night he sat on his toadstool, he raised his hand to rub his head, as puzzled
reflecting. But at last he said to himself, "Nothing people are very apt to do, and no sooner did a ray
THE GOBLINS SPENT THEIR WHOLE TIME IN ACCUMULATING GREAT HEAPS OF GOLD AND SILVER AND PRECIOUS STONES."
venture, nothing have !" and taking the thousand-
sided diamond from its hiding-place, he started
once more for the stone castle. When he reached
it, all the inhabitants were out of sight, and the
draw-bridge was raised.
"What shall I do now?"
muttered Spideree. "They
will never hear such a little
voice as mine calling across the moat. How am 1
ever to get into their precious old cavern of a castle?"
As he stood puzzling over this difficult question.
of light from the diamond which he held fall upon
the draw-bridge, than it slowly lowered itself, and
then the way to the castle lay open before him.
Now he felt certain of what he had long suspected,
that the diamonds were magic jewels, and that
it was for this reason that the King of the Goblins
was so anxious to get them once more into his own
possession.
Greatly pleased with this idea, Spideree passed
over the bridge, and with a single gleam from the
diamond opened the huge gates which were locked
across his way. But alas, although the castle
gates flew open before the enchanted rays, he
could not open with them the door of a single
chamber, and was forced to return to the woods
for the two other diamonds, before he could make
his way any farther. When he came back with
these, Spideree soon found that, while the diamond
with a thousand facets controlled only the draw-
bridge and the great gates, the one with two
thousand sides made ever)- door in the castle fly
open. Hastily he made his way to the apartment
which he remembered as the King's. Here he
paused a moment, and then, taking courage, let
a single beam from the gem fall upon the massive
door. Instantly it flew open, and within sat the
Goblin King, who, the moment he saw the spark-
ling stone in Spideree's hand, started up, shout-
ing : "At last ! At last, I have them ! " and rushed
toward the door, with his hand stretched out to
seize the jewel. The light which streamed upon
him from it did not seem to affect him at all, and
Spideree, in terror, just had time to draw the third
SPIDKREE.
diamond from his bosom and direct its beams upon
his enemy.
As the jjlittering radiance fell upon the goblin,
the laughter died upon his lips, the brightness
faded from his eyes, and slowly he grew still and
rigid before the wonderin^r
eyes of Spideree, who no\'.
saw in front of him, instead
of a raging foe, only a s!ui-
ue of stone, with its ham I
outstretched as if to gra.si>
the empty air. Spidcrct
knew now that at last lu
had found the means of
conquering the goblin tribi.
and undoing all the evil
which their avarice and
harshness had worked.
Swiftly he flew from room
to room, changing the in-
habitants of each to stone .
until he reached the apart
ment in which were con
fined the elfm work-people.
Here the diamond quick
ly turned the cruel keepers
to stone, while all the ea-
ger fairies crowded around
Spideree to be loosed from
their chains by the magic
beams. Happiest among
them all was Violet, to
think that it was her own
dear brother who had freed
her and all their captive
friends, while after long
search little Moonbeam
was found hidden far down
in a ilark corner, where she
had been put for neglect-
ing her work.
How they all rejoiced to
be going back to their
own happy world again.
and how many questions
Spideree had to ansvvn
about the beautiful fairs
land, and the friends th.u
they had all been longing
so to see ! Together the
joyful troop left the castle, and crossed the draw-
bridge. Spideree, with Violet and Moonbeam, came
last, and as he reached the middle of the bridge,
softly the three diamonds slipped from his hand, and
fell into the moat. No sooner were the elves all
across, than the draw-bridge lifted itself up, and the
moat began slowly to spread into a wide expanse
of water. A chilling wind blew from the enchanted
castle, turning everything about to ice, and making
the fairy band hurry still fiLster on their homeward
KrTT^"''iiiB'
way. It was not long before the>- were all once
more in their favorite haunts, frolicking and play-
ing at their old tricks, without any fear of the ter-
rible goblins, from whom Spidcrce's patience and
bravery had saved them for evermore.
AN OLD-FASHIONED T H A N K S Ci I V I N G .
[November,
LITTLE DANCING LEAVES.
By Lucy Larcom.
Little dancing leaves
In the garden-bower,
Which among you grieves
Not to be a flower ?
Never one ! " the Hght leaves say,
Dancing in the sun all day.
Little dancing leaves,
Roses lean to kiss you ;
From the cottage eaves
Nestling birds would miss you, — ■
We should tire of blossoms so,
If vou all to flowers should grow !
Little dancing leaves, —
Grasses, ferns, and sedges,
Nodding to the sheaves.
Out of tangled hedges, —
What a dull world would remain
If vou all were useful grain !
Little dancing leaves,
Who could do without you ?
Every poet weaves
Some sweet dream about you.
Flowers and grain awhile are here ;
You stay with us all the year.
Little dancing leaves.
When through pines and birches
The great storm-wind heaves.
Your retreat he searches, —
How he makes the tall trees roar!
While you — only dance the more !
Little dancing leaves.
Loving and caressing, —
He most joy receives
Who bestows a blessing.
Dance, light leaves, for dancing made,
While you bless us with your shade!
OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING.
By Louisa M. Alcott.
Sixty years ago, up among the New Hamp-
shire hills, lived Farmer Bassett, with a houseful
of sturdy sons and daughters growing up about
him. They were poor in money, but rich in land
and love, for the wide acres of wood, corn, and
pasture land fed, warmed, and clothed the flock,
while mutual patience, affection, and courage made
the old farm-house a very happy home.
November had come ; the crops were in, and
barn, buttery, and bin were overflowing with the
harvest that rewarded the summer's hard work.
The big kitchen was a jolly place just now, for in
the great fire-place roared a cheerful fire ; on the
walls hung garlands of dried apples, onions, and
corn ; up aloft from the beams shone crook-necked
squashes, juicy hams, and dried venison — for in
those days deer still haunted the deep forests, and
hunters flourished. Savory smells were in the air ;
on the crane hung steaming kettles, and down
among the red embers copper saucepans simmered,
all suggestive of some approaching feast.
A white-headed baby lay in the old blue cradle
that had rocked six other babies, now and then
lifting his head to look out, like a round, full moon,
then subsided to kick and crow contentedly, and
suck the rosy apple he had no teeth to bite. Two
small boys sat on the wooden settle shelling corn
for popping, and picking out the biggest nuts from
the goodly store their own hands had gathered in
October. Four young girls stood at the long
dresser, busily chopping meat, pounding spice,
and slicing apples ; and the tongues of Tilly, Prue,
Roxy, and Rhody went as fast as their hands.
Farmer Bassett, and Eph, the oldest boy, were
" chorin' 'round" outside, for Thanksgiving was at
hand, and all must be in order for that time-hon-
ored day.
To and fro, from table to hearth, bustled buxom
Mrs. Bassett, flushed and floun,-, but busy and
blithe as the queen bee of this busy little hive
should be.
" I do like to begin seasonable and have things
to my mind. Thanksgivin' dinners can't be drove,
and it does take a sight of victuals to fill all these
l88i.|
AX OLD- 1-ASH KJ.X i:i) T 11 A N KS t; 1 V I N 0 .
hungry stomicks," said the good woman, as she
gave a vigorous stir to the great kettle of cider
apple-sauce, and cast a glance of housewifely pride
at the fine array of pies set forth on the buttery
shelves.
"Only one more day and then it will be time to
eat. I did n't take but one bowl of hasty pudding
this morning, so I shall have plenty of room when
the nice things come," confided Seth to Sol, as he
cracked a large hazel-nut as easily as a squirrel.
" No need of my starvin' beforehand. / ahuays
have room enough, and 1 M like to have Thanks-
giving every day," answered Solomon, gloatin;.;
like a young ogre over the little pig that lay ne^ir
by, ready for roasting.
" Sakes alive, I don't, boys! It 's a marcy it
don't come but once a year. 1 should be worn tc
a thread-paper with all this extra work atop of ni\
winter w'eavin' and spinnin'," laughed their mother,
as she plunged her plump arms into the long
bread-trough and began to knead the dough as if
a famine was at hand.
Tilly, the oldest girl, a red-checked, bl.-ick-eyed
lass of fourteen, was grinding briskly at the mor-
tar, for spices were costly, and not a grain must be
wasted. Prue kept time with the chopper, and the
twins sliced away at the apples till their little brown
arms ached, for all knew how to work, and did so
now with a will.
" I think it's real fun to have Thanksgiving nt
home. I 'm sorry Gran'ma is sick, so we can't ^^
there as usual, but I like to mess 'round here, don't
you, girls ? " asked Tilly, pausing to take a sniff at
the spicy pestle.
" It will be kind of lonesome with only our own
folks." " I like to see all the cousins and aunts,
and have games, and sing," cried the twins, who
were regular little romps, and could run, swini,
coast, and shout as well as their brothers.
" I don't care a mite for all that. It will be sn
nice to eat dinner together, warm and comfortabli
at home," said quiet Prue, who loved her owi
cozy nooks like a cat.
" Come, girls, fly 'round and get your chon ^
done, so we can clear away for dinner jest as sih.m.i,
I clap my bread into the oven," called Mrs. Il.i ^ii
presently, as she rounded off the last loaf of bruun
bread which was to feed the hungry mouths that
seldom tasted any other.
" Here 's a man comin' up the hill lively ! "
" Guess it 's Gad Hopkins. Pa told him to bring a
dezzen oranges, if they war n't too high ! " shouted
Sol and Seth, running to the door, while the girls
smacked their lips at the thought of this rare treat,
and Baby threw his apple overboard, as if getting
ready for a new cargo.
But all were doomed to disappointment, for it
was not Gad, with the much-desired fruit. It was a
stranger, who threw himself off his horse and hur-
ried up to Mr. Bassett in the yard, with some brief
message that made the farmer drop his ax and look
so sober that his wife guessed at once some bad
news had come; and crying, " Mother 's wuss ! 1
know she is ! " out ran the good woman, forgetful
of the flour on her arms and the oven waiting for
its most important batch.
The man said old Mr. 'Irulwirk, down to Keene,
" PUSSV SAT BUNKING HER EVES IN THE CHEERFUL GLOW.
stopped him as he passed, and told him to tell Mrs.
Bassett her mother was failin' fast, and she 'd bet-
ter come to-day. He knew no more, and having
delivered his errand he rode away, saying it looked
like snow and he must be jogging, or he would n't
get home till night.
"We must go right off, Eldad. Hitch up, and
lO
AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING.
[November,
I '11 be ready in less 'n no time," said Mrs. Bassett,
wasting not a minute in tears and lamentations,
but pulling off her apron as she went in, with her
head in a sad jumble of bread, anxiety, turkey,
sorrow, haste, and cider apple-sauce.
A few words told the story, and the children left
their work to help her get ready, mingling their
grief for "Gran'ma" with regrets for the lost
dinner.
" I 'm dreadful sorrj', dears, but it can't be helped.
I could n't cook nor eat no way now, and if that
blessed woman gets better sudden, as she has be-
fore, we '11 have cause for thanksgivin', and I '11
give you a dinner you wont forget in a hurry,"
said Mrs. Bassett, as she tied on her brown silk
pumpkin-hood, with a sob for the good old mother
who had made it for her.
Not a child complained after that, but ran about
helpfully, bringing moccasins, heating the foot-
stone, and getting ready for a long drive, because
Gran'ma lived twenty miles away, and there were
no railroads in those parts to whisk people to and
fro like magic. By the time the old yellow sleigh
was at the door, the bread was in the oven, and
Mrs. Bassett was waiting, with her camlet cloak on,
and the baby done up like a small bale of blankets.
"Now, Eph, you must look after the cattle like
a man, and keep up the fires for there 's a storm
brewin', and neither the children nor dumb critters
must suffer," said Mr. Bassett, as he turned up the
collar of his rough coat and put on his blue mittens,
while the old mare shook her bells as if she pre-
ferred a trip to Keene to hauling wood all day.
" Tilly, put extry comfortables on the beds
to-night, the wind is so searchin' up chamber.
Have the baked beans and Injun-puddin' for din-
ner, and whatever you do, don't let the boys git at
the mince-pies, or you '11 have them down sick. I
shall come back the minute I can leave Mother.
Pa will come to-morrer anyway, so keep snug and
be good. I depend on you, my darter; use your
jedgment, and don't let nothin' happen while
Mother 's away."
" Yes 'm, yes 'm — good-bye, good-bye ! " called
the children, as Mrs. Bassett was packed into the
sleigh and driven away, leaving a stream of direc-
tions behind her.
Eph, the sixteen-year- Jd boy, immediately put
on his biggest boots, assumed a sober, responsible
manner, and surveyed his little responsibilities
with a paternal air, drolly like his father's. Tilly
tied on her mother's bunch of keys, rolled up the
sleeves of her homespun gown, and began to order
about the younger girls. They soon forgot poor
Granny, and found it great fun to keep house all
alone, for Mother seldom left home, but ruled her
family in the good old-fashioned way. There were
no servants, for the little daughters were Mrs. Bas-
sett's only maids, and the stout boys helped then
father, all working happily together with no wages
but love ; learning in the best manner the use
of the heads and hands with which they were to
make their own way in the world.
The few flakes that caused the farmer to predict
bad weather soon increased to a regular snow-
storm, with gusts of wind, for up among the hills
winter came early and lingered long. But the
children were busy, gay, and warm in-doors, and
never minded the rising gale nor the whirling
white storm outside.
Tilly got them a good dinner, and when it was
over the two elder girls went to their spinning, for
in the kitchen stood the big and little wheels, and
baskets of wool-rolls, ready to be twisted into yarn
for the winter's knitting, and each day brought its
stint of work to the daughters, who hoped to be as
thrifty as their mother.
Eph kept up a glorious fire, and superintended
the small boys, who popped corn and whittled boats
on the hearth; while Roxy and Rhody dressed
corn-cob dolls in the settle corner, and Bose, the
brindled mastiff, lay on the braided mat, luxuriously
warming his old legs. Thus employed, they made
a pretty picture, these rosy boys and girls, in their
homespun suits, with the rustic toys or tasks which
most children nowadays would find very poor or
tiresome.
Tilly and Prue sang, as they stepped to and
fro, drawing out the smoothly twisted threads
to the musical hum of the great spinning-wheels.
The little girls chattered like magpies over their
dolls and the new bed-spread they were planning
to make, all white dimity stars on a blue calico
ground, as a Christmas present to Ma. The boys
roared at Eph's jokes, and had rough and tumble
games over Bose, who did n't mind them in the
least ; and so the afternoon wore pleasantly away.
At sunset the boys went out to feed the cattle,
bring in heaps of wood, and lock up for the night, as
the lonely farm-house seldom had \-isitors after dark.
The girls got the simple supper of brown bread
and milk, baked apples, and a doughnut all 'round
as a treat. Then they sat before the fire, the sis-
ters knitting, the brothers with books or games,
for Eph loved reading, and Sol and Seth never
failed to play a few games of Morris with barley
corns, on the little board they had made themselves
at one corner of the dresser.
" Read out a piece," said Tilly from Mother's
chair, where she sat in state, finishing off the sixth
woolen sock she had knit that month.
" It 's the old history book, but here 's a bit you
may like, since it 's about our folks," answered
Eph, turning the yellow page to look at a picture
l88i.]
AN 1)1.1)- KASII loNKD THANKSGIVING.
I I
of two quaintly dressed children in some ancient
castle.
" Yes, read that. I always like to hear about
the Lady Matildy 1 was named for, and Lord Has-
sett, Pa's great-great-great-grandpa. He 's only
a farmer now, but it 's nice to know we were some-
body two or three hundred years ago," said Tilly,
bridling and tossing her curly head as she fancied
the Lady Matilda might have done.
" Don't read the queer words, 'cause we don't
understand 'em. Tell it," commanded Koxy, from
the cradle, where she was drowsily cuddled with
Rhody.
" Well, a long time ago, when Charles the
First was in prison. Lord Bassett was a true friend
to him," began Eph, plunging into his story with-
out delay. "The lord had some papers that
would have hung a lot of people if the king's
enemies got hold of 'em, so when he heard one
day, all of a sudden, that soldiers were at the castle-
gate to carry him off, he had just time to call his
girl to him, and say ; ' I may be going to my
death, but I wont betray my master. There is no
time to burn the papers, and I can not take them
with me ; they are hidden in the old leathern chair
where I sit. No one knows this but you, and you
must guard them till 1 come or send you a safe mes-
senger to take them away. Promise me to be
brave and silent, and 1 can go without fear.' You
see, he was n't afraid to die, but he luas to seem a
traitor. Lady Matildy promised solemnly, and the
words were hardly out of her mouth when the men
came in, and her father was carried away a prisoner
and sent off to the Tower."
"But she did n't cry; she just called her brother,
and sat down in that chair, with her head leaning
back on those papers, like a queen, and waited
while the soldiers hunted the house over for 'em :
was n't that a smart girl ? " cried Tilly, beaming
with pride, for she was named for this ancestress,
and knew the story by heart.
" I reckon she wasscared, though, when the men
came swearin' in and asked her if she knew any-
thing about it. The boy did his part then, for /le
did n't know, and fired up and stood before his sis-
ter; and he says, says he, as bold as a lion : ' If
my lord had told us where the jiapcrs be, we would
die before we would betray him. But v.e are
children and know nothing, and it is cowardly of
you to \xy to fright us with oaths and drawn
swords ! ' "
As Eph quoted from the book, Seth planted him-
self before Tilly, with the long poker in his hand,
saying, as he flourished it valiantly :
"Why did n't the boy take his father's sword
and lay about him ? 1 would, if any one was ha'sh
to Tilly."
" You bantam ! he was only a bit of a boy, and
could n't do anything. Sit down and hear the rest
of it," commanded Tilly, with a pat on the yellow
head, and a pri\ate resolve that Seth should have
the largest piece of pie at dinner next day, as re-
ward for his chivalry.
" Well, the men went off after turning the castle
out of window, but they said they should come
again ; so faithful .Matildy was full of trouble, and
hardly dared to leave the room where the chair
stood. All day she sat there, and at night her
sleep was so full of fear about it, that she often got
up and went to see that all was safe. The serv-
ants thought the fright had hurt her wits, and let
her be, but Rupert, the boy, stood by her and
never was afraid of her queer ways. She was ' a
pious maid,' the book says, and often spent the
long evenings reading the Bible, with her brother
by her, all alone in the great room, wMth no one to
help her bear her secret, and no good news of her
father. At last, word came that the king was dead
and his friends banished out of England. Then
the poor children were in a sad plight, for they had
no motlier, and the servants all ran away, leaving
only one faithful old man to help them."
" But the father did come .' " cried Roxy, eagerly.
" You '11 see," continued Eph, half telling, half
reading.
" Matilda was sure he would, so she sat on in the
big chair, guarding the papers, and no one could
get her away, till one day a man came with her
father's ring and told her to give up the secret.
She knew the ring, but would not tell until she
had asked many questions, so as to be very
sure, and while the man answered all about her
father and the king, she looked at him sharplv.
Then she stood up and said, in a tremble, for there
was something strange about the man: 'Sir, I
doubt you in spite of the ring, and 1 will not answer
till you pull ofl the false beard you wear, that I
may see your face and know if you are my father's
friend or foe.' Off came the disguise, and Matilda
found it was my lord himself, come to take them
with him out of England. He was very proud of
that faithful girl, I guess, for the old chair still
stands in the castle, and the name keeps in the
family. Pa says, even over here, w here some of the
Bassetts came along w^ith the Pilgrims."
" Our Tilly would have been as brave, I know^
and she looks hke the old picter down to Gran'ma's,
don't she, Eph ? " cried Prue, who admired her
bold, bright sister ver>' much.
" Well, I think you 'd do the settin' part best,
Prue, you are so patient. Till would fight like a
wild cat, but she can't hold her tongue worth a
cent," answered Eph ; w^hereat Tilly pulled his
hair, and the story ended with a general frolic.
12
AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING.
[November,
When the moon-faced clock behind the door
struck nine, Tilly tucked up the children under the
" extry comfortables," and having kissed them all
around, as Mother did, crept into her own nest,
never minding the little drifts of snow that sifted
in upon her coverlet between the shingles of the
roof, nor the storm that raged without.
A.NLj HtK LlK'jrHER
THE CASTLE."
As if he felt the need of unusual vigilance, old
Bose lay down on the mat before the door, and
pussy had the warm hearth all to herself. If any
late wanderer had looked in at midnight, he would
have seen the fire blazing up again, and in the
cheerful glow the old cat blinking her yellow eyes,
as she sat bolt upright beside the spinning-wheel,
like some sort of household goblin, guarding the
children while they slept.
When they woke, like early birds, it still snowed,
but up the little Bassetts jumped, broke the ice in
their jugs, and went down with cheeks glowing like
winter apples, after a brisk scrub and scramble into
their clothes. Eph was off to the barn, and Tilly
soon had a great kettle of mush ready, which, with
milk warm from the cows, made a «-holesome break-
fast for the seven hearty children.
•'Now about dinner," said the young house-
keeper, as the pewter spoons stopped clattering,
and the earthen bowls stood empty.
" Ma said, have what we liked, but she did n't
expect us to have a real Thanksgiving dinner,
because she wont be here to cook it, and we don't
know how," began Prue, doubtfullv.
" I can roast a turkey and make a pudding as
well as anybody, 1 guess. The pies are all ready,
and if we can't boil vegetables and so on, we don't
deserve any dinner," cried Tilly, burning to dis-
tinguish herself, and bound to enjoy to the utmost
her brief authority.
"Yes, yes!" cried all the boj-s, "let's have a
dinner anyway ; Ma wont care, and the good vic-
tuals will spoil if they aint eaten right up."
" Pa is coming to-night, so we wont have dinner
till late ; that will be real genteel and give us
plenty of time," added Tilly, suddenly realizing
the novelty of the task she had undertaken,
"Did you ever roast a turkey?" asked Roxy,
with an air of deep interest.
" Should you darst to try?" said Rhody, in an
awe-stricken tone.
" You will see what I can do. Ma said 1 was to
use my judgment about things, and 1 'm going to.
All )ou children have got to do is to keep out of
the way, and let Prue and me work. Eph, I
wish you 'd put a fire in the best room, so the little
ones can play in there. We shall want the settin'-
room for the table, and I wont have them pickin'
'round when we get things fixed," commanded
Tilly, bound to make her short reign a brilliant one.
" 1 don't know about that. Ma did n't tell us
to," began cautious Eph, who felt that this inva-
sion of the sacred best parlor was a daring step.
" Don't we always do it Sundays and Thanks-
givings? Would n't Ma wish the children kept
safe and warm anyhow ? Can 1 get up a nice din-
ner with four rascals under my feet all the time ?
Come, now, if you want roast turkey and onions,
plum-puddin' and mince-pie, you '11 have to do as
I tell you, and be lively about it."
Tilly spoke with such spirit, and her last sugges-
tion was so irresistible, that Eph gave in, and, laugh-
ing good-naturedly, tramped away to heat up the
best room, devoutly hoping that nothing serious
would happen to punish such audacity.
The \oung folks delightedly trooped away to
destroy the order of that prim apartment with
housekeeping under the black horse-hair sofa,
"horseback-riders" on the arms of the best rock-
ing-chair, and an Indian war-dance all over the
well-waxed furniture. Eph, finding the society of
peaceful sheep and cows more to his mind than
that of two excited sisters, lingered over his chores
in the barn as long as possible, and left the girls in
peace.
Now Tilly and Prue were in their glory, and as
soon as the breakfast-things were out of the way,
they prepared for a grand cooking-time. They
were handy girls, though they had never heard of
a cooking-school, never touched a piano, and knew
nothing of embroidery beyond the samplers which
i88i.]
AN OLD-IASIIIONED THANKSGIVING.
hung framed in the parlor ; one ornamented with
a pink mourner under a blue weeping-willow, the
other with this pleasing verse, each word being
done in a different color, which gave the effect of
a distracted rainbow :
" This sampler neat was worked by mc.
In my twelfth year, Prudence B."
Both rolled up their sleeves, put on their largest
aprons, and got out all the spoons, dishes, pots,
and pans they could find, "so as to have every-
thing handy," Prue said.
"Now, sister, we '11 have dinner at five ; Pa will
IN THE slrMMEK-Tl.Mt.
be here by thai time, if he is coming to-night, and
be so surprised to find us all ready, for he wont
have had any very nice victuals if Gran'ma is so
sick," said Tilly, importanUy. " I shall give the
children a piece at noon" (Tilly meant luncheon);
"doughnuts and cheese, with apple-pie and cider,
will please 'em. There 's beans for Kph ; he likes
cold pork, so we wont stop to warm it up, for
there 's lots to do, and I don't mind saying to you
I 'm dreadful dubersome about the turkev."
" It 's all ready but the stuffing, and roasting
is as easy as can be. I can baste first-rate. Ma
always likes to have me, 1 'm so patient and stiddy,
she says," answered Prue, for the responsibility of
this great undertaking did not rest upon her, so
she took a cheerful view of things.
" I know, but it 's the stuffin' that troubles me,"
said Tilly, rubbing her round elbows as she eyed
the immense fowl laid out on a platter before her.
" I don't know how much I want, nor what sort of
yarbs to put in, and he 's so awful big, 1 'm kind
of afraid of him."
" 1 aint ! I fed him all .summer, and he never
gobbled at «/<■. i feel real mean to
be thinking of gobbling him, poor
old chap," laughed Prue, patting her
departed pet with an air of mingled
affection and appetite.
"Well, 1 '11 get the puddin' off my
mind fust, for it ought to bile all day.
Put the big kettle on, and sec that
the spit is clean, while 1 get ready."
Prue obediently tugged away at the
crane, with its black hooks, from
which hung the iron tea-kettle and
three-legged pot ; then she settled
the long spit in the grooves made for
it in the tall andirons, and put the
dripping-pan underneath, for in those
days meat was roasted as it should
be, not baked in ovens.
Meantime Tilly attacked the plum-
pudding. She felt pretty sure of com-
ing out right, here, for she had seen
her mother do it so many times, it
looked \ery easy. So in went suet
and fruit ; all sorts of spice, to be
sure she got the right ones, and
brandy instead of wine. But she for-
got both sugar and salt, and tied it
in the cloth so tightly that it had no
room to swell, so it would come out
as heavy as lead and as hard as a
cannon-ball, if the bag did not burst
and spoil it all. Happily unconscious
of these mistakes, Tilly popped it
into the pot, and proudly watched it
bobbing about before she put the cover on and
left it to its fate.
" 1 can't remember what flavorin' Ma puts in,"
she said, when she had got her bread well soaked
for the stuffing. "Sage and onions and apple-
sauce go with goose, but I can't feel sure of any-
thing but pepper and salt for a turkey."
" Ma puts in some kind of mint, I know, but
I forget whether it is spearmint, peppennint, or
pennyroyal," answered Prue, in a tone of doubt.
14
AN OI.D-KASHI.ONED THANKSGIVING.
[November,
but trying to show her knowledge of " yarbs," or,
at least, of their names.
" Seems to me it 's sweet marjoram or summer
savory. I guess we '11 put both in, and then we
are sure to be right. The best is up garret ; you
run and get some, while I mash the bread," com-
manded Tilly, diving into the mess.
Away trotted Prue, but in her haste she got cat-
nip and wormwood, for the garret was darkish, and
Pruc's little nose was so full of the smell of the
onions she had been peeling, that everything
smelt of them. Eager to be of use, she pounded
up the herbs and scattered the mixture with a
liberal hand into the bowl.
" It does n't smell just right, but I suppose it
will when it is cooked," said Tilly, as she filled the
empty stomach, that seemed aching for food, and
sewed it up with the blue yarn, which happened to
be handy. She forgot to tie down his legs and
wings, but she set him by till his hour came, well
satisfied with her work.
" Shall we roast the little pig, too ? 1 think he 'd
look nice with a necklace of sausages, as Ma fixed
him at Christmas," asked Prue, elated with their
success.
" I could n't do it. 1 loved that little pig, and
cried when he was killed. 1 should feel as if I was
roasting the baby," answered Tilly, glancing to-
ward the buttery where piggy hung, looking so
pink and pretty it certainly did seem cruel to
eat him.
It took a long time to get .^ll the vegetables
ready, for, as the cellar was full, the girls thought
they would have every sort. Eph helped, and by
noon all was ready for cooking, and the cranberry-
sauce, a good deal scorched, was cooking in the
lean-to.
Luncheon was a lively meal, and doughnuts and
cheese vanished in such quantities that Tilly feared
no one would have an appetite for her sumptuous
dinner. The boys assured her they would be
starving by five o'clock, and Sol mourned bitterly
over the little pig that was not to be served up.
" Now you all go and coast, while Prue and 1 set
the table and get out the best chiny," said Tilly,
bent on having her dinner look well, no matter
what its other failings might be.
Out came the rough sleds, on went the round
hoods, old hats, red cloaks, and moccasins, and
away trudged the four younger Bassetts, to disport
themselves in the snow, and try the ice down by
the old mill, where the great wheel turned and
splashed so merrily in the summer-time.
Eph took his fiddle and scraped away to his
heart's content in the parlor, while the girls, after
a short rest, set the table and made all ready to
dish up the dinner when that exciting moment
came. It was not at all the sort of table we see
now, but would look very plain and countrified to
us, with its green-handled knives, and two-pronged
steel forks; its red-and-white china, and pewter
platters, scoured till they shone, with mugs and
spoons to match, and a brown jug for the cider.
The cloth was coarse, but white as snow, and the
little maids had seen the blue-eyed flax grow, out
of which their mother wove the linen ; they had
watched and watered while it bleached in the green
meadow. They had no napkins and little silver ;
but the best tankard and Ma's few wedding-
spoons were set forth in state. Nuts and apples
at the corners gave an air, and the place of honor
was left in the middle for the oranges yet to come.
" Don't it look beautiful ? " said Prue, when they
paused to admire the general effect.
" Pretty nice, I think. I wish Ma could see
how well we can do it," began Tilly, when a loud
howling startled both girls, and sent them flying to
the window. The short afternoon had passed so
quickly that twilight had come before they knew
it, and now, as they looked out through the gather-
ing dusk, they saw four small black figures tearing
up the road, to come bursting in, all screaming at
once: "The bear, the bear! Eph, get the gun!
He 's coming, he 's coming! "
Eph had dropped his fiddle, and got down his
gun before the girls could calm the children enough
to tell their story, which they did in a somewhat
incoherent manner. " Down in the holler, coastin',
we heard a growl," began Sol, with his eyes as big
as saucers. "I see him fust lookin' over the wall,"
roared Seth, eager to get his share of honor.
" Awful big and shaggy," quavered Roxy, cling-
ing to Tilly, while Rhody hid in Prue's skirts, and
piped out : " His great paws kept clawing at us, and
I was so scared my legs would hardly go."
"We ran away as fast as we could go, and he
come growlin' after us. He 's awful hungry, and
he '11 eat ever)- one of us if he gets in," continued
Sol, looking about him for a safe retreat.
"Oh, Eph, don't let him eat us," cried both
little girls, flying upstairs to hide under their
mother's bed, as their surest shelter.
"No danger of that, you little geese. I '11 shoot
him as soon as he comes. Get out of the way,
boys," and Eph raised the window to get good aim.
"There he is! Fire away, and don't miss!"
cried Seth, hastily following Sol, who had climbed
to the top of the dresser as a good perch from
which to view the approaching fray.
Prue retired to the hearth as if bent on dying at
her post rather than desert the turkey, now "brown-
ing beautiful," as she expressed it. But Tilly boldly
stood at the open window, ready to lend a hand if
the enemy proved too much for Eph.
AN OI.D-KASIl lOXKl) T 11 A N KSc; 1 V I X G.
15
All had seen bears, but none had ever come
so near before, and even brave Kph felt that the
big brown beast slowly trotting up the door-yard
was an unusually formidable specimen. He was
growling horribly, and stopped now and then as if
to rest and shake himself.
"Get the ax, Tilly, and if I should miss, stand
ready to keep him off while I load again," said
Eph, anxious to kill his first bear in style and
alone ; a girl's help did n't count.
Tilly flew for the ax, and was at her brother's
side by the time the bear was near enough to be
dangerous. He stood on his hind legs, and seemed
to sniff with relish the savory odors that poured
out of tiic window.
"Fire, Eph ! " cried Tilly, firmly.
" Wait till he rears again. 1 'U get a better shot
then," answered the boy, while Prue covered her
cars to shut out the bang, and the small boys
cheered from their dusty refuge up among the
pumpkins.
But a very singular thing happened next, and
all who saw it stood amazed, for suddenly Tilly
throw down the ax, flung open the door, and ran
straight into the arms of the bear, who stood erect
to receive her, while his growlings changed to a
loud "Haw, haw!" that startled the children
more than the report of a gun.
"It 's Gad Hopkins, tryin' to fool us!" cried
Eph, much disgusted at the loss of his prey, for
these hardy boys loved to hunt, and prided tliem-
selves on the number of wild animals and birds
they could shoot in a year.
" Oh, Gad, how could you scare us so?" laughed
Tilly, still held fast in one shaggy arm of the bear,
while the other drew a dozen oranges from some
deep pocket in the buffalo-skin coat, and fired thein
into the kitchen with such good aim that Kph
ducked, Prue screamed, and Sol and Seth came
down much quicker than they went up.
"Wal, you see I got upsot over yonder, and the
old horse went home while I was floundering in a
drift, so I tied on the buffalers to tote 'cm easy,
and come along till 1 sec the children playin' in
the holler. I jest meant to give 'em a little scare,
but they run like partridges, and I kep' up the
joke to see how Kph would like this sort of com-
pany," and Gad haw-hawed again.
" You 'd have had a warm welcome if we had n't
found you out. I 'd have put a bullet through you
in a jiffy, old chap," said Eph, coming out to shake
hands with the young giant, who was only a year or
two older than himself.
"Come in and set up to dinner with us. Prue
and I have done it all ourselves, and Pa will be
along soon, I reckon," cried Tilly, trying to escape.
"Could n't, no ways. My folks will think 1 'm
dead ef I don't get along home, sence the horse
and sleigh have gone ahead empty. I 've done my
arrant and had my joke ; now I want my pay,
Tilly," and Gad took a hearty kiss from the rosy
checks of his " little sweetheart," as he called her.
His own cheeks tingled with the smart slap she
gave him as she ran away, calling out that she
hated bears and would bring her ax next time.
" I aint afearcd — your sharp eyes found me
out; and ef you run into a bear's arms you must
expect a hug," answered Gad, as he pushed back
the robe and settled his fur cap more becomingly.
" I should have known you in a minute if I had
n't been asleep when the girls scjualled. You did
it well, though, and 1 advise you not to try it again
in a hurry, or you '11 get shot," said Eph, as they
parted, he rather crestfallen and (jad in high glee.
"My sakes alive — the turkey is all burnt one
side, and the kettles have biled over so the pies I
put to warm are all ashes ! " scolded Tilly, as the
flurry subsided and she remembered her dinner.
" Well, I can't help it. I could n't think of
victuals when 1 expected to be eaten alive myself,
could I ? " pleaded poor Prue, who had tumbled
into the cradle when the rain of oranges began.
Tilly laughed, and ail the rest joined in, so good-
humor was restored, and the spirits of the younger
ones were revived by sucks from the one orange
which passed from hand to hand with great rapidity
while the older girls dished up the dinner. They
were just struggling to get the pudding out of the
cloth when Roxy called out : " Here 's Pa ! "
"There 's folks with him," added Rhody.
" Lots of 'em ! I see two big sleighs chock full,"
shouted Seth, peering through the dusk.
" It looks like a semintary. Guess Gramma 's
dead and come up to be buried here," said .Sol, in
a solemn tone. This startling suggestion made
Tilly, Prue, and Eph hasten to look out, full of
dismay at such an ending of their festival.
" If that is a funeral, the mourners are uncom-
mon jolly," said Eph, dryly, as merry voices and
loud laughter broke the white silence without.
" I see Aunt Cinthy, and Cousin Hetty — and
there 's Mose and Amos. I do declare. Pa 's bring-
in' 'em all home to have some fun here," cried
Prue, as she recognized one familiar face after
another.
" Oh, my patience ! Aint 1 glad 1 got dinner,
and don't 1 hope it will turn out good ! " exclaimed
Tilly, while the twins pranced with delight, and
the small boys roared :
" Hooray for Pa ! Hooray for Thanksgivin' ! "
The cheer was answered heartily, and in came
Father, Mother, Baby, aunts, and cousins, all in
great spirits, and all much surprised to find such a
festive welcome awaiting them.
i6
AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING.
[November,
" Aint Gran'ma dead at all ? " asked Sol, in the
midst of the kissing and hand-shaking.
" Bless your heart, no ! It was all a mistake of
old Mr. Chadwick's. He 's as deaf as an adder,
and when Mrs. Brooks told him Mother was mend-
in' fast, and she wanted me to come down to-day,
certain sure, he got the message all wrong, and
give it to the fust person passin' in such a way as
to scare me 'most to death, and send us down in a
hurry. Mother was sittin' up as chirk as you
please, and dreadful sorry you did n't all come."
"So, to keep the house quiet for her, and give you
a taste of the fun, your Pa fetched us all up to
spend the evenin', and we are goin' to have a jolly
time on 't, to jedge by the looks of things," said
Aunt Cinthy, briskly finishing the tale when Mrs.
Basseit paused for want of breath.
"What in the world put it into your head we
was comin', and set you to gittin' up such a sup-
per? " asked Mr. Bassett, looking about him, well
pleased and much surprised at the plentiful table.
Tilly modcsth' began to tell, but the others broke
in and sang her praises in a sort of chorus, in
which bears, pigs, pies, and oranges were oddly
mixed. Great satisfaction was expressed by all,
and Tilly and Prue were so elated by the commen-
dation of Ma and the aunts, that they set forth
their dinner, sure everything was perfect.
But when the eating began, which it did the
moment wraps were off, then their pride got a fall ;
for the first person who tasted the stuffing (it was
big Cousin Mose, and that made it harder to bear)
nearly choked over the bitter morsel.
" Tilly Bassett, whatever made you put worm-
wood and catnip in your stuffin' ? " demanded Ma,
trying not to be severe, for all the rest were laugh-
ing, and Tilly looked ready to cry.
" I did it," said Prue, nobly taking all the
blame, which caused Pa to kiss her on the spot,
and declare that it did n't do a mite of harm, for
the turkey was all right.
" I never see onions cooked better. All the
vegetables is well done, and the dinner a credit to
you, my dears," declared Aunt Cinthy, with her
mouth full of the fragrant vegetable she praised.
The pudding was an utter failure in spite of the
blazing brandy in which it lay — as hard and heavy
as one of the stone balls on Squire Dunkin's great
gate. It was speedily whisked out of sight, and
all fell upon the pies, which were perfect. But
Tilly and Prue were much depressed, and did n't
recover their spirits till dinner was over and the
evening fun well under way.
"Blind-man's buff," " Hunttheslipper," "Come,
Philander," and other lively games soon set every
one bubbling over with jollity, and when Eph struck
up "Money Musk" on his fiddle, old and young
fell into their places for a dance. All down the
long kitchen they stood, Mr. and Mrs. Bassett at
the top, the twins at the bottom, and then away
they went, heeling and toeing, cutting, pigeon-
wings, and taking their steps in a way that would
convulse modern children with their ncu-fangled
romps called dancing. Mose and Tilly covered
themselves with glory by the vigor with which
they kept it up, till fat Aunt Cinthy fell into a chair,
breathlessly declaring that a very little of such
e.xercise was enough for a woman of her " heft."
Apples and cider, chat and singing, finished the
evening, and after a grand kissing all round, the
guests drove away in the clear moonlight \xhich
came out to cheer their long drive.
When the jingle of the last bell had died away,
Mr. Bassett said soberly, as they stood together on
the hearth: "Children, we have special cause to
be thankful that the sorrow we expected was
changed into joy, so we '11 read a chapter 'fore we
go to bed, and give thanks where thanks is due."
Then Tilly set out the light-stand with the big
Bible on it, and a candle on each side, and all sat
quietly in the fire-light, smiling as they listened
with happy hearts to the sweet old words that fit
all times and seasons so beautifully.
When the good-nights were over, and the chil-
dren in bed, Prue put her arm round Tilly and
whispered tenderly, for she felt her shake, and was
sure she was crying:
" Don't mind about the old stuffin' and puddin',
deary — nobody cared, and Ma said we really did
do surprisin' well for such young girls."
The laughter Tilly was trying to smother broke
out then, and was so infectious, Prue could not
help joining her, even before she knew the cause
of the merriment.
" I was mad about the mistakes, but don't
care enough to cry. I 'm laughing to think how
Gad fooled Eph and 1 found him out. I thought
Mose and Amos would have died over it when 1
told them, it was so funny," explained Tilly, when
she got her breath.
" I was so scared that when the first orange hit
me, I thought it was a bullet, and scrabbled into
the cradle as fast as I could. It was real mean
to frighten the little ones so," laughed Prue, as
Tilly gave a growl.
Here a smart rap on the wall of the next room
caused a sudden lull in the fun, and Mrs. Bassett's
voice was heard, saying warningly, " Girls, go to
sleep immediate, or you '11 wake the baby."
"Yes 'm," answered two meek voices, and after
a few irrepressible giggles, silence reigned, broken
only by an occasional snore from the boys, or the
soft scurry of mice in the buttery, taking their
part in this old-fashioned Thanksgiving.
iBSl.J
MURILLU'S MULATTO.
17
MURILLO'S MULATTO.
Bv Marv E. C. Wyeth.
NEARLV three hundred years ago, in the city of adorn the palaces of the Old World, while a few
SeviUe, lived one of the greatest of Spanish paint- may be found m the possession of wealthy art-
ery-Bartoleme Esteban Munllo. lovers upon this side of the water.
Many beautiful pictures painted by this master In the church of bevillc one may see four beau-
VOL. IX.— 2.
i8
MURILLO S MULATTO.
[November,
tiful paintings — one, a picture of Christ bound to
a column, St. Peter in a kneeling posture at His
feet, as if imploring pardon ; another, a superb
painting of St. Joseph ; one of St. Ann : and a
fourth, an exquisite picture of the \'irgin Mother
holding the infant Jesus in her arms. These
paintings are largely sought for and long gazed
of six in the morning to take their lessons in draw-
ing and painting in the studio of the great Murillo ;
to prepare and stretch canvas, run errands, and be
ready at all times to answer the capricious de-
mands of these high-born and imperious youths.
The poor mulatto boy had, however, in addition
to a generous heart and amiable temper, a quick
GRANDEES OF STAIN ADMIRING THE MfLATTOS PAINTINGS, IN Ml'RILLOS STUDIO.
upon b)- all art-lo\ers who visit Spain, and are par-
ticularly admired by artists for their truthful beauty,
delicate tints, and natural coloring.
But they are not Murillo's.
These noble paintings, the pride and glory of
Seville to-day, were conceived and executed b)- a
mulatto, Sebastian Gomez, who was once the slave,
then the pupil, and in time the peer of his illus-
trious and high-minded master.
The childhood of .Sebastian Gomez was one of
ser\'itude. His duties were many and constant.
He was required to grind and mix the colors used
by the young sefiors, who came at the early hour
wit, bright intellect, and willing hands. His mem-
ory also was excellent; he was not without judg-
ment, and, what was better than all, he was gifted
with the power of application.
Intellect, wit, memor\-, judgment are all good
endowments, but none of these will lead to excel-
lence if one has not a habit of industry and steady
application.
Sebastian Gomez, at the age of fifteen, found
himself capable, not only of admiring, but also of
appreciating, the work of the pupils who wrought in
his master's studio.
At times he even fancied that he could detect
l88i.|
THE KNIGHTS OF THE EXTENSION TABLE.
19
errors and blemishes which they failed to note in
their studies.
It chanced, sometimes, that he would drop a
hint of his thoughts, when handing a maul-stick,
or moving an e.iscl for some artist student.
"How droll it is that the sly young rogue
should be so nearly correct in his criticisms ! "
one of the pupils would perhaps remark, after over-
hearing some quiet suggestion of the mulatto lad.
" Aye. One might think the slave a connois-
seur," would laugh another.
" Truly, it was owing to a cunning hint of his
that my St. Andrew's arm was improved in the
foreshortening."
" It was Gomez who detected first the harshness
in my coloring of this St. Catherine's hands,
and noted the false curve of the lower lip. The
mulatto has the true eye for color, and in truth
he seems to guess at form as readily as some of
his betters."
Such were the remarks that often followed the
lad's exit, as the young senors lightly commented
upon his criticisms. There came a time, however,
when the poor mulatto received from their lordly
lips far other than light comment.
One day, a student who had been for a long
time at work upon a " Descent from the Cross,"
and who, but the previous day, had effaced from
the canvas an unsatisfactory- head of the Mater
Dolorosa, was struck dumb with surprise at find-
ing in its place a lovely sketch of the head and
face he had so labored to perfect. The miracle —
for miracle it seemed — was inquired into, and
examination proved that this exquisite head, which
Murillo himself owned that he would have been
proud to ha\e painted, was the secret work of
the little slave Sebastian. So closely had he
listened to his great master's instructions to the
pupils, so retcntively stored them in his mind,
and so industriously worked upon them while
others slept, — his custom being to rise at three in
the morning and paint until five, — that he, the
servant of the young artists, had become, uncon-
sciously to himself as to them, an artist also.
Murillo, upon discovering the genius of Gomez,
was enraptured, and declared that the young
mulatto should be in his sight no longer a slave,
but a man, his pupil, and an artist.
" Other masters leave to posterity only pictures,"
exclaimed the glad master. " I shall bequeath
to the world a painter ! Your name, Sebastian,
shall go down to posterity only in company with
mine ; your fame shall complete mine ; coming
ages, when they name you, shall call you ' Murillo's
mulatto ' ! "
He spoke truly. Throughout Spain to-day
that artist who, of all the great master's pupils,
most nearly equals him in all his varied excel-
lences, is best known, not as Sebastian Gomez
alone, but as "Sebastian Gomez; The Mulatto of
Murillo."
Murillo had Gomez made a free citizen of Spain,
treated him as a son. and, when dying, left him
a part of his estate. But Gomez sur\-ived his illus-
trious master and friend only a few years, dying,
it is said, about the year 1 590.
THE KNIGHT.S OF THE I-.XTKNSION TABLE.
By Nellie G. Cone.
The Tournaments began one winter day, in the
midst of a snow-storm. Dick and Belinda sat by
the dining-room fire. Belinda was reading " Ivan-
hoe." She was a small girl, with large, innocent
eyes. Dick was older than she, and a great deal
wiser, but he condescended to play with her. Just
then he wanted amusement; and he asked Belinda,
in an injured way, why she was always reading.
"What else is there to do?" said the meek
Belinda.
" We might play War," said Dick, rather slyly.
They had often played War on the extension
table, setting up the tin and wooden armies oppo-
site each other, and throwing an India rubber
ball at each side bv turns. But once Dick had
proposed to " draft," as he said, the animals from
the Noah's Ark, and call them cavalry. Then he
had drafted into his own army the otters, and other
ugly but very little creatures which Belinda could
not hit with the ball. Belinda, on the other hand,
had chosen the giraft'es and elephants because
they looked so stately. Dick had won in a short
battle of two minutes, and Belinda never forgot it.
" Xo, Dick," she said, firmly, " 1 don't want to
play War."
" Well," said Dick, " there 's Tournament.
May be that 's nicer than War. "
"Beautiful!" cried Belinda. " Then we need
n't have any animals."
She brought out at once all her battered toys.
20
THE KNIGHTS OF THE EXTENSION TABLE.
[November,
and the two began to choose their knights, decid-
ing that each should have six men.
First, Behnda selected hers, naming most of
them after the heroes in Sir Walter Scott's
stories and poems, which both she and Dick
liked to read. She made up her mind to
have James Fitz-James, the disguised king
in "The Lady of the Lake." She took to
represent him a jointed cavaHer, with buff
jacket and gauntlets ; but unfortunately he
had lost both his legs (in-
cluding a handsome pair
of boots), and had to lean
back upon his arms.
"Now," she said, "I
think 1 '11 have Wilfred of
Ivanhoe," and she found
a mild-looking wooden
soldier with a piece of tin-
foil tied around him.
She had a market in
a box, with stiiif green
poplar-trees and tables full of fish and fruit ; and
out of this she took a man on a round yellow stand,
wrapped him also in tin-foil, and named him Rich-
ard Coeur de Lion.
Then she remembered Tennyson's gentle Sir
Galahad, and how he had a habit of riding about
in the moonlight, and wearing silver armor, and
always winning in tournaments because he was so
good ; and she got him from the market, too. He
was a woman who had formerly kept a vegetable
stand.
Next, in order that another wooden soldier
might look like King Henry of Navarre, she made
a pin-hole in the top of his black cap, or "helmet,"
as she called it, and put a white feather in the pin-
hole. This looked so fine that she gave plumes to
Ivanhoe, King Richard, and Sir Galahad, also.
You will notice that Belinda selected only one
of the market-women.
" 1 don't like them," she said. " They have
aprons on, and they don't look nice."
Lastly, she chose Ferrand of the Forest Brown.
He used to be Shem, in the Ark. Dick never knew
where Belinda found his new name, but evidently
she was proud of it.
BELINDA S GKOL? HAD A MORE MILITARY Al'PEARANCE THAN DICK S.
" Oh, I '11 take the rest," said Dick, in the most
obliging manner. "This," he went on, lifting a
plum-colored fish- woman with half a head, "shall
be Sir Reginald Front de Boeuf, known as the
Savage Baron. This striped one is Lord Mar-
mion."
" Why, he forged a letter ! " said Belinda, with
contempt.
" Never mind," said Dick. " He was a splendid
soldier, and the book says he had a blue flag with
a falcon on it ; and his hair was all grizzly, except
in front, where his helmet wore it off "
" 1 don't think I 'd have a knight that was
bald," said Belinda.
" This other striped one," Dick continued, "is
Sir Roderick Dhu, the chieftain of Clan Alpine.
This red one is Sir William of Deloraine, good
at need."
"Why! "said Belinda,
again. " He was a robber !
They were both robbers ! "
"So they were," said
Dick, cheerfully, seizing a
brown woman as he spoke.
" This is Bertram Rising-
hame, who burned the
castle in 'Rokeby.'"
"But he was a pirate ! "
cried Belinda.
" Yes," said Dick, tak-
ing no notice of his sister's
horror, " and if you '11 give me a lead-pencil, I '11
make him a big mustache. Pirates always wear
mustaches. There ! This fish-seller, the only
real man I have, shall be Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
BAND OF HEROES.
i88i.]
THE KNIGHTS OF THE EXTENSION TABLE.
21
FROST I)E BCEI.F STANDS
fNSCATHED.
SIR WILFRED FALLS.
FF.RRAND OF THE
FOREST BROWN.
the Templar, who carriLcl away Re-
becca of V'ork."
"Dick," said Uelinda, solemnly,
" you never will win one tourna-
ment with such knights as those.
They 're just a set of
tramps! "
Dick only said
he "guessed"
he liked them
pictty well.
When all
were chosen,
Hclinda, who liked to draw,
made a sketch of each
group, and was pleased to
see that her own had a more military appearance
than Dick's. '• Now," she inquired, when the
knights had been placed at opposite ends of the
table, "how does a tournament begin?"
" In the first place, you of course must
be the herald for
your knights, and
i '11 be the herald
for mine." explained
Dick. "First, the her-
ald sounds a trum-
pet, just like this :
Tra-Ia-la-la-la ! Then
you say, ' This blow is from
Sir Reginald Front de Boeuf,'
for instance, ' to Sir Wil-
fred of Ivanhoc,' for instance;
and if you can think of a
war-cry, or anything of that
kind, you say that, too." At this point he
flung the ball, and Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe fell
headlong. " When they fall like that," Dick con-
tinued, "they are unhorsed; and you know when
a knight is unhorsed, he must n't fight again till
next day."
Belinda sorrowfully re-
moved Sir Wilfred, and
then, with a feeble crow
that she meant for a'
trumpet-blast, aimed the
ball at the Savage Raron.
She said that the blow-
was from Rjchard Coeur
de Lion, who, she ad-
j J T- . , T-, /> -JAMES FITZ-JAMES IS WORSTED.
ded, w-as Front dc BoeuPs
lawful king and master. The ball passed over
Sir Reginald's head, and, after a few defiant re-
marks, he rolled his lawful king and master off
the table.
Would you believe that, in this tournament.
Dick did not use (until the last) one of his wicked
THE FAl-I. OF CCELR
DE LIO.N.
SIR GALAHAD IS 0\ EKCO.ME.
knights, excepting Sir Reginald Front de
BoEuf? Would you believe that the royal
James Fitz-James, the gentle SirGalahad,
and the brave King Henry of Xavarre
were all "unhorsed" by that plum-
colored rebel ? W'hen they attacked him,
the ball, owing to the nervousness of the
"herald," Be-
linda, gener- ~'
ally struck ei-
ther the man-
tel - piece or
the coal-scuttle.
Once or twice it grazed
him, but he only spun
about and settled down
into his old position with a
clatter. The artful Dick, when
he obligingly chose the market-
women, had foreseen that their heavy
wooden skirts would hold them steady.
Belinda was almost in despair. Of all her
goodly company of knights, Ferrand alone
remained. She shut both eyes, shouted,
"Ferrand of the Forest Brown to the res-
cue, ho ! "and let the ball go where it would.
To her great surprise there was a sharp
crack, and in an in-
stant Sir Reginald
Front de Boeuf lay on the
hearth-rug in two pieces.
Belinda felt almost as
if she had won the day.
To be sure, the piratical
Bertram Risinghanie " un-
horsed" Sir Ferrand soon
after. But that did not mend
Front de Bceuf. Neither
would glue, although they tried it. They laid him
in a broken match-box that had a Crusader on the
cover, and they played no more tournament until
next day, all Belinda's knights being prevented
from fighting again by
Dick's rule about "un-
horsing."
" Dick," said Belinda,
as she tried to fasten on
the helmet of Navarre,
which had been knocked
from his head by the
Savage Baron," don't you
think we ought to call
them the Knights of the
Round Table?"
But Dick said he thought the Knights of the
l->tension Table would be better. And that was
their name as long as they lasted.
HENRY OF NAVARRE
IS UNHORSED.
THE SAVAGE BARON S FATE.
22
MAMMA S LITTLE MOUSE.
[November,
THE LITTLE GIRL WHO TRIED TO MIND.
Bv Joel Stacy.
Susan, good sister Susan ! was a gentle girl of eight,
And Totty was but four years old, when what I now relate
Came to the happy little pair, one bright November day —
A Sunday, too — while good Papa was many miles away.
Good-bye; my darlings! don't forget." The little ones went forth,
Their hearts all in a sunny glow, their faces to the north —
Their faces to the chilling north, but not a whit cared they
Though the pretty church before them stood full half a
mile away.
For Mother, with her smiling face and cheery voice, had said :
" I can not go to church to-day, but you may go instead.
Baby will need me here at home — the precious little pet!
But babies grow in time, you know. She '11 go to meeting yet."
" Take care of sister Sue ! " she said, while tying
Totty's hood. —
" And, Tottykins, I 'm sure you '11 be, oh, very
/j I, I still and good !
Good-bye, my darlings ! Don't forget. Now,
Sue, you know the pew !
And, Tot, be Mamma's little mouse, and sit
up close to Sue."
A pretty sight it truly was, to see the rosy pair
\\'alk down the aisle and take their seats, with sweetly solemn air.
And Susie soon was listening, her manner all intent.
While little Tot sat prim and stiff, and wondered what it meant.
The quaint, old-fashioned meeting-house had pew-seats low and bare,
With backs that reached above the heads when they were bowed in prayer.
And thus it was when suddenly a scratching sound was heard.
Faint at the first, then almost loud — but not a person stirred.
All heads were bowed; and yet it rose — that scratching, puzzling sound.
The staidest members rolled their eyes and tried to look around;
Till Susie, stately little maid ! felt, with a startled fear,
That, whatsoe'er its cause might be, the noise was strangely near.
Out went her slyly warning hand, to reach for Totty there;
When, oh, the scratching rose above the closing w-ords of prayer !
An empty mitten on the seat was all poor Susie felt,
While on the floor, in wondrous style, the earnest Totty knelt!
Poor Susie leaned and signaled, and beckoned, all in vain ; —
Totty was very much engaged and would not heed, 't was plain.
When suddenly a childish voice rang through the crowded house: —
DON'T, Susie ! 'cause I 've dot to be my mamma's 'ittle mouse ! "
ALL- II ALLOW EVE MYTHS.
Many a sober face relaxed, and many smiled outright.
While others mourned in sympathy with Susie's sorry plight;
And Totty, wild with wrath because she could be mouse no more,
Was carried soon, a sobbing child, out through the wide church-door.
Now parents ponder while ye may upon this sad mishap.
The mother, not the mouse, you see, was caught within the trap.
And lest your little listening ones may go beyond your reach.
Be chary of your metaphors and figurative speech.
ALL-HAI.LOVV EVK MYTHS.
By David Brown.
As THE world grows old and wise, it ceases to
believe in many of its superstitions. But, although
they are no longer believed in, the customs con-
nected with them do not always die out; they often
linger on through centuries, and, from having once
been serious religious rites, or something real in
the life of people, they become at last mere chil-
dren's plays or empty usages, often most zealously
enjoyed by those who do not understand their
meaning.
Still other customs have been parts of a heathen
religion, and when that religion was supplanted
by Christianity, the people held on to the old cus-
toms, although they had lost their first significance.
For instance, when a party of boys and girls are
out in a sail-boat, and the wind dies down, some
one says, " Whistle for the wind." A boy whistles,
and they all laugh, for it seems a good joke to think
of raising the wind by a whistle. But it was a
serious thing to the sailors of old time, for to them
the whistle was an imitation of the sound of the
winds, and their intention in making it was that
the gods might hear, and make the real winds blow.
But a better illustration of all this is our All-hallow
Eve festival. Its history is that of a custom which
has passed from the worship of heathen gods into
the festivities of the Christian church, and has sunk
at last into a mere sport.
All-hallow Eve is now, in our country towns, a
time of careless frolic, and of great bonfires, which,
I hear, are still kindled on the hill-tops in some
places. We also find these fires in England, Scot-
land, and Ireland, and from their history we learn
the meaning of our celebration. Some of you may
know that the early inhabitants of Great Britain,
Ireland, and parts of France were known as Celts,
and that their religion was directed by strange
priests called Druids. Three times in the year, on
the first of May, for the sowing ; at the solstice,
June 2ist, for the ripening and turn of the year;
and on the eve of November ist, for the harvest-
ing, those mysterious priests of the Celts, the
Druids, built fires on the hill-tops in France, Brit-
ain, and Ireland, in honor of the sun. At this last
festival the Druids of all the region gathered in
their white robes around the stone altar or cairn on
the hill-top. Here stood an emblem of the sun,
and on the cairn was the sacred fire, which had
been kept burning through the year. The Druids
formed about the fire, and, at a signal, quenched
it, while deep silence rested on the mountains
and valleys. Then the new fire gleamed on the
cairn, the people in the valley raised a joyous
shout, and from hill-top to hill-top other fires an-
swered the sacred flame. On this night, all
hearth-fires in the region had been put out, and
they were rekindled with brands from the sacred
fire, which was believed to guard the households
through the year.
But the Druids disappeared from their sacred
places, the cairns on the hill-tops became the
monuments of a dead religion, and Christianity
spread to the barbarous inhabitants of France and
the British Islands. Yet the people still clung to
their old customs, and felt much of the old awe
for them. Still they built their fires on the first of
May, — at the solstice in June, — and on the eve of
November First. The church found that it could
not all at once separate the people from their old
ways, so it gradually turned these ways to its own
use, and the har\est festival of the Druids became
in the Catholic Calendar the Eve of .All Saints, for
that is the meaning of the name "All-hallow Eve."
In the seventh centun,', the Pantheon, the ancient
24
ALL-HALLOW EVE MYTHS.
[November,
Roman temple of all the gods, was consecrated
anew to the worship of the Virgin and of all holy
martyrs. The festival of the consecration was held
at first on May 13th, but it was afterward changed
to November ist, and thus All Saints Day, as it is
now called, was brought into connection with the
Druid festival. This union of a holy day of the
church with pagan customs gave new meaning to
the heathen rites in the minds of the common peo-
ple, and the fires which once were built in honor
of the sun, they came to think were kindled to
lighten Christian souls out of purgatory. At All-
hallow-tide, the church-bells of England used to
ring for all Christian souls, until Henry Vlll.
and Elizabeth forbade the practice.
But by its separation from the solemn character
of the Druid festival, All-hallow Eve lost much of
its ancient dignity, and became the carnival-night
of the year for wild, grotesque rites. As century
after century passed by, it came to be spoken of as
the time when the magic powers, with which the
peasantry, all the world over, filled the wastes and
ruins, were supposed to suarm abroad to help or
injure men. It was the time when those first
dwellers in every land, the fairies, were said to
come out from their grots and lurking-places ;
and in the darkness of the forests and the shadows
of old ruins, witches and goblins gathered. In
course of time, the hallowing fire came to be con-
sidered a protection against these malicious pow-
ers. It was a custom in the seventeenth centur)-
for the master of a family to carry a lighted torch
of straw around his fields, as shown in the pict-
ure, to protect them from evil influence through
the year, and as he went he chanted an invoca-
tion to the fire.
Because the magic powers were thought to be
so near at that season, AU-hallow Eve was the
best time of the year for the practice of magic, and
so the customs of the night grew into all kinds of
simple, pleasant divination, by which it was pre-
tended that the swarming spirits gave knowledge
of the future. Even nowadays, it is the time,
especially, of young lovers' divinations, and also
for the practice of curious and superstitious rites,
many of w^iich were described to you in St.
Nicholas for October, 1879. And almost all of
these, if traced to their sources, lead us back to
that dim past out of which comes so much of our
superstition and fable.
But belief in magic is passing away, and the
customs of All-hallow Eve have arrived at the last
stage ; for they have become mere sports, repeated
from year to jear like holiday celebrations.
Indeed, the chief thing which this paper seeks
to impress upon your minds in connection with
AU-hallow Eve is lliat its curious customs show how
no generation of men is altogether separated from
earlier generations. Far as we think we arc from
our unciviHzed ancestors, much of what they did
and thought has come into our doing and think-
ing,— with many changes perhaps, under different
religious forms, and sometimes in jest where they
were in earnest. Still, these customs and observ-
ances (of which AU-hallow Eve is only one) may
be called the piers, upon which rests a bridge that
spans the wide past between us and the gen-
erations that have gone before.
l88i
WALLACE Ol' UHLKX.
^5
WALLACE OF rilLKN.
By E. Vinton Bi.ake.
Brave old W allaci.- of Ulilcn iluL-lls
On a castled crag of the Uiachenfels.
White of hair and of beard is he,
Yet hokleth his own riifht manfiillv.
1 II btaiiii the brunt ot many a tight, —
Bui ghosts are anotlier matter, quite."
'I'licn up old Wallace of Uhlcn stood,
And stoutly vow'd b\- the holv rood,
Oft and oft. when his limbs were young,
Out from its scabbard his good sword
sprung :
In castle hall, or in cot of thatch,
With Wallace of I'hlen none might match.
The bra\e old baron one day had hoard
The peasants round by a legend stirred.
Of a ghostly lady, that watched till light
In Kcidenloch Chapel every night.
So to his seneschal quoth he:
" Go w\atch, and tell me if such things be."
" My lord, 1 'd fain take many a knock
Than watch in the Chapel of Keidenloch ;
.And aU things holy, all things bright,
He 'd watch in the chapel that very night.
With only a sword, from his castled rock
Down he strode unto Keidenloch ;
.And with the twilight, dusk and brown,
Deep in the chapel he sat him down.
Wallace of I'hlen watched awhile
The pale moonbeams in the middle aisle,
The glimmer of marble here and there,
The oriel painting the dusky air.
Over his feet a something drew ;
" Kats ! " quoth the baron, with sudden
"shoo!"—
26
THE PETERKINS GIVE A FANCY BALL.
[November,
Then from the stair-way's darkness bleak,
Sounded a most suspicious creak.
Out from the stair-way's darkness came
A creak that should put a ghost to shame !
"Spirits, I fancied, were airy matter;
Hush!" spake the baron,"now, have at her!"
Lo ! the chancel was all aflame,
And past the altar the lady came.
Sank the flame with many a flicker.
Till ever the darkness seemed the thicker.
Nearer and nearer stole the maid — •
A ghastly phantom — a fearful shade!
His blade old Wallace uplifted high:
" Now, which is stronger, thou or 1?"
But lo ! affrighted, the lady dread
Back through the chapel turned and fled ;
.\nd hasting after with many a blow,
Old Wallace of Uhlen laid her low.
He drew her into a moonlit place,
And gazed undaunted upon the face —
Gazed on the face so pale and dread,
And saw no maid, but a robber dead —
The scourge of many a fertile plain,
By Wallace of Uhlen lying slain.
So up to his castle striding back.
He pledged the ghost in a cup of sack,
And roared with laughter when from his rock
He looked to the Chapel of Keidenloch.
THE PETERKINS GIVE A FANCY BALL.
By Lucretia P. Hale.
IGHT not something be done by
way of farewell before leaving for
' Egypt ? They did not want to
give another tea-party, and could
not get in all at dinner. They had
had charades and a picnic. Eliza-
beth Eliza wished for something
unusual, that should be remembered after they
had left for Egypt. Why should it not be a
Fancy Ball ? There never had been one in the
place.
Mrs. Peterkin hesitated. Perhaps for that reason
they ought not to attempt it. She liked to have
things that other people had. She, however,
objected most to the "ball" part. She could,
indeed, still dance a minuet, but she was not sure
she could get on in the " Boston dip."
The little boys said they would like the " fancy "
part and "dressing up." They remembered their
delight when they browned their faces for Hindus,
at their charades, just for a k\v minutes ; and what
fun it would be to wear their costumes through
a whole evening ! Mrs. Peterkin shook her head ;
it was days and days before the brown had washed
out of their complexions.
Still she, too, was interested in the "dressing
up." If they should wear costumes, they could
make them of things that might be left behind.
that they had done wearing — if they could only
think of the right kind of things.
Mrs. Peterkin, indeed, had already packed up,
although they were not to leave for two months,
for she did not want to be hurried at the last.
She and Elizabeth Eliza went on different prin-
ciples in packing.
Elizabeth Eliza had been told that you really
needed very little to travel with — merely your
traveling dress and a black silk. Mrs, Peterkin,
on the contrary, had heard it was best to take
everything you had, and then you need not spend
your time shopping in Paris. So they had decided
upon adopting both ways. Mrs. Peterkin was to
take her " everything," and already had all the
shoes and stockings she should need for a year or
two. Elizabeth Eliza, on the other hand, pre-
pared a small valise. She consoled herself with
the thought that, if she should meet anything
that would not go into it, she could put it in one
of her mother's trunks.
It was resolved to give the Fancy Ball.
Mr. Peterkin early determined upon a charac-
ter. He decided to be Julius Caesar. He had
a bald place on the top of his head, which he was
told resembled that of the great Roman, and he
concluded that the dress would be a simple one
to get up, requiring only a sheet for a toga.
THK I'KTEKKINS (1 I V K A KANCY BALL.
27
Agamemnon was inclined to take the part which
his own name represented, and he looked up the
costume of the (jreek king of men. But he was
dissatisfied with the representation given of him in
Dr. Schliemann's " Myken;e." There was a picture
of Agamemnon's mask, but ver>' much battered.
He might get a mask made in that pattern, indeed,
and the little boys were delighted with the idea of
battering it. .-Vgamemnon would like to wear a
mask, then he would have no trouble in keeping
up his expression. Hut Elizabeth Eliza objected
to the picture in Dr. Schliemann's book; she did
not like it for Agamemnon — it was too slanting
in the eyes. So it was decided he should take
the part of Nick Bottom, in " Midsummer Night's
Dream." He could then wear the ass's head, which
would have the same advantage as a mask, and
would conceal his own face entirely. Then he
could be making up any face he pleased in the
ass's head, and would look like an ass without any
difficulty, while his feet would show he was not
one. Solomon John thought that they might
make an ass's head if they could get a pattern,
or could see the real animal, and form an idea
of the shape. Barnum's circus would be along
in a few weeks, and they could go on purpose to
study the donkeys, as there usually was more than
one donke\- in the circus. Agamemnon, however,
in going with a friend to a costumer's in Boston,
found an ass's head already made.
The little boys found in an illustrated paper an
accurate description of the Hindu snake-charmer's
costume, and were so successful in their practice of
shades of brown for the complexion, that Solomon
John decided to take the part of Othello, and use
some of their staining fluid.
There was some discussion as to consulting the
lady from Philadelphia, who was in town.
Solomon John thought they ought to practice
getting on by themselves, for soon the Atlantic
would lie between her and them. Mrs. Peterkin
thought they could telegraph. Elizabeth Eliza
wanted to submit to her two or three questions
about the supper, and whether, if her mother were
Queen Elizabeth, they could have Chmese lanterns.
Was China invented at that time? Agamemnon
was sure China was one of the oldest countries in
the world and did exist, but perhaps Oucen Eliza-
beth did not know it.
Elizabeth Eliza was relieved to find that the
lady from Philadelphia thought the question not
important. It would be impossible to have every-
thing in the house to correspond with all the differ-
ent characters, unless they selected some period to
represent, such as the age of Queen Elizabeth.
Of course, Elizabeth Eliza would not wish to do
this, when her father was to be Julius Cassar.
The lady from Philadelphia advised Mrs. Peter-
kin to send for Jones, the " caterer," to take
charge of the supper. But his first question stag-
gered her. How many did she expect ?
They had not the slightest idea. They had
sent invitations to everybody. The little boys pro-
posed getting the directory of the place, and mark-
ing out the people they didn't know, and counting
up the rest. But even if this would give the num-
ber of invitations, it would not show how many
would accept ; and then there was no such direc-
tory. They could not expect answers, as their
invitations were cards with " At Home " on them.
One answer had come from a lady, that she, too,
would be "at home," with rheumatism. So they
only knew there was one person who would not
come. Elizabeth Eliza had sent in Circumambient
ways to all the members of that society — by the
little boys, for instance, who were sure to stop at
the base-ball grounds, or somewhere, so a note was
always delayed by them. One Circumambient
note she sent by mail, purposely omitting the
" Mass.," so that it went to the Dead-Letter Office,
and came back six weeks after the party.
But the Peterkin family were not alone in com-
motion. The whole town was in excitement, for
"everybody " had been invited. Ann Maria Brom-
wich had a book of costumes, that she lent to a
few friends, and everybody borrowed dresses or
lent them, or went into town to the costumer's.
Weeks passed in preparation. "What are you
going to wear?" was the only question exchanged,
and nobody answered, as nobody would tell.
At length the evening came — a beautiful night in
late summer, warm enough to have had the party
out-of-doors, but the whole house was lighted up
and thrown open, and Chinese lanterns hung in
the portico and on the pillars of the piazzas.
At an early hour the Peterkins were arrayed in
their costumes. The little boys had their legs and
arms and faces browned early in the day, and wore
dazzlingly white full trousers and white turbans.
Elizabeth Eliza had prepared a dress as Queen
Elizabeth, but Solomon John was desirous that she
should be Desdemona, and she gave up her cos-
tume to her mother. Mrs. Peterkin therefore
wore a red wig which .Ann Maria had found at a
costumer's, a high ruff, and an old-fashioned bro-
cade. She was not sure that it was proper for
Queen Elizabeth to wear spectacles, but Queen
Elizabeth must have been old enough, as she lived
to be seventy. As for Elizabeth Eliza, in recalling
the fact that Desdemona was smothered by pil-
lows, she was so impressed by it that she decided
she could wear the costume of a sheet-and-pillow-
case party. So she wore a white figured silk that
had been her mother's wedding-dress, and over it
28
THE PETERKIXS GIVE A FANCY BALL.
[November,
draped a sheet as a large mantle, and put a pillow-
case upon her head, and could represent Desde-
mona not quite smothered. But Solomon John
wished to carry out the whole scene at the end.
As they stood together, all ready to receive, in
the parlor at the appointed hour, Mr. Peterkin sud-
denly exclaimed: "This will never do! We are
not the Peterkins — we are distinguished guests!
We can not receive."
"We shall have to give up the party," said Mrs.
Peterkin.
"Or our costumes," groaned Agamemnon from
his ass's head.
" We must go out, and come in as guests," said
Elizabeth Eliza, leading the way to a back door,
for guests were already thronging in, and up the
front stairs. They passed out by a piazza, through
the hedge of hollyhocks, toward the front of the
house. Through the side windows of the library,
they could see the company pouring in. The
black attendant was showing them upstairs ; some
were coming down, in doubt whether to enter the
parlors, as no one was there. The wide middle
entrance hall was lighted brilliantly, so were the
parlors on one side and the library on the other.
But nobody was there to receive ! A flock of
guests was assembling, — peasant girls, Italian,
German, and Norman ; Turks, Greeks, Persians,
fish-wives, brigands, chocolate-women. Lady Wash-
ington, Penelope, Red Riding-hood, Joan of Arc,
nuns. Amy Robsart, Leicester, two or three Mary
Stuarts, Neapolitan fisher-boys, pirates of Penzance
and elsewhere, — all lingering, some on the stairs,
some going up, some coming down.
Charles L without his head was entering the
front door (a short gentleman, with a broad ruff
drawn neatly together on top of his own head,
which was concealed in his doublet below).
Three Hindu snake-charmers leaped wildly in
and out among the throng, flinging about dark,
crooked sticks for snakes.
There began to be a strange, deserted air about
the house. Nobody knew what to do, where to go !
"Can anything have happened to the family ? "
" Have they gone to Egypt? " whispered one.
No ushers came to show them in. A shudder
ran through the whole assembly, the house seemed
so uninhabited, and some of the guests were in-
clined to go away. The Peterkins saw it all
through the long librar)-windows.
" What shall we do ? " said Mr. Peterkin. "We
have said we should be ' At Home. ' "
" And here we are, all out-of-doors among the
hollyhocks," said Elizabeth Eliza.
" Theie are no Peterkins to ' receive,' " said Mr.
Peterkin, gloomily.
"We might go in and change our costumes,"
said Mrs. Peterkin. who already found her Eliza-
bethan ruff somewhat stiff, " but, alas ! I could not
get at my best dress."
" The company is filling all the upper rooms,"
said Elizabeth Eliza; "we can not go back."
At this moment the little boys returned from the
front door, and in a subdued whisper explained
that the lady from Philadelphia was arriving.
" Oh, bring her here ! " said Mrs. Peterkin. ."^nd
.Solomon John hastened to meet her.
.She came, to find a strange group half-lighted
by the Chinese lanterns. Mr. Peterkin, in his white
toga, with a green wreath upon his head, came for-
ward to address her in a noble manner, while she
was terrified by the appearance of Agamemnon's
ass's head, half-hidden among the leaves.
"What shall we do?" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin.
" There are no Peterkins, yet we have sent cards
to everybody that they are ' At Home ' ! "
The lady from Philadelphia, who had been
allowed to come without costume, considered for a
moment. She looked through the windows to the
seething mass now crowdmg the entrance hall.
The Hindu snake-charmers gamboled about her.
" H^c will receive as the Peterkin family ! " she
exclaimed. She inquired for a cap of Mrs. Peter-
kin's, with a purple satin bow, such, as she had worn
that very morning. .Amanda was found by a Hin-
du, and sent for it, and for a purple cross-over
shawl that Mrs. Peterkin was wont to wear. The
daughters of the lady from Philadelphia put on
some hats of the little boys and their India rubber
boots. Hastily they went in through the back
door and presented themselves, just as some of
the wavering guests had decided to leave the
house, it seeming so quiet and sepulchral.
The crowd now flocked into the parlors. The
Peterkins themselves left the hollyhocks and joined
the company that was entering, Mr. Peterkin, as
Julius Caesar, leading in Mrs. Peterkin, as Queen
Elizabeth. Mrs. Peterkin hardly knew what to do,
as she passed the parlor door, for one of the Os-
bornes, as Sir Walter Raleigh, flung a velvet cloak
before her. She was uncertain whether she ought
to step on it, especially as she discovered at that
moment that she had forgotten to take off her
rubber overshoes, which she had put on to go
through the garden. But as she stood hesitating,
the lady from Philadelphia, as Mrs. Peterkin,
beckoned her forward, and she walked over the
ruby velvet as though it were a door-mat.
For another surprise stunned her — there were
three Mrs. Peterkins ! Not only Mrs. Bromwich,
but their opposite neighbor, had induced Amanda
to take dresses of Mrs. Peterkin's from the top of
the trunks, and had come in at the same moment
with the lady from Philadelphia, ready to receive.
i88i.|
THE PETERKINS GIVE A F-ANCY BALL.
29
She stood in the middle of the bow-window at the
back of the room, the two others in the corners.
Ann Maria Bromwich had the part of Ehzabcth
Ehza, and Agamemnon, too, was represented, and
there were many sets of "Mittle boys" in India
rubber boots, going in and out with the Hindu
snake-charmers.
Mr. Peterkin had studied up his Latin grammar
a httle, in preparation for his part of JuhusCa;sar.
Agamemnon had reminded him that it was unnec-
essary, as Juhus Ca;sar in Shakespeare spoke in
Enghsh. Still he now found himself using with
wonderful ease Latin phrases such as "£" pluribiis
uniiiii," ''lapsus lins;u(t" and "sine qua non"
where they seemed to be appropriate.
Solomon John looked well as Othello, although
by some he was mistaken for an older snake-
charmer, with his brown complexion, glaring white
trousers, and white shirt. He wore a white lawn
turban that had belonged to his great-grandmother.
His part, however, was more understood when he
was with Elizabeth Eliza as Dcsdemona, for they
occasionally formed a tableau, in which he pulled
the pillow-case completely over her head.
Agamemnon was greeted with applause as \ick
Bottom. He sang the song of the "ousel cock,"
but he could not make himself heard. At last
he found a "Titania" who listened to him.
But none of the company attempted to carry out
the parts represented by their costumes. Charles
L soon conversed with Oliver Cromwell and with
the different Mary Stuarts, who chatted gayly, as
though executions were every-day occurrences.
At first, there was a little awkwardness. Nuns
stood as quiet as if in their convent cells, and
brave brigands hid themselves behind the doors,
but as the different guests began to surprise each
other, the sounds of laughter and talking in-
creased. Every new-comer was led up to each
several Mrs. Peterkin.
Then came a great surprise — a band of music
sounded from the piazza. Some of the neighbors
had sent in the town band, as a farewell tribute.
This added to the excitement of the occasion.
Strains of dance-music were heard, and dancing
was begun. Sir Walter Raleigh led out Penelope,
and Red Riding-hood without fear took the arm
of the fiercest brigand for a round dance.
The various groups wandered in and out. Eliz-
abeth Eliza studied the costumes of her friends,
and wished she had tried each one of them. The
members of the Circumambient Society agreed it
would be always well to wear costumes at their
meetings. .As the principles of the society enforced a
sort of uncertainty, if you always went in a difTerent
costume you would never have to keep up your
own character. Elizabeth Eliza thought she should
enjoy this. She had all her life been troubled
with uncertainties and questions as to her own
part of •' Elizabeth Eliza," wondering always if she
were doing the right thing. It did not seem to her
that other people had such a bother. Perhaps
they had simpler parts. They always seemed to
know when to speak and when to be silent, while
she was always puzzled as to what she should do
as Elizabeth Eliza. Now, behind her pillow-case,
she could look on and do nothing; all that was
expected of her was to be smothered now and
then. She breathed freely and enjoyed herself,
because for the evening she could forget the dif-
ficult role of Elizabeth Eliza.
Mrs. Peterkin was bewildered. She thought it
a good occasion to study how Mrs. Peterkin should
act; but there were three Mrs. Peterkins. She
found herself gazing, first at one, then at another.
Often she was herself called Mrs. Peterkin.
At supper-time the bewilderment increased.
She was led in by the Earl of Leicester, as princi-
pal guest. Yet it was to her own dining-room,
and she recognized her own forks and spoons
among the borrowed ones, although the china was
different (because their own set was not large
enough to go around for so much company). It
was all very confusing. The dance-music floated
through the air. Three Mrs. Peterkins hovered
before her, and two Agamemnons, for the ass's
head proved hot and heavy, and Agamemnon was
forced to hang it over his arm as he offered coffee
to Titania. There seemed to be two Elizabeth
Elizas, for Elizabeth Eliza had thrown back her
pillow-case in order to eat her fruit-ice. Mr. Pe-
terkin was wondering how Julius Caesar would
have managed to eat his salad with his fork, before
forks were invented, and then he fell into a fit of
abstraction, planning to say '■'Vale" to the guests
as they left, but anxious that the word should not
slip out before the time. Eight little boys and
three Hindu snake-charmers were eating copi-
ously of frozen pudding. Two Joans of Arc were
talking to Charles I., who had found his head. All
things seemed double to Mrs. Peterkin as they
floated before her.
" Was she eating her own supper or somebody's
else?" Were they Peterkins, or were they not?
Strains of dance-music sounded from the library.
Yes, they were giving a fancy ball ! The Peter-
kins were "At Home" for the last time before
leaving for Egypt !
SOME BALLOON EXPERIENCES.
[November,
SLUMBER SONG.
By Edwin Oscar Cooke.
Hush, baby, hush !
In the west there 's a glory,
With changes of amethyst, crimson, and gold :
The sun goes to bed like the king in a story-
Told by a poet of old.
Hush, baby, hush !
There 's a wind on the river —
A sleepy old wind, with a voice like a sigh ;
And he sings to the rushes that dreamily quiver,
Down where the ripples run by.
Hush, baby, hush !
Lambs are drowsily bleating
Down in cool meadows where daisy-buds grow.
And the echo, aweary with all day repeating.
Has fallen asleep long ago.
Hush, baby, hush !
There are katydids calling
•• C'.ood-night " to each other adown every
breeze ;
And the sweet baby-moon has been falling and
falling.
Till now she is caught in the trees.
Baby, hush !
Hush, baby, hush !
It is time you were winging
Your way to the land that lies — no one knows
where ;
It is late, baby, late — Mother 's tired with her
singing,
Soon she will follow you there.
Hush I Babv — Hush!
SOME BALLOON EXPERIENCES.
Bv John Lewees.
Nearly all of us have read and heard so much
about balloons that it is not necessary now to con-
sider their construction or their history. All that
is intended in this article is to give an idea of
some of the unusual experiences of balloonists.
It is nearly a hundred years since the first bal-
loon was sent up in France by the brothers Mont-
golfier, and yet very little advancement has been
made in the science of ballooning. It is true that
we can make balloons that will rise as "high as
human beings can bear to go, but this is proved to
be of little practical use. In 1862, two English
gentlemen, Messrs. Glaisherand Coxwell, ascended
to a height of seven miles above the surface of the
earth. At this immense height the air was so thin
and light that they could scarcely breathe ; it was
intensely cold, the mercury in the thermometer
going down below zero. One of the gentlemen
very soon became insensible, while the other was
so nearly exhausted that he was barely able to seize
with his teeth the rope which opened a val\e in the
top of the balloon. In this way a portion of the
gas was allowed to escape, and they came down
very rapidly. If they had gone up much higher,
it is probable that both wolild have perished in
that cold and dangerous upper air. This ascent
proves that seven miles is too high above the sur-
face of the earth for human beings to live in
comfort or safety.
Although, as we have just seen, it is perfectly
possible to make balloons go up into the air to a
great height, no means ha\e yet been disco\ered
by which they can be made to move in any required
direction. Until this is done, balloons can never
be of much practical use.
Man)' attempts have been made to devise
methods by which balloons can be propelled and
steered, but, up to this time, none of them have
been found to answer the purpose. In Scrilmcr's
Monthly for February, 1879, Mr. E. C. Stedman
described an aerial ship which he invented. His
theories and plans seem to be quite practicable, and
when a ship of this kind is made, it is to be hoped
that we shall be able to navigate the air in any
direction we please. But this is all in the future.
Not many years ago there was made in New York
a balloon in which three gentlemen intended to
try to cross the Atlantic Ocean. This great balloon
was not to be propelled b\- any machinery, but to
be carried on its course by a current of air which it
is believed continually moves at a certain altitude
from west to east, across the Atlantic. But this
t88i.]
SOME UALLUU.N K X !■ K K 1 E .\ C KS.
31
balloon was made of poor materials, and it burst
before it was entirely filled with gas. It is fortunate
that this accident happened when it did, for if the
balloon had burst when it was over the ocean, it
w-ould have been a sad thing for the three gentle-
men. If this attempt had succeeded, it is probable
that by this time there would be balloons making
regular trips to Europe : still I do not know of any
breeze or current that would blow them back again.
But, although we arc not yet able to direct the
A SNOW-STORM ABOVK THE CLOl'DS.
course of balloons, they have, in late years, been
put to some practical use. During our late war,
balloons were used by the Union army for the pur-
pose of making military observ-ations. Two of
them were attached to General McClellan's army,
and, with the gas generators and other apparatus,
were drawn about in wagons from place to place.
When it was desired to make an obser\ation of the
works or position of the enemy, a balloon with
several men was sent up to a sufficient height, and
* See the stor>' of " Puck Parker," in St.
connected with the ground b\ a rope. From this
balloon the men could see what the enemy w^as
doing, and how his forces were disposed, and w^ere
high enough to be out of gunshot.
But the most important use to which balloons
were ever applied was during the siege of Paris,
in the late war between France and Prussia. It
was impossible for any one to get out of the city,
excepting in a balloon, and a number of persons
availed themselves of this way of leaving Paris.*
Monsieur Gambetta, the distin-
guished French statesman, was
among those who escaped in a
balloon. These ascents were ver)'
important, because the balloons
not only took persons, but car-
rier-pigeons, and these pigeons
afterward flew back to Paris bear-
ing news from the outside world ;
and in no other way could the
besieged citizens get such news.
Some of the balloons came down
in the French provinces, some
were blown over to England, and
one was carried across the North
Sea into Sw eden. Some of them
came down among the Prussians,
and their unfortunate occupants
were captured by the enemy. Out
of the sixty-four balloons which
left Paris during the siege, only
two were lost and never heard of
after.
One of the advantages enjoyed
by balloonists is, that they can
in a measure choose their own
weather, especially in the sum-
mer-time. 15y this I mean that
they can rise above the clouds-
into dear sunlight, no matter
how dreary or storm)- it may be
near the earth, and they can go-
up high enough to be just as cool
as they could possibly wish.
In one of their ascensions,
Messrs. Glaisher and Coxwell, of
whom I have before spoken, left
the earth in a balloon on a cloudy, sultry day in June.
They passed through cloud after cloud, fog after
fog, expecting every moment to come out into
sunlight, and to see the blue sky above them ; but
they went upward through this vast mass of fog
and cloud until they had attained a height of four
miles ; and still they were not out of the clouds.
It was not considered prudent to go any higher,
and so they very reluctantly began to descend
without having penetrated through these immense
Nicholas for .April, 1878. Page 416.
32
SOME BALLOON EXPERIENCES.
[Novcr-iBER,
layers of cloud and fog. On coming down, they
passed through a fall of rain, and then, some
distance below that, through a snow-storm, the air
all about them being thick with snow-flakes. This,
it must be remembered, was in the summer-time,
when the people on the earth had no idea that a
snow-storm was going on above them, or that the
clouds they saw over them were four miles thick.
On another occasion, three balloonists went upward
through a snow-storm \ery much like the one
which Messrs. Cylaisher and Coxwell passed through
during their descent.
People who make balloon voyages very often
take birds with them, especially pigeons, which
they let loose at a great height. When not too
high above the earth, pigeons frequently fly di-
rectly to their homes, but at ■ a height of three or
four miles they sometimes seem bewildered, and
act as if they did not know how to find their way
back to the ground. They fly around and
around, and occasionally alight upon the top of
the balloon, and stay there. Sometimes, when the
height is very great, the air is too thin to support
a flying bird, and the pigeon drops like lead until
it reaches denser air, when it is able to fly.
Dogs and cats are often taken up. They are
sent down attached to a parachute, which is a
contrivance like an immense umbrella, and is
i88i.]
SOME UAI.LOOX EXPERIENCES.
00
intended to prevent the rapid fall of anything
suspended beneath it; the resistance of the air
under the wide-spreading parachute causing it
to descend very slowly and gradually. In this
way, cats and dogs have come to the ground from
balloons without receiving any injury, although
it is not to be supposed that they fancied the trip.
lialloonists themselves ha\e frequently come
down to the earth in parachutes, descending from
a height of one or two miles. Generally these
descents have been made in safety, yet there have
been cases when the parachutes were not properly
constructed, and when the unfortunate balloonists
came down too fast, and were killed.
Not only when they descend b\' means of a jiara-
chute, do air-voyagers, or aeronauts, as they are
called, run great risks of injury or death, but also
when they come down in their balloons. In fact,
it is much easier and safer to go up in a balloon than
perienccd balloonists frequently manage to come
down very gradually and gently, but sometimes the
car of the balloon strikes the earth with a great
shock; and if the wind is strong, the balloon is
often blown along just above the surface of the
ground, striking against trees, fences, and rocks,
until its occupants, or some persons on the
ground, manage to stop it.
But a descent into a river, a lake, or an ocean is
one of the greatest dangers that a balloonist can
expect. As I have before said, there has been
no way devised by which a balloon may be made
to move in any desired direction. Consequently
when one comes down o\cr the water the aeronaut
generally endeavors to throw out all his sand-bags
and other heavy things, in order that the balloon
may rise again, and not come down until it has
been blown over the land.
With regard to rivers and small lakes, this plan
•sometimes nli'l'INti THE CAR INTO THE WAVES
to come down in one. It is seldom possible for may often be successful, but when the balloon is
the aeronaut to know exactly, or to regulate just being carried out to sea, it generally comes down
as he would wish, the rapidity of its descent. Ex- into the water sooner or later, and if the balloonists
Vol. IX.— 3.
34
SOMK BALLOON LXPERIKNCES.
[November,
arc not rescued by some passing boat or
vessel, they are ahiiost certain to be
drowned. In cases such as these, the
balloons are often blown for a long dis-
tance over the surface of the ocean, some-
times dipping the car into the waves,
then, perhaps, rising a little and sailing
for a short distance above them, and then
dragging the car and its occupants with
great rapidit)- through the water. The
lower picture on this page shows an inci-
dent that occurred on the land in Octo-
ber, 1863. An immense balloon, built
by M. Nadar, and appropriately named
"Le Geant" [The Giant], rose from
Paris and made a pleasant voyage in the
air. But when it neared the earth again,
the vast ball was seized by the wind, and
lor hours the two-story car of wicker-work
was dashed against rocks, trees, and
houses, until the nine travelers, with
broken limbs and many bruises, were
rescued near Rethom, in Hanover. Many
people would be frightened to death, even
if they were not actually killed, during
such adventures as these ; but aeronauts
must, of necessity, be brave men, for if
a man is easily frightened, it is a wise
thing for him to keep out of a balloon.
As 1 have said, balloons were found
useful during the Civil War in the United
States, but the first time a balloon was
employed in warfare was at the battle of
i88i.J
SOME UALLOON EX 1' K U I KN C ES.
35
FIcurus, Belgium, in 1794, between the French
and the Austrians. Upon this occasion the balloon
was managed as a kite, in the manner shown in
the upper picture on the preceding page.
Sometimes balloonists have had very curious
ideas. Mr. CIreen, one of the most distinguished
aijronauts of England, once made an ascent on the
back of a pony. The animal was so fastened on
a platform beneath the car that he could not lie
down nor move about. His owner then got upon
his back, and the balloon rose high into the air.
They came down in perfect safety, and the pony
did not appear to have made the slightest objection
to his ai^rial flight. Other aiJronauts have made
successful ascents on horseback and in various
dangerous ways, but some of them lost their lives
while performing these fool-hardy feats.
Occasionally balloonists make long voyages.
Mr. Wise, our greatest American aeronaut, once
made a trip of one thousand one hundred and
twenty miles in a balloon. He was a very suc-
cessful balloonist. He made several hundred as-
cents, and was one of the few aeronauts who
possessed a scientific "knowledge of his profession.
He made a study of air-currents, and all matters
relating to ballooning, and wrote a book on the
subject. It is not long, however, since he lost
his life during a balloon journey, so wc see that
even the most experienced navigators of the air
arc not free from danger.
But the practiced balloonist does not seem to
fear danger any more than does the sailor, who
steers his ship across the stormy ocean. There
seems to be a fascination about ballooning, and
some persons have made a great many ascents.
Mr. tireen made more than five hundred ascents
in balloons. He, however, escaped all serious
dangers, and died at a good old age.
The incidents which 1 have described show that,
although balloons have, so far, been of little prac-
tical service to mankind, the people who are fond
of rising two or three miles into the air very
often meet with curious experiences, and that
these unusual things generally occur when they
are descending to the earth. If any of us could
feel certain that it was not necessary for us to
come down again, it might be a very pleasant and
prudent thing to go up in a balloon.
"mister BWOWN takes sister AN.NIE VIDI.n' 'most EV\ y DAY. 'CAISE SHI-: 's A BID DIKE, I s'POSE. WONDER WHAT MADK
ME BE SO YOUNG. O.NLY FREE YEARS OLD ! I *D RAWER BE FOUR. BUT DEN. A DOOD MANY FOLKS
is FREE. 'most ALL 'iTTLE DIRLS AINT ANY OLDER 'n *AT."
36
SIR JOSHUA AND LITTLE PENELOPE.
[November,
SIR JOSHUA AND LITTLE PENELOPE.
Bv E. S. L.
St. Nicholas already has given to its readers a
paper telling " About the Painter of Little Penel-
ope," but there is one interesting incident in the
history of that same little Penelope and her noble
artist-friend which was not told in the former arti-
cle, and which, I think, you may like to hear. And
first let me say that aside from his renown as a
painter of hundreds of glorious pictures, Sir Joshua
has left many pleasant memories of his kind and
noble nature. It was shown very often in his great
love for children, whose portraits he was so wonder-
fully successful in delineating. Perhaps none of
his paintings are more famous than the two pictures
of little " Lady Penelope Boothby " and " The
Strawberry Girl," both of which St. NICHOLAS
already has shown you ; * and still another of his
beautiful pictures of this kind is the portrait of
little Miss Frances Harris, given as the frontispiece
of the present number. Sir Joshua had many girl
and boy friends to whom he was very much
attached, but perhaps he was most fond of the
sweet-faced Penelope Boothby, the only child
of Sir Brook Boothby. He was never too busy
with palette and brush to grant admittance at
the tiny knock of little Penelope, who often
would be taken by her faithful nurse to Sir
Joshua's studio, and left there for hours, to
beguile her " own, ownest friend " by her sweet
ways and her pretty turns of speech. The little
one was always ready to quietly pose for him,
whenever he wished to "take her picture." His
favorite way of portraying her was as she looked
when she was " dressed up " in a fine old cap of
his grandmother Reynolds, from which her baby face
beamed out upon him "like a ray from Heaven."
And now comes the story of the wonderful June
day when this little girl — scarcely then in her
sixth year — was missing from her pleasant home.
"High and low," all over the house, and
all about the lovely grounds, had her anx-
ious mamma, her young aunt Hester, and
every servant, looked after, and called for, their
little Penelope. She was nowhere to be found —
at least so it seemed — certainly not in the fine old
house, even in the most unused nook or corner.
Her own devoted nurse was very sick in bed that
day, and they did not, at first, venture to disturb
her with news of her missing pet. But, as the
vain search continued, they could not delay any
longer seeking wise Joan's advice and sympathy.
'^ Go to the studio for hcr,^' said the sick woman,
at once ; " this is one of the days when I take her
there." It seemed incredible to the distressed
family that their little child, hitherto so tenderly
guarded, could have attempted to thread her way
tlirough the crowded streets of London ! Yet,
they hastened to follow poor Joan's counsel without
delay, their hearts all the while filled with most
fearful forebodings. So, as soon as the carriage
and horses could be brought to the door, Mrs.
Boothby and her sister -were off at a quick pace,
you may be sure, for Leicester square, where Sir
Joshua had his studio.
They never forgot how long that summer morn-
ing's drive seemed to them, or how breathlessly
they each looked up and down every street they
passed through ; or how, several times during the
ride, now the mother, and again the aunt, would
fancy, for the moment, that 'she liad surely caught
a far away glimpse of the lost Penelope !
Their keen anxiety, however, was all over the
moment they stepped within the painter's rich
octagonal studio. For there, safe and happy
enough, they found the little runaway, under the
watchful care of Sir Joshua and his beautiful niece,
Offy Palmer. She was snugly curled up, fast
asleep after her long walk, in the elevated mahog-
an)' arm-chair where dukes and duchesses, lords
and ladies, and very many children, had sat for
their portraits.
Upon his little friend's unattended arrival, Sir
Joshua had immediately sent a messenger to her
home, to tell her parents of the child's safety.
But this messenger the mamma and aunt had
missed, unhappily, on account of their coachman's
having driven by a shorter route than the usual
one. But they were glad to feel that even before
they could reach home the sick nurse Joan, who
tenderly lo\-ed her little charge, would receive the
good tidings that little Penelope was safe.
You may well suppose that there were great and
wondering rejoicings at the large round tea-table
of the Boothbys, that same evening, especially
when the young daughter's remarkable promenade
was once more told anew to her doting papa, — Sir
Joshua at the same time dwelling uith renewed
delight upon his astonishment and pleased sur-
prise at the entrance of his little morning caller.
A very precious memory, too, did this incident
become to the loving heart of the great painter,
when, not long after, his sunny visitor passed on
before him into the better life.
* See St. Nicholas for November, 1875, and .April, 1876.
j88i.J
SIR JOSHUA AND LITTLE 1' L X K LO T E .
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38
T HE XE R .V E V ANCESTOR.
[November,
OLLIE'S DREAMS.
By Eudora M. Stone Bumstead.
Our Ollie went to his bed
With tears just back of his eyes,
And a pain, because, as his sister said,
He was "overly fond of pies."
He dreamed the dreadfullest dreams —
As dreadful as they could be ;
For a big, big piece of pie, it seems,
Is a bad, bad thing for tea.
He dreamed of a terrible snow
That fell from an inky sky,
And every flake that the winds did blow
Was big as a pumpkin pie !
All in a heap 't was laid,
While the rude winds laughed in glee.
But oh, the deep, deep drift that it made
Was a sad, sad thing to see !
Then he thought the Summer was dead.
And Winter would always stay ;
That an iceberg ledge was his only bed.
And a glacier his home by day.
And the Sun, too late he rose.
And he went to bed too soon.
And a long, long icicle hung from the nose
Of the cold, cold Man-in-the-moon.
He turned to his sister; oh.
How lonely and sad he felt
When he found she was made of ice and snow
Which a hug would be sure to melt !
Just think of the dreams he had,
As dreadful as dreams could be !
Oh, a big, big piece of pie is bad
For a small, small boy at tea !
THE VERNEY ANCESTOR.
By Paul Fort.
The Verney children were very proud of their
great-grandfather. It is not every boy and girl
who knows who his or her great-grandfather was.
The Verney children knew all about the individual
who occupied this position in their family ; and, as
I said before, they \i'ere very proud of him. Mr.
Verney, the children's father, took a great interest
in his family history; and once, when on a visit to
England, had traced back his line of ancestors to
the time of the Norman Conquest. To be sure,
the family name was then De Vernaye, but it
is well known that our forefathers often spelt their
names very differently from the way in which we
spell ours. There was also a break in the line
of ancestry from 1590 to 1670, during which period
a part of the family was supposed to have emi-
grated to America. A good many English fami-
lies did emigrate to America about this time, and
if the De Vernaye family were coming at all, it is
probable that they came then. There was also
another break from the period of this supposed
emigration down to the time of the great-grand-
father whom the Verney children knew all about.
But it was so evident in the mind of Mr. Verney
that these gaps could be satisfactorily filled up, if
he could only get hold of the proper records, that
the omissions in his line of ancestors did not
trouble him at all. While in England, he had
visited the old castle of the Guysters, into which
family the De Vernaycs were said to have married
about the time Mr. \'erney lost track of them. In
this castle was a mailed figure, seated in a chair,
which figure, Mr. Verney was positive from certain
marks on the armor, was intended to represent Sir
Leopold De X'^ernaye, who must have been his
ancestor.
Mr. Verney would have been very glad to buy
this figure and set it up in his library at home,
because very few, or none, indeed, of his friends
had mailed figures of their ancestors. But the
idea of having a mailed figure in his library was
so attractive to Mr. Verney that he bought a suit
of old armor in England and took it home w-ith
him. It was not such handsome armor as that
worn by the proud Sir Leopold, but it would do
very well, and was far better in his eyes than the
old Continental uniforms of which some of his
neighbors were so proud.
This suit of mail he had properly set up on a
pedestal in his library, which room was handsomely
furnished with old-fashioned chairs, a high clock,
and other furniture that looked as if it had belonged
at some time to ancient families.
The books had formerly been kept in the library,
i88t.]
THE VERNEY ANCESTOR.
39
but as the book-cases did not suit the other fur-
niture, they had been removed to an upper room.
This figure he showed to his friends as a speci-
men of the kind of armor his ancestors must have
worn. " The brave wearer of this mail," he would
say, '• had certainly done some hard fighting, and
these dents and those breaks in the mail were prob-
In course of time this suit of armor, and the
armed figure of the De Vernaye, about which
their father talked so much, became so mixed up
in the minds of the \'erney children, that they
really supposed that the figure of the mailed
knight in the library represented one of their an-
cestors, and before very long, some of tlie younger
"sir LEOPOLD DE VERNAYE."
ably made when he couched his lance or drew his
sword in the battles of Hastings and Marston .Moor."
Some of Mr. Verney's visitors, who remembered
English history, knew that this individual must
have lived a very long life indeed if he had fought
in both the battles of Hastings and Marston Moor,
but they were too polite to say anything about it.
visitors to the house actually began to think it
was the great-grandfather about whom the Verncys
talked so much.
The nearest neighbors and most intimate friends
of the Verneys were the Greens. The children
of this family had no idea who their Green great-
grandfather was. Their father was not living, and
40
THE VERNEY ANCESTOR.
[November,
their mother really did not know anything about
her husband's grandfather. She believed that he
had lived somewhere out West, but she was not
positive even about this. She knew who her own
grandfather was, but this did not matter, as she
herself did not actually belong to the Green
family. But in spite of this want of ancestry, the
Green children could run as fast, and jump as high,
and were just as clever at their lessons, and had as
good manners, as the Verney boys and girls with
their family line.
Leopold and Edgarda Verney, who were about
fifteen and sixteen years old, were very proud of
their high descent, and sometimes looked down
rather grandly upon the Greens ; whereas the chil-
dren of the latter family, especially Tom Green, a
tall boy of seventeen, were quite fond of making
fun of the Verneys' family pride.
One afternoon, Tom Green called to see Leopold
and Edgarda, but finding they were not at home,
he resolved to wait a little while for them, and sat
down in the library. While there, it struck him it
would be a good idea to try on the coat of mail
which stood in the room. He had often wished to
do this, for he desired very much to know how an
ancient knight had felt when clad in his heavy suit
of mill ; but he had never cared to ask permission,
for he knew the ^'erneys would not like it. But now
he thought it would be no harm just to try on the
things, and so, hastily removing the cuirass and
the other pieces of mail, and their props and sup-
ports, he put them, as well as he could, upon him-
self. He tried to walk about, but they were so
heavy he could scarcely move.
" If I wanted to fight anybody," he said to him-
self, "I should take these things off before I began."
He was just about to remove the awkward and
heavy mail, when he heard footsteps approaching
the library-door. " Here come Leopold and
Edgarda," he said to himself, " and I will give them
a little scare."
So saying, he took his stand upon the pedestal,
and put himself as nearly as possible in the position
in which the figure had been placed. But, instead
of the older brother and sister, there came into the
room two small children, Fitz Eustace and Rowena
Verney, with their little dog Tip. Pitz, as he was
generally called, wore a paper soldier-cap, and
carried a drum and a toy sword.
" Hello ! " he cried, when he came into the
room, "here is somebody I can fight with my new
sword. Nurse says I must n't fight \ou or Tip,
but I can't hurt our old 'cestor, so I am going to
fight him."
"You ought to say 'ancestor,'" said Rowena,
" and you ought n't to fight him either, for I guess
he was a very good man."
" I don't believe he was good," said Fitz, draw-
ing a chair near to the figure, " and I am going to
stand on this chair and whack his head."
" Why was n't he good ? " asked Rowena.
" Because he was a coward," said Fitz.
" Why was he a coward ? " asked Rowena, who
always had a "why" for everything.
" Because," answered Fitz, trying to reach the
helmet with his tin sword, "he wore these iron
clothes, which nobody could stick him through,
and did n't only fight other fellows W'ith iron
clothes, but he cut and jabbed the poor soldiers,
who had only common clothes on, which any
spear or sword could go through, knowing all the
time, too, that they could n't cut and jab him
back. Tom Green told me all this."
" I don't believe he was a coward at all," said
Rowena. " Edgarda has often read me stories
about these old knights, and they were always just
as kind to poor ladies and little children as ever
they could be. That is n't being a coward."
" But he did n't have to put on his iron clothes
to be kind," said Fitz. " It was only when he had
them on that he was a coward." And the boy-
made another crack at the figure's head.
" I don't believe he was ever anything of the
kind," said Rowena, taking the great mailed hand
affectionately in her own, while the little dog Tip
sniffed around the knight's feet in a way he had
never done before.
" This glove feels exactly as if it had fingers in
it," said Rowena.
At this moment the figure spoke.
"If I am a coward, young man," it said, "I
should like to know what you are."
At these words Fitz Eustace dropped into the
chair as if he had been shot, while Rowena stood
as if petrified by fear.
"Here is a boy," continued the figure, "who
comes and strikes a person who can not strike him
back, and then begins to call people cowards."
" I did n't know you was alive," said Fitz, almost
beginning to cry, while Rowena ran and threw her
arms around her brother.
" 1 suppose not," said the figure, "or you would
not have struck me. Do you know who I am ? "
"Yes, you are our 'cestor," said Fitz, preparing
to slip out of the chair.
" Well, then, you need n't run away," said the
figure. "You have seen me all your lives, and
you ought to know by this time that I will not
hurt you. Would you like to hear a story? "
The idea of hearing a story from anybody was
delightful to Rowena, and a story from the old
ancestor was something she could not resist,
frightened as she was ; so she whispered to her
brother :
THE VERKEV ANCESTOR.
41
" Let 's listen to his story. Mc can't move. He
can't hurt us."
Rowcna now clambered into the chair beside her
brother, and the figure proceeded.
" You think it is a fine thing, do you not," he
said, " to have an ancestor who has been very
grand and has done great deeds ? "
"Oh, yes, sir," said Rowcna, speaking for her-
self and Fitz, who had not yet recovered.
time of the year, the fairies used to preserve and
pickle a great quantity of chipply-berries."
"What are they, sir?" asked Rowena.
" They were a kind of berries the fairies were
very fond of There are none of them now, so
there is no use telling you what they were like.
They were the fairies' principal food during the
winter, and so they needed a great many of them
at preserving and pickling time. Therefore, on a
\ FKNIV 1 IIILIlKI r
l'M-:ii WITH THEIK ANCES'IUR.
"Well, then," said the 'cestor, " I want you to
pay particular attention to my story. Once there
was a fairy godmother. She had been godmother
to a great many children, but at the time I am
speaking of, she was godmother to only one boy
and a girl. Their names were Ramp and Bra-
mette. They were not brother and sister, but they
were acquainted with each other. At a certain
certain day of every year, the people of the coun-
try round about used to give up ewerylhing else,
and go to work gathering chipply-berries for the
fairies, for it was considered a great thing to be
on good terms with these little folk. When the
day for gathering chipply-ljcrries came, at the
time I tell you of, the fairy godmother called
Ramp and Bramette to her. ' I am very anxious,'
42
THE VERNEY ANCESTOR.
[November,
she said, ' that my two godchildren sliould dis-
tinguish themselves on this day; and, tlierefore, I
am going to offer a prize for you to work for.
Whichever of you succeeds the better in the
labors of to-day shall have this diamond, which
you see is as big as the largest chipply-beny.'
The children were delighted at this offer, and
ran away to the chipply-fields. In the evening
the fairy godmother came to see what they had
done. Bramette had a bushel-basket full of ber-
ries. ' Did you gather all these?' asked the fairy.
'Oh, no,' said Bramette, 'they were nearly all
gathered by my father and mother, my grand-
father and grandmother, who are the best chipply-
berry gatherers in this district.' 'But did not you
gather any of them ? ' asked the fairy. ' 1 believe
I did pick a few at first,' said Bramette, 'but 1
liked best to measure them as they were brought
in, to see how many we were getting.' 'Then
they are not really yours,' said her godmother.
'Oh, yes, they are,' answered Bramette. 'Father
and mother, and grandfather and grandmother,
said that 1 could call them all my own, so that I
might try for the prize. '
"'And what have you done ?' said the fair)-,
turning to Ramp. ' I have only gathered these,'
said the boy, producing a quart-pot full of chipply-
berries, ' but I think they are all good ones. '
' Yes,' said the fairy, turning them out, ' they are
fine, sound berries, but are these all you could
get ?' ' Yes, ma'am,' answered Ramp, ' I would n't
pick the little withered ones, and it was hard work
finding these big fellows. I had to climb all day
upon the hill-sides and among the rocks.' 'The
diamond is yours,' said the fairy godmother.
' What you have brought, you have gathered
yourself, and all the credit is your own. Bramette
owes her berries entirely to her parents and grand-
parents. She has a great many more berries than
you have, but she gathered none of them herself.
Let this be a lesson to you, Bramette,' she con-
tinued. 'It is very well that your father and
mother, and grandfather and grandmother, are
the best chipply-beny gatherers in the district;
but that makes you no better, and gives you no
reason to think well of yourself. If you wish to be
justly proud, you must do something to be proud
of, and not rely on what your ancestors have done.'
"That is my story," said the figure, "and I wish
you to remember it, and to tell it to your older
brother and sister. Don't 1 hear them now, com-
ing in at the front door ? "
"Yes, sir," cried Fitz and Rowena. And they
instantly jumped down from the chair and ran to
tell the wonderful news to Leopold and Edgarda,
while, the moment they were out of the room, Tom
Green made haste to take off his hot and heavv
armor, which had begun to be very uncomfortable,
and to set it up .as it was before.
As soon as the two children met their brother
and sister in the hall, they began to talk together.
"What do you think!" cried Fitz. "The
'cestor has been telling us a story ! "
" He talked just like a real man ! " said Rowena.
" What ! " exclaimed Leopold.
" He said he was not a coward ! " cried Rowena.
" And they gathered chipply-berries," cried Fitz.
"What ! " exclaimed their sister Edgarda.
" And he said if you want to do a thing you
must do it yourself," said Rowena.
" .\nd Ramp only got a quart-pot full," cried
Fitz.
" What ! " exclaimed Leopold.
" And people are cowards when they strike peo-
ple and can't get struck back," said Rowena.
" And they pickled and preserved them," cried
Fitz.
" What ! " exclaimed Edgarda.
" .And it don't do for your grandfathers to work
for you," said Rowena.
"And they must have been awful good, and
Bramette had a whole bushel of them," said Fitz.
" What do you mean ? " cried Leopold.
" But Ramp did his own work," said Rowena.
"I wish I had been Bramette!" cried Fitz.
" She must have had chipply-berries enough for
all the fairies and herself too."
" What are you talking about ? " asked Ed-
garda.
" But then. Ramp got the diamond," said
Rowena.
'■ But he could n't eat that," said Fitz.
At this moment, Tom Green walked into the
hall from the library.
" Why, Tom ! " cried Leopold. " Where did you
come from ? "
" I have been here some little time, and I just
waited in the library for you to come home."
" Oh, I know now ! " exclaimed Edgarda. " 1
know all about it. You have been putting on that
armor in the library, and playing a trick on these
children."
" Well," said Tom, laughing, " it was n't exactly
a trick. I was only trying to tell them a story "
" H.ad it a moral ? " asked Leopold.
" Well — yes," answered Tom, hesitatingly, " it
did have a kind of a moral. "
"What was it? " asked Edgarda.
"I can't put it into exactly the right words,"
said Tom, "but I meant it to carry out my idea,
that I would rather the people I know should be
proud of me, than to be proud myself of anybody
who is dead. But I did not come here to say all
this. I came to talk about the Archery Club."
i8Si.]
T H E C A R N 1 V U K 1 S T 1 C t) U S OUNCE.
43
THK CARNl VORISTICOUS OUNCE.
Bv Mks. M. K. Ki.akk.
There once was a beast called an Ounce,
Who went with a spring and a bounce.
His head was as flat
As the head of a cat,
This quadrui)edantical Ounce,
'Tical Ounce,
This quadrupcdantical Ounce.
You 'd think from his name he was small,
But that was not like him at all; —
He weighed, 1 '11 be bound.
Three or four hundred pound.
And he looked most uncommonly tall.
'.Monly tall.
He looked most uncommonly tall.
He sprang on his prey with a pounce.
And gave it a jerk and a trounce ;
Then crunched up its bones
On the grass or the stones.
This camivoristicous Ounce,
'Ticous Ounce !
This camivoristicous Ounce !
When a hunter he 'd meet on the shore,
He 'd give a wild rush and a roar —
His claws he 'd unsheath.
And he 'd show all his teeth, —
But the man would be seen nevermore,
Ne\-ermore !
The man would be seen nevermore 1
I 'd rather — 1 'm telling you true —
Meet with three hundred weight of a Gnu,
A .Sea- Horse or Whale,
Or a Cow with a tail,
Th,-in an Ounce of this kind — would n't j'dii/
Would n't you ?
Than an Ounce of this kind — would nU you?
t^vn^
44
HOW JOHNNYS BIRTHDAY WAS KEPT.
[No
HOW JOHNNY'S BIRTHDAY WAS KEPT.
By Emma K. Parrish.
Johnny Podge was writing invitations to a
birthday party, which was to take place the next
Saturday, owing to his being eleven years of age
on that day. He had hurried home from school
and partaken hastily of a few doughnuts, just to
ward off utter starvation ; and now he was seated
at a little stand in the kitchen, with his head low
down on his left arm, and his eyes rolling after the
strokes of his awkward pen.
He had ended one invitation with "Yours
respectively," and another with "Yours respecta-
bly," and he was thinking whether some other
word would n't be better, when his mother, who
was making bread at the kitchen table, remarked :
" How it does snow ! but I hope it will be pleas-
ant on Saturday."
"What for?" asked Johnny, innocently.
" Why, for your party, of course."
Johnny laughed slyly. He knew well enough
"what for," but he liked all the direct allusions to
his party that could be obtained, and his mother's
first remark had not been pointed enough. Feel-
ing very good-natured, now that he had had his
little joke, he condescended to ask his mother's
advice about wording the invitations.
"Would you say, 'Please come to a birthday
party to Johnny Podge's'? or would you say,
' Come to my house to a party next Saturday ' ? "
"Oh, 1 don't know," said his mother, musingly,
as she patted a loaf into shape. " Seems to me
they put it a little different, but I can't remember
how. You 'd better wait until Pa comes ; he '11
know all about it. Pa 's been a great party
man."
"Oh, I can't wait; I have so many to write, I
sha' n't have them ready if I don't hurry."
Johnny laboriously completed his third invita-
tion, and addressed it to a little girl ; and, as she
was a very nice little girl, and very saucy, too, he
was troubled in mind on account of a large blot
with which he had inadvertently adorned the last
line of his note.
Then there came a soft knock at the back door.
" Go to the door, Johnny ; my hands are all in
the dough, " said his mother.
Johnny opened the door, and there stood no-
body ; but, in a moment, Hugh McCoUom peered
around the corner of the shed.
" Say, come out a minute, wont you ? " he whis-
pered.
"Oh, come in," said Johnny; "it snows so."
"No, you come out; I want to speak to you."
And he held to view a large square parcel, wrapped
in brown paper.
Johnny stepped out and closed the door.
" Now," began Hugh ; and then he stopped and
untied the parcel nervously. His face showed that
he had been crying, in the way that boys' faces
sometimes demonstrate grief, namely, by pale
marks where the tears had washed their way.
" What 's the matter? " asked Johnny. " What
makes your face so streaked ? "
"Mother, she 's sick, and the doctor he said the
medicine would n't cost much, and it costs a dol-
lar. I 've got a quarter, but the drug man
would n't give me less than a dollar's worth ; so I
thought if you 'd let me have the other seventy-
five cents, I 'd give you all my pictures. You
know you wanted to buy them, once ? "
Johnny had been eager to buy the pictures when
he first saw them, but just now he wanted all his
pennies to buy refreshments for Saturday's festivi-
ties ; and, for a few seconds, he felt very miserly,
and wished Hugh had staid away. But he
remembered a good many things during those
seconds, — among others, that he once was sick
himself, and that it was dreadful to be sick; so he
said, with a little sigh, as he thought of the van-
ishing candies : " Come in, and let 's look at them.
1 think I '11 buy them."
Hugh came in, hesitatingly, and took off his cap
to Mrs. Podge.
"How do you do, Hughie ? and is your ma
well?" asked Mrs. Podge.
"No, ma'am ; she 's sick."
"Why, what 's the matter with her?"
"The doctor said, a fever on her lungs."
" Oh dear ! but that is bad ! I must go over to
see her this very evening."
Johnny brought out his diary, in which he kept
his money, and he encouraged Hugh to spread the
drawings on the kitchen table, where they called
forth volumes of admiration from Mrs. Podge.
" I never saw anything half so beautiful ! " she
exclaimed. " Did you do them yourself, Hughie? "
"Yes, 'm," said Hugh, meekly; "an' Johnny,
he said may be he 'd buy them."
" The doctor gave him a perskiption, an' it costs
a dollar to make it," said Johnny, explaining,
"and Hughie said he 'd take seventy-five cents
for the pictures ; but 1 'm not going to keep them
all," he added, bravely.
l88i.]
now JOHNNY S BIKTUDAV was KEl'T.
45
"Oh, yes, you can have even- one," said Hugh,
earnestly.
" No, my son," said Mrs. Podge, shaking her
head. " You sha' n't take them all. That would
be as bad as robbing the fatherless. I know
they 're worth a great deal of money ; Mrs. Blakely
has pictures in her parlor, no handsomer than
these, that cost three dollars apiece ! It might
have been the frames, though — they had beautiful
gold frames, with red cord and everything. But
you must take only a few, Johnny."
Johnny counted out seventy-tlvc cents, which
left the little pocket of his diary almost empty,
and handed the money to Hughic, with several of
the drawings.
Hughie's noon hours and evenings and Satur-
days were mostly spent with his pencil, which per-
haps accounted for his weak eyes, into which the
tears would keep coming, as he shoved on his cap
and hurried away « ith the remainder of his draw-
ings, muttering a choked sort of " thank ye " as he
went out.
He ran to the drug store, and again presented
the prescription, this time laying down the money
with it. His mother thought he had been gone a
long time, but it was not her way to complain, and
when he returned, she merely asked :
" Did you get the medicine ? "
" Here it is, mother," said Hugh, joyfully. He
brought a cup from the pantry, and prepared the
medicine as directed by the label on the bottle.
The rest of his drawings he had left in the wood-
shed. He had quietly abstracted them from his
box without his mother's knowledge, and in like
manner they were returned when the medicine had
accomplished the soothing effect of putting her to
sleep ; and so the good woman did not know for
many days of the sacrifice the boy had made in
parting with his treasured drawings. He stirred
around softly, putting coal in the stove, and getting
his supper of oatmeal porridge and baked potatoes,
with a mind immensely relieved, for he had per-
fect faith in medicine of any sort, if only prescribed
by a doctor.
Mrs. McCollom was ver\- poor, and it did seem
as if she always would be. The neighbors occa-
sionally had spasms of generosity, in which they
gave her all the help her Scotch pride would per-
mit ; but these did not go far nor last long, and
before any one knew it, down she was again, poorer
than ever.
Johnny Podge was very silent at supper that
evening, and seemed to be meditating something
unpleasant and perplexing.
" Mrs. McCollom is sick," said Mrs. Podge, to
her husband, " and I think I '11 run around there
when the baby's asleep."
So, when the dishes were washed, and the baby
was asleep in the cradle, Mrs. Podge put a shawl
over her head, and went to sec Mrs. McCollom.
"Is Hugh's mother very sick?" Mr. Podge
inquired of Johnny, as he sat rocking the cradle.
" Yes, Pa ; an' I bought some pictures of him to
pay for medicine, an' I 've only got about thirteen
cents left ; an' Pa, I was thinking prob'ly you
would n't want to spare more 'n the three dollars
you promised, so may be 1 can't have the party
this time."
'• Well, my son, wont three dollars be enough ? "
" No, for I was going to have about twenty come,
and I 'd want as much as six pounds of candy, so
as not to look stingy, and 1 promised Ma I 'd pay
for the raisins if she 'd put 'em in thick in the cake ;
and there 's a lot of other things to get, besides.
I have n't invited anybody yet, and I could get out
of having the party, easy : and may be you 'd let
Hughic have the money, instead. He's an awful
good boy to his mother."
" How many have you told about the party ? "
asked his father.
" Nobody but one boy; he sits with me, and I
told him not to tell."
" Probably not more than twenty boys know
about it by this time, then," said his father, laugh-
ing.
" Oh, no ! he said ' honest injun ' he would n't
tell, and he 's an awful good boy," said Johnny.
" His name is Harry Holdclose."
" His name is enough recommendation," said
Mr. Podge, with another laugh.
The vow of " honest injun," in Johnny's opinion,
was one of great solemnity, and he had never
known a boy so depraved as to break it.
Mr. Podge thought the matter over as he rocked
the cradle and gazed out of the window at the sky
bright with a full moon and ever so many stars.
The storm was all gone, and nothing was left to
remember it by, excepting the snow.
Mrs. Podge returned a little depressed. It was
quite late, and Johnny had fallen asleep on the
kitchen lounge. " I never did see folks quite so
poor, but everything is just as neat ! .-Xnd that
Hughic, he can make porridge and get his own
supper, and fix the wet towels on his mother's
head just as nice ! I only wish Johnny was as
handy. But we 've got to do something for them,
Joseph. If it was n't for Johnny's party we 've
promised him, we might spare a few dollars." Mrs.
Podge was quite out of breath with saying so much.
"Johnny has just been at me to give over the
party," said Mr. Podge, in his kindest voice.
" Whatever in the world is that for? Why, he
was a-writing his invitations as busy and happy as
you could ask ! "
46
HOW johnny's BIRTIIUAY WAS KEPT.
LNovember,
" He has spent nearly all his party-money for
those drawings, and he kind of hinted, would I
put in the three dollars I promised, for Hugh's
folks, instead," said Mr. Podge.
" The dear little soul ! I do believe, sometimes,
Joseph, that Johnny is growing a good boy," said
Mrs. Podge, in a loud, happy whisper.
" That was better than forty parties ! " Johnny
thought ; but his father and mother never knew
that he had heard it, and he lay like a little 'pos-
sum, waiting for further praises. None being forth-
coming, however, he thought it prudent to stretch
himself and go through the motions of waking up.
" Pa says you talk of giving up the party," said
his mother, gently, when he arose from the lounge.
"Yes, ma'am; I don't care much about it any
more, and I thought you an' Pa would just as lief
give the money to Hughie's folks. I believe I '11
go up to bed now, Ma."
His mother kissed his sleepy face, and his father
touched Johnny's hair with his fingers, and said,
" Good-night, my son ! "
So Mrs. Podge, the next day, carried the three
dollars to Mrs. McCollom, who was too ill to
refuse it ; and Hughie bought, at his discretion,
such things as they most needed, and the neighbor-
women took turns sitting up o' nights with his
mother.
Now, Johnny's school-fellow, with the remarka-
ble name, had to be informed that the party was
given up, and, to Johnny's satisfaction, he found
that Harry had never said a word about it to any-
body. But this young keeper of secrets was an
inquisitive boy, and he wanted to know why the
party had been given up. Johnny, however,
utterly refused to tell, partly because he did n't
want to brag, and partly for fear Hughie would
find out about it.
But Harry Holdclose was a boy with a very busy
brain, and, suspecting that there was a disappoint-
ment somewhere, it entered into his kind heart to
devise a plan. This plan was neatly outlined at
recess, and fully completed at noon.
The day was Thursday, which, as we all know,
is just two days before Saturday ; and before
school was out that evening, all the boys and girls
in Johnny's class, and some privileged ones in
other classes, were in a buzz of excitement over the
"s'prise party at Johnny Podge's, Saturday night,
you know ! "
All but Johnny. He was a little speck sulky,
because there was so much whispering and laugh-
ing, the nature of which he could n't guess. And
it was the same all through Friday ; and at night,
when the scholars trooped along in clusters and
crowds, Johnny went moping silently home. Even
Hughie seemed to have joined the rest, and Johnny
felt deserted and forlorn, and his mother's heart
ached for him when she thought of the pleasure
he had given up.
But by the next morning he had forgotten his
vexation, and all the forenoon he was deep in a
beautiful book his mother had given him. After
dinner, he hurried with his Saturday errands, so as
to have some fun with his sled before the snow
should melt. It was a cloudless day, and the sun
shone magnificently.
"What lovely weather for the party!" Mrs.
Podge thought, with a sigh ; and she wondered if
Johnny was very much disappointed.
Johnny had a good time with his sled that after-
noon, and, toward sunset, Hughie joined him.
Mrs. McCollom was better, and the kind woman
who had come to spend that evening with her had
urged Hughie to run out and take the air a little
while. When dark set in, and Johnny went home
to supper, unusually happy at heart, his mother
ventured to say :
"Well, Johnny, we 've had a pretty good time
without the party, have n't we .'' "
" 1 've had a gay time with my book, and
Hughie, and everything, and 1 'm hungry as a
bear," said Johnny.
Papa Podge, if I may so allude to him, did n't
come home until ten o'clock on Saturday nights,
for he was a clerk in a little dry-goods store, which
had a habit of sitting up late evenings on Satur-
day, for customers ; so, when there came a tre-
mendous knock at the front door, giving Mrs.
Podge "such a dreadful start," there was no one
to answer it but herself and Johnny, and, being
the least bit timid, they both went, and carried
the baby along, too.
"My goodness! is it a fire?" exclaimed Mrs.
Podge, as she opened the door and saw what
seemed like a hundred people clustered in front
of the house, all as still as mice.
"S'prise!" said a boy who stood close to the
steps.
This was Harry Holdclose.
"S'prise! S'prise!" said the other boys and
girls, a good many times over, as they tumbled
laughingly into the house.
Dear ! how merry that evening was I The little
parlor overflowed into the dining-room, and that
into the kitchen ; and it did seem as if every
corner contained a boy, while the girls flitted
about the rooms like fairies and chattered like
parrots. Hughie was there, too, his face shining
with joy, and his generous heart beating many
strokes faster with pleasure at the honor shown
his friend and patron.
They played a good many games, all of a lively
character, and were in the midst of the enchant-
i8Si.|
HOW JOHNNY'S lilRTllDAV WAS KEPT.
47
mcnts and vicissitudes of "Copenhagen" when the
astonished Mr. I'odge arrived. Suddenly, Johnny
heard the door open, and his father say: "What-
ever, in all the world I "
" It 's a surprise on Johnny ! " said Mrs. Podge,
her face glowing with pride and pleasure.
At the sound of his father's voice, Johnny
sprang out, scattering a little crowd of girls, and
cried : "Oh, Pa, I tliii have a party, after all ! "
"Yes, I see you did. my son,*' said Mr. Podge,
who seemed to feel that the occasion rct|uired a
speech; "and 1 heartily thank all these young
ladies and gentlemen for the honors they have
heaped upon us all, 1 may s.iy. My young friends,
you are very welcome to this house, and may you
live long in joy and prosperity."
It is true that Mr. Podge's words were almost
drowned in the general merriment ; but nobody
minded that ; on the contrar)-, they all rushed
upon him without waiting for introductions, and
dragged him into the game, wliich he enjoyed
wonderfully. Then the girls got their packages
of cake and cookies, and the boys their papers of
candy, and nuts, and oranges ; and, ar. there
was n't a table in the house large enough, nor a
room that would begin to hold them all, they
passed the refreshments around on plates and
saucers, and sat and stood everywhere, eating and
making merry. Such a jolly party Johnny never
had seen. He had n't dreamed of anything half
BO nice in his wildest moments, when he had beei>
laying his own plans.
As for Mrs. Podge, there never was so proud
and happy a little woman. She felt sure it was
the highest honor that had ever been paid to any
member of her family, far or near, and she thought
it was all owing to Johnny's goodness. " He must
be a great favorite at school," she thought.
Dear, innocent heart ! it was the wise boy who
sat with Johnny who deserved the honor and the
glory of that festive occasion.
Johnny fully understood and appreciated this
fact ; but he went to bed none the less happy for
having been the subject of a " s'prisc," and more
than satisfied with the way in which his birthday
had been kept.
(Jil, dear Papa!" three children cried,
" You promised, don't you know ?
That next when you should take a ride
.Ml three of us should go."
I Diu," that father said. " \''m knou-
1 never speak at random.
So get your roller-skates. We
Off in a tearing tandem ! "
48
THE FAIRY S GIFT.
[November,
iVV>|Aj- SH^LL- IT- BE'
A\y- LITJLE-AAA^ID?
T^fE|^|•LISJE^i•
WITH -305^ -CLIcl^J
^iJRrSlj IN/ fjo'
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hlE-sJM/^ER^EAy.
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pI^TTy•/v\/^^lD -W/^s.
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HEAiV^ Wi^S-HEAVV'V^lTH'REpif^lNO.* | l
l83i.]
THE KAIRY S GIFT.
49
A- SUDDEN- FOOTSTE p- SO U rJ O E D • ^JEAR•
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LABOR-LIGHTEIs/-'
|NY- 5>\<i)-Th^E-DA^E
[•BRINCa-THV-LIFE-JO.
fiR^iaHTEN-
VOL. IX.— 4.
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WHAT- COA\/^ANl
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THE FAIRY S GIFT.
[November,
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SLOV/«
Jin] . EVER^- DI/ApLED-F»Nl&.ER^
l88i.
ONE DAY ON A r)r:SKRT ISLAND.
51
TOMMV {WHO HAS INSISTED UPON WEARING HIS NEW SUIT TO CHURCH ON THANKS-
GIVING DAV): — "jingo! here comes THE PLATE, AND I 'VE LEFT
THAT NICKEL IN MV OTHER KNICKERBOCKERS ! "
ONE DAY ON A DESERT ISLAND.
By Danikl C. Beard.
It was the 30th of May, and the waters of the
great ocean rose and fell slowly, regularly, as if old
Atlantic were gently slumbering. The sun had
not yet appeared, but the rose color that tinged
the mist along the eastern horizon betrayed his
ambush. A slight haze rendered objects at a dis-
tance somewhat indistinct, softening and almost
obliterating the line where sky and ocean met. A
breeze so gentle as scarcely to ripple the surface
of the water fanned the cheeks of three boys
standing in a small cat-boat, gazing eagerly ahead
toward a low island.
Had you seen the boys, you would at once have
noted something familiar in their general appear-
ance, and could scarcely have failed to recognize
them as old acquaintances, for who does not know
" Tom, Dick, and Harry" ? You would also soon
have discovered that they were on a holiday.
An examination of their " traps," or personal bag-
gage, stowed forward, out of reach of salt water,
would have shown Tom to be an amateur natural-
ist, Dick a sportsman, and Harry an artist.
"Well, what is it.' Sea-serpent, octopus, or
wild goose ? " asked Dick, as Tom leveled a spy-
glass at some distant object on the water.
" A pair of great northern divers," answered
Tom, " and you may as well put up your new,
patent, double-back-action breech-loader, for you
would have to load with expedited chain-lightning
to hit one of them, even if we should get within
gunshot."
"We'll see about that," growled Dick, as he
pushed a couple of wire cartridges into his pet
breech-loader. Harry, who had the tiller, headed
the "Nomad," as their boat was named, straight
for the birds. The breeze was light, and the
boat glided through the smooth waters, leaving
noiseless little ripples in her wake.
As the "Nomad" neared them, the divers seemed
not in the least afraid ; now and again one would
disappear in the water, leaving only two rings upon
the surface to tell where it had been. Tom timed
them, and found that they sometimes remained
under water nearly a minute and a half.
52
ONE DAY ON A DESERT ISLAND.
[November,
While thus engaged, he was startled by two loud
reports near his head, bang ! bang ! The two
birds disappeared like magic, the same instant
that two charges of shot splashed up the water on
the very spot they had left.
Tom laughed, as he turned to Dick with a
" Did n't I tell you so ! "
But the sportsman could not believe they had
been too quick for him, and he insisted that one
must certainly have been hit. However, the
speedy re-appearance of the divers at a good safe
distance, paddling playfully around, convinced him
to the contrary.
Meanwhile the breeze had died out, and the
boys turned their eyes impatiently toward the dis-
tant island.
While Harry was regretting the time wasted in
chasing " those loons," as he called them, he de-
scried a man in a row-boat putting out from the
island. " Now we are all right, boys," he ex-
claimed, "for that 's Billy Whetmore, from the
light-house, coming to take us ashore."
Feeling relieved on this score, the boys turned
'• We give it up. What are they ? " asked Harry.
"Watch," answered Tom, pointing to one that
had been sailing much nearer the boat than the
others. The bird seemed to hesitate a moment in
the air, then suddenly down it came with a mighty
swoop from its dizzy height, striking the water
astern of the " Nomad" with a great splash. After
a few vigorous flaps with its wings, the bird rose
again, with its prey glistening in its talons.
"There's a fisherman for you, Dick!" cried
Tom ; ' ' one who fishes without bait or line, and
carries his fish-hooks on his toes. He is, in other
words, the American osprey."
" 'Nomad,' ahoy!" shouted some one close by,
and the next instant the red, jolly face of the light-
house keeper's son appeared over the side, as he
scrambled from his dory aboard the " Nomad."
Harry, grasping his hand, welcomed him with,
" Well, old Robinson Crusoe, how 's your desert
island?" And turning to his companions, he in-
troduced " Mr. Whetmore, 'Billy' Whetmore, the
best sailor and fisherman in these waters."
" I reckon the island 's all there," said Billy,
.■^■UL.iD KOCK. 5HOKE OF THE DEbEKT IsLAMJ.
their attention to some large birds that sailed about "but if you '11 dish me up a sweep, I will have
overhead. you all ashore in a jiffy, and you can see for your-
" Eagles?" said Dick, inquiringly. selves."
" Guess again," said Tom. In a comparatively short time the "Nomad" was
8..]
ONE HAY ON A DKSKRT ISLAND.
53
riding at anchor in a rocky little cove, and the
crew were all ashore upon the Desert Island.
The boys felt just then more like investigating
the light-house kitchen than the Desert.
It was se\-en o'clock when they sat down to a
steaming hot breakfast of blackfish, cakes, and
coffee, and many an old dyspeptic epicure would
give a year of his life for the ability to relish a
meal as Tom, Dick, and Harry enjoyed that one.
Breakfast over, the crew of the " Xomad "
lounged on a bench upon a bluff in front of the
light-house, while Billy Whetmore was rigging up
fish-lines, hooks, bait, etc.
Harry began to make a sketch of an osprey's-
nest on one of the rocks below.
This particular rock was a very peculiar one, its
resemblance to an animal being so striking that it
is named " Dog's-Head Rock." On the back of
this stone dog the fish-hawk's home was built.
So the sketch was dubbed " The castle
on the rock." At the suggestion of
Billy Whetmore, the calm waters rip-
pling around the rock were, in the
sketch, whipped up into a storm. "It
makes it seem more natural, like," Bill
said.
The wild birds that filled the air with
their screeches and cries were pointed
out, classified, and named by our young
naturalist, who further entertained his
companions with an account of the fish-
hawk or American osprey, telling how
much more cleanly and noble a bird it
is than its European relative, never
touching anything but fish ; while, ac-
cording to F'iguier, the European osprey
frequently feeds upon wild fowl and
carrion. He explained, also, how some
of the older naturalists sanctioned an
extravagant romance concerning the
construction of this bird's feet, one of
which was supposed to be webbed and
formed like that of a duck, for swim-
ming, while the other had the talons
ag|^^ of an eagle, for grasping prey.
'^'^^B Tom also told how a friend captured
^ a young osprey just before it was ready
to leave the nest, and with the aid of a
companion attempted to carry it home,
holding it by the ends of its out-
stretched wings to avoid its sharp beak and talons.
.Suddenly the bird flopped completely over, break-
ing one wing badly at the second joint. Thinking
that the wounded bird might recover best under
the care of its parents, it was left at the foot of the
nest tree, where the old ones could feed it. After
an absence of some hours, the friends returned to
see how the patient progressed, and were some-
what surprised to find that the old birds had killed
their crippled young, by striking their sharp beaks
through its neck and throat.
Once fairly started on his favorite topic, there
was no telling when Tom's lecture would end, but
a loud " Peow ! Pe-ow ! " from Bill Whetmore, on
the beach, notified them that all was ready for the
blackfishing expedition.
The fishing-grounds lay between this island and
the Long Island shore, a distance of some three-
quarters of a mile, in a rocky, dangerous inlet,
through which the tides rush so fiercely as to fleck
the many jutting ledges with foam.
Rigged out from top to toe in oil-skin " togs,"
the party were seated in a row-boat. Bill Whet-
more took the oars and began to back out stern
foremost among the half-submerged rocks, into
the midst of a whirling, bubbling tide that ran with
54
ONE DAY ON A DESERT ISLAND.
[November,
the velocity of rapids. The boys fairly held their
breath as their little boat dashed, with the speed
of an arrow, at first one and then another of the
sharp edges, against which the rushing tide boiled
and spun in a dangerous manner. Shooting rapids
in a canoe was child's play to this. Just as the
destruction of the boat and the consequent duck-
ing of all hands seemed inevitable, a dexterous
jerk of Bill's oar this way or that would send the
boat in safety past the rock, only to make a hair-
breadth escape from its next neighbor.
Before they reached the fishing-ground the boys
were, to use the mildest term, considerably excited,
but Whetmore was as cool and collected as though
paddling in the calm waters of the bay. The thor-
ough knowledge of every little eddy and cross-cur-
rent, the skill displayed in taking advantage of
them and managing the boat, aroused the boys'
highest admiration. They moved out in a zigzag
course toward a point where two tides met, and
where, although there was no wind, the meeting
of the currents lashed the waters into tumbling
white-caps.
Backing up to the edge of a whirlpool, one anchor
was cast from the bow into the midst of the seeth-
ing waters, the boat was quickly backed until the
line was taut, then another anchor, cast from the
stern, was made fast, and the boat was swinging
easily and safely in smooth water, with the tide
rushing wildly around ugly rocks a few feet to the
right, and bubbling over a submerged reef a yard
or so to the left. From this vantage ground the
boys commenced hostilities against the blackfish ;
" chumming " for them, Bill called it, meaning that
chopped bait (lobster and clams) was strewn over
the sides of the boat for some time, to attract the
fish. After two hours' good sport, they started on
the return trip towing sixty pounds of blackfish
astern.
In the old dining-room of the light-house each
boy paid his involuntary compliment to their host's
dinner ; and their remarks on his skill as a boat-
man made Bill blush through all his twenty years'
tan and weather-stain.
'■ 1 tell you that was a plucky row, and it required
some nerve, too," said Dick.
"Yes," added Tom, "when a man loves his
profession, and gives it his whole mind and atten-
tion, he can accomplish wonders."
" Well," remarked Harry, grandly," if I had the
knowledge of art that Bill has of boats, tides,
winds, and weather, I 'd always be on the line at
the academy."
Dinner over, an exploring expedition through the
island had its separate attractions for each of the
boys, and they started, Dick with his breech-loader
and game-bag, Tom with numerous boxes and bags
for capturing and conveying specimens, and Harry
with sketch-book and pencils.
" I guess you had better keep away from that
old hawk on the wood-pile," was Bill's parting
remark, as the party left the light-house.
Once away from the building, it seemed to the
boys as though the whole island was alive with
birds ; the sand bluff in front was fairly honey-
combed by the hundreds of bank swallows that
twittered and fluttered in clouds about their homes.
Inland, the long sand-stretches were dotted with
occasional trees, so dwarfed, twisted, knotted, and
gnarled, by poverty of soil below, and severity of
storms above, that each was more like an over-
grown gooseberry bush than a legitimate tree. The
ospreys had taken possession of every available spot
to build their nests, and when they build it is no
delicate moss and twig structure, fastened with
horse-hair, and lined with soft feathers or wool, but
a solid affair, one nest occupying a whole tree. It
has a foundation of sticks, clubs, and pieces of tim-
ber so large and heavy that it would seem an
impossibility for any bird to move them. Piled
up, sometimes to the height of five feet, is fully
a cart-load of sponges, sea-weed, and debris- of
all kinds, picked up along the beach ; on the top
of this mass is the nest proper, hollowed out like a
basin, lined with grasses and soft material. Many
such massive nests as this were scattered over trees
and rocks, and even on the bare ground. Tom
called the boys' attention to this, saying that
" according to the works on natural history that
lie had seen, the American osprey, or fish-hawk,
invariably built in the tops of the tallest trees. Baird
gives as exceptional instances a nest found in a
small pine in Maine and another upon a cliff on
the Hudson River, and I believe Audubon found
one or two on the ground."
One of the first nests they approached was built
on the top of a pile of wood, and from the wariike
looks of the two old birds and the peculiar location
of their nest, the boys concluded that this must be
the old hawk Bill had warned them against molest-
ing. So of this nest Harn- decided he must have
a sketch, and seating himself comfortably at a
short distance, he began to work, while the other
boys sauntered on. The old birds looked on sus-
piciously for some time ; at length one of them took
wing and after soaring to a considerable height, he
made a sudden dart down toward Harr)', with a
shrill cry and a rushing noise that caused our
startled amateur artist to drop everything and
scamper off with very undignified rapidity. And
it was some time before he dared steal back after
his book and pencils. That sketch was never
finished.
As Harry reluctantly left the wood-pile nest, the
iSSi.l
ONK DAY ON A DESERT ISLAND.
i3
popping of Dick's gun along the beach told plainly
enough that its owner was enjoying the day, in a
way to suit his tastes.
Off in the distance Tom was visible, standing
motionless, gazing intently on the ground, while
around and over his head circled and flew scores
of swallow-like birds. As Harry approached the
spot, he could see that the birds were much
too large for swallows, and were peculiarly marked
with white, giving the effect of an open space
between the tip and main part of the wings. The
air was full of them, and they darted by close to
his ears with a whirring noise.
Harry found Tom on his knees apparently
searching for something in the sand.
"I say, Tom, if you have lost )our senses, you
will never find them again without a microscope,"
was Harr>'s salutation.
" I think I must have lost one of my senses at
least," responded Tom, " for I had my eye fixed
upon the exact spot where a bird was sitting, but
NIOMT.IIAWK.
when the bird flew off, and I stooped to pick
up the two eggs I knew must be there — presto,
change, — and they were gone. You know, my boy,
these night-hawks don't build nests, but deposit
their eggs upon a flat rock, or on the ground.
The eggs are small, and so closely do they resem-
ble the ground or lichens in color and markings
that it is next to impossible to find them."
" 'T is, eh ? Well, that depends upon who it is
that is hunting them," cried Harry, as he stooped
and picked up something at his feet which he
handed to his friend, with : " Here, friend nat-
uralist. You sec, an artist must have a good eye
to distinguish delicate shades of color."
" Thanks, old fellow," and Tom, taking from his
pocket a small blow-pipe, made a hole at each end
of the eggs and blew out the contents; then plac-
*See St. Nicholas for
ing them carefully each in a separate box, he
marked the boxes, " May 30th, 1881. Desert Isl-
and, Chordeiles popeliie j location, open, sandy
flats."
Here Harry, who had been watching Tom,
spoke :
" Cordelia Puppets, are they ? Well, that proves
how ignorant we of the masses are. Now I
always thought these birds were whip-poor-wills."
" Not so awfully ignorant as you would make
out," responded Tom; "although these are not
wliip-poor-wills, but night-hawks, or bull bats,
they all belong to the same family, the goat-
suckers, or Caprimiilgidic. Hereafter you can
inform inquiring friends that these night-hawks,
although related, are an entirely different bird from
the Anirosloinus or whip-poor-will."
"Well, if you will but let up on those jaw-
breaking words — 'scientific terms,' I should say —
for just one moment, I was going to tell you that
I found two of these ' Cordelia puppet ' night-
hawks sitting on eggs upon the top of the man-
sard roof of our house in Boston. "
"That's worth recording," said Tom, taking
out his note-book and jotting down the fact.
Walking on together, the boys found many ob-
jects of interest, and at Tom's request Harry made
a sketch of one of the osprey-nests, to illustrate
and prove the assertion that the American species
will not molest other birds — for in the interstices
on the sides of this nest were half a dozen or more
homes of the crow blackbird, some containing eggs.
On others the mother-bird was sitting, while
still others contained young birds. These facts
Harry discovered by clambering up the next tree.
He even put his hand over the top of the main
nest, exclaiming to his companion: "Three
hawk's-cggs, Tom, and they are warm, too."
" It will be warm for you in about a minute,"
shouted Tom, "for here come the old birds."
Harry had had experience enough of that kind,
so he let go all holds and dropped to the ground
in a hurry; but he had made his sketch, to which
he gave the title "Nature's Commune."
The two friends now turned on the beach to
hunt up Dick, whose gun had reported him at
different points along the shore.
Harry, who was some distance ahead, suddenly
stopped, and called excitedly back to Tom to hurry
up, for he had found a veritable sea-monster, that
was all mouth, excepting his tail, and all tail but
the mouth. He seemed quite disappointed that
Tom should recognize it as a fish known as the
angler, or " fishing frog."* Horrid-looking speci-
mens they are, with huge mouths and fat tongues.
Buckctfuls of fish have been taken from their ca-
pacious stomachs. They are known to catch sea-
March, 1874, page 256.
56
ONE DAY ON A DESERT ISLAND.
[November^
gulls and wild fowl which are swimming on the
surface of the water, and to swallow them whole.
A loon was taken from the stomach of one capt-
ured at Ogunquit, on the coast of Maine.
After Harry had secured a sketch of this gor-
mandizing angler, they continued their search for
their sporting friend, and soon found him stretched
First he drew a good-sized circle in the sand ; then,
from a dozen or so of the little creatures which
Dick had captured and placed in his hat, each of the
boys chose one for himself. These they compared
carefully, to prevent mistakes in identification.
Dick selected a crab with the largest claw he
could find. Harr)', following his example, picked
\^
" THE OSPREV ROSE AGAIN, WITH ITS I'REV GLISTENING IN ITS TALONS.
at full length on the sand. He said he had been
watching some little fiddler-crabs dig their holes,
and that it was fun to see them swing their long-
necked eyes around, to make sure the coast was
clear, and then scamper off four or five feet from
their homes, drop their little load of sand, once
more stop to move their eyes around the circle,
and scamper back to disappear in their holes for
another load of sand.
" But, I say, fellows," cried Dick, with a sudden
burst of enthusiasm, " I have an idea "
" Bottle it, Dick, as a specimen for Tom," inter-
rupted Harr)- ; " ideas are great rarities nowadays."
" Tom is not the only one who wants ideas, even
if they are other people's," retorted Dick, "but
you can both have this one. It 's this : Let 's have
a crab-race."
" The race of crabs is pretty well established
already," interposed Tom.
But they both entered eagerly into Dick's scheme.
out a saucy big fellow, while Tom chose a small
crab with two small claws. All three steeds were
placed under a drinking-cup in the center of the
ring drawn on the sand.
"Now," explained Dick, " no one is allowed to
touch his crab under any circumstances, until the
race is decided. I shall lift the cup at the word,
and the first crab to cross the line of the circle wins
the race, and the last one out loses. Now, what
stake shall we race for ? "
It was finally agreed that as they would, in all
probability, have to make an all-night sail to get
home, the loser of the race should stand the first
watch, and the winner the last watch.
Tom gave the word : "Attention ! Are you ready ?
Go ! " and the cup was lifted, freeing the little
creatures. Tom's crab started off sideways, at a
rapid gait, but Harry's and Dick's hesitated. At
this the boys shouted, danced about, and waved
their caps. But the pugnacious little steeds, in-
I88i.]
ONE DAY ON A DKSliKT ISI-AXJ).
57
stead of being frightened into running, disregarded
the size of their enemies, and bravely reared up on
their hind legs and showed fight. Tom laughed
until he was faint, for, taking
advantage of his knowledge,
he had selected a timid female
whose smaller pincers were
of no use whatever in battle,
and who consequently ran
away from the other crabs as
fast as her numerous little
legs could carr\- Iier.
At last, Dick's steed started
off, but he stopped just inside
the line to rear up at some
imaginary foe. And then
Harry's horse, finding him-
self all alone, made a sudden
dash out of the ring.
Tom had won ; Harry was
lucky ; and Dick had lost.
was heartily enjoyed, and a few minutes later they
were once more aboard the " Nomad," headed for
home, with a fair breeze.
•harry hai
The race had hardly ended, when Billy Whet-
more's " Pcow ! Pe-ow!" down the beach, start-
led the boys into the knowledge that it was
getting late, and that they were pretty hungr\-.
After a brisk walk, their supper at the light-house
Dick, at the
tiller, said he
had put in a
pretty good
day's fun, had
a splendid lot
of fish and a
good mess of
birds stowed
forward on ice,
and that he did
n't mind it, if
he did lose the
race. Harry re-
marked that, in
addition to all
his fun, he had
about a dozen valuable sketches. Anil Tom, after
counting over his specimens, concluded thiit he had
n't missed much that day. In fact, they all joined in
the belief that they had crowded about a week's fun
into the twelve hours spent on the Desert Island.
.bLt btA-MlJNSTER.
58
E L B E R O N . [November,
ELBERON.
I. July.
I WATCHED the little children by the sea,
Tempting the wave with mimic forts of sand;
Hillock and pit they modeled in their glee.
Laughing to see them leveled on the strand.
Deep was the music of the breakers' roar,
And bright the spray they tossed upon the shore ;
Fresh gales of joy blew landward, but in vain ;
The Nation's heart was heavy with its pain.
II. August.
The little children skipping by the sea.
Bare-legged and merry, challenge its advance.
Holding the sunlight in their hair, they greet
The prone wave's tumult while they shout and dance.
But he who suffers far away grows faint
With longing for the sea-side cheer and plaint; —
Ah, bright the tide, and blue the bending sky,
While stately ships, intent, go saihng by !
111. September.
What power was this ? no tumult on the deep !
The conscious waves crept whispering to the sand ;
The very children, awed and eager, shared
The spell of silence holding sea and land :
White wings of healing filled the summer sky,
And prayerful thousands stood expectant by,
While borne on bed of hope, — content and wan, —
The Nation's Man came into Elberon.
' 'T is well ! " the news sped gladly, day by day, —
" Old Ocean sends its strengthening breeze apace ! "
Grandly, beneath the shining cottage eaves.
Our country's banner floated in its grace.
When, suddenly, grim shadows gathered near
To overwhelm us with a nameless fear ;
Till all along Atlantic's sobbing sands —
Far as it rims our own and other lands ;
Across the world; what spot the sun shines on —
Sounded the tidings dread :
Our Man is dead !
The Nation's grief broods over Elberon.
A NOBLE LIFE.
59
THE FRASCKLYN COTTAC.E AT F.I.RERON,
WHKK:^ PRESinKNT GARFIELD DIED.
A NOBLE LIFE.
By Noah Brooks.
No EVENT of modern times lias created so deep
and wide-spread a sorrow throughout the civilized
world as the death of James .Abram Garfield, late
President of the L^nited States. When he was
struck down by the bullet of a wicked man, every-
bod)- was filled with ainazcment and alarm. There
was no reason why such an attack on the President
should be expected or looked for. He was a
peaceable and kindly man, full of generous feel-
ings, and with a friendly interest for all men. And
when it was told to the country that this large-
hearted, and upright, and honest Christian gentle-
man had been shot, people could hardly believe
the tale. An assault like that seemed utterly
causeless.
When it appeared to be possible that the Presi-
dent might recover, there was much relief felt
throughout the length and breadth of the land.
Wherever there were people dwelling, whether in
the crowded cities of the Atlantic sea-board, or in
lonely hamlets and camps afar in Western wilds,
men, women, and children waited and watched
with great anxiety for the latest news from the
wounded President. It was a remarkable sight,
this, waiting of a great nation around the bedside
of a smitten president. From lands beyond the
sea, too, came many messages of affectionate
inquiry. Kings and queens, great men and the
common people of every land, hoped and prayed
for the recovery of the President. The powerful
rulers of Europe seemed to forget for a while their
ambitious schemes, and they sent word to their
representatives in this country that they desired the
very latest news, day by day, from the White
House, where Garfield lay betwixt life and death.
For eleven weeks, it may be said, the whole civil-
ized world watched for some sign of hope that the
President might live and not die.
This hope was not to be realized, although it did
seem at times that the long suspense was over and
that the beloved chief magistrate was on a fair road
to health. At last, and suddenly, the news was
6o
A NOBLE LIFE.
[November,
flashed all abroad that Garfield was dead. Never
before, probably, did ill news fly so fast and so
far. Gradually, there had seemed to be less and
less hope that the noble sufferer could live, and
so people were partly prepared for the worst.
The brave and gentle spirit of Garfield passed
away at half-past ten in the evening, and before
the clocks struck twelve at midnight, the bells
were tolling in every city in the United States, say-
ing to all the people that the long-suffering, much-
enduring President lay dead by the margm of
the great sea that he loved so well, and on whose
shining waves his last dying glance had lingered.
Everywhere, men went about with saddened
faces and dejected mien. It seemed as if there
was mourning and lamentation in every house in
the land. As soon as people could rally from the
first shock of grief, they began to hang out the
emblems of sorrow on e\-ery hand. It was as if
men and women, not being able to go and weep by
the death-bed of the good President, did what they
could to show their real sorrow for what was now
beyond the help of man. From the first, as it
now appears, there was no possibility that the
President could ever really recover. But this was
not known certainly until after his death, and so
long as news came that he was still alive, the peo-
ple prayed to the good God for his restoration to
health. For weeks, millions of men and women
in all lands, Christians of every sect, Israelites.
Greeks, and those of strange faiths, daily offered
up prayer to God that this precious life might be
spared. So, when he died, they who had hoped
and prayed for him were exceeding sorrowful,
and they showed their sadness in many ways.
The whole republic may be said to have been
clothed in mourning. There was never such a
sight in any country as on the day of the funeral
of Garfield, when many of the larger cities- und
towns of the United States were completely draped
in the emblems of mourning, and every flag
drooped at half-mast. From beyond the sea
came sympathizing messages from the great
ones of the earth and from friends of America
in foreign parts. The good Queen of England
sent loving and tender words for herself and her
children, and directed the British envoy at Wash-
ington to lay on Garfield's bier a memorial of her,
with a kindly message which she sent. And then,
with mourning and lamentation all over the broad
land, the mortal remains of the President were
carried back to Ohio, and were buried on a height
from which one may look over the sparkling waters
of the great Lake Erie.
This man, whose tragic sickness and death were
lamented as a personal grief by many millions,
and at whose burial the noblest and the best of
Christendom, here and in foreign lands, sincerely
mourned, was, at the beginning of his public
career, only a modest American citizen. He
sei-ved his country with distinguished honor in the
war and on the floor of Congress, and when he
was elected President, many thousands of citizens
rejoiced in the belief that his character and states-
manship gave promise of an unusually wise and
brilliant administration. But he had been in office
only four months when he was shot ; he had not
been long known to the people of other countries,
and he had not had time, as president, to show how
wise and how able he would be. Nor did he come
of any lofty or ancient race of men, whose deeds
of prowess or renown could be found carved on
monuments and in noble temples. In his boyhood,
he had been very poor, and had worked at humble
calhngs for the sake of earning a livelihood, and
securing a good education. Why, then, was there
all this lamentation, sorrow, and spontaneous dis-
play of grief abroad and at home ?
The career of James A. Garfield was thoroughly
American. His character was worthy of all imita-
tion. In his poverty when a young boy, he
might have gone to school for two years before
the time when he did enter the school-house,
but that he had no shoes to wear ; and this same
needy lad, who afterward drove the horses of a
canal-boat, lived to be the president of the
L'nited States. He carried into his high office a
manliness of character, a Christian courage, and
a sincerity of purpose that are more to mankind
than the highest honors that can be heaped upon
our fellow-man. Every American boy has heard,
at some time, that he may live to become the pres-
ident of the United States. But the life of Gar-
field, and the remarkable spectacle afforded by the
last days of that life, very clearly show that it was
the man, rather than the office, which men honored
when the tragical end of his career drew to a close.
The death of a president of the republic, and es-
pecially a death so purposeless and cruel, would
have excited the sympathy of the world. But the
history of Garfield's life is a beautiful example of
what may be achieved by a loving heart, a gener-
ous nature, and a high purpose. In that life the
boys of America have a noble model, and one
which they may safely follow. Better than being
president is to be honest, brave, true, manly,
tender to one's mother, courageous for the right,
and a friend to the weak and those who have no
helper. All this, Garfield was, and this is why,
when he fell a victim to the shot of an assassin,
and when he was borne to his last resting-place, a
wave of sorrow swept around the globe.
We are nowhere told that Garfield had aimed at
being president before he was nominated to that
i88i.|
A NOBLE LIFE.
6i
high place. There is no evidence that he had made
any plans for his elevation to the great office that
he occupied when he died. But the reward of a life
of honest endeavor in the path of the right came
to him unexpectedly and without his seeking for it.
And I dare say that, if he had never been chosen
president, he would have reaped full reward in
some other way. For him, at least, it was better to
be right than to be president. And while to possess
by the vote of the people the highest office of the
Republic is an honorable ambition, the example of
Garfield shows that it is far better to win a good
name and to build up a character that shall stand
when all other things perish. We do not now so
much lament a dead president as the tragical tak-
ing away of a high-minded man, an affectionate
father, son, and husband, and a sincere patriot.
Nevertheless, the nation has suffered a calamity
in the death of Garfield. He had the qualities
which would have made him a good president.
If his life had been spared, it seems most likely
that the countr>' would have highly approved of
his administration of its aflfairs. Then, too, it is a
sad thing that any man should be called to die for
his country as Garfield was. He was not killed for
himself, but because he was the president. If he
had never been chosen by the people to the place
he filled, he would have been alive to-day, as far
as we can know. So there is a feeling of indigna-
tion and anger under all the mourning and sorrow-
for Garfield. The nation h;is been hurt as well as
the family. It is a matter for profound sorrow that
the life of a man is put in jeopardy because he has
been chosen president by a free people. It is our
boast that, in this country, every man has a chance
for himself, and nobody is kept down by circum-
stances which are peculiar to any class, or sect, or
social condition. Garfield was a shining example
of what may be achieved by well-directed labor,
and we are grcatl)- grieved that his life, so
admirably calculated to illustrate the force of
character and the width of the ways to distinction
in which an American boy may walk, should end
in a manner so undeserved and so untimely.
When a boy, Garfield was lively, quick, and
restless. His teacher complained that the lad
was "perpetual motion." He could not study, even
when great sacrifices had been made by his
mother and his brothers to get him ready for
school. When this was reported to his mother,
her heart sank, but she could only say, " Why,
James!" The tone of sorrow and disappointment
went to the boy's heart, and he fell on his knees,
and, bur\'ing his face in her lap, cried out that he
would keep still in school, and that he would learn.
He kept his word. From that day, he stuck
manfully to his work, and, whether he was riding
on the canal tow-path, hammering away at car-
pentering, plunging into book-keeping, or toiling
in the hard position of school-teacher, he seemed
to be forever pushed on by the thought that he
had promised to do his best. It was evident that
he believed that the best preparation for the duties
and responsibilities of to-morrow is the faithful
performance of the labors of to-day. No idle
dreamer, he went right on with his work, whatever
it might be, doing his best. He waited for no
applause, and he was not stimulated in his labors
by the hope of reward. With a clear conscience,
a ready hand for those who needed help, a large
heart throbbing for the poor and the distressed,
and with a sincere belief in the goodness of God's
government of the world, Garfield filled up his
days with honest industry and faithful service to
his country and to his lime.
Does any boy ask what good can come of all
this, now that the man has died, and has been cut
off, too, before he had arrived at the end of the
natural term of human life ? Garfield has, indeed,
lived in vain if we can not find in his life and char-
acter something worthy of imitation. He has
lived in vain if the influence of his example is not
felt, for generations, upon the forming characters
of the lads who are to be the future rulers and law-
makers of this republic. The President is dead,
but the record of his life can not die. And when
we think of the pathetic, figure that he made when
he went out of this life, and of the untimely end of
his career, which seemed to be just about to be at
its best, we can recall with comfort the truth that
"In the wreck of noble lives
Something immortal still survives."
Nor need we lament for him who has gone up
higher. Even those who were so near and dear to
this warm-hearted and loving man in his life-
time do not mourn with a sorrow that can not be
comforted. If it is true that, in future ages,
the American youth shall be taught the goodly les-
son of the lives of great men who have gone
before, it is true that such an example as Garfield's
can not perish. And if this is true of the life that
endures upon the face of the earth, as men come
and go, we can with our thought follow into shining
realms the admirable and lovable man just now
gone from among us. What he did lives after him.
And although when he went away the land was
filled with lamentation and weeping,
" He passed through glory's morning gate,
And w-alked in paradise."
62
THE ST. NICHOLAS T R E AS U RE - BOX.
[November,
THE ST. NICHOLAS TREASURE-BOX OF LITERATURE.
Thanksgiving for his House. — Bv Robert Herrick.*
Lord, thou hast given me a cell,
Wherein to dwell,
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather proof;
Under the sparres^ of which I lie
Both soft and drie.
Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard
Of harmlesse thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while 1 sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate.
Both void of state ;
And yet the threshold of my doore
Is worne by th' poore,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words, or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchin 's small :
A little butterie,- and therein
A little byn, 3
Which keeps my little loafe of bread,
Unchipt,'' unflead ; '
Some brittle sticks of thorne or briar
Make me a fire.
Close by whose living coale I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confesse too, when I dine.
The pulse ^ is thine.
And all those other bits, that bee
There placed by Thee ;
The worts,' the purslain,'* and the messe
Of water cresse
Which of thy kindnesse thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet^
To be more sweet.
'T is Thou that crownest my glittering hearth
With guiltlesse mirthe.
And givest me wassaile '" bowls to drink,
Spic'd to the brink.
Lord, 't is thy plenty-dropping hand
That soiles'i my land.
And giv'st me for my bushell sownc.
Twice ten for one;
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day ;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each yeare ;
The while the conduits of my kine'-
Run creame for wine :
All these, and better thou dost send
Me, to this end.
That 1 should render, for my part,
A thankfuU heart;
Which, fir'd with incense, I resigne
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
O Lord, by Thee.
We have room in our Treasure -box this month only for the quaint, old-fashioned Thanksgiving hj-mn given
above. You would not be interested to read the wo'rks of Robert Herrick, excepting the few dainty songs
which you will find in almost every book of selected poems; but his "Thanksgiving for his House " is so simple
and earnest in its thoughts and so humble in spirit, that it is well worth your reading at this .Thanksgiving season of
the year. As the many words in this poem that have gone out of use since it was written might puzzle you,
the following note will explain them. The meaning of the whole poem is plain enough, as you will see.
1- "Sparres," spars, — beams or rafters. 2. "Butterie," buttery, — a small room in which provisions are kept. 3. "Byn. ' hn, —
a box, or an inclosed place. 4. "Unchipt," — whole, no part being cut away or broken off. 5. " Unflead," «'//?fyf^, — not peeleti, no
crust stripped off. 6. "Pulse," — beans, pease, etc. 7. "Worts," — vegetables, or herbs. S. ^'Vuishiin," purslane, — a pot-herb, sometimes
used for salads, garnishing, or pickling. 9. "Beet," — the vegetable, 10. "Wassaile," luassatt, — a spiced liquor formerly drunk on
festive occasions. 11. " Soiles," soils, — enriches. 12. " Kine," cows.
* Bom in London, August 20, 1591. Died, October, 1674.
l88i.)
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER.-BOY
63
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.**
Bv Harry M. Kieffer.
The writer of " Rccolleclions of a Drummer-liny" wishes to say to the reader'; of St. Nicholas that he is writing
no made-up story or fictitious narrative, but is drawing upon his own personal experiences for all he has to say.
He was a I)rummer-Boy in the " .\rniy of the Potomac," having been mustered into the service in midsummer,
1862, and mustered out with what remained of his regiment at the close of the war, in 1865. Opposite to him, on
the wall of his library, in which he is writing, hangs his " Discharge," framed in stout hickory, while before him
on his table are three little black books, all stained and soiled with exposure to wind and weather on many a long
march, — journals or diaries kept by him in camp and field, — together with a bundle of old army letters w'ritlen to
the folks at home. Would the readers of St. Nicholas like to take an occasional peep into the contents of those
three little black books and this bundle of old letters ? Would they like to know something of the actual life of a
Drummer-Boy in the Army ?
Chapter 1.
OFF TO THE WAR.
When*, in 1861, the war-fever broke out in the
school 1 was attending, and one after another the
desks were left vacant where the older boys had
sat, and there were few scholars left but the girls
and the smaller boys, who were too young to think
of following the envied example of their older
fellows, you can scarcely imagine how very dull
our life became. We had no interest in study, were
restive and listless, and gave our good teacher a
world of trouble. The wars of Cassar and the siege
of Troy, — what were they when compared with the
great war actually now being waged in our own
land ? The nodding plumes of Hector and the
armor of Homer's heroes were not half so inter-
esting or magnificent as the brave uniforms of the
soldiers we saw occasionally on our streets. And
when, one day, one of our own school-fellows was
brought home, wounded by a ball through his
shoulder, our excitement knew no bounds ! And
so, here is a letter I wrote to my father ;
Dear Papa : I write to ask whether I may have
your permission to enlist. I find the school is fast
breaking up. Most of the boys are gone. I can't
study any more. Jt^«/ you let me go? "
Poor Father ! In the anguish of his heart it
must have been that he sat down and wrote, " You
may go !
Without the loss of a moment I was
off to the recruiting-office, showed my father's
letter, and asked to be sworn in ; but alas ! 1 was
only sixteen, and lacked two years of being old
enough, and they would not take me unless I could
swear I was eighteen, which I could not do, — no,
not even to gain this ardently desired object !
So then, back again to the school, to Virgil and
Homer, and that poor little old siege of Troy, for
a few weeks more ; until the very school-master
himself was taken down with the war-fever, and
began to raise a company, and the school had to
look for a new- teacher, and they said I could enlist as
" Copyright, 1881, by Harry M,
drummer-boy, no matter how young I might be, if
only that 1 had my father's consent ! And this, most
unfortunately, had been revoked meanwhile, for
there had come a letter, saying : " My dear boy :
If you have not yet enlisted, do not do so: for I
think you are quite too young and delicate, and I
gave my permission perhaps too hastily and without
due consideration." But alas ! dear Father, it was
too late then, for I had set my very heart on going;
the company was nearly full, and would leave in a
few days, and everybody in the village knew that
Marry was going for a drummer-boy.
There was an immense crowd of people at the
depot that midsummer morning nearly twenty
years ago, when our coinpany started off to the
war. It seemed as if the whole county had sus-
pended work and voted itself a holiday, for a
continuous stream of people, old and young,
poured out of the little \illage of L , and made
its way through the bridge across the river, and
over the dusty road beyond, to the station where
we were to take the train.
The thirteen of us who had come dow^n from the
village of M to join the larger body of the
company at L , had enjoyed something of a
triumphal progress on the way. We had a brass
band to start with, besides no inconsiderable escort
of vehicles and mounted horsemen, the number
of which was steadily sw'cUed to quite a procession
as we advanced. The band played, and the flags
waved, and the boys cheered, and the people at
work in the fields cheered back, and the young
farmers rode down the lanes on their horses, or
brought their sw-ecthearts in their carriages and
fell in line with the dusty procession. Even the
old gate-keeper, who could not leave his post, got
much excited as we passed, gave " three cheers for
the Union forever," and stood waving his hat after
us till we were hid from sight behind the hills.
Reaching L about nine in the morning, we
found the village all ablaze with bunting, and so
wrought up with the excitement that all thought
Kieffer. All rights reserved.
64
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY
[November,
of work had evidently been given up for that day.
As we formed in line and marched down the main
street toward the river, the sidewalks were evcr\-
'W^
IN FOR IT I
where crowded with people — with boys who wore
red-white-and-blue neck-ties, and boys who wore
fatigue-caps, with girls who carried flags, and girls
who carried flowers, with women who waved their
kerchiefs, and old men who waved their walking-
sticks, while here and there, as we passed along,
at windows and door-ways, were faces red with long
weeping, for Johnny was ofi" to the war, and may be
mother and sisters and sweetheart would never,
never see him again.
Drawn up in line before the station, we awaited
the train. There was scarcely a man, woman, or
child in that great crowd around us but had
to press up for a last shake of the hand, a last
good-bye, and a last " God bless you, boys! " And
-30, amid cheering and hand-shaking, and flag-
waving, and band-playing, the train at last came
thundering in, and we were off, with the "Star-
Spangled Banner " sounding fainter and farther
away, until it was drowned and lost
to the ear in the noise of the swiftly
rushing train.
For myself, however, the last
good-bye had not yet been said,
for I had been away from home at
school, and was to lea\-e the train
at a way station, some miles down
the road, and walk out to my home
in the country, and say good-bye
to the folks at home, — and that was
the hardest part of it all, for good-
bye then might be good-bye forever.
If anybody at home had been
looking out of door or window that
hot August afternoon, more than
nineteen years ago, he would have
seen, coming down the dusty road,
a slender lad, with a bundle ilung
over his shoulder, and — but nobody
■zi'as looking down the road — no-
body was in sight. Even RoUo, the
dog, my old play-fellow, was asleep
somewhere in the shade, and all
was sultr)-, hot, and still. Leaping
lightly over the fence, by the spring
at the foot of the hill, I took a cool
draught of water, and looked up at
the great red farm-house above,
with a throbbing heart, for that was
Home, and many a sad good-bye
had there to be said, and said again,
— - before I could get off to the war !
Long years have passed since
then, but never have I forgotten
how pale the faces of Mother and
sisters became when, entering the
room where they were at work, and
throwing off my bundle, in reply to their ques-
tion, ^''IV/iy, Harry ' where did yon come from ?''
I answered, " I come from school, and 1 'm off for
the war ! " You may well believe there was an
exciting time of it in the dining-room of that old
red farm-house then. In the midst of the excite-
ment. Father came in from the field, and greeted
me with, " Why, my boy, where did you come
from ? " to which there was but the one answer,
"Come from school, and off for the war!"
" Nonsense ; I can't let you go i I thought you
had gi\'en up all idea of that. What would they
do with a mere boy like you ? Why, you 'd be only
a bill of expense to the Government. Dreadful
thing to make me all this trouble ! "
But I began to reason full stoutly with poor
A*<M«>''
iSSi.)
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
65
Father. 1 reminded him, first of all, that I would
not go without his consent ; tliat in two years, and
perhaps in less, I might be drafted and sent amongst
men unknown to me, while here was a company
commanded b)- my own school-teacher, and com-
posed of acquaintances who would look after me ;
that I was unfit for study or work while this fever
was on me, and so on, till I saw his resolution
begin to give way, as he lit his pipe and walked
down to the spring to think the matter over.
" If Harry is to go, Father," Mother says,
"had n't I better run up to the store and get some
woolens, and wc 'II make the boy an outfit of
shirts yet to-night ? "
" Well, — yes ; I guess you had better do so."
But when he sees Mother stepping past the gate
on her way, he halts her with —
" Stop ! That boy can't go ! I caiCt give him
up!"
And shortly after, he tells her that she "had bet-
im: KIGFMENT srAKTS FOK THR W \ R .
ter be after getting that woolen stuff for shirts,"
and again he stops her at the gate with —
" Dreadful boy ! Why uiill he make mc all
this trouble ? I can not let my boy go ! "
But at last, and somehow. Mother gets off. Tlie
^'OL. IX.— 5.
sewing-machine is going most of the night, and
my thoughts are as busy as it is, until far into the
morning, with all that is before 3ne that 1 have
never seen — and all that is behind mc that I may
never see again.
Let mc pass over the trying good-bye the next
morning, for Joe is ready with the carriage to
take Father and me to the station, and we are
soon on the cars, steaming away toward the great
camp, whither the company already has gone.
"See, Harry, there is your camp." And look-
ing out of the car-window, across the river, I
catch, through the tall tree-tops, as we rush
along, glimpses of my first camp, — acres and
acres of canvas, stretching away into the dim
and dusty distance, occupied, as I shall soon
find, by some ten or twenty thousand soldiers,
coming and going continually, marching and
counter-marching until they have ground the soil
into the driest and deepest dust I ever saw.
I shall never forget my first
impressions of camp-life as
Father and I passed the sentry
at the gate. They were any-
thing but pleasant, and I could
not but agree with the remark
of my father, that "the life
of a soldier must be a hard
life, indeed." For, as wc en-
tered that great camp, I looked
into an A tent, the front flap
of which was thrown back,
and saw enough to make me
sick of the housekeeping of a
soldier. There was nothing
in that tent but dirt and dis-
order, pans and kettles, tin
Lups and cracker boxes, forks
Hid bayonet scabbards, greasy
TK'tHl pork and broken hard-tack in
W ..jmU' utter confusion, and over all
and everywhere that insuffer-
' ' lust. Afterward, when we got into the field,
our camps in summer-time were models of cleanli-
ness, and in winter models of comfort, as far at
least as ax and broom could make them so, but
this, the first cai^p I ever saw, was so abominable,
that I have often wondered it did not fri;:;htcn tlie
fever out of me.
But, once among the men of thi company, all
this was soon forgotten. Wc had supper — hard-
tack and soft bread, boiled pork, and strong coffee
(in tin cups), fare that Father thought "one could
live on right well, I guess," and then the boys came
around and begged Father to let me go; "they
would take care of Harry; never you fear for that,"
and so helped on my cause that that night, about
66
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[November,
eleven o'clock, when we were in the railroad sta-
tion together, on the way home. Father said :
" Now, Harry, my boy, you are not enlisted yet ;
I am going home on this train ; you can go home
with me now, or go with the boys. Which will
you do ? "
To which the answer came quickly enough ; too
quickly and too eagerly, 1 have often since thought,
for a father's heart to bear it well :
" Papa, I '11 go with the boys ! "
" Well, then, good-bye, my boy ! and may God
bless you and bring you safely back to me again ! "
The whistle blew "off brakes," the car door
closed on Father, and I did not see him again for
three long, long years !
Often and often as I have thought over these
things since, I have never been able to come to any
other conclusion than this: that it was the "war
fever " that carried me off, and that made poor
Father let me go. For that "war fever" was a
terrible malady in those days. Once you were
taken with it, you had a vei-y fire in the bones
until your name was down on the enlistment-roll.
There was Andy, for example, aftenvard my mess-
mate. He was on his way to school the very
morning the company was leaving the village,
with no idea of going along, but seeing this, that,
and the other acquaintance in line, what did he
do but run across the street to an undertaker's
shop, cram his school-books through the broken
window, take his place in line, and march off witli
the boys without so much as saying good-bye to
the folks at home ! And he did not see his Cassar
and Greek grammar again for three years.
I should like to tell something about the life we
led in that camp ; how we ate and slept and drilled,
but as much more interesting matters await us, we
must pass over our life here very briefly. I open
the first of my three little black books, and read :
"Sept. 3d. — Received part of our uniforms, and
I got a new drum. Had a trial at double-quick
this evening till we were all out of breath, after
which thirty-five of our men were detailed as camp
guard for the first time. They stand guard two
hours out of every six.
"Sept. jd. — Slept soundly last night on the
ground, although the cold was sei-ere. Have pur-
chased an India rubber blanket — ' gum' blanket,
we called it, to keep off the dampness. To-day,
were mustered into service. We were all drawn
up in line. Every man raised his right hand,
while an officer recited the oath. It took only a
few minutes, but when it was over one of the boys
exclaimed : ' Now, fellows, I 'd like to see any
man go home if he dare. We belong to L^ncle
Sam, now. ' "
Of the one thousand men drawn up in line there
that day, some lived to come back three years
later and be drawn up in line again, almost on that
identical spot, and how many do you think there
were ? No more than one hundred and fiftv.
Ch.\pter II.
ON TO WASHINGTON.
•^■■'
■''^S^
After two weeks in that miserable camp at the
State capital, we were ordered to \\'ashington, and
into Washington, accordingly, one sultrj- Septem-
ber morning, we marched, after a day and a night
in the cars on the way thither. Quite proud we
felt, you may be sure, as we tramped up Pennsyl-
vania Avenue, with our new silk flags flying, the
fifes playing "Dixie," and we ten little drummer-
boys pounding away, awkwardly enough, no doubt,
under the lead of a white-haired old man, who had
beaten /lis drum nearly fifty years before under
Wellington, at the battle of Waterloo, ^\'e were
i88i.]
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
67
green, raw troops, as anybody could tell at a glance ;
for we were fair-faced yet, and carried enormous
icnapsacks. I remember passing some old troops
somewhere near Fourteenth street, and being pain-
fully conscious of the diflerence between them and
us. They, 1 obser\'ed, had no knapsacks ; a gum
blanket, twisted into a roll and slung carelessly over
the shoulder, was all the luggage they carried.
Dark, swarthy, sinewy men they were, with torn
shoes and faded uniforms, but with an air of self-
possession and endurance that came only of experi-
ence and hardship. They smiled on us as we
passed by, — a grim smile of half pity and half con-
tempt— just as we in our turn learned to smile on
other new troops a year or two later.
By some unpardonable mistake, instead of get-
ting into camp forthwith on the outskirts of the
city, whither we had been ordered for duty at the
present, we were marched far out into the country
under a merciless sun, that soon scorched all the
endurance out of me. It was dusty, it was hot,
there was no water, my knapsack weighed a ton.
So that when, after marching some seven miles,
our orders were countermanded, and we were
ordered back to the city again, 1 thought it impos-
sible I ever should reach it. My feet moved
mechanically, everything along the road was in a
misty whirl, and when at night-fall Andy helped me
into the barracks near the Capitol from wliich we
had started in the morning, I threw myself, or
rather, perhaps, fell, on the hard floor, and was
soon so soundly asleep that Andy could not rouse
me for my cup of coffee and ration of bread.
I have an indistinct recollection of being taken
away next morning in an ambulance to some hos-
pital, and being put into a clean white cot. After
which, for days, all consciousness left me, and all
was blank before me, save only that in misty inter-
vals I saw the kind faces and heard the subdued
voices of Sisters of Mercy ; voices that spoke to mc
from far away, and hands that reached out to me
from the other side of an impassable gulf.
Nursed by their tender care back to returning
strength, no sooner was I able to stand on my feet
once more than, against their solemn protest, 1 asked
for my knapsack and drum, and insisted on setting
out forthwith in quest of my regiment, which I
found had meanwhile been scattered by companies
about the city, my own company and another hav-
ing been assigned to duty at " Soldiers' Home,"
the President's summer residence. Although it was
but a distance of three miles or thereabouts, and
although 1 started out in search of " Soldiers'
Home" at noon, so conflicting were the directions
given me by the various persons of whom 1 asked
the road, that it was night-fall before I reached it.
Coming then at the hour of dusk to a gate-way
leading apparently into some park or pleasure-
ground, and being informed by the porter at the
gate that this was " Soldiers' Home," 1 walked
about among the trees in the growing darkness, in
search of the camp of Company D, when, just as
I had crossed a fence, a challenge rang out :
" Halt ! Who goes there ? "
"A friend."
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign! "
" Hello, Ellis," said 1, peering through the
bushes, "is that you?"
" That is n't the countersign, friend. You 'd
better give the countersign, or you 're a dead
man ! "
Saying which, lillis sprang back in true Zouave
style, with his bayonet fixed and ready for a lunge
at me.
"Now, Ellis," said I, "you know me just as
well as I know myself, and you know I have n't the
countersign, and if you 're going to kill me, why,
don't stand there crouching like a cat ready to
spring on a mouse, but up and at it like a man.
Don't keep me here in such dreadful suspense."
" Well, friend without the countersign, I '11 call
up the corporal, and he may kill you — you 're a
dead man, any way." Then ho sang out:
" Corporal of the (luard, post number three ! "
From post to post it rang along the line, now
shrill and high, now deep and low : " Corporal of
the Guard, post number three ! " " Corporal of
the Guard, post number three ! "
Upon which up comes the corporal of the
guard on a full trot, with his gun at a right-shoul-
der-shift, and saying :
"Well, what 'sup?"
" Man trj-ing to break my guard."
"Where is he?"
" Why, there, beside that bush."
"Come along, you there; you '11 be shot for a
spy to-morrow' morning at nine o'clock."
" All right, Mr. Corporal, I 'm ready."
Now, all this was fine sport ; for the corporal
and Ellis were both of my company, and knew
me quite as well as 1 knew them, but they were
bent on having a little fun at my expense, and the
corporal had marched me off some distance
toward head-quarters beyond the ravine, when
again the call rang along the line ;
" Corporal of the Guard, post number three ! "
" Corporal of the Guard, post number three! "
Back the corporal trotted me to Kllis.
" Well, what in the mischief 's up now?"
"Another fellow trying to break my guard.
Corporal."
" Well, where is he ? Trot him out ; we '11 have
a grand execution in the morning. The more the
merrier, you know, and ' long live the Union ! ' "
68
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[November^
"I 'm sorry, Corporal, but the fact is I killed
this chap myself. I caught him trying to climb
over the gate there, and he would n't stop nor give
the countersign, and so I up and at him, and ran
my bayonet through him, and there he is ! "
And sure enough, there he was, — a big fat
'possum !
"All right, Ellis; you 're a brave soldier. 1 '11
speak to the colonel about this, and you shall ha\'e
two stripes on your sleeve one of these days."
And so, with the 'possum by the tail and me by
the shoulder, he marched us olT to head-quarters,
where, the 'possum being thrown down on the
ground, and I handed over to the tender mercies
of the captain, it was ordered that :
"This young man should be taken down to
Andy's tent, and a supper cooked, and a bed made
for him there ; and that henceforth and hereafter,
he should beat reveille at daybreak, retreat at
sundown, tattoo at nine P. M., and lights out a
half-hour later."
Nothing, however, was said about the execution
of spies in the morning, although it was duly or-
dained that the 'possum, poor thing, should be
roasted on the morrow.
Never was there a more pleasant camp than ours,
there on that green hill-side across the ravine from
the President's summer residence. We had light
guard duty to do, but that of a kind we esteemed a
most high honor, for it was no less than that of
being special guards for President Lincoln. But the
good President, we were told, although he loved
his soldiers as his own children, did not like being
guarded. Often did I see him enter his carriage
before the hour appointed for his morning depart-
ure for the White House, and drive away in haste,
as if to escape from the irksome escort of a dozen
cavalry-men, whose duty it was to guard his car-
riage between our camp and the city. Then
when the escort rode up to the door, some ten or
fifteen minutes later, and found that the carriage
had already gone, was n't there a clattering of hoofs
and a rattling of scabbards as they dashed out past
the gate and down the road to overtake the great
and good President, in whose heart was ' ' charity
for all, and mahce toward none."
Boy as I was, I could not but notice how pale
and haggard the President looked as he entered
his carriage in the morning, or stepped down from
it in the evening after a weary day's work in the
city ; and no wonder, either, for those September
days of 1862 were the dark, perhaps the darkest,
days of the war. Many a mark of favor and kind-
ness did we receive from the President's family.
Delicacies, such as we were strangers to then, and
would be for a long time to come, found their way
from Mrs. Lincoln's hand to our camp on the
green hill-side ; while little Tad, the President's
son, was a great favorite with the boys, fond of the
camp, and deUghted with the drill.
One night, when all but the guards on their
posts were wrapped in great-coats and sound
asleep in the tents, I felt some one shake me
roughly by the shoulder, and call :
" Harry ! Harry ! Get up quick and beat the
long roll ; we 're going to be attacked. Quick,
now ! "
Groping about in the dark for my drum and
sticks, I stepped out into the company street, and
beat the loud alarm, which, waking the echoes,
brought the boys out of their tents in double-quick
time, and set the whole camp in an uproar.
" What 's up, fellows ? "
" Fall in. Company D ! " shouted the orderly.
"Fall in, men," shouted the captain, "we're
going to be attacked at once ! "
Amid the confusion of so sudden a summons at
midnight, there was some lively scrambling for
guns, bayonets, cartridge-boxes, and clothes.
" I say. Bill, you 've got my coat on ! "
" Where 's my cap ? "
" Andy, you scamp, you 've got my shoes ! "
"Fall in, men, quick; no time to look after
shoes now. Take your arms and fall in."
And so, some shoeless, others hatless, and all
only half dressed, we form in line and are marched
out and down the road at double-quick for a mile ;
then halt ; pickets are thrown out ; an advance of
the whole line through the woods, among tangled
bushes and briers, and through marshes, until, as
the first early streaks of dawn are shooting up in
the eastern sky, orders are countermanded, and
we march back to camp, to find that the whole
thing was a ruse, planned by some of the offi-
cers for the purpose of testing our readiness for
work at any hour. After that, we slept with our
shoes on.
But poor old Jerry Black, — a man who should
never have enlisted, for he was as afraid of a gun
as Robinson Crusoe's man Friday,-^poor old Jerry
was the butt for many a joke the next day. For,
amid the night's confusion, and in the immediate
prospect, as he supposed, of a deadly encounter
with the enemy, so alarmed did he become that
he at once fell to praying ! Out of considera-
tion for his years and piety, the captain had per-
mitted him to remain behind as a guard for the
camp in our absence, in which capacity he did
excellent service, excellent service ! But oh, when
we sat about our fires the next morning, frying our
steaks and cooking our coffee, poor Jerry was the
butt of all the fun, and was cruelly described by
the wag of the company as " the man that had a
brave heart, but a most cowardly pair of legs ! "
i88i.]
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRU.MMER-UOV
69
Chaptkr in.
OUR FIRST WINTER QUARTERS.
" Well, fellows, I tell you what ! I 've heard
a good deal about the balmy breezes and sunny
skies of Old Virginny, but if this is a specimen of
the sort of weather they have in these parts, I, for
one, move we ' right-about-face ' and march home."
So saying, Phil Hammer got up from under the
scrub-pine, where he had made his bed for the
inland in the direction of Falmouth, and had
halted and camped for the night in a thick under-
growth of scrub-pine and cedar. The day of our
landing was remarkably fair. The skies were so
bright, the air was so soft and balmy, that we were
rejoiced to find what a pleasant country it was we
were getting into, to be sure ; but the next morn-
ing, when we drummer-boys woke the men with
our loud reveille, we were all of Phil's opinion,
that the sunny skies and balmy breezes of this new
land were all a miserable fiction. For, as man after
IN WINTER QUARTERS.
night, shaking the snow from his blanket and the
cape of his overcoat, while a loud "Ha! ha!" and
an oft-repeated "What do you think of this, boys?"
rang along the hill-side on which we had found our
first camping-place on " Old \'irginia's Shore."
The weather had played us a most deceptive
and unpleasant trick. We had landed the day
before, as my journal says, " at Belle Plains, at a
place called Piatt's Landing," having been brought
down from Washington on the steamer " Louis-
iana" ; had marched some three or four miles
man opened his eyes at the loud roll of our drums,
and the shout of the orderly : " Fall in, Company
D, for roll-call ! " he found himself covered with
four inches of snow, and more coming down. Fort-
unately, the bushes had afforded us some protec-
tion ; they were so numerous and so thick that one
could scarcely see twenty rods ahead of him, and
with their great overhanging branches had kindly
kept the falling snow out of our faces at least, while
we slept.
And now began a busy time. We were to
70
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[November,
build winter quarters — a work for which we were
but poorly prepared, either by nature or by circum-
stance. Take any body of men out of civilized
life, put them into the woods to shift for them-
selves, and they are generally as helpless as chil-
dren. As for ourselves, we were indeed " Babes
in the Wood." At least half the regiment knew
nothing of wood-craft, having never been accus-
tomed to the use of the ax. It was a laughable
sight to see some of the men from the city try
to cut down a tree ! Besides, we were poorly
equipped. Axes were scarce, and worth almost
their weight in gold. We had no " shelter tents."
Most of us had " poncho " blankets; that is to say,
a piece of oil-cloth about fi\e feet by four, with a
slit in the middle. But we found our ponchos
very poor coverings for our cabins ; for the rain just
ivould run down through that unfortunate hole in
the middle ; and then, too, the men needed their
oil-cloths when they went on picket, for which pur-
pose they had been particularly intended. This
circumstance gave rise to frequent discussion that
day: whether to use the poncho as a covering for
the cabin, and get soaked on picket, or save the
poncho for picket, and cover the cabin with brush-
wood and clay ? Some messes* chose the one alter-
native, others the other ; and as the result of this
preference, together with our ignorance of wood-
craft and the scarcity of axes, we produced on that
hill-side the oddest looking winter quarters a regi-
ment ever built ! Such an agglomeration of cabins
was never seen before nor since. I am positive no
two cabins on all that hill-side had the slightest
resemblance to each other.
There, for instance, was a mess over in Company
A, composed of men from the city. They had oitc
kind of cabin, an immense square structure of
pine logs, about seven feet high, and covered over
the top, first with brush-wood and then coated
so heavily with clay that I am certain the roof
must have been two feet thick at the least. It was
hardly finished before some wag had nicknamed
it " Fortress Monroe."
Then, there was Ike Sankey, of our own com-
pany ; he invented another style of architecture,
or perhaps I should rather say, he borrowed it from
the Indians. Ike would have none of your flat-
roofed concerns ; he would build a wigwam. And
so, marking out a huge circle, in the center of
which he erected a pole, and around the pole a
great number of smaller poles, with one end on
the circle and the other end meeting in the com-
mon apex, covering this with brush and the brush
with clay, he made for himself a house that was
quite warm, indeed, but one so fearfully gloomy
that within it was as dark at noon as at midnight.
Ominous sounds came afterward from the dark
recesses of "The Wig%vam"; for we were a
"skirmish regiment," and Ike was our bugler,
and the way he tooted all day long, " Deploy to
the right and left," "Rally by fours," and "Rally
by platoons," was suggestive of things yet to come.
Then, there was my own tent or cabin, if indeed
I may dignify it with the name of either ; for it was
a cross between a house and a cave. .'\ndy and I
thought we would follow the advice of the Irish-
man, who in order to raise his roof higher, dug his
cellar deeper. We resolved to dig down some
three feet; "and then, Harry, we '11 log her up
about two feet high, cover her with ponchos,
and we 'II have the finest cabin in the row ! " It
took us about three days to accomplish so stupen-
dous an undertaking, during which time we slept
at night under the bushes as best we could, and
when our work was done, we moved in with great
satisfaction. I remember the door of our house
was a mystery to all visitors, as, indeed, it was to
ourselves until we " got the hang of it," as Andy
said. It was a hole about two feet square, cut
through one end of the log part of the cabin,
and through it you had to crawl as best you could.
If you put one leg in first, then the head, and then
drew in the other leg after you, you were all right ;
but if, as visitors generally did, you put in your
head first, you were obliged to crawl in on all fours
in a most ungraceful and undignified fashion.
That was a queer-looking camp all through. If
you went up to the top of the hill, where the
colonel had his quarters, and looked down, a
strange sight met your eyes. By the time the
next winter came, however, we had learned how to
swing an ax, and we built oursehes winter quarters
that reflected no little credit on our skill as experi-
enced woodsmen. The last cabin we built — it was
down in front of Petersburg — was a model of com-
fort and convenience ; ten feet long by six wide, and
five high, made of clean pine logs straight as an
arrow, and covered with shelter tents; a chimney
at one end, and a comfortable bunk at the other ;
the inside walls covered with clean oat-bags, and
the gable ends papered with pictures cut from
illustrated papers ; a mantel-piece, a table, a stool ;
and we were putting down a floor of pine boards,
too, one day toward the close of winter, when
the surgeon came by, and looking in, said :
"No time to drive nails now, boys; we have
orders to move ! " But Andy said :
"Pound away, Harry, pound away; we '11 see
how it looks, anyhow, before we go ! "
I remember an amusing occurrence in connection
with the building of our winter quarters. I had
gone over to see some of the boys of our company
one evening, and found they had "logged up"
their tent about four feet high, and stretched a
*A "mess" is a number of men who eat together.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A D R U M M E R - BO Y
71
poncho over it to keep the snow out, and were sit-
ting before a fire they had built in a chimney-
place at one end. The chimney was built up only
as high as the log walls reached, the intention
being to ''cat-stick and daub" it afterward to a
sufficient height. The mess had just got a box
from home, and some one had hung nearly two
yards of sausage on a stick across the top of the
chimney, " to smoke." And there, on a log rolled
up in front of the fire, I found Jimmy Lane and
Sam Reed sitting smoking their pipes, and glanc-
ing up the chimney between whiffs every now and
then, to see that the sausage was safe. Sitting
down between them, I watched the cheery glow of
the fire, and we fell to talking, now about the jolly
times they were having at home at the holiday sea-
son, and again about the progress of our cabin-
building, while every now and then Jimmy would
peep up the chimney on one side, and shortly
after, Sam would squint up on the other. After
sitting thus for half an hour or so, all of a sudden,
Sam, looking up the chimney, jumped off the log,
clapped his hands together and shouted :
" Jim, it's^o/te / "
Gone It was ; and )0U might as well look for
a needle in a hay-stack as search for two yards of
sausage among troops buUding winter quarters on
short rations !
One evening Andy and I were going lo have
a feast, consisting in the main, of a huge dish
of apple-fritters. We bought the flour and the
apples of the sutler at enormous figures, for we
were so tired of the endless monotony of bacon,
beef, and bean-soup, that we were bent on having a
glorious supper, cost or no cost. We had a rather
small chimney-place, in which Andy was super-
intending the heating of a mess-pan half full of
lard, while I was busying myself with the flour,
dough, and apples, when, as ill-luck would have
it, the lard took fire and flamed up the chimney
with a roar, and a blaze so bright that it iUumi-
nated the whole camp from end to end. L'nfortu-
nately, too, for us, four of our companies had been
recruited in the city, and most of them had been in
the volunteer fire department, in which service they
had gained an experience, useful enough to them
on the present occasion, but mowt disastrous to us.
No sooner was the bright blaze seen pouring high
out of the chimney-top of our modest little cabin,
than at least a half-dozen fire companies were on
the instant organized for the emergency. The
"Humane," the "Fairmount," the "Good-will,"
with their imaginary engines and hose-carriages,
came dashing down our company street, with
shouts, and yells, and cheers. It was but the
work of a moment to attach the imaginary hose
to imaginary plugs, plant imaginary ladders, tear
down the chimney and demolish the roof, amid a
flood of sparks, and to the intense delight of the
firemen, but to our utter consternation and grief.
It took us days to repair the damage, and we went
to bed with some of our neighbors, after a scant
supper of hard-tack and coffee.
How did we spend our time in winter quarters,
do you ask ? Well, there was always enough to
do, you may be sure, and often it was work of the
very hardest sort. Two days in the week the
regiment went out on picket, and while there got
but little sleep and suffered much fi-om exposure.
When they were not on picket, all the men not
needed for camp guard had to drill. It was nothing
but drill, drill, drill : company drill, regimental
drill, brigade drill, and once even division drill.
Our regiment, as I have said, was a skirmish regi-
ment, and the skirmish-drill is no light work, let
me tell you. Many an evening the men came in
more dead than alive after skirmishing over the
country for miles around, all the afternoon. Re-
veille and roll-call at five o'clock in the morning,
guard mount at nine, company drill from ten to
twcKe, regimental drill from two to four, dress-
parade at five, tattoo and lights out at nine
at night, with continual practice on the drum
for us drummer-boys — so our time passed away.
(To be continued.)
72
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[November^
By the fence, a-mid the clo-ver,
Stand brave Bob and blithe-some Bess;
He peeps up, and she peeps o-ver.
What is the se-cret ? Who can euess ?
l88i.l
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
n
As I WENT down to Lon-don town,
The cit-y for to see,
My lit-tle lad, all brave-ly clad,
Came step-ping up to me.
" Good-mor-row, pret-ty sir ! " said I.
"The same to you!" said he.
1 curt-sied low, and he did bow.
And doffed his hat and feath-er.
Said I: "The day is fair and gay."
Said he: "'T is charm-ing weath-er.
I, too, go down to Lon-don town, —
Shall wc not go to-geth-er ? "
A-way we went, on pleas-ure bent,
The cit-y we did see,
And when the sun was sink-ing down,
Came home right mer-ri-ly.
" It was a pleas-ant day ! " said I.
• W'c '11 eo a-eain ! " said he.
go a-gain
74
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[November,
N-THE-PULPIT.
Bless me ! How bleak November must be in
books ! ^^'h)•, they say there that it is as gloomy,
windy, dreary a season as one can well stand ; that
the earth is dead, as it were, and the sea in such a
rage about one thing and another that it is as
much as one's life is worth to venture upon it !
Well, all this may be so, but your Jack doubts
it, and so do Deacon Green and the dear Little
School-ma'am. You see, we believe in November.
It 's a good honest month, November is. It does
n't put on any spring airs, nor freeze you with stiff
winter manners, but just shakes its crisp yello«-
leaves at you (the fewer the merrier) and crackles
its stubble under your feet and meets you in good
hearty fashion, ready at any time for a romp. If
you light a fire in its honor, up goes the smoke !
out fly the sparks ! and ho for a roaring blaze !
If you go out on the sea to find it, there it is —
strong, brave, and in dead earnest, e\-ery wave
alive, and a gale in every breath. And what a sun
it has ! none of your scorchers, but a clean-cut cool
flood of life and light. Then its stars — how they
do sparkle ! and all the while if any sturdy little
outdoor thing wants to grow, and really means
business, there is sure to be a warmish little corner
for it somewhere.
Look out for November, my little lads and ladies !
Be as honest, crisp, and bright as itself when it
shakes hands with you — and give it Jack's best
compliments.
Now let us take up the subject of
THE SUN'S VOICE.
Your Jack can not say that he ever actually
heard it himself, but it often has seemed to him
that the Sun must have something to say which is
very pleasant to hear ; else why the answer of joy
that bubbles up from the meadows and trills from
the woods, when he gets up bright and rosy of a
morning? 1 'm told, though, that he has a real
voice, and that a Mr. Graham Bell has caught its
sound.
And long ago, when the world was a good deal
younger and, perhaps, quicker-eared than it is
now, a man named Pythagoras said: "The stars
in moving produce a heavenly melody which they
who are wise may hear " ; and that melody he
called " the music of the spheres."
Perhaps Pythagoras was right; but, even if he was
not, why here in our day, as the dear Little School-
ma'am tells me, stands Mr. Graham Bell, and in
his hand is a piece of rounded glass called a lens ;
this he sets up so that it will gather and send on
their way side by side some of those parts of a sun-
beam that are called " dark rays," — all you young-
sters who have learned about the spectroscope will
know what they are, — these dark rays he lets fall
upon the flat surface of a delicate telephone, and
immediately a musical note sounds forth ; and that
is one tone of the great Sun's voice !
So, then, perhaps there may be literal truth as
well as sublime poetry in the solemn phrase uhich
I once heard Deacon Green chanting over and
over to himself:
*' The Morning Stars sang together
.\nd all lite Sons of God shouted for joy."
ANSWERING VOICES.
Talking of the Sun's Voice and those who
answer it reminds me that, according to the Little
School-ma'am and, doubtless, other authorities,
there was in ancient Egypt talk of a certain stone
statue of Memnon, seated, gazing eastward across
the Nile. This statue was said to give forth a
musical note as soon as the sun shone upon it in
the morning, and it sang all day long ; but when
the sun sank in the west, the stone sent up a wail-
ing cry, as if in farewell to the dying light.
Now was n't this a noble old statue ? St. Nich-
OL.-\S * has told you all about this appreciati\e
stone gentleman, but 1 thought it well, just here, to
call him to mind.
WHITE CROWS AND OTHER CROWS.
Your Jack lately overheard Deacon Green
telling the Little School-ma'am that, one day last
spring, when he was strolling with a friend in a
beautiful Connecticut valley, two white crows and
two black ones flew over his head in company ;
and he added that he had seen a white blackbird,
but never until then had he seen white crows.
A wood-wanderer down in Florida sends word of
another queer crow. Says he: "I had tripped,
and bumped my forehead against a tree, and was
stooping over a quiet pool to examine my hurt in
the watery mirror, when a harsh, unfeeling voice
behind me cried, ' Haw, haw ! ' It was just as if a
man had laughed in derision, and 1 turned quickly,
feeling a little out of temper at what 1 thought the
rudeness of a perfect stranger. Looking up, 1 saw
on a branch not fax away a black crow, sitting as
gravely as a judge. Just then his bill opened, and
[ * See St. Nichoijis for October, 1874, page 695.— Ed.)
iSSt.l
J A C K - I N - T H K - r U 1. 1' I T
75
out of it sounded the hoarse ' Haw, haw ! ' again.
Of course that set mc laughing, and away flew
the ' perfect stranger,' no doubt deeply shocked at
my want of politeness ! "
HEARING PLANTS GROW.
Dkar Jack; Near my home is .-x field where ihe com slands in
rows like the rank and file of an amiy ; and I love to watch it as I
lie and swing in my hammock benc;»th the trees. One warm but
d.'unp summer-night, 1 lay there wide awake and quite still, and the
moonlight fell upon mc from between the leaves without flickering,
for there was not a sigh of wind to stir them : even the plumes .tnd
tassels in the neighboring corn-army were quiet. But all at once there
came a shy little sound, then another, and sevenU more, and each
was like the sudden tearing of a piece of soft paper, low but distinct
And all the while the air was motionless. And do you know, dear
Jack, i really beheve that then and there I actually heard the com
grow, and that tho.se little sounds were made by the bursting of the
sheaths of its buds? Of course, 1 know anybody might say:
" Pshaw ! The idea ! — you
must have been dreaming ! "
But i was wide awake, and I
do not think ! was mist.aken- —
Yours truly. Amice G.
Perhaps Amice did
hear in the great still-
ness tlic breaking of
the sheaths and the
pushing out of the
budding growths, liut,
any way. Jack has just
heard that, by applying
a new-fangled electrical
affair, men have made
the growing of a plant
show its progress to the
eye, by the motion of a
pointer around a dial,
and have compelled it
to make itself heard at
short intervals by the
regular tinkle of a bell !
What next ?
A BUTTERFLY BRANCH.
Nmv and then on sum-
mer days some beauti-
ful member of the .Scale
Wing tribe pays a flying
visit to your Jack's neigh-
borhood. And right
pleasant it is to see him
hover a moment in the
air, — and alight on some
sweet blossom, slowly
opening and folding up
his mottled wings, — and
next floating away in the
sunshine, hither and
thither, as light and free
as if he were a sprite from
Fairj'-land. Well, my
dears, here is a picture
of some pretty creatures of this kind, and here,
too, is the true story about them :
During the summer a party of grown-ups were
camping-out somewhere in Wisconsin, and one
day they saw at a little distance a tree-branch with
what seemed to be its own white blossoms having a
rare frolic with the wind ; for they were blowing off",
and blowing on again, fluttering up and down, and
circling about, in a very frisky way. But on going
close up it «as found that what had appeared to be
flying flowers really were .a score or more of butter-
flies clustering around the branch, — a sort of sur-
prise party of white-winged beauties.
Your Jack has heard, too, that in Monterey,
California, there are three pine-trees called " the
Hutterfly trees " because for at least twelve years
they have been covered almost all the time with
live butterflies. The trees measure about eighteen
inches through the trunk, and they bear quite as
many butterflies as they have leaves.
It may be that these particular trees give out an
odor or yield a sap which the butterflies like very
much ; but my birds have not told me yet about
this, and perhaps one of you youngsters will be the
first to explain to me why butterflies are attracted
in such numbers to these curious perching-places.
THE MAGIC PEN.
[November,
THE MAGIC PEN.
(A » Operetta /or the Children. )
By E. S. Brooks,
Author of "The Land of Nod."
CHARACTERS.
The Lord of the Magic Pen.
Mr. Fact, and Prince Fable: — His Councilors.
Fancy Bright, and High Desire: — Petitioners on behalf of the
children.
Columbus, Joan of Arc, and Washington : — Followers of Fact.
Jack the Giant-Killer, Cinderella, and Robinson Crusoe: — Followers
ot Fable.
The Gnome Man. Puck, the Pen's Messenger.
The Herald from Gnome Man's Land.
Dolly, Dot, and Dick: — The children's delegates.
The Musical Frolics. The Page of the Pen.
The Standard- Bearer. The Elephant Dnver.
The Elephant
Half of this operetta is given in this number of St. Nicholas, so
that all iviio wish to study it for representation jnay take up tlie
first part o/ it now. The conchtding portion will be given next
■month, in ample time Jbr preparation /or t/w holidays.
NOTES.
The design of this operetta is to suggest that under all its song
and show lurks a meaning, to the effect that children's stories, to be
effective, must combine all the elements of interest and fancy, of fact
and fable. The costumes here set down can be added to or departed
from according to facilities at hand or the taste of the managers. The
construction and management of the mechanical effects introduced,
VIZ., the Elephant and the Gnome Man, are known to all, and
can be undertaken by supple and willing young men. The full
effect of the presentation will be found to He in the strength and
training of the Chorus of Frolics, which should be as large as prac-
ticable (not less than six ; and fifteen if possible), in the accuracy of
movement, and in the proper attention to stage arrangements and
details. The bell accompaniment to the choruses, the proper construc-
tion of the Gnome Man (or dwarf), the elephant and his car, and
the artistic arrangements of the tableaux, require most care, but the
result will amply repay the labor expended.
COSTUMES AND ACCESSORIES.
The Lord of tite Pen. Student's gown of black silk : blouse of
cardinal, black velvet, and gold. Under-graduate's cap, such as is
worn in English colleges, surmounted with imita-
tion quill-pen in silver; gray beard, scepter, car-
dinal stockings, and slippers.
Mr. Fact. A straight-cut modem black suit,
high black silk hat, cane and eyeglasses.
Prince Fable. Prince's suit of pale blue, white,
and silver; pale blue stockings, slippers, cap
with white plume ; cloak to match.
Fancy Brigltt. Pink tarletan dress, with silver
stars and bands; coronet, with silver star; pink
stockings.
High Desire. A tall boy, with high conical or
Tyrolean hat. Black, gold, and cardinal court dress ; cloak of same.
The Page of the
Pen. Cardinal
blouse and short
cloak, with silver
braid ; skull cap,
same colors ; car-
dinal stockings.
He bears the Mag-
ic Pen on a large
cushion of black or crimson.
Columbus. Underdress of lavender silesia, puffed sleeves; over-
dress: purple, trimmed with gold braid; lavender stockings; som-
brero, ^vith lavender or whue plumes. (See picture on any five-dollar
greenback. )
Joan o/ Arc. See picture in Tuckey's Joan of Arc (Putnam, pub-
lisher) ; short purple dress, purple cap, with white plumes ; armoi
of silver and gold.
George Washington. Continental suit (see picture in Lossing's
DESIRE."
CUSHION AND MAGIC PEN.
GNOME MAN S CAT.
THINKING-CAP.
THE BANNER.
Field-Book of the Revolution) ; sword ; blue coat, buff trimmings;
buff pants, lace ruffles; three-cornered cap, black stockings, buckles
on shoes.
Jack tlu Giant-Killer. Blouse of green and buff, red sash, long
gray stockings, cap, with red plume ; sword and bugle.
Cinderella. Fancy ball-
dress of white tarletan, with
gold stars and bands; train;
veil; band for hair.
Robinson Crusoe. Brown-
ih Canton flannel blouse or
frock, the rough side out,
sleeveless; pointed cap of same; gray leggins, strapped across
above the knee; belt, with pistol; stuffed or imitation parrot on
shoulder: gun.
The Standard- Bearer. Tight-fitting suit of cream-white, with
bands of gold and cardi-
nal put on, military style;
cream-white stockings ;
buckles ; fatigue cap of
same, with cardinal and gold
bands.
Dolly, Dot, and Dick. Or-
dinary children's dress, with
ulsters over coats, and hats
or caps on. They each carry
a toy balloon.
Puck. Dressed as a " Dis-
trict messenger-boy."
The Frolics. Fifteen Httle
girls dressed in white tarletan, as nearly alike as possible ; gauze
wings, white stockings, white shoes; each with chime of bells.
HERALD S TRUMPET.
l88i.]
THE MAGIC PEN,
n
TIu Elephant Driver. Moorish dress, while blouse, turhan ; half-
bare arms, bracelets : large gold circlcis in cars.
The Elephant, constructed as in engraving, p. 156, "Art of Amus-
ing," or as shown in "John Spooncr's Great Human Menagerie,"
St. Nicholas for April, 1875.
Tlte Gnome Man, as in illustration, pp. 94 and 95. " Art of Amus-
ing." Hb dress is of dark blue, pale blue, and silver; Phrygian
cap of same.
The Book Car. Platform fitting over a good-sized child's wagon,
so arranged that it can be drawn by the two boys who represent
the elephant : the back made in imitation of a book>cover.
The Throne atui Drapery. Canopy draped with green and silver,
with trimmings of crimson and gold ; background, maroon ; chair,
same.
The Gnotne Man's Alcote. A curtained dais which may be set
in a recess; drape with Turkey red.
OOwr Properties. The banner should be cardinal, with the dcxicc
of a quill pen in silver crossing a broken sword, in gold, and is lined
with pale blue. Three toy balloons for Dot, Dolly, and Dick. Two
ihinking-caps, like polo caps ; one of crimson and gold, and one of
blue and silver.
The HeraUi. Brown blouse and cloak trimmed with red, blue,
and gold braid: skull-cap, with same colors; trumpet of cardinal
and gold, and blue and silver drapery.
THE OPKRKTTA.
Scene,— Court of the Lord of the Magic Pen. Throne — empty.
Enter the Frolics, singing :
Music by Anthony Reiff.*
This Symphony be/ore each verse.
A Uegretto.
^^^^^^m
Legatiss. — ' " ^=^
^^^^
^ g^
^ ^ 1
is^ti-i
summer hours. Troop we all to the call
blithe and tree ; Sing-ing slow soft and low,
%mp
^^g^^^EgS
-M^S^
1. Here and there, here and there, Thro't he spring day's
2. Wticre they play, thru' the day, Race we, chase wc.
*^ Of the chil-dren blithe and small. Chasing show'rs,
To the Mag-ic Pen we go. Blube and ii-ee.
verdure fair; Here and there, here and there. Thro* the balmy
bright and gay;\Vhere they play , thro' the day^There we dart a-
midst the flow'rs.Thro' the pleasant summer hours, Troop we
Frolics we,— Childhood's Krolics,bIitiie and tree,Siuging slow,
Coda after
^: tost verse.
[ijleasant
.Th
summer air. Chasing show'rs 'midst the flowers,Thro'the
cross their way. Blithe and free, Frolics we,— Childhood's
I ^^ Frolics,
'^^^^^^^m
'-»-»
to the call Of the children blithe and small,
soft and low, To the Magic I'en we go.
D. C. pp
itJL
•Copyright, 1881, by Anthony Reiff.
78
THE MAGIC PEN.
[November,
Enter Fancy Bright and High Desire. Both speak:
We 're Fancy Bright and High Desire !
Reaching, ever^ high and higher,
Ours the hands that never tire,
Ours the feet that climb —
As we build for childish pleasure
All the 'joys that children treasure,
As we set to childish measure
Life's sweet morning-chime.
They who take are ever yearning.
Still for new delights are burning;
So we hasten, — turning, turning.
From the homes of men.
On the mighty Master calling.
For some childish tale enthralling,
From the store that 's ever falling
From the Magic Pen.
Chorus of Frolics, with bell accompaniment :
Music by Anthony ReifT.*
Allegretto. Scherzo.
:^=^^^^
Fed. Bells. *
EEfe%^^^
*^ Copyright, 1881, by Anthony Reiff.
iB8i.]
THE MAGIC PEN.
79
bells. Thus wc call, Thus we call our Master with our
fed?— ^ ^ -^ ^
bells. Jingle, jingle, jingle. Jingle, jinnle, jingle, Merry
tr. tr. tr. tr.
Lord of the Magic Pen ! hail I hail I
=5t
S1(P|I
Fancy Bright and Hioii Desire, together:
O Master of the M.igic Pen,
Great Wizard of the Brain,
Come — as we voice our wishes here!
Come — mighty Master ; quick — appear !
Nor let us call in vain :
Now, as we lift our song again,
Come — Master of the Magic Pen!
Chorus of Frolics, as before.
Enter Master of the Magic Pen, seated on his book-chanot.
drawn by elephant in charge of elephant driver. The MasterIs
prccedctf by the STASOARD-nHARER, and followed by the Pack
OF the Pen (who bears the Pen on a velvet cushion), and by
Mk. Fact and Prince Fable. Frolics salute with chorus,
as follows:
Music by Anthony Reiff.*
Maestoso.
Hail ! hail ! hail !
Lord of the Magic Pen '. Hail ! hail !
J 1-
Master :
^^^lo is it calls?
Fancy Bright and High Desire:
We. gracious Master ! —
Fancy Bright and High Desire.
To thee we haste
(Thought flies not faster).
And for thy boundless aid aspire;
Kneel before him.
And bending low.
Before thy feet.
With joy and love
Our sovereign greet.
Master descends from car and ascends the throne : standing before
it, says to Driver:
Lead off the car.
But wait without until T call, and then
Bear me to other fields afar,
Where countless labors waiting are
Still for the Magic Pen.
Driver salams low and leads off elephant-car. Standard-bearer
and Page stand at foot of throne : Fact and Fable stand
higher, at right and left of Master.
Master, from the throne, standing :
I 'm the Lord of the wonderful Magic Pen ;
I 'm the Master of every Tongue,
.\nd my stories old for the children I 've told,
Since the days when the earth was young.
by Anthony Reiff.
8o
THE MAGIC PEN.
[November,
Far back, far back, in the misty years.
In ihe young world's morning glory,
My Magic Pen for the children then
Traced many a wondrous story.
And the ages came and the ages fled ;
But still has my Pen kept going.
And the children small love the stories all
That fast from the Pen are flowing.
And so. Fancy Briglit and High Desire,
You shall have what to give I am able —
With the aid of the Pen and my Councilmen —
My servitors — Fact and Fable.
Seats himself.
Fancy :
High Desire :
Fancv :
High Desire :
Both ;
I 'm Fancy Bright !
I 'm High Desire !
Mine are the schemings,
Mine the fire.
That still with thought.
Mount high and higher
In every childish brain.
And the children,
Ever yearning,
Now for something
New, are burning.
Some new story,
Wonder-turning,
Ask they now again.
Both, kneeling at foot of throne :
Mighty Master,
Give us, give us
Something grand that shall outlive us.
That shall stir the hearts of men.
Then should Fancy
And Desire
Never more to lead aspire;
This might lift the children higher
By the mighty Magic Pen.
High Desire :
What ho, my trusty page !
Give quick, give free.
The Magic Pen.
Page, kneeling, presents the pen.
Now Fact, now Fable,
Come to me.
And say what shall
This story be.
To toucli the children's ken !
Quick, Page,
The thinking-caps for both.
Page presents caps to Fact and Fable.
Master continues :
Think Fact — think Fable.
Be not loath
To guide the Magic Pen.
Fact and Fable place the thinking-caps on their heads, fold their
arms, and pace slo\vIy up and down the stage, lost in thought,
while the Frolics sing very soft and low this chorus :
Moderato con Misterioso.
Music by Anthony Reiff.*
Hush ! hush ! hush ! Still all noise and rush,
-N — K — (k- ^
'■^^^m
^-
Let no sound be heard ; Think ! think ! think !
^ f-=r^
~w~^-
^ :
«J Hush! hush
— t* —
hush ! I
s
lush!
Si
hush!
— r " "^
— > '
hush!
— 1 1
— m F —
6m): h 1 a ? —
FT-t-
-2^-
=«^-^
=g 1
—0 =—
^^5^=r
1 ^
t
F=l
" Copyright, i88i, by Anthony Reiff.
i83i.]
Tin; MAGIC PKN.
8i
Mr. Fact, removing cap and bowing to the throne :
I am plain Mr. Fact, always ready to act
In the service of sense or of reason;
I.et, O Master, the Pen, for the children of men,
Ciive hut /lilts — wliich are always in season;
For the truth is the truth ! and a lie is a lie !
Howsoever in jewels you dress it;
If my speech is too plain, I regret — but in v.iin
Can I seek for soft words to express it.
Let the little ones know that their duties below
They must do just as conscience impels them;
Let them read every day only fads, I should say.
In the stories that History tells them.
Bows and steps aside to the right.
Prince Fable, removing cap and bowing to throne :
No, Master, no ! oh, write not so.
Lest dull and dry thy stories wither ;
Bring joy and light, and pictures bright.
And day-dreams tri]iping hither, tliither'
Let elf and fay the livelong day,
Hold fast and rapt the childish fancies ;
While far and near, on childish ear,
Fall only sounds of songs and dances.
Age travels fast, youth soon is past.
Let then the Pen, O Master, lighten
The children's hour ; thou hast the power
Closed ears to ope, dull eyes to brighten.
Let Mr. Fact, who knows not tact
But sini])le sense, teach rule and t.able ;
The wondrous tale will more avail
Than dull, dry facts — thus counsels Fable.
Bows and steps aside to the left.
Master, rising :
" Who shall decide when doctors disagree ? "'
Thus, the Pen tells me, an old poet said —
If so confusing must your counsels be.
We might as well go home and get to beii ;
Vol. I.X.— 6.
Nothing the children could obtain to-night —
\'ou are both wrong, and yet, you both are right.
Vour thinking-caps put on ! seek further speecli 1 —
Or, stay! that sooner we the end may reach, —
IIo, Fact and Fable, summon quickly here
-Some of the tales you VI send the children dear.
Fact .ind Fable, both:
Lift, Frolics all, the song and call.
And bid our thoughts appear.
Come, stories old, so often told,
Come to the Master here.
Chonis of Froucs :
N. B. — The singers in this chorus should h.ive bells, and sh.ike
them Kcntly at c.ich note they sing, like sleigh bells : these should
be shaken loudly at each of the three notes in the closing symphony,
marked Uing, Dong, Bell !
AlUsrctto Moderato,
Delicately,
/J
^ ■*'-^-T=^ :-^
^^^
Tinkling, tinkling, swelling, falling. Hear our mystic
While the children, loft - y, low-ly, Still are watching.
82
THE MAGIC PEN.
[November,
Come, then, come to Fact and Fable; Come, then, come from
nook and gable ; Song and sto - ry, haste ye, ^vhen
Smnmoned to the Mag-ic Pen. •
Enter, light, Jack the Giant-Killer, Cinderella, and Robin-
son Crusoe. They cross to Prince Fable and bow to him.
Fable presents them before the throne.
Mighty Master — these my stories,
Age-enshrined in childish glories,
Jack the Giant-Killer, bold!
Jack bows to throne.
Cinderella, never old !
Cinderella bows to throne.
Crusoe, from his island-hold !
Crusoe bows to throne.
Trooping here from field and fen,
Take them, Master of the Pen !
Master :
You are ■welcome. Fables all.
To the great Pen's council-hali.
Prince F.able and his followers step aside. Then enter, left,
Columbus, Joan of Arc, and George Washington. They
cross to Mr. Fact and bow to him. F.\ct presents them
before the throne ;
These, the followers of Fact;
Golden deed and glorious act.
Each one here has known ;
Take, oh take them. Master mine.
See in each a truth divine.
Bending at thy throne.
Great Columbus, ne'er afraid 1
Columbus bows to throne.
Fair Joan, the soldier-maid !
Joan bows to throne.
Washington, the patriot staid !
W.\SHlNGTON bows to throne.
Take them for thine own !
Master :
Hail, glorious Facts ! the Magic Pen
Records your virtues yet again.
Frolics in chorus, speaking :
Valiant Facts and gleaming Fables,
Trooping here from nooks and gables.
You are welcome, welcome when
Summoned by the Magic Pen.
By each tinkling, tankling bell.
Speak, we charge you, fair and well ;
Stories children love to hear.
Tell now to our Master dear.
The followers of Fact and Fable stand alternately before the
Master and speak their lines, saluting him both before and
after speaking.
Jack the Giant-Killer, with spirit. (Let the ^Ura-lil~la" be in
imitation of the notes of a bugle) :
Where castles gleam, and banners stream
By hill, and sea, and river ;
Where helmets flash, and chargers dash,
.\nd bright swords clash and shiver,
I scour the land on every hand.
My bugle sounds : tra-lil-la !
•My arm is strong; loud rings my song;
I am Jack the Giant-Killer !
From Dover's boats to John O'Groat's,
From east to western waters,
I ride in might, with armor bright.
Beloved of England's daughters.
And still my song rings loud and long,
iSIy bugle sounds: tra-lil-la!
I fear no fray, come night or day,
I am Jack the Giant-Killer !
With courage bright, I 've faced in fight
A score of monstrous giants ;
By pluck and art I played my part.
And gave them hot defiance.
They 're met — they 're slain ! and o'er the plain,
My bogle sounds: tra-lil-la!
My arm is strong, loud rings my song —
I am Jack the Giant-Killer.
Master :
Hail, mighty Jack '. thy deeds so bold
The Pen has "told for centuries back.
/ Jack steps back.
Joan of Arc :
Is there aught, O mighty Master,
In the fairy tales of yore,
Can surpass my wondrous story.
Told the children o'er and o'er :
A simple maid of France,
Jly dream-eyes saw in trance
How king and country should be' saved by me;
My hand should bear the lance.
My plume lead war's advance.
My life-blood, pledged to France,
Should set my country free.
THE MAGIC PEN",
83
So, not a whit dismayed,
Nor once set sore afraid.
By jeer or laugh, by insult, threat, or frown;
In armor all arrayetl,
A simple soldier-maid,
I led the cavalcade,
And gave my land renown.
Up from the dust and mire,
I raised my country higher.
And crowned my king, victorious o'er his foes.
Mine not to rest nor tire
Till Right o'er Might aspire,
Nor did I dread the fire
That 'round me wrapped and rose.
by
my stor
I wouli
ry, mighty Master,
d show to girl and boy.
Still may come — by faith and patience —
Victory, glory, peace, and joy.
Master:
Brave-hearted girl, full well I heed
How, in your country's direst need,
\'our faith so strong gave victory then,
.\s well records the Magic Pen.
Joan steps back.
Robinson Cbcsoe :
Never yet, O mighty Master,
Was there boy in boyish days,
But his heart beat fast .and faster
.•\s he listened in amaze
To my deeds of pluck and daring.
Shipwrecked on the stormy main —
How I struggled, nothing sparing
Till I reached the land again.
How I built my island fortress;
How I lived from day to day;
How I builded boats, and fashioned
Useful things in wood and clay.
Still my cats, and goats, and parrot,
Still my dog and gun so sure,
Still Man Friday, happy savage,
In boy-hearts shall long endure.
Restless eyes and breathless longing
Tell how strong the story's strain,
.\s the fancies, rushing, thronging.
Crowd the busy, boyish brain.
Master :
Heigh-ho ! Poor old Robinson Crusoe !
While your story lives, all boys will do so.
But for pluck and for push still may boys and may men
Profit well by the story you give to the Pen.
Crusoe steps back.
Columbus:
On Genoa's walls the sunlight falls.
On Spain's fair fields of glory ;
.\nd high and proud their legends crowd
The page of ancient story.
But, Master mine, not Genoa's line
Nor knights of Spain were able
To fin<l, like me, across the sea,
Realms only known in fable.
One summer day I sailed away
.\cross the western waters,
To where the breeze o'er sunset seas
Fans dusky sons and daughters.
In doubt and pain I sailed from Spain,
But backward soon returning.
Gave joy serene to king and queen —
.\ new world, worth the earning !
Mine were the hands that gave the lands,
Mine all the praise and glory ;
And, teaching still the worth of will,
I live in childish story.
Master :
And still, Columbus, shall your deeds again.
For worlds new-told, live by the Magic Pen.
C0LU.MBUS steps back.
Cinderella :
Low in the meadows the daisies are springing.
Lowly the violets hide 'neath the grass ;
High in the heavens the rainbow is swinging,
Light o'er the hill-tops the bright sunbeams pass.
Patient and helpful, in silence and cinders.
Never complaining, nor moaning her lot;
Sla\ing, herself, while no pleasure she hinders,
Work — her day's portion; at night — her hard cot.
Hark ! with a crash vanish kitchen .and hearth-stone ;
Pumpkins are coaches — mice horses — rats men;
Gorgeous in laces and jewels the maid shone;
Come palace, come ball-room; come prince, joy, —
and then —
Naught but once more cinders, hearth, and — a slipper
Humbleness, drudgery, patience, and thought!
Then — the shoe fits the fair feet of the tripper,
Then the prince finds the om maiden he sought.
Low in the meadows the daisies were springing.
Lowly the violets hid 'neath the grass;
Now both wreathe the bride's crown, while bells
madly ringing
Proclaim Cinderella a princess at last.
Master :
Cinderella, Cinderella! Shall I ever, lass, forget
The glory of your story, that the Pen is writing yet ?
Cinderella steps aside.
George Washington :
Truth is mighty, truth is noble ;
This my text, O Master mine;
This the story to the children
I would utter, line on line.
The hurrying years have rolled away,
.\nd turned a century's score.
Since — captain of the patriot host —
I fought at Freedom's fore.
Years earlier, when a happy lad
On fair Virginia's plains,
I spoke the truth in spite of wrong.
In spite of error's pains.
Mv father's jny was blest reward
For truth so fairly spoken.
And from that day this rule I kept —
" Let not your word be broken."
Whatever now of great renown
My name and fame surroundelh.
Whatever glow of honest worth
In my life-work aboundeth.
To this firm rule is doubly due —
This rule, to youth appealing:
"Speak truth; stand firm for simple right;
Avoid all double-dealing ! "
Master :
Still, noble Washington, to teach
To all the sons of men,
Thy precepts, — to time's farthest reach.
In every land, in every speech, —
Shall flow the Magic Pen.
Washington steps aside.
(To be concluded ttcxt month.)
84
THE LETTER-BOX.
[November^
THE LETTER-BOX.
The Children's Garfield Home.
The following letter from Master Willie P. Herrick was first
printed in the AVw }'orA- E-ucning Post, of Sept. 27th, just as this
number was going to press, but we gladly reprint it here, and hope
it will be carefully considered by every reader of St. Nicholas :
I felt very badly when our President died, and my brother and
I think it would be very nice to have a home in the country for little
sick children. Mamma thought that each little boy or girl could
give from one cent up to twenty-fi\'e cents. We thought we could
call it the Garfield Home, and we also thought it would be very nice
to ha^'e a picture of President Garfield in it. We would like all little
boys and girls to join in this. Please put this in the paper, and also
put in for the parents to tell the children. Willie P. Hekrick.
Willie and Tottie,
Newport, Sept. 27th, iSSi.
We wish to add our hearty praise to Willie's suggestion, and to
say that we propose to enlist this magazine in the effort to carry it
out. The Centi^ry Co., publishers of St. Nicholas, have volun-
teered to receive and credit all subscriptions for the Garfield Home
that may be sent them — with the understanding that if the total
amount subscribed should prove insufficient to found a home, it may
be applied as a ** Children's Garfield Fund " to the benefit of " The
Poor Children's Summer Home." or some kindred charity of New
York City. We believe there are thousands of boys and girls all
over the land who felt as anxious an interest as their elders during
the long weeks of President Garfield's illness, and as keen a grief at
his death. And all such young folk will welcome Willie's su;;-
gestion and the offer of The Century Co. as an opportunity to
fitly honor the memory of the good President by helping to accom-
plish a great practical good. Letters and subscriptions may be
addressed to The Centl'RY Co., Union Square (North;, N. Y.
For the further encouragement of all those who may wish to sub-
scribe to the fund, we shall supplement Willie's letter by a sweet lit-
tle letter from Nellie Satterlee Curtis, which came to us a few weeks
ago, inclosing ten dollars to send five poor children of New York
City on a week's visit to the Summer Home. We forwarded the
letter and the money to the Superintendent, Mr. Fry, and received
in reply the admirable letter which also is given in this "Letter-bo.\."
It shows clearly enough how much good could be done by the pro-
posed "Garfield Home," and little calculation is needed to convince
any reader of St. Nicholas that a large sum can be quickly realized
from a great number of small subscriptions. The project of the
" Children's Garfield Home " is worthy alike of the good and great-
hearted President and the generous, patriotic boys and girls uf
America.
Here is Nellie Curtis's letter:
Dear St. Nicholas : This is eight dollars, for four children to
go to the place that was written about in St. Nicholas last June, —
but not this very last, but the summer before this. And this is the
way of all of it. When Mamma read me that, I thought it was
splendid, and I wislied I could send the little girl in the picture that
is down-stairs helping the tiny one down. But I had not two dol-
lars. But soon after there was a picnic. It wasfifteen cents on the cars
to the place, and Papa gave me the money to go, and when it was
Thursday, Mamma was sick and 1 was bound to go, till Mamma
looked so sad in fear I should get hurt, and I did not go ; and I just
thought 1 "*ould start with that fifteen cents and earn some more,
and send a child to the sea-shore. And my Auntie she is awful kind,
and gives so much, I just thought I would ask her if she would try
and cam some. And Auntie she thanked me, she was so pleased.
And most of the money was given me to buy things with, but I had
rather send the children ; and some I earned sewing, and other
ways. And then when Mr. Pratt and Mr. Deitrich gave me some I
thought I would start for another child, and that dear, sweet, precious
Auntie she said she would try, and four dollars she sends, and her
name is Harriet N. Austin, and four dollars I send, and I hope the
children will be happy. I did not want the children to go till water-
melons came. That piece in St. Nicholas told in the picture how
they loved it. Will you try and write in your paper if they have a
splendid time? Oh, I wish I could see them so happy, because I
have enjoyment all the time ! And Auntie does like it so about the
children, and every week she writes me just a beautiful letter ! And
I ought to be happy, and Cousin Mary she thinks I ought to be
good, when I have such good friends. When next summer comes,
I hope some more can go with money I will have, and I will ask
some other children and send awful poor sad ones. Good-bye.
Nellie Satterlee Curtis.
P. S. — What do you think! Mrs. Phebe Howe wrote my Auntie
that her children would send me two dollars to send a child ; and
so, after my Papa had gut the money fixed, here came two dollars
from Louie and Emma Howe and their brother, and I am more
pleased than for myself And now another child will be happy, and
I think it was so kind for them ; and good Papa got it fixed to ten
dollars in place of eight dollars.
And here is the letter from Mr. Fry, which, we are sure, will make
generous little Nellie and her friends more than ever happy in hav-
ing saved and sent the money :
Bath, L. L, Aug. 27, 1881.
Dear St. Nicholas: Mr. Macy, our assistant secretary, has
just brought me a veiy sweet letter from Nellie Satterlee Curtis,
inclosing ten dollars, to send five Httle girls who are not so fortunate
as she, to spend a week each at the Children's Summer Home,
Bath, L. L Only a little girl with a heart warm, pure, and tender,
while surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries of life, would have
thought of the two hundred and forty destitute children at the
Home, and so we value her kind words. I hope you will thank her
even more for them than for the money. I have sent for five little
girls from the neighborhood of Cherry and Water streets, in New
York, and they will come Monday prepared to enjoy a week with
us. When they come I will read Nellie's letter to them, so that
they may know they are indebted to her and her little friends for the
pleasant time they will have. Perhaps I may get them to write to
her, or, if not, then I will write, and tell her all about them that I
think will in any way interest her.
I wonder if Nellie and the other little girls know that we have a
new Home, larger and finer in every way than the one she read
about in St. Nicholas for June, 1880? It may interest them to
know something about it; but I must make the story very short, fcr
you may well imagine the guardian of two hundred and forty little
girls has but little time to spare for letter-writing.
The old Home, very near here, was small — an old-fashioned house
with but scanty room inside, and not very spacious grounds sur-
rounding it. Not much space for romping, and swinging, and such
other amusements as children love. Then, too, the dormitories were
small, so that we could only have about a hundred and fifty
children there at one time, and were obliged to turn away a number
of poor little girls, who would have enjoyed a week at the sea-shore.
But, worst of all, we only rented the house, and did n't know but we
might have to give it up, and so wnuld have no Home at all. But
one day Mr. A. B. Stone thought he would go down to Bath and see
the children in their Summer Home. Well, he came, and saw how
happy they were; and, just like little Nellie, he said, *T want to
have more children enjoy a week in the country," and so he bought
for twenty thousand dollars a beautiful piece of land called Bath
Park. It is about as big as Union Square in New York City, and
fronts right on the bay outside of the Narrows. It has a grassy
knoll, shaded by a number of large trees. There is a very large
pavilion, that makes a fine play-ground for the children in wet
weather. Mr. Stone gave all this beautiful land to the New York
Children's Aid Society. They put up a nice large building and
furnished it, so that now the poor children who attend the industrial
schools of New York will have a Summer Home by the sea for all
time to come. We have a la^ge dormitory, one hundred and ten by
forty feet, and two smaller ones about forty feet square, giving us
ample room for two hundred and fifty httle folks. Our dinmg-room
is large enough to seat the entire number at once. We have a nice
kitchen, a laundry, a wash-room for the children, a room where they
keep their clothing, twenty-eight swings, and a merry-go-round with
seats for twenty-two. So you see we are not badly off. Then we
have a beautiful sandy beach, and the Atlantic Ocean for a bath-tub.
Once a day the children bathe, and I am sure you would be greatly
amused to see perhaps a hundred and sixty little girls splashing
and screaming with delight, while the teacher in charge stands upon
the shore, looking a little like a hen with young ducks. From the
bath they go to the dining-room, where a bountiful meal awaits
them. They have roast beef, potatoes, bread and butter, and rice-
pudding for dinner to-day, and the nice salt bath has sharpened
their appetites. From the dining-room they make a grand rush for
the swings and the merry-go-round. Some gather in little groups
about the trees, while many form rings, and so they amuse them-
selves until supper-time. We have ten cows, that supply us with
pure country milk, and I assure you the children enjoy their whole-
some supper of bread and milk. After supper comes a walk on the
beach, or a stroll through the fields in search of wild flowers. Then
THE LETTER-BOX.
85
the rctiring-bcIl rings, a hymn is sung, and soon they arc tucked
away in ihcir clean little beds, and lost in a refreshing sleep, thai
Ixsts until the sun, peeping in at the window, calls iheni to another
day of fun and frulic. And so the week slips away like a long pic-
nic. On Saturday they go home on the train, and on Monday
another company of two hundred and fifty is whirled out from the
crowded city in the same way — many, perhaps, getting their first
view of the beautiful country-. I often wonder what they think of
their small, dark, and dirtj- bedrooms at home as they contrast ihcm
with our large, clean dormitory, with its snowy sheets and wovcn-
wire mactrcsscs. I am sure they must long to return, and must feci
very grateful for alt the cumfort and fun of the week.
I have told you something about the Home in this letter, and I
think now it would, perhaps, have been better had I inid' you more
about the children and the wretched homes they live in. Twenty-
five hundred little girls have already spent a week each at the Home
this season, and a thousand boys are anxiously waiting for the first
NIonday in September, so that they may visit us.
Sincerely your friend, Chas. R. Fry.
were very large, and blue, pink, and yellow, and as they floated off,
the colors looked like colored pearl set in the bubbles. 1 wrote this
to show you that the spool is a success. A Reader.
Sandy Knoll, Nottingha-m. England.
Dear St. Nicholas: I think many of your readers may like to
know, if they have not already found out, what pretty little things
can be made out of the good ends of burnt matches.
I will lr>' and describe to you as well as I can how I made a house,
which, kept carefully as a "show-thing," has lasted a long time. Cf
Oi R thanks are due to Messrs. Henry Graves & Co., of London,
for their courtesy in permitting us to copy, as the frontispiece of the
present number, their beautiful engniWng of Sir Joshua Reynolds's
portrait of Miss Frances Harris.
Dear St. Nicholas: I was twelve years old last week, and my
sister decorated two dozen sheets of writing paper with water-color
pictures, in the upper left-hand corners, for my birthday present.
Every sheet is different, and some are very pretty. Perhaps the
readers of St. Nichol-\s who have a taste for painting would like
to know how to decorate paper like this for Christmas presenLs.
Many pretty pictures can be taken from this magazine. Fluffy is a
very cunning little girl to paint. The poem and illustrations about ht-r
are in the .\iay number, 1877. Another good thing for painting is
in the February number of the same year ; it is three little children
crying. Each figure makes a complete picture.
First draw the outline of the picture with a lead-i^encil, tint it with
water-color laid on ver>- thin, and then re-line with burnt sienna. It
is best to use paper without lines. For a child that can not write
straight without them, get watered lines. — Your little friend,
Beatrice Brown.
Dear St. Nicholas: I think T can interest some nf the readers
of the Letter-box by telling them of a Pig-a-graph from which 1
had great pleasure. I took an old account-book, and asked each
person I knew to draw a pig in it with their eyes shut, and then sign
their name under it. — Your constant reader, W. Mengel.
Peoria, Sept. 15, '8t.
Dear St. Nicholas : I saw in the September number how to
make com-husk dolls. I made some the day I got the St. Nicho-
las, and they look very funny. I am sorry the com is gone, because
1 can't make any more dolls. I like to read the stones in the St.
Nicholas very much. Irene.
Dear St. Nicholas : I am one of your English readers and reside
at Congleton. I am thirteen years of age. I have read your stories
by Mrs. Oliphant of Lady Jane Grey and Mary, Queen of Scots, and
since reading them 1 have been to Westminster Abbey and the
Tower. I looked with great interest at the tombs in the Abbey, and
like your corrcspondcnLs, Carl and Norris, I saw the monument to
Mary, Queen of Scots, and also that of her rival. Queen Elizabeth.
I saw the fac-simile of the letter in James L's handwriting, giving
directions respecting the building of the monument to his mother.
I also saw the chapel where Queen Elizabeth's tomb is placed, and
where Oliver Cromwell, and John Bradshaw, who presided at the
trial of Charles L, were buried: but it was slated that the bodies
were taken away from there after the Restoration. 1 felt all the
more interest in this because Bmdshaw was bom a short distance
from this town, and was the mayor in 1637. For many ycai-s he lived
in this town, and fearful stories about ghosts with clanking chains
haunting the house used to be told to our grandfathers when they
were children. I saw where Queen Elizabeth was lodged as a
prisoner while in the Tower, as well as the great keep built by
Wdliam the Conqueror, and the Traitor's CJate, and the gloomy-
lookine tower called the Bloody Tower. I thought most about
l^dy Jane Grey, and where she was beheaded, and where the two
princes were murdered and buried. I saw what seemed to me 10
look awful, — a block which had been used in the beheading of
Lord Lovat, and some other noblemen, in 1745, and the marks
where the a.x had struck the block, and the ax used for beheading;
also the mask of the executioner. I thought of Lady Jane (ircy lay-
ing her held down on such a block. I shuddered, and was glad I
was living in a less barbarous age. Ada Buxton Statha.m.
course any one who is fond of using his wits and fingers for pretty
presents can try other things — churcnes. dog-kennels, pin-trays, and
so forth. I am only going lo lell of one house, the first I ever made.
l"hc materials needed are
old wooden matches, of
which you must first make
a great collection, card-
board for the foundation,
mica or very thin glass for
the windows, and glue and
a paint-box ; also a sharp
iM^1HHMM
FIG. 4.
FIG. 3.
knife is indispensable. Take a piece
of thickish white card-board, about
five inches square, and toward one
comer draw the plan of your house,
and paint the floors of both rooms
with red and blue tiles.
The walls are made of matches,
and you see in Fig. 2 are 2->s inches
by sijt. and i-H inches by 2, for the
large and small room respectively.
Fig. 3 shows how the
matches are cut and
glued together, and
how the window is cut
out and finished. -At
the back of the framed
Dear St. Nicholas : I tried making soap-bubbles with a spool,
by Maie Stevenson's direction, and succeeded nicely. The bubbles
window-holes mica or thin glass is fastened, and two thin cross-
splinters are then delicately glued in front to form the panes. White
paper blinds are put inside, while crimson curtains and a red pot
containing a green bushy plant are also painted inside on the mica
or glass, and give a charming effect. Fig. 4 is the front view
of the house, and shows both rooms, their windows, the rustic
porch, and the chimney. The backs and the left sides of both rooms
are quite plain.
Now glue the walls down in their proper places, pressing them
well together, and do not be afraid of the glue, as it helps to stop up
any little gaps, and makes the little dwelling snugly free from draughts.
Before putting the roof on. fasten down to ihe floors of the rooms
any little furniture, such as a three-legged table made of a cross-
section of a sugar-cane and three points of wood, a wee wooden
dresser, and so on.
The roof for the main room Is in two pieces, and made the same
way as the walls, and is just glued in so as to make two sloping
sides from the topmost point of the back and front, but no gables,
and you will find the right and left walls make two triangles which
stand up from the roof and form a pretty addition to the whole
effect. The small room should have deep projcciing gables. The
chimney is shown in Fig. 4. Paint the card-board round about
green for grass, and lay out the garden with walks as your fancy
suits you, and for proper gravel-walks gum them and sprinkle
with sand till well covered. Put bits of mossy bark in appropriate
places and make as nistic a garden as you can, and finally inclose
It all with a fence and gate. —Yours truly,
Emily H. S., isJ^ years.
86
THE LETTER-BOX.
[November,
AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION.-EIGHTH REPORT.
.-ill allow a
It may be well to explain to the many children who are now read-
ing the pages of St. Nicholas for the first time, that the Agassiz
Association is a society organized for the purpose of studying natural
objects. The Association has been in existence for about seven years,
but has consisted of less than a hundred members, chiefly li%^ng
among the Berkshire hills of western Massachusetts, until last No-
vember, when a general invitation was given, through the columns of
St. Nicholas, to all who were interested in nature, to join this society.
At that lime a general outline of our plan was given, a simple
constitution was presented, and the kind indorsement of Professor
Alexander Agassiz was noticed. To the several numbers of St.
Nicholas since October, 1880, then, we beg to refer all readers who
would know more of our society. We will repeat, however, that the
invitation to membership is unrestricted by considerations of age,
ability, or place. Most of our members are under twenty years of
age, many are not yet ten ; but we are happy to count in our ranks
a large and increasing number of fathers and mothers, teachers and
college professors. We need the older to help us answer the ques-
tions of the younger, and we must have the little ones to help us
puzzle those who have been growing wise for many years.
Our plan is to have small branch societies, consisting of not less
than four members, formed in different towns. These local " chap-
ters," while adopting the general name of "Agassiz Association,"
and conforming to our constitution, are at perfect liberty to frame
their own by-laws and arrange their own plans of work.
There is no initiation fee to be paid to the Central Lenox Chapter,
and nothing is required of the chapters excepting a monthly report of
progress, including such details as names of new members, reports
of discoveries, accounts of expeditions, etc.
Il is our aim to make the Agassiz Association direct its members
to courses of reading, to methods of observation and collection, answer
their questions when not too difficult, and help them to exchanges
among themselves of such duplicate specimens as they may have to
spare Since last November we have heard from about twelve hun-
dred young people, nearly all of whom have become active and
enthusiastic members.
While we prefer to have independent local chapters formed,
wherever four persons can be found who take sufficient interest in
what lies in the fields about them, yet when it happens that only
one or two wish to join, we ha^ e arranged to receive them as corre-
sponding members of our home chapter at Lenox, on the same terms
as we receive the boys of our own academy, viz. : the payment of
twenty-five cents initiation fee, and the agreement to send us a
monthly report on some subject agreed on between them and the
president. These reports are read at the meetings of our Lenox
chapter as a regular part of our proceedings. Among the questions
most uniformly put to us by new correspondents have been these:
'■ How can I join the Associ.«ion ? How can I make a cabinet ?
How can I catch insects? How can I kill them ? How can I pre-
sene them ? How am I to press flowers S "
All these questions have been carefully answered and illustrated
in previous reports of the A. A., and we must request new members
not to repeat these inquiries, but to refer to the back numbers of
St. Nicholas.
When a new chapter is formed, there are two items which the
secretary thereof should always make a point of noting in his first
letter to us. isL The names of all the members. 2d. The special
branch of study in which each is interested.
Now, in accordance with our report of last month, we a
few of our friends to have the floor :
" St. JoHNSBfRY, Vt.
" Dear Sir : We are a ' Chapter ' of the Agassiz .Association,
No 83' and are tr>-ing t") improve our minds in natural history
by corresponding with persons interested in that science, and
exchanging specimens. , ■ j j
" We first started about the last of February, and painted and
papered our room for meetings, and made cabinet cases, which we
have already filled. We have two hundred minerals, as many
shells, and over one hundred insects. We have also deposited in
the savings-bank a number of dollars which we have earned. W e
wish to correspond with others and to exchange minerals and other
specimens. F. F. Fletcher, Pres., Box 368.
We would suggest that applications for exchange be more definite,
and expressed in as few words as possible — for example :
The Lenox, Mass. , Chapter will exchange labeled specimens of
sea-weed for mounted and labeled wild flowers of Colorado.
It is well also, in asking for exchanges, to be rather too modest
than too bold in your requirements. One member seems to err a
trifle in this regard, for he writes :
" I have two bugs which I wish to exchange for a piece of gold
ore and silver ore."
Still, it depends on the bugs !
We must make room for a bright letter from a little Bennington,
Vl, girl of eleven. It shows how to study without a text-book.
" Dear Mr. Ballard: I would like to join the Agassiz Associa-
tion, if you please. I make litde discoveries in a pool of dead water
near our house. Of course, what I call discover-
ies, is finding out things without looking in a book.
" In the pool there are some things that I call snai s,
but they are black, and their shells don't look like snails
shells. One day I took two old pans and filled them
with water. Then I caught some of the snails and
put them into the pans. They had horns. I took some
water-soaked leaves out of the pool and most of them
had a kind of substance like yellow jelly full of white
specks on them. The snails ate the decayed leaves
greedily, but after they had had one "square nieal,
they did n't seem to eat any more for a long time.
"Their shells are fastened to their necks I think —
for they take every part of their bodies out of their
shells except their necks.
"Pretty soon the little white specks began to come
out of the jelly. I looked at them closely, and they
were baby snails. They were white, and had little
shells on. , , „ r i. i.-
" Some of them fastened on to the shells of the big
snails and went sailing around with them. -The pngest
of the big snails were half an inch long. I call these things sns.ls
because tTiey look more like them than anything else; but I wish
vou would tell me what they really are.— Oood-bye.
•' " Irene Pltnam.
Will some member of the A. A. please express an opinion on this
point"?
" We have a red-cap's nest in our porch, and would like to cage
them for pets, but do not k^ow what to feed them on, or whether
they would live in a cage. "' ■""■
Please answer. „
" Marguerite and Alberta.
We are sure that, on second thought, no members of the A. A.
will wish to "cage" any bird which has shown sufficient friendli-
ness and confidence to nest so near their home. Watch the habits
of the little red-caps and let them fly away.
It is now time to be on the watch for snow-crystals. Let them fall
on a black cloth. Examine them through a hand-glass, and draw
them as accurately as you can. We shall hope to receive a large
number of drawings during the winter. Please remember always
to note the temperature and the force of the wind at the time of
observation. Write your letters on one side of the paper only;
make them as terse as possible. Write your address very plainly,
and inclose stamped envelope for reply. All such letters receive
prompt attention. Harlan H. Ballard,
Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.
l88i.)
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
87
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER.
Geographical Doible Acrostic. Primals, Paris. Finals,
Seine. Cross-words: i. PamassuS. 2. AdigE. 3. Rimini. 4.
IndiaN. 5. ScvillE.
Easy Double Cross-word Enigma. Hanesi home hanest
moon.
Pl ZZLF. FOR YoL NG SciSSOKEKS.
EaSV SVNXOPATIONS ANO ABBREVIATIONS.
F-l-ir-l. 3. H-y-cn-a. 4. P-e-ar-1.
Easy Shakespearean Numerical Enigma.
I. C-l-ow-n.
' True hope is swift, and flics with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures, kings..
Richard 11!., Act v.. Sc
tcenc 2
Delta.
Agate,
Easy Hour-glass. Centrals, Apron. Across: i. TrAmp.
.\Pc. 3. R. 4. cod. 5. HaNdy, Riuule. Hearth.
Two Word-squares. I. i. Hides. 2. Ideal.
Eaten. 5. Slant. II. 1. Champ. 2. Hngar.
Mates. 5. Press.
Cross-woku Enigma. Organ grinder.
Numerical E.sigma.
" Autumn laying here and there
A fiery finger on the leaves."
Tennyson's "/« Memoriam" Part XCIX.
Pi.
*• You hear that boy laughing? You think he 's all fun;
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done;
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call.
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all ! "
Oliver Wendell Holmes, in TIte Boys.
Diamond. 1. P. 2. REd. 3. ReArs. 4. PcaNuts. 5. DrUry.
6. STy. 7. S.
Doi iM-E Central Acrostic. Third line, Hallow-e'en. Fourth
line, All Saints'. Cross-words: i. AgHAst. 2. RcALly. 3-
IJaLI^d. 4. NcLSon. 5. CIOAks. 6. SaWIng. 7. BlENds.
8. BeETle. 9. CeNSus.
Proverb Rebus. A penny saved is a penny earned.
Enigmatical Geography Lesson. 1. ^lame. 2. Massachu-
setts. ^. California. 4. New Jersey. 5. Maryland. 6. Idaho.
7. Indiana. 8. Florida. 9. Arizona. :o. Dakota. 11. Iowa.
12. IllinoLs. 13. Ohio. 14. Nebraska. 15. Oregon. 16. Minne-
sota. 17. Wisconsin, 18. Delaware. ly. .Missouri. 20. Colorado.
MMEKICAL ENIG3IA.
I am composed of twenty-nine letters, and am Lord John Rus-
sell's definition of a proverb.
My 19-3-13 is a beverage. My 12-27-14-29-15 is currency. My
9-25-8-18 is a condition of the mind. My 11-23-17-7 is to discover
Sly 20-5-28-1 is to imply. My 22-16-26-24 '-^ t*^ cause to float.
My 4-2-10-6-21 means belonging to whom. alice k. m.
ZIGZAG.
slender twig, and make without color, ir. Transpose observed
closely, and make tuned. 12. Transpose yawns, and make attend-
ants upon a nobleman. G. F.
I. I. A CIT\* of Europe. :
Opinions. 5. Reason.
II. I. A cone-bearing tree,
country. 4. A wading bird.
TWO WOKD-SQIARES.
. (Jut of the way.
3. Ascended. 4.
2. Cenilean. 3. Pertaining to the
5. A woman's name.
Reading Across: i. Close at hand. 2. To scorch. 3. A com-
panion. 4. Four-sevenths of a young fowl. 5. A weed. 6. To
satisfy. 7. The central part of fruit. 8. The rind. 9. Part of a
window ID. A town of Italy, made famous by the victory won
there by Napoleon I. against the .^ustrians. 11. A division of a
book. 12. To cast off. 13. To inform.
Zigzags, be^nning at the top, spell a name by which " Hallow-
e'en" is sometimes called. dyke Clements.
COMBINATION PrZZI^.
When* the following transpositions have been rightly made, the
middle letter of each word, reading in the order here given, will
name a festive occasion.
I. Transpose an old-fashioned conveyance, and make entrance-
ways. 2. Transpose a pang, and make different. 3. Transpose
kingly, and make a brilliant light. 4. Transpose an inhabitant of
the " seven-hilled" city, and make a nobleman's estate. 5, Xi^ns-
pose a large nail, and make lances. 6. Transpose rescues^ and
make ornamental vessels. 7. Transpose a red color, and make a
dishonest person. S. Transpose delicate shades, and make to limit.
9. Transpose a herd of catUe, and make roamed. 10. Transpose a
NOVEL DOrBLE ACROSTICS.
I. All of the words described are of equal length. The letters of
the second and fourth lines, rcadinfj downward, name mythical
Scandinavian deities. 1. Outer cuvenngs, 2. A western territory
of the United States. 3. One unreasonably devoted to a cause.
4. Clrcatly incensed.
II. This may be solved similarly to the preceding: the letters of
the second line, however, reading downward, name the religious
book of the old Scandinanan tribes; and those of the fourth line,
reading downward, name an heroic legend of the Norsemen. 1. A
sumptuous entertainment. 2. Wholly imaginary. 3. .\ maxim.
4. Pertaining to the highest dignitary of the Romish church.
CHARADE.
In double form my 7?'*^/ Is famed,
In fable and in nistor)';
Great, good, and true, — small, shy, and false;
Solve, if you can, this mystery.
Mv sccon-i figures in rom.ance,
In ballad, and in story:
Has lain above the lover's heart.
And grasped the sword of glorj'.
" Far from the madd'ning crowd" my tofiole
Exists for beauty only;
It shims the city's crowded way*;,
And springs in hamlets lonely. M. w. g.
DIAMOND.
I. Lv commencing. 2. A vehicle. 3. .A. frolicsome leap. 4- A
chief officer. 5. A domain. 6. An edge. 7. In ending.
88
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
[November.
RE3US,
The solution of this rebus cnnsists of
three line:^ from a well-known poem by
Robert Bums.
DOUBLE DECAPITATIONS.
I, Behead wandering, and leave a
broad, flat vessel : again,
and leave a line of lighL
2. Behead a strip of leather,
and leave a device for snar-
ing animals; again, and
leave a smart blow. 3.
Behead usteless from a§e,
and leave a storv : again,
and leave a be\ erage
CENTRAL SYNCOPATIONS.
The syncopated letters, read in the order here given, spell what
Shakespeare says has been " slave to thousands.
J Syncopate a leaf of the calyx, and leave to mark with a stamp,
o Syncopate discovered, and leave over-affect lonate. 3. Syncopate
an animal, and leave a flexible pipe. 4. Syncopate the tanned
skin of a sheep, and leave to dehver from arrest. 5. Syncopate to
extract the essence by soaking, and leave a pace, perry adams.
CHANGED HEADS.
I AM a word of letters three;
Many changes lie in me: —
First, about the air I fly;
Next, beneath your window cry;
Here, I'm found beneath your feet;
Next, you wear me in the street;
Now, I am a small boy's name;
Then, an Irish birth I claim;
Here, a trap is set for me;
Now, a verb I chance to be;
By feasts and plenty now I'm made;
Next, brewers use me in their trade.
Change but my head each time and see
How these queer turns can in me be.
MARV o. N.
H
m
S^
QlTADltrPLE
ACROSTIC.
* * ♦ *
Rfading Across : i. To tie together.
■2 A loud sound. 3. An operatic au-.
4. Voluble. , ,
Initials, read downward, to boast. In-
itials, read upward, external appearance.
Finals, read downward, a dull color.
Finals, read upward, a poet. DYClE.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
My primals and finals each name a celebrated naturalist
Cross-words: i. An eminent Roman commander, who was
father-in-law to the historian Tacitus. 2. A species of antelope
T To rectify. 4. A French coin of small value. 5- A sailor who
i'as been credited with wonderful adventures. 6. A coloring mat-
ler. 7. A small stringed instrument. ". c. l.
Answers to August Puzzles were received, too late for ac-
knowledgment in the October number, from Emma A. Bryant 3—
Ma^A K., 5- Margaret B. and Beatrice C. B Sturps Pans
France, all-Geo. Smilh Hayter, London, England 5 —-^rchie and
Charlotte Warden, Havre, France, S-'/Dycie, Havre, France 11
— Hester Powell, Gloucestershire, England, 8— M. H. M., Hants,
^AnTwer^ to all of the Puzzles in the September number
were received, before September 20, from Frank R Heath— Ir'ro-
fessor and Co."-J. H. Eaton-John Payne— Dorothy-Grace
R "ngraham and Josie M. Robbins-Fred C. McDonald-- Grace
E. Hopkins-Charlie and losie Treat-J. Deane and E; P°°'f7
Herbert Barry - P. S. Clartson-RowlandH. Jackson- Boccac-
cio'•-"Skipper"- H. and B.-HenryC. Brown- Luther M.
Scroggs-Hattic B. Hawes, and Carrie L. Borden-Edward Vultee-
" Chuck "-Daisy May-Trask-Nelhe, Grace, and Harold-J. S.
Tennant-" Queen Bess"-" Partners"-" 80 and 8t ■- Engi;
ncer"-"Darsy and Kittie "- Florence Leslie Kyte- " Guesser
— Madge Clark. . ,
Answers to Puzzles in the September number were received,
before September 20, from George Gillespie, 3— Edgewood, 3—
Etta Hawxhurst, i-"Will O. Tree," 3-H. A \edder, 4-
"Cr>-stale," 5-Camille Giraud, 8-" Sweetie and Pet 4-Mars,
,-H. H. Bobkid, 11- Archie F. Hassam, i — Gertie Jenkins, 7—
"Y A C ," 2 — J. Milton Gitterman, 2—' A- L. C. R., Ji —
" Apnland May," 5-Ed,th Beal, 6- Mate P. Bartle.t, i-E. E^
S 1 — No name, 11 — Theodore Tankauer, 4— Jennie trench, ^-
HkrryTharne, ii-AnnieJ. Pique, i-" Fairview Nurserj., ii-^
£d>^d Liddin Patterson, ,i-Everett W. Stone, 6-^^^'^-
Carnahan 4 -Weston Stickney, j — Eleanor Tellmg 6— Lottie A.
La ey, 8-^ Milton S. Lacey. i.-john Z. Miller, — I^fn'r.Bethune
i_E. J. Campbell, 7- Elise Mercur, 11 -" Somebody, 2-Lida
P. Bostwick, 9 -Grace Redpath, i- Kenneth B. Emerson, 5-
Jessie, Ernst, ilaud, and Jinks, 4-" Atlanta , 3- ^^^^'^h^'C
fc. M. Mathews and family, i. -" Bell, 5 - Lizzie B. and Charles
J. Townsend, 5- Belle Prindw.Ue, i_Corn,eand May, S- ^loMs
"Charles," and "Beetle," 11 -Caroline Stuart Dickson i-- Alice
Fuller, 6-Effie K. Talboys, 9-Incognito, ,-Lulu Clarke and
Nellie Caldwell, ,r- Josie Hamilton i- Julia Sturc!e^.ant 3- Rose
Raritan, 3-Maijorie Murray and Tommy Pillsbury, "j;: Mg-
non," 2-RoryO'More, 3-C. L. K. and M. N., Jr., i— O. u.
N Powder-maker," 2 -Bessie Taylor, 0 - " Puss-m-boots, l-
Lucy Chandlee, 6-Rebie S.. Webb, 7 -Florence Beckett, 3--S^-
lie Viles, II — Clara and Jim, i-Anna and Alice lo-Caxne
Hitchcock Wilson, i-Leslie W. Hopkinson 4-' Stisie, l-
Conmd and Frank, 9- Clara Mackinney, 7- Gipsy Valentine i-
May Beadle, 11- Ed?th and Townsend Mck'eever 8- " Underella
I- Raymond Carr, i-Virgime '-^"j^=>;"v'^tVHd^v i Alolh^
Lizzie Barker and Mattie C"k, 3-Sad.e E^^Maddox, i-Molhe
Wei^s =— Walter O. Forde, 8—" Peasblossom. 2— M. and w. 3.
Ccmant 8- Lizzie Fyfer, t^- Florence R, R="icl.ffe 3-D A"b^
and W Ihelmina Amsterdam, 3- Mam.e ^I^g"^''^' '-'^''^''f ;[^;
Posver 8— "P. Nut," 4— "Daphne," 4— Perry Beatt.e 4— li»«
Minot 5- Belle Huntley and Emma W. Myers, i.°-OC. Turner.
11- Mollie Swipes, 2- Caroline Larrabee, 8- Edith and Jessie 7-
Marion, LiUa, andDaisy, 8- Nellie J^. Gould, 7"" Two Pe?P ■=• 7
— Chirles H Phelps, 4— Alice M. Kyte, 11— Stowe Phelps, o--
" DSc^Deadeye," 9'- Amelia Ward. 5-Dollie Francis, 11- " F'as
Friends," 8- " Sairey Gamp and P.etsey Png 9-A^f^^ J"l
nings, 2- Florence Provost, 2--X. Y. Z., 777* "=? X,t Ir ,
Johl, W. Wroth, i<^ Bessie C. Barney ii-NicoU Ludlow Jr, 7
— Belle and Bertie, 8— Estner L. and Geo. J. Fiske, 7— Alice
Rhoads, 5-Carol and her Sisters, 10- J. OUie Gayley, ^ Katnna, 8.
tSee page 92-]
By permission of iioupil &■ Co.
THE KING'S FAVORITE.
Engraved by Cole, after the painting by Zamacois
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol.. IX.
DECEMBER, 1881.
No. 2.
[Copyright, i88i, by The CENTURY CO.)
CAP AND BELLS.
BV H. WiNTHROP PEIRCE.
In the Middle Ages, when kings and great lords
had almost no occupation beside ftghting and hunt-
ing, they lived apart in large, gloomy castles, built
for strength and defense, with little thought of
cheerfulness. During the season of the year when
they could not ride with hawks and hounds to hunt
the wild animals which then abounded in all parts
of Europe, nor enjoy themselves in their own pleas-
ure-grounds, time must have hung heavily upon
their hands. Books w-ere few, and learning was
thought lit only for "women and clearks."
Therefore, to beguile their time, almost every inan
of means kept a professional "fool" or "jester."
And the jester often was a dwarf, more or less
deformed, whose misfortune was considered a fit
subject for mirth in those rough days.
The fool's dress was usually of rich materials,
made in the most fantastic style, and of various
hues, but yellow was the distinctive color for orna-
ment and fringes. Cocks' feathers and foxes' tails
were worn, while a number of little bells, attached
to the clothes, tinkled gayly with every motion.
Jesters always wore a wallet, and they carried a
stick, on the end of which was either a funny head
car\-ed in wood, or else a bladder with a few rat-
tling peas inside. The favored fool had access to
his master, even if it should be a king, at any hour
of the day or night. And, naturally, through this
intimacy and the fact that his business was to
amuse, he frequently obtained great influence over
his master, w-ho, with tlie entire household, would
become much attached to him.
Shakespeare represents domestic fools as often
bitter and sarcastic, but faithful and attached, ready
to go into poverty and exile rather than leave their
friends when overtaken by adversity.
Vol. I.\.— 7.
King Lear, when driven out into the storm by
his daughters, is followed by his fool. And when
Rosalind is banished from her uncle's court. Touch-
stone leaves his comfortable home, and goes with
her and her faithful cousin into the wild forest.
Hamlet remembers, when he sees the skull of his
father's jester Yorick, how " he had borne me on his
back a thousand times," and that he, when a light-
hearted, happy little prince, "had pressed his lips
he knew not how oft." And speaking of Shake-
speare, all who have read the great master's plays
must ha\e noticed how often he puts wonderful
bits of wisdom into the li\ely, mocking raillery' of
the beloved fool.
An Italian jester named Gonello, born in Flor-
ence about 1400, A. D., entered the service of the
Marquis of Ferrara, by whom his judgment was
so highly prized that he was consulted on ihe
most important state affairs. In course of time, the
Marquis lost his health, and the doctors declared
that nothing would restore it save the shock of an
unexpected cold bath. But no one dared to give
the Marquis a ducking.
At last, Gonello resolved, as his patron grew
worse and worse, that he would try what no other
friend or servant of the Marquis would venture to
do. One day, walking beside tlie river with his
lord, Gonello, without a word, pushed him in,
waited just long enough to see that the Marquis
was pulled out alive, and then fled to Padua.
The sudden plunge had the wished-for effect on
the health of the Marquis ; but he, far from being
grateful, flew into a rage, and issued an edict that,
if Gonello should ever set foot again on the soil of
Ferrara, his life should be forfeited.
Poor Gonello was homesick enough in Padua.
90
CAP AND BELLS.
[December,
He read the edict through and through, until he
saw that he was prohilsited only from setting foot
on the soil oi Ferrara. Then
he quickly got a donkey-cart,
filled it with earth, and labeled
it "Paduan ground." Perched
on this, he passed in state into
the streets of Ferrara. But he
was soon seized, thrown into
prison, tried, and convicted of
having laid violent hands on
the Marquis, and of having
disobeyed his edict, for which
offenses he must die.
On the day appointed for
his execution, the whole city
turned out to see him. The
poor fellow was blindfolded ;
his head was placed on the
block. But the executioner,
instead of lifting the ax, dashed
a pailful of water on Gonello's
neck.
Then the people knew that
all the dreadful preparations
had been made in jest. How
they waved their caps, and cheered, and shouted :
" Long live the Marquis ! " " Long live Gonello ! "
found that the poor fellow could joke with them
no more. He had been frightened to death. The
WILL SOMERS PRESENTS HIS UNCLE TO KING HENRY
GONELLO S TRICK.
But Gonello did not rise, and when his friends,
with laughter and congratulations, lifted him, they
Marquis, full of remorse at having, by his cruel
joke, destroyed his faithful friend, gave him a
grand funeral, and did everything in his
power to honor his memory.
Francis I., of France, had a jester of
great beauty and refinement, who wrote
verses which the King was glad to pass off
as his own. This person was selected, when
a boy of thirteen, on account of his remark-
able brightness and beauty, to be the King's
jester, notwithstanding the entreaties of his
parents, who were of noble birth, and in
spite of the tears and prayers of the boy
himself, who had hoped to be a soldier and
a great man. It is sad to think of the
noble-hearted lad, secretly pining in the
splendor of the court, yet bravely doing his
best to enliven the dull hours, and perhaps
trying his powers at a war of wits when he
would have preferred to do battle in earnest.
But I can not give you his history here.
You may be sure, however, that he was not
so happy as Will Somers, of England. This
famous wit, who was jester to Henry VIII.,
asked among many jokes, "What is it,
that the less there is of it the more it is
feared ? " and then enjoyed the surprise of
the court on his telling the answer — "A
little bridge over a deep river." His repu-
tation spread to his old home in Shropshire, and his
aged uncle trudged up to Greenwich to visit him at
t88i.]
CAP AND BELLS.
91
the court. The countrynian's old-fashioned dress
and simple manner, as he passed through the streets
asking the way to the Kinj^^'s palace, attracted
attention. When he found the building, lie asked
the jeering pages at the gate, " If there was not
a ' gentleman' at court named William Somers?"
The pages laughed in disdain, and led the old
man to a place where Will was sleeping in the
park, with his head resting on a cushion that a
poor woman had gi\en him
because he had interceded
to save the life of her son,
who had Ijccn condemned
to be hanged as a pirate.
Will greeted his uncle
with affection, and as he led
him through the presence
chamber, where crowds of
richly dressed courtiers were
assembled, he called aloud :
" Room, knaves ! Room
for mc and my uncle !"
Then, seeing that his rela-
tive's dress was not a fitting
one in which to appear be-
fore the King, Will took
him to his own room and
dressed him in one of his
queer motley suits. This
done, Will brought his uncle
in before " Bluff King Hal,"
who was much amused at
the contrast between the
venerable figure and its droll
costume. Treating the
uncle with respect due his
years, the King encouraged
him to talk.
The old man then told
His Majesty about a com-
mon near his home, which
had been unjustly shut up
from the poorer people.
And the King was so much
interested in his account of
the affair, that he ordered
the ground to be thrown
open to the public at once,
and created the old uncle
bailiff of the common, with
a salary of twenty pounds
a year, which in money of to-day would be a
very comfortable income.
In those early times, jesters appeared on all oc-
casions. They bustled about at the tournaments,
and were busy with sharp remarks on the proceed-
ings— now full of pity, now exulting, ready to help
the fa\orite knight to victory or to lead from the
field his fallen foe.
A jester once complained to his king that an
offended noble had threatened to kill him.
"If he does," said His Majesty, "I sh.all have
him hanged a quarter of an hour afterward."
" Ah, but that would not save my life," said the
Fool. "Could n't you have him hanged a quarter
of an hour before ? "
YOKICK AND ^'OL Nti HAMLET.
Jesters filled, in their time, a humble but impor-
tant place, telling the truth to those who would not
have heard it from any one else. And they some-
times acquired such great influence that many
persons found it safest to treat them with consider-
ation, or learned to their sorrow that to offend the
92
A MISUNDERSTANDING.
[December,
king's favorite was to place an obstacle in their own longer needed, and the theater and the production
road to advancement. of books and ballads gave a new field for the
But as intelligence became more general and talents of those who in ruder times would have
reading more common, household jesters were no worn the cap and bells.
J^
AVisunderstandinG
"^ I i1tle Y^&v]C ^ Tea-n-ne
I ney wenT oiCt foa-elhev
(^^©M@km. to dine •
But They coiJdnT agree
V ov when she said [jui
He always woulci answer her
... |\|eiia
r.n,lllllUW«t
,.J4U,,...J4iaJMUUrA,Jac.;.i^:ca;=4£Ma.tl»J»^
issi.;
HERMANN THE BRAVE.
93
THE LITTLE BEGGAR'S
BUTTOX-HOLE imUOUET.
BY H. H.
'T WAS on a bitter winter's day,
I saw a strange, pathetic sight;
The streets were gloomy, cold, and gray.
The air with faUing snow uas white.
A httle ragged beggar child
Went running through the cold and storm;
He looked as if he never smiled.
As if he never had been warm.
Sudden, he spied beneath his feet
A faded button-hole bouquet :
Trampled and wet with rain and sleet.
Withered and \\orthless, there it lay.
He bounded, seized it with delight,
Stood still and shook it free from snow;
Into his coat he pinned it tight, — •
His eyes lit up ^^■ith sudden glow.
He sauntered on, all pleased and jjroud.
His face transformed in every line;
And lingered that the hurrying crowd
Might chance to see that he was fine.
The man who threw the flowers away
Never one half such pleasure had ;
The flowers' best work was done that day
In cheering up that beggar lad.
Ah mc, too often wo forget,
Happy in these good homes of ours.
How many in this world arc yet
Glad e\cn of the withered flowers !
HKRMAXX Till'. BRAVE.
Bv H. Maria (;korge.
He lived a great many years ago, in a country
across the sea, near the Black Forest. His father
was a small Saxon land-holder by the name of Bill-
ung, who owned a few acres of feeding-ground,
some more of forest, and a poor hut of wood, with
a thatched roof, wherein he lived with his wife and
two children, — Hermann and a girl.
Hermann was two years older than his sister
Gertrude, who was seven. He was a manly little
fellow, very brave and very strong for his age.
Often the children were sent to the forest to cut
wood for fuel, for the father had to work in the
field all day and the mother had to spin. The boy
carried a big, heavy knife, curved almost like a
sickle. This he used instead of an ax. Hermann
cut the wood, and his little sister tied it in small
bundles and carried these to the hut.
At this day, wolves are seldom found in the Black
Forest ; but in Hermann's time, almost a thousand
years ago, they were very numerous there. Great,
fierce, shaggy monsters they were, who, when
urged on by hunger, would not hesitate alone to
attack men.
Hermann and his sister had been told not to linger
in the forest after sundown. But one day the boy
espied an eagle's nest, and he was so long in
reaching it that twilight had ended before they
started home. Just in the edge of the forest they
were met by a fierce growl, and Hermann had
barely time to clutch his knife, which was slung
at his back, when a wolf rushed upon his sister.
The beast was one of the largest and fiercest of
its kind, and Gertrude must certainly have fallen a
victim to its savage attack, had not her brother
94
HERMANN THE BRAVE.
[December,
placed himself in front, cutting and slashing in a
way that would have done credit to any of the
knights at the Emperor Otho's court. But the wolf
was not disposed to give up its supper even then,
and plunged at Hermann, rising on its hind legs, and
HERMANN OFFERS BATTLE TO THE WOLF.
snarling and gnashing its sharp teeth in a fearful
manner.
The boy stood his ground manfully, and made
vigorous defense with his stout knife, while little
Gertrude clung to his frock, crying. Finally, he
gave the beast a blow that disabled it. Then he
struck another that quite killed it.
Hermann cut off the great hairy ears of the
monster and thrust them under his girdle, and then
the two children shouldered their wood and marched
toward home, as if nothing had happened. Out-
side the forest they met their father, who, alarmed
by their long absence, was coming in search of
them. He bore a flaming torch in his hand, and
by its light he saw that the boy's clothing was
streaked with great red stains.
'• What have you been doing? " asked he.
" I have been killing a wolf," was the reply of
the nine-year-old hero.
"Killing a wolf!" exclaimed the father, still
alarmed, and uncertain whether to believe him.
" Not so fast, my boy. Where is the wolf ? "
" Back in the forest, dead; but here are
his ears. The beast attacked Gertie, and
I killed him with my knife. This is all
wolf-blood on my breast and arms."
Billung clasped his children to his
breast, murmuring a thankful prayer.
The peril they had escaped was great,
and the boy's heroism was the talk of
the neighborhood for years. Nor did his
courage, as he grew older, become less.
Some four years after this, when Her-
mann was about thirteen, as he was tend-
ing his father's cattle in the open field
one day, he saw a gay cavalcade of horse-
men turn aside from the road and enter
the field. The boy sprang to place him-
self in their way, and cried out in a bold
voice :
"Go back! Only the road is yours :
this field belongs to me."
Their leader, a tall man with an im-
posing mien, reined his horse and inquired,
".\nd who may you be, my lad?"
" i\Iy name is Hermann Billung. Yon-
der is my father's homestead. This is our
field, and you have no right here."
" I have the right to go where I will,"
said the knight, shaking his lance threat-
eningly. " Get out of the way, or you
will be ridden over."
But the boy stood his ground, and with
flashing eyes turned on the cavalier, —
" Right is right," he cried, "and you
can not ride through this field without
first riding over me."
" What do you know about right, younker?"
" I know that this is our field, and no Billung
ever gives up his right."
" But do you think it right to refuse to obey your
emperor? I am Otho," and the horseman drew
himself up with a kingly air.
"You King Otho, the pride of Saxony?" cried
Hermann, in astonishment. " But it can not be!
Otho guards our rights — you would break them.
That is not like the emperor. Father has often
told me so."
" 1 should like to see the father of so brave a
boy; lead mc to him," said the emperor, kindly
interest depicted in his earnest face.
" The smoke that you may see above those
bushes rises from our home. You will find my
father there, but I can not leave these cows which
>88i.]
HERMANN THK BRAVE.
95
he bade mc tend. But if you arc in truth the
emperor, you will keep to the road, for Otho pro-
tects our rights."
So the courtly train turned from the field, leav-
ing the brave boy unmolested to care for his cattle.
Otho rode direct to the peasant's cottage, and when
he had found the father, he said to him :
"Your name is Hillung, and mine is Otho. I
want to take your son to court with me, to educate
him so that he may become my esquire. He will
make a true man, and 1 have need of such."
Biliung joyfully granted Otho's request. Her-
mann was called in, and told of his good fortune.
He put on his best clothes and rode away on a war-
horse by the side of Otho, as proud as any boy
could be. But this was not the last of Hermann.
He grew to be a brave knight — -the bravest, in
fact, at the emperor's court. He had a horse of his
own now, and he wore cloth of gold and silver,
with a long plume in his velvet cap, and a golden
spur on his heel. When he went to war he dressed
up in dark steel armor, and looked as grim and
formidable as any of the old knights, though he
was only twenty years old.
One day, Otho sent his young favorite across the
country to visit a great castle where a duke lived.
It was miles away, and a dreary road, but Her-
mann, accompanied by only a single esquire, set
off with a light heart, singing a merry song.
For two or three days all went well. The birds
sang in the woods, his horse cantered briskly, and
Hermann's heart was joyful. In the afternoon of
the third day, the woods grew thicker and the road
wilder, and just where it was the darkest and wild-
est, he was startled by loud screams, and then he
heard rough, fierce oaths, and the rush of many
feet, and the clank of armor.
He did not stop to count his enemies, but draw-
ing his sword, spurred his horse forward right upon
the scene. And such a scene it was ! A grace-
ful and richly dressed lady, whose jewels seemed
worth a monarch's ransom, was in the grasp of a
savage-looking man, whose followers had already
beaten her three attendants to the earth. There
were nearly a score of tliem, rough, desperate-look-
ing fellows, but Hermann did not hesitate.
He was in their midst almost before they knew
it, cutting and slashing away in terrible earnest.
With his first blow he struck down tlie ruffian
whose arms were around the lady. Then he
turned upon the others. At first they were greatly
scared, but when they saw there were only two to
fight, they crowded around with a great clatter,
and soon Hermann had his hands full.
But he was very brave and very strong, though
he was so young. He had unhorsed all the famous
knights at Otho's court, and here were no knights,
but robbers. He knew he should conquer, and
conquer he did, though he got a wound that laid
him by for more than a fortnight, but he himself
slew eleven of the robbers outriglit.
The lady took him to her father's castle, which
was not distant, and there she tended him until he
was able to mount his war-horse again. During his
confinement he discovered that the castle was the
ver)' one he had been journeying to, and that the
lady was Duke Henry's daughter. On the last
day of his stay he did the emperor's errand, and
he also did another for himself, for when he rode
away it was as the accepted suitor of beautiful
Lady Adelaide.
At their marriage, which occurred not long after-
ward, Otho himself was present, with many of his
princes, and the ceremony was a very grand one.
At its conclusion the emperor bestowed upon his
young friend a great dukedom. For thirty years
he reigned as duke of Saxony, and then he died,
but not until he performed many other gallant
deeds, which we have no room to relate. You will
find his name in all the old German histories, for
Hermann the Brave was one of the noblest and
most celebrated men of his time.
96
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[December,
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
By Mary Mapes Dodge.
man's — halted.
Chapter I.
IN WHICH NONE OF THE CHARACTERS APPEAR.
Jhe door of the study was closed,
and only Nero was to be seen.
He, poor dog, stood in the
wide hall gazing wistfully at
the knob, and pricking up
his ears whenever sounds of
movement in the room aroused
his hope of being admitted.
Suddenly he gave a yelp of
delight. Somebody surely
was approaching the door.
The steps — they were a
There was a soft, rolling sound,
as if the master's chair had been drawn to the
table ; next a rustling of paper ; a deep-voiced
moan ; the rapid scratching of a quill pen ; then
silence — silence — and poor Nero again stood at
half-mast.
Any ordinary dog would have barked or pawed
impatiently at the door. But Nero was not an
ordinary dog. He knew that something unusual
was going on — something that even he, the pro-
tector and pet of the household, the frisky Master
of Ceremonies, must not interfere with. But when
the bell-pull within the room clicked sharply, and
a faint tinkle came up from below, he flew eagerly
to the head of the basement stair, and wagged his
bushy tail with a steady, vigorous stroke, as though
it were the crank of some unseen machine which
slowly and surely would draw Liddy, the house-
maid, up the stair-way.
The bell rang again. The machine put on more
steam. Still no Liddy. Could she be out ? Nero
ran back to take an agonized glance at the motion-
less knob, leaped frantically to the stair again —
and, at that moment, the study door opened.
There was a heavy tread ; the ecstatic Nero rushed
in between a pair of dignified legs moving toward
the great hall-door ; he spun wildly about for an
instant, and then, with a deep sigh of satisfaction,
settled down on the rug before the study lire. For
there was not a soul in the room.
Chapter II.
FOURTEEN YEARS AFTER\VARD.
The house is there still, so is Nero, now an hon-
ored old dog, frisky only m his memories. But
old as he is in teeth and muscle, he is hardly past
middle-age in the wag of his still tDUshy tail, and is
as young as ever in happy devotion to his master.
Liddy, too, is down-stairs, promoted, but busy as
in the days gone by ; and the voice of that very
bell tinkled but an hour ago.
Here is the same study ; some one within, and
the door closed. Opposite, on the other side of
the w'ide hall, is the parlor, its windows looking
across piazza, sloping lawn, road-way, and field,
straight out to the sparkling lake beyond. Back
of the parlor is a sunny sitting-room, its bay-
w'indow framing a pleasant view of flower-garden,
apple-orchard, and grape-arbor — a few straggling
bunches clinging to the almost leafless November
vines. And within, throughout the house indeed,
floats a sunny-shady combination of out-door
air, with a faint, delightful odor of open wood-fires.
What a quiet, home-like, beautiful place it is !
Let us look into the sitting-room.
A boy, with his back toward the door, sitting,
feet and all, upon the end of a big sofa, his bended
knee tightly held between his arms, his head
thrust forward earnestly — altogether, from the rear
view, looking like a remarkable torso with a mod-
ern jacket on — that 's Donald. On the other end
of the sofa, a glowing face with bright brown hair
waving liack from it, the chin held in two brownish
little hands, and beneath that a mass of dark red
merino, revealing in a meandering, drapery way
that its wearer is half-kneeling, half-sitting — that 's
Dorothy.
I am obliged to confess it, these two inelegant
objects on a very elegant piece of furniture are the
hero and heroine of my story.
Do not imagine, however, that Donald and
Dorothy could not, if they chose to do so, stand
before you comely and fair as any girl and boy in
the land. It is merely by accident that we catch
this first glimpse of them. They have been on that
sofa in just those positions for at least five minutes,
and, from present appearances, they intend to
remain so until further notice.
Dorothy is speaking, and Donald is — not exactly
listening, but waiting for his turn to put in a word,
thus forming what may be called a lull in the con-
versation, for up to this point both have been
speaking together.
" It 's too much for anything, so it is ! I 'm
going to ask Liddy about it. that 's what I 'm going
to do, for she was almost ready to tell me the othei
day, when Jack came in and made her mad."
l88i.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
97
" Don't you do it ! " Donald's tone is severe,
but still affectionate and confidential. " Don't you
do.it. It 's the wrong way. 1 tell you. What did
she get mad at ? "
" Oh, nothing. Jack called her ' mess-mate ' or
something, and she flared up. But, I tell you,
I 'm just going to ask her right out what makes
him act so."
" Nonsense,'' said Donald. '• It 's (inly his
sailor- ways, and besides- — -"
"No, no. I don't mean Jack. I mean Uncle.
I do believe he hates me ! "
" Oh, Dorry ! Dorry ! "
" Well, he does n't love me any more, anyway !
I know he 's good and all that, and I love him just
as much as you do, Don, every bit, so you need n't
be so dreadful astonished all in a minute." (Dorry
was apt to be ungramniatical when excited.) "I
love Uncle George as much as anybody in the
world does, but that 's no reason why, «hene\er
Aunt Kate is mentioned, he "
" Yes, it is, Dot.. You ought to wait."
"I //(I7V waited — why, Don" (and her manner
grows tearful and tragic), "I 've waited nearly
thirteen years ! "
Here Don gives a quick, suddenly suppressed
laugh, and a.sks her, " why she didn't say four-
teen," and Dorothy tells him sharply that "he
need n't talk — they 're pretty even on that score"
(which is true enough), and that she really has been
" longing and dying to know ever since she was
a little, little bit of a girl, and who would n't ?"
Poor Dorothy! She will "long to know" for
many a day yet. And so will the good gentleman
*THE SPARKLING LAKE BEYOND.
who now sits gazing at the fire in the study across
the wide hall, his feet on the very rug upon which
Nero settled himself on that eventful November
day, exactly fourteen years ago.
And so will good, kind Lydia, the housekeeper,
and so will Jack, the sailor-coachman, at whom
she is always " flaring up," as Dorothy says.
Chapter III.
WHICH PARTLY EXPLAINS ITSELF.
Dorothy Reed was of a somewhat livelier
temperament than Donald, and that, as she often
could not but feel, gave her an advantage. Also,
she was ahead of him in history, botany, and
grammar. But Donald, though full of boyish
spirit, was steadier, more self-possessed than
Dorothy, and in algebra and physical geography
he " left her nowhere," as the young lady herself
would tersely confess when in a very good humor.
But never were brother and sister better friends.
" She 's first-rate," Don would say, confidentially,
to some boon companion, " not a bit like a girl,
you know — more like — well, no, there 's nothing
tomboyish about her, but she 's spirited and never
gets tired or sickish like other girls." And many
a time Dorothy had declared to some choice confi-
dential friend of the twining-arms sort, that Don-
ald was "perfectly splendid! nicer than all the
boys she had ever seen, put together."
On one point they were fully united, and that
was in their love for Uncle George, though of late
their uncle had seemed always to be unconsciously
making rough weather between them.
This expression, "rough weather," is not original,
but is borrowed from Jack, whom you soon shall
know nearly as well as the two D's did.
And "the two D's" is not original, either.
That 's Liddy's. She called Donald and Dorothy
"the two D's" for short, when they were not
present, just as she invariably spoke of the master
of the house, in his absence, as "Mr. G." There
was not the slightest dis-
respect in this. It was a
way that had come upon
her after she had learned
her alphabet in niidtile life,
and had stopped just at the
point of knowing or guess-
ing the first letter of a
word or a name. Farther
than that into the paths
of learning, Liddy's pa-
tience had failed to carry
her. But the use of initials
she felt was one of the
short cuts that education
afforded. Besides, the good
soul knew secrets which, without her master's per-
mission, nothing would tempt her to reveal. So,
to speak of "Mr. G." or "the D's," had a con-
fidential air of mystery about it that in some way
was a great relief to her.
Mr. George was known by his lady friends as "a
confirmed bachelor, but a most excellent man,"
98
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[D)
the " but " implying that every well-to-do gentle-
man ought to marry, and the " excellent man "
referring to the fact that ever since the children
had been brought to him, fourteen years ago, two
helpless little babies, he had given them more than
a father's care. He was nearly fifty years of age,
a tall, "iron-gray" gentleman, with the courtliest
of manners and the warmest of hearts; yet he was,
as Liddy described him to her cousins, the Crumps,
" an unexpected kind o' person, Mr. G. was.
Just when you made up your mind he was very
stiff and dignified, his face would light up into
such a beautiful glow ! And then, when you
thought how nice, and hearty, and sociable he
was, he would look so grave out of his eyes, and
get so straight in the back that he seemed like a
king in an ermine robe."
When Liddy had compared a man to "a king
in an ermine robe," she had expressed her utmost
pitch of admiration. She had heard this expres-
sion long ago in a camp-meeting discourse, and it
seemed to her almost too grand a phrase for
human use, unless one were speaking of Mr.
George.
And a king Mr. George was, in some ways — a
king who ruled himself, and whose subjects — Mr.
George's traits of character — were loyal to their
sovereign. Yet on one point he did deserve to be
otherwise compared. All difficulties that were
under his power to control, he would bravely meet,
but when anything troubled him which he could
not remedy, — in fact, on occasions when he was per-
plexed, worried, or unable to decide promptly upon
a course of action, — he often was a changed being.
Quick as a flash the beautiful, genial glow would
vanish, the kingly ermine would drop off, and he
could be likened only to one of the little silver owls
that we see upon dinner-tables, quite grand and
proper in bearing, but very peppery within, and
liable to scatter the pepper freely when suddenly
upset.
Poor Dorry ! It had been her sad experience
to call forth this catastrophe very often of late, and
in the most unexpected ways. Sometimes a mere
gesture, even the tone of her voice, seemed to annoy
her uncle. On one occasion, while he was pleas-
antly explaining some public matter to Donald
and herself, she laid her hand gently upon the
back of his, by way of expressing her interest in
the conversation, and his excited " Why did you
do that?" made the poor girl jump from him in
terror.
L}'dia, who was softly brightening the fire at
that moment, saw it all, and saw, too, how quickly
he recovered himself and spoke kindly to the
child. But she muttered under her breath, as she
went slowly down to the basement :
" Poor Mr. G. 's gettin' worse of late, he is. I
don't see as he ever will feel settled now. It 's
amazin' puzzhn', it is."
Yes, it was puzzling. And nobody better under-
stood and pitied the kingly soul's perplexity than
the good woman. Even Jack, the coachman,
though he knew a good deal, had but a faint idea
of what the poor gentleman suffered.
On the day when we saw Donald and Dorothy
perched on the sofa, Mr. Reed had been remark-
ably changeful, and they had been puzzled and
grieved by his manner toward Dorothy. He had
been kind and irritable by turns, and finally, for
some unaccountable reason, had sharply requested
her to leave him, to "go away for mercy's sake,"
and then she had been recalled on some slight pre-
text, and treated with extra kindness, only to be
wounded the next moment by a look from her
uncle that, as she afterward declared, " made her
feel as if she had struck him."
Donald, full of sympathy for Dorry, yet refusing
to blame Uncle George without a fuller understand-
ing, had followed his sister into the parlor, and
there they had tried in vain to solve the mystery —
for a mystery there evidently was. Dot was sure
of it; and Donald, failing to get this "foolish
notion," as he called it, from Dot's mind, had
ended by secretly sharing it and reluctantly admit-
ting to himself that Uncle George — kind, good
Uncle George — really had not, of late, been very
kind and good to Dorry.
" He has n't been itgly,^'' thought Donald to
himself, while Dorothy sat there, eagerly watching
her brother's countenance, — " Uncle could n't be
that. But he seems to love her one minute, and be
half afraid of her the next — no, not exactly afraid
of her, but afraid of his own thoughts. Some-
thing troubles him. I wonder what the blazes it
is ! May be "
"Well?" exclaimed Dorry, impatiently, at last.
" Well," repeated Don, in a different tone, —
" the fact is, it is trying for you, Dorry, and I can't
make it out."
Meanwhile Lydia, down-stairs, was working her-
self into what she called "a state" on this very
matter. "It is n't Christian," she thought to
herself, "though if ever a man was a true, good
Christian, Mr. G. is — but he 's amazin' odd.
The fact is, he does n't know his own mind in this
business from one day to t' other, and he thinks me
and Jack sees nothin' — Mercy! If here don't
come them precious children ! "
Surely enough, the precious children were on
their way down the kitchen stairs. They did not
go into that cheerful, well-scrubbed apartment,
however, but trudged directly into the adjoining
room, in which Liddy, guarded by the faithful old
iNi.l
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
99
dog, Nero, was now seated, peeling apples. It
had been fitted up for Liddy years ago when, from
a simple housemaid, she was "promoted," as she
said, " to have eyes to things and watch over the
D's."
'• You may think it strange," she had said, grand-
ly, that very ni<)niin<;, to Jack, looking around at
the well-polished, old-fashioned furniture, and the
still bright thrcc-ply carpet, " that I should have
my setting-room down here, and my sleeping apart-
ment upstairs, but so it is. The servants need
watching more than the children, as you know,
Mr. Jack, and I 'vc had to have eyes to things ever
since the D's first come. Master Donald says I
ought to call it ' having an eye,' but sakes ! what
would one eye be in a house like this ? No, it 's
eyes I want, both eyes, and more too, with the
precious D's wild as young hawks, and Mr. G. as
lie is of late, and the way things are."
Liddy looked up uhcn Donald and Dorothy
entered, with a " Sakes ! You 've not been fret-
ting again. Miss Dorry ? "
"No — not exactly fretting, Liddy: that is, not
very much. We just came down to — to — Give
me 'n apple ? "
" Steady! St-e-a-dy !" cried Liddy, as after her
hearty "help yourselves," the brother and sister
made a simultaneous dash at the pan on her ample
lap, playfully contesting for the largest. " One
would think you were starving ! "
"So we are, Liddy," said Dorothy, biting her
apple as she spoke ; " we are starving for a story."
"Yes!" echoed Donald, "a story. We 're
bound to have it ! "
" Hum ! " muttered Liddy, much flattered.
" Do you know your lessons? "
" Per-fectly ! " answered the D's, in one breath.
■"We studied them right after Dr. Lane left."
" Well," began Liddy, casting a furtive look at
the red wooden clock on the mantel; " which story
do you want ? N'ou 'vc heard 'cm all a score of
times."
"Oh, not that kind," said Dorothy, playfully
motioning to her brother, for you see by this time
she was quite cheerful again. "We want a cer-
tain par-tic-ular story, don't we, Don ? "
Instead of replying, Don took Dorry's out-
stretched hand with nonsensical grace, and so
dancing to the fire-place together in a sort of bur-
lesque minuet, they brought back with them two
little mahogany-and-hair-cloth foot-benches, plac-
ing them at Lydia's feet.
Ignoring the fact that these seats were absurdly
low and small, the D's settled themselves upon
them as comfortably as in the days gone by, when
the benches had been of exactly the right size for
them; and at the risk of upsetting the apples, pan
and all, they leaned toward Liddy with an
expressive " Now ! "
All this had been accomplished so quickly that
Liddy would have been quite taken by surprise
had she not been used to their ways.
" Bless your bright eyes!" she laughed, uneas-
ily looking from one beaming face to the other,
" you take one's breath away with your quick
motions. And now what certain, special, wonder-
ful kind of a story do you want ? "
" Why, you know. Tell us all about it, Lydia,"
spoke Dorothy, sober in an instant.
" Sakes ! Not again ? Well, where shall I
begin ? "
" Oh, at the very beginning," answered Donald ;
and Dorothy's eager, expressive nod said the same
thing.
"Well," began Liddy, "about fourteen years
ago "
" No, no, not there, please, but 'way, 'way back
as far as you can remember; farther back than you
ever told us before."
" Well," and Lydia proceeded to select a fresh
apple and peel it slowly and deliberately, " well, I
was once a young chit of a girl, and I came to this
house to live with your aunt Kate. She was n't any
aunt then, not a bit of it, but a sweet, pretty, perky,
lady-girl as ever was ; and she had " (here Lyddy
looked sad, and uttered a low " Dear, dear! how
strange it seems ! ") — " she had two splendid
brothers, Mr. George Reed and Mr. Wolcott
Reed (your papa, you know). Oh, she was the
sweetest young lady you ever set eyes on. Well,
they all lived here in this very house, — your grand-
pa and grandma had gone to the better world a
few years before, — and Master G. was sort of head
of the family, you see, as the oldest son ought to
be."
Donald unconsciously sat more erect on his
bench, and thrust his feet farther forward on the
carpet.
" Yes, Master G. was the head," Liddy went on,
"but you would n't have known it, they were all
so united and loving, like. Miss Kate, though
kind of quick, was just too sweet and good for any-
thing— 'the light of the house,' as the young
master called her, and "
"Oh, I do love so much to hear about Aunt
Kate !" exclaimed Dorothy, her color brightening
as she drew her bench up still closer to Liddy.
Both of the apples were eaten by this time, .md the
D's had forgotten to ask for more. '■^ Do wc look
like her?"
Merc Donald and Dorothy turned and looked
full in Lydia's face, waiting for the answer.
" Well, yes — and no, too. You 've her shining
lOO
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[December,
dark hair, Master Donald, and her way of step-
pin' firm, but there is n't a single feature like her.
And it 's so with you, Miss Dorry, not a feature
just right for the likeness ; still you 've a some-
thing, somehow — -somewhere — and yet I can't
place it; it 's what I call a vanishin' likeness."
At this the two D's lost their eager look and
burst into a hearty laugh.
" Hello, old Vanisher! " said Donald, making a
sudden dive at Dorothy.
"Hello, old Stiff-legs!" retorted Dorothy,
laughing and pushing him away.
Here old Nero roused himself, and growled a
" That picture of your ma in your room, Master
Donald," replied Lydia, "has certainly a good
deal of your look, but I can't say from my own
knowledge that it ever was a good likeness. It
was sent over afterward, you know, and your ma
never was here except once, when 1 was off to
camp-meeting with Cousin Crump. Your pa used
to go to see the young lady down at her home in
New York, and after the wedding they went to
Niagara water-falls, and after that to Europe.
Seems to me this going out of your own country 's
bad business for young couples who ought to settle
dov/n and begin life." (Here Nero stood up, and
' YOLf'VE HER SHINING DAKK HAIR, MASTER DONALD," SAID LIDDV.
low, rumbling, distant growl, as if protesting
against some unwelcome intruder.
"There, children, that 's sufficient!" said
Liddy, with dignity. "Don't get tussling. It
is n't gcntleman-and-lady-like. Now see how
you 've tumbled your sister's hair. Master Donald,
and Mr. G. 's so particular. Hear Nero, too !
.Sakes I it seems sometimes like a voice from the
dead to hear him go that way when we 're talking
of old times."
"Keep still, old fellow!" cried Donald, play-
fully. "Don't you see Liddy 's talking to us?
Well, we look like our mamma, anyway — don't
we, Liddy?"
his growl grew more decided.) "Well, as I was
saying Mercy on us ! If there is n't that man
again ! "
The last part of Lydia's sentence, almost
drowned by Nero's barking, was addressed to the
empty window; at least it seemed empty to the
D's when they turned toward it.
"Who? Where ?" shouted Dorothy. But Don-
ald sprang up from the bench, and, followed by
the noisy old Nero, ran out of the room, across the
basement hall, and through the back-door, before
Liddy had time to reply.
"Who was it, Liddy?" asked Dorry. still look-
ing toward the empty window, while Nero came
DOXAI.n AND DOROTIIV
lOI
sauntering back as though the matter that had
lured him forth had not been worth the trouble of
following up.
"Oh, no one, dearie," said Lydin, carelessly;
" that is, no one in particular. It 's just a man.
Well, as 1 was going to say, your aunt Kate was n't
only the light of the house, she was the heart of
the house, too, the very heart. It was dreary
enough after she went off to England, poor darling."
" Yes, yes," urged Dorry, earnestly, at the same
time wondering at her brother's hasty departure.
" Go on, Liddy, that 's a dear. I can tell it all
to Donald, you know."
'' There is n't any more, Miss Dorry. That 's
the end of the first part of the story. You know
the second well enough, poor child, and sad
enough it is."
"Yes," said Dorry, in a low tone, "but tell me
the rest of the beginning."
" VVliy, what lio you mean. Miss Dorr)- ? There 's
nothing else to tell, — that is, nothing that I got ear
of. I suppose there were letters and so on; in fact,
1 know there were, for many a time I brought
Mr. George's mail in to him. That day, I took
the letters and papers to Mr. G. in the library, —
poor, lonely gentleman he looked! — and then 1
went down to my kitchen fire (I was in the house-
work then), and some minits after, when I 'd been
putting on coal and poking it up bright, it kind
o' struck me that master's bell had been ringing.
Up 1 scampered, but when I reached the library,
he was gone out and no one was there but Nero
(yes, you, old doggie !), lying before the fire, as if
he owned the house. And that 's the end of the
first part, so far as 1 know."
"Yes," insisted Dorothy; "but 1 want to hear
more about what happened before that. I know
about our poor papa dying abroad, and about tlie
wreck, and how our mamma and "
She could not go on. Often she could speak of
all this without crying; but the poor girl had been
strained and excited all tlie afternoon, and now,
added to the sorrow that surged through her heart
at the sudden thought of the parents whom she
could not even remember, came the certainty that
again she was to be disappointed. It was evident,
from Lydia's resolute, though kindly face, that she
did not mean to tell any more of tlie first half.
The good woman smoothed Dorothy's soft hair
gently, and spoke soothingly to her, begging her to
be a good girl and not cry, and to remember what
a bright, happy little miss she was, and what a
beautiful home she had, and how young folk
ought always to be laughing and skipping about,
and
" Liddy ! " said Donald, suddenly appearing at
the door. " Uncle wants you."
Lydia, flushing, set down the pan, and hurriedly
smoothing her apron, walked briskly out of the
room.
" He called me from the window — that 's why
I staid," explained Donald, " and he told me to
order John to hitch the horses to the big carriage.
We 're to get ready for a drive. And then he
asked me where you were, and when I told him,
he said : ' Send Lydia here, at once.'"
" Was Uncle very angry, Donald ? " asked Dorry,
wiping her eyes.
" Oh, no. At first he seemed sorry, and 1
think he got up the drive just to give you pleasure,
Dorry. He wanted to sec me about something,
and then he asked more about our visit to Liddy's
room, and I told him she was only telling us a true
story about him and papa, and — and that 's when
he sent me for Liddy, before 1 could get out
another word. Don't cry any more. Dot, — please
don't. Go put on your things, and we '11 have a
gay old drive with Uncle. 1 wont take the pony
this time."
"Oh, do!" coaxed Dorry, faintly, for in her
heart she meant, "Oh, don't!" It was good in
Donald, she knew, to be willing to give up his
pony-ride, and take a seat in the stately carriage
instead of cantering alongside, and she disliked to
rob him of the pleasure. But to-day her heart
was lonely; Uncle had been "queer," and life
looked so dark to her in consequence, that to have
Donald on the same seat with her would be a great
comfort.
" No," said Don. " Some day, soon, you and
I '11 take our ponies, and go off together for a good
run ; but, to-day, 1 'd rather go with you in the
carriage. Dot," — and that settled it.
She ran to put on her hat and bright warm
woolen wrap, for it was early November, and
beginning to be chilly. The carriage rolled to the
door ; Uncle George, grave but kind, met her,
handed her in as though she were a little duchess,
and then said :
"Now, Dorothy, who shall go with us, to-day?
Cora Danby or Josie ? You may call for any one
you choose."
" Oh, may I, Uncle ? Thank you ! Then we '11
go for Josie, please."
Her troubles were forgotten; Uncle smiled; Don-
ald beside her, and Josephine Manning going with
them ; the afternoon Isright and glowing. Things
were not so bad, after all.
"Drive to Mr. Manning's, John," said Mr. Reed,
as Jack, closing the carriage-door, climbed up to
the box in a way that reminded one of a sailor
starting to mount into a ship's rigging.
" Aye, aye, Cap'n," said Jack, and they were
off
I02
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[December,
Chapter IV.
THE DRIVE.
JOSIE Manning was not at home, and so the
party decided to drive on without company.
It was a beautiful autumnal day, and the modest
little lake-side village, which, in deference to its
shy ways, we shall call Nestletown, did its best to
show its appreciation of the weather. Its windows
lighted up brilliantly in the slanting sunlight, and
its two spires. Baptist and Methodist, reaching up
through the yellow foliage, piously rivaled each
other in raising their shining points to the sky.
The roads were remarkably fine at that time ; yet
it seemed that almost the only persons who, on
this special afternoon, cared to drive out and enjoy
them were our friends in the open carriage.
The fine old equipage rolled along at first with-
out a sound beyond the whir of its wheels and the
regular quadruple beat of the horses' hoofs; and
everj'thing appeared to be very placid and quiet.
But how many interests were represented, and how
different they were !
First, the horses : While vaguely wishing Jack
would loosen his hold, and that the hard iron some-
thing in their mouths would snap in two and
relieve them, they were enjoying their own speed,
taking in great draughts of fine air, keeping their
eyes open and their ears ready for any startling
thing that might leap from the rustling bushes
along the drive, or from the shadows of the road-
side trees, and longing in an elegant, well-fed way
for the plentiful supper that awaited them at home.
Next was the group of little belated insects that,
tempted by the glittering sunlight, happened to go
along, alighting now on the carriage, now on Jack,
and now on the horses. Not being horse-flies,
they were not even noticed by the span, — yet they
had business of their own, whatever it could have
been so late in the season, and were briskly attend-
ing to it. Next, there was Jack, — poor sailor
Jack, — sitting upright, soberly dressed in snug-
fitting clothes, and a high black stove-pipe hat,
when at heart he longed to have on his tarpaulin
and swagger about on his sea-legs again. His only
consolation was to feel the carriage roll and pitch
over the few uneven places along the road, to pull
at his " tiller-ropes," as he called the reins, and
" guide the craft as trim " as he could. For Jack,
though honest coachman now (for reasons which
you shall know before long) was a sailor at heart,
and clung to his old ways as far as his present situ-
ation would allow. At this very moment he was
wondering at his own weakness " in turning him-
self into a miserable land-lubber, all for love of
the cap'n and the two little middies." Meantime,
Donald was divided between a score of bov-
thoughts on one side, and his real manly interest
in Dorothy, whose lot seemed to him decidedly less
pleasant than his own. Dorry was quietly enjoying
the change from keen grief to its absence, and a
sense of security in being so near Uncle and
Donald. And the uncle — what shall I say of
him ? Shall I describe only the stately form being
borne with them through the yellow afternoon
light, the iron-gray hair, the kindly face? — or
shall 1 tell you of the lately happy, but now anx-
ious, troubled man, who within a few days had
been made to feel it possible that the dearest thing
he had on earth might soon be his no longer.
" Oh, Uncle," said Dorry, suddenly, " I forgot to
tell you something."
" You don't say so ! " exclaimed Mr. George, in
playful astonishment, a quick smile rising to his
lips, and his eyes full of pleasant inquiry. " What
did my little maid forget to tell me ? "
"Why, about the man on the croquet-ground.
I was practicing a roquet-shot, and before I knew
it, he was close by me, a great tall, lanky man,
calling me ' Sis' and "
" The rascal ! " exclaimed Uncle George, grow-
ing red and angry in a moment. " What business
had you to "
" I did n't. Uncle, 1 did n't. I 'm too old to be
called ' Sis,' and he acted just as if I ought to
know him and be real pleasant. I would n't have
a word to say to him, but just turned around and
ran to look for Donald. Did n't I, Don ? "
" Yes," said Donald, but before he said it he
had scowled, and nodded to his uncle, slyly, as he
thought, but his sister's eyes were keen.
" 1 declare it 's too bad ! " broke forth Dorry, im-
petuously. " Everybody gets mad at me for noth-
ing, and makes signs and everything ! " and with
this incoherent speech Dorry began to pout — yes,
actually to pout, the brave, good Dorry, who
usually was sunny and glad, " the light of the
house," as her aunt Kate had been before her!
Donald stared at her in astonishment.
At this moment, one of the horses received a cut
which he certainly did not deserve, but otherwise all
was quiet on the coachman's box. No one looking
up at that placid, well-dressed back would have
dreamed of the South-Sea tempest raging under
the well-padded and doubly buttoned coat.
"Dorothy," said her uncle, with a straiige trem-
bling in his voice, "try to control yourself. I do not
blame you, my child. John, you may drive toward
home."
Poor Dorry stifled her rising sobs as well as she
could, and, sitting upright, drew as far from her
uncle as the width of the seat would allow. But
after a while, sending a sidelong glance in his direc-
tion, she edged slowly back again, and timidly
i88i.)
I>ONAI,I) AM) DORoTIiV
I05
leaned her head upon his shoulder. In a moment
his arm was about her, and she looked up saucily,
with eyes sparkling through her tears.
" April weather to-day, is n't it, Don ? " said
Uncle. Don laughed. The uncle laughed,
though not so cheerily as Don, and even Jack
chuckled softly to himself to think that " all was
well again abaft."
"Spoiled child!" said Uncle George, patting
her gently. But his heart was full of a wild terror,
and he reproached himself for many things, chief
among which was that he had made it possible for
the idolized little girl beside him to know a
moment's sorrow.
" 1 must be more watchful after this," he said
to himself, " and more even. 1 have acted like a
brute to-day: what wonder the little maid is upset.
But that rascal ! I shall have to warn the children,
though it 's an ugly business. Donald," said he
aloud, and with great dignity, " come into the
library after supper, both of you. "
" Yes, sir," said Donald, respectfully.
And as the dear home-road came in
sight, the horses quickened their already
brisk pace, the party leaned back luxuri-
ously and gave themselves up to enjoy-
ment of the clear air, the changing road-
side, and the glories of the western sky, now ablaze
with the setting sun.
No one excepting Jack saw a tall, lank figure
disappearing among the shrubbery as the carriage
rumbled down the avenue that led to the house.
"Look to windward, Cap'n!" whispered Jack,
mysteriously, to Mr. George, while Donald was
gallantly assisting Dorothy from the carriage ;
"there's mischief in the air."
"What now, John.''" asked Mr. George, rather
patronizingly.
"A queer craft 'sjust hove to, sir, in the ever-
green bushes as we came in," mumbled Jack, al-
most under his breath, while pretending to screw
the handle of his whip.
Mr. George scowled. " Is he there now ? "
"Can't say, sir."
"Very well; probably it is some one waiting
to see me." And Mr. George, with a pleasant but:
decisive, "run in, youngsters," as Liddy opened the
wide hall-door, walked briskly down the carriage-
drive.
When the door closed, he turned into the
(To he continued.)
THE ENU OF THE DKIVE.
I04
THE BALLAD OF BABETTE.
[^December,
THE BALLAD OF BABETTE.
Bv Thomas Dunn English.
Babette, the peasant maiden,
The guileless, graceful child,
To gather nuts and berries,
Went to the copsewood wild.
And glancing in the fountain.
Beneath the shadows brown,
She saw her comely features
And russet-linsey gown.
" Fine birds come from fine feathers,"
The little maiden said —
" Had I a crown of rubies
To wear upon my head;
"If this poor gown were silken,
And I among the girls
Had maidens four to serve me.
And a necklace made of pearls ;
■" And 1 had silver slippers
Upon these little feet,
A prince would come to woo me,
And call me fair and sweet."
Then suddenly before her
A wounded dove was seen.
With drops of blood down falling
Upon the leaves of green.
It trembled when she touched it.
But had no power to fly ;
And in her face looked upward
With scared and piteous eye.
She washed the red drops gently,
That started from the wound.
And the weary bird lay quiet.
As though content it found.
Then when her hand was opened.
It made a plaintive coo.
And rising slowly upward,
Far in the distance flew.
Then on the maiden wandered
Till, by a hazel there.
Escaped from cruel hunters,
She saw a panting hare.
Her words of loving kindness
It did not seem to hear.
Till from her quivering eyelids
Dropped on it many a tear.
When lo ! it rose and trembled,
Its eyes grew full of light.
And through the briers and hazels
It bounded out of sight.
And throbbed the maiden's bosom
With pleasing, painful start.
And happy thrills of gladness
Made music in her heart.
When lo ! on purple pinions,
A flock of doves there came ;
The first one bore a ruby,
And each one had the same.
And still came flying, flying,
The doves on pinions fleet ;
And rubies there on rubies
They laid before her feet.
And they made her a crown of rubies,
Of rubies bright and red.
And they made her a crown of rubies.
And placed it on her head.
And next of hares, a hundred
Came from the North and South,
And each in coming carried
A great pearl in his mouth.
And still came running, running.
More hares, with motion fleet,
And pearls, in countless number.
They laid before her feet.
And they made her a lovely necklace
Of pearls without a speck.
And they made her a lovely necklace
And placed it on her neck.
Was it the poor dove's Ufe-blood
That now in rubies burned ?
And from Babette's kind weeping
Had tears to pearls 'oeen turned ?
And then the doves flew over.
And cooed with voices sweet,
And a pair of silvern slippers
She found upon her feet.
And then the hares ran round Tier,
.And her skin grew white as milk,
And her gown of russet-linsey
W'as changed to one of silk.
i88i.|
THE BALLAD OF BABETTE.
105
And lo! there came four maidens,
To wait on her, forsooth !
Simplicity, and Pity,
And Innocence, and Truth.
And the dove became a fairy.
And touched her with her wand;
And the hare became Prince Channing,
And he was young and fond.
Vol. IX.— 8.
And a train of lords and ladies.
The little maiden met;
And the Prince, he walked beside her.
The downcast-eyed Babette.
And never in the copsewood
Was the little maiden seen.
For she dwells all time in Elf-land,
As the good King Charming's queen.
io6
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER.
[December;
^k/ fA< ro (o'l,L.E;c^<,3ii\
nrJfa ■toI.D M£( Pot^ To cjo to CcHOot
>K
N
V/t
■1 1
. B - C
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER,
Bv Washington Gladden.
ELL, sir, I
am sorry ;
but I 've
done the
best I could
for you."
It is the
conductor
of the night
—' express on
the East-
em Railroad
who is speak-
ing ; and the
passenger, to
whom his remark is ad-
dressed, stands with watch
in hand, near the door of
the car, as the train draws into the Boston station.
" I do not doubt it," is the answer. " You can
not be blamed for the delay. The other train must
have left the Western station already."
" Undoubtedly ; the time is past, and they always
start on time."
" And there is no train that connects through to
Cincinnati before to-morrow morning?"
"No!" " Well, that settles it. Thank you."
Mr. Haliburton Todd steps down from the plat-
form of the car, and walks slowly past the row of
beckoning and shouting hackmen. He is too good
a philosopher to be angry with the freshet that
delayed the train, but there is a shade of disap-
pointment on his face, and a trace of moisture in
his eye. He is a wholesome-looking man of fort)'-
five, with grayish hair and beard, blue eyes, and
a ruddy countenance. Probably he is never much
given to grinning, but just now his face is unusually-
grave ; nevertheless, it is a kind face ; under its
sober mask there is a world of good nature. In
short, he is just the sort of man that a shrewd girl
iSSi.J
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER.
107
of twelve would pick out for an uncle. If any one
thinks that is not high praise, I should like to have
him try his hand at commendation.
There are, indeed, quite a number of boys and
girls to whom Uncle Hal is both a saint and a
hero. At that Christmas party, in the home of
his sister in the Western city to which he has been
hurrying, these boys and girls are to be assembled.
All the married brothers and sisters, with their
families, will be there. But it is of no use now for
him to tr)- to join them. The feast will be ended,
and the circle will be broken, before he can reach
Cincinnati. So he strolls out of the station and
up the street. No, he will not take a hack nor a
horse-car ; happy people may consent to be car-
ried ; those whose minds are troubled would better
go afoot. He will walk off his disappointment.
He trudges along the narrow streets ; the drays
and the express wagons, laden with all sorts of
boxes and parcels, are clattering to and fro ; por-
ters, large and small, arc running with bundles, big
and little ; the shops are crowded with eager cus-
tomers. Mr. Haliburton Todd is too good a man
to be dismal long in the midst of a scene like this.
" What hosts of people," he says to himself, " are
thinking and working with all their might to-day to
make other people happy to-morrow ! And how
happy they all are themsehes, to-day ! We always
say that Christmas is the happiest day in the year ;
but is it ? Is n't it the day before Christmas ? "
So thinking, he pauses at the window of a small
print-shop, when his attention is caught by the
voices of two children, standing in the hall at the
foot of the stairs leading to the stories above. On
the sign beside the door-way he reads, " Jackman
& Company, Manufacturers of Ladies' L'nderwear."
The children are a girl of twelve and a boy of
ten, neatly but plainly dressed ; a troubled look is
on their bright faces.
"How much. Ruby?" asks the boy.
"Only seven dollars," answers the girl, choking
back a sob. " There were four dozen of the night-
dresses, you know, and the price was two dollars
a dozen ; but the man said that some of them were
not well made, so he kept back a dollar."
"The man lied,"says Ben, "and I '11 go up and
tell him so."
"Oh, no," answers Ruby; "that would n't do
any good. He would n't mind you, and he might
not give us any more work. But the work was well
done, if we did help ; for you run the machine
beautifully, and Mamma says that my button-holes
are every bit as good as hers. Just think of it !
Only seven dollars for two weeks' hard work of all
three of us ! "
"We can't have the turkey," says Ben, sadly.
" Oh, no. I found a nice young one down at
the comer store that we could get for a dollar and
a half, but we must lay by two dollars for the rent,
you know ; and there 'II be coal to buy next week.
1 'm sure Mamma will think we can't afford it."
" Come on, then," says Ben, bestowing a farewell
kick upon the iron sign of Jackman & Company.
.Mr. Haliburton Todd has forgotten all about
his own disappointment in listening to the more
serious trouble of these two children. As they
walk up the street, he follows them closely, trying
to imagine the story of their lives. They stop now
and then for a moment to look into the windows
of the toy-stores, and to admire the sweet wonders
of the confectioners, but they do not tarry long.
Presently, the eyes of Mr. Todd are caught by a
large theater-bill, announcing the Oratorio of the
Messiah, at Music Hall, Tuesday evening, Decem-
ber 24, by the Handel and Haydn Society. Mr.
Lang is to play the great organ. Theodore
Thomas's orchestra is to assist, and the soloists are
Miss Thursby and Miss Cary, and Mr. Whitney
and Mr. Sims Reeves.
" Correct ! " says Mr. Haliburton Todd, aloud.
He knows now what he will do with the coming
evening. It is long since his passion for music has
been promised such a gratification.
While he pauses, he notes that Ruby and Ben
are scanning with eager eyes the same bill-board.
" Rather remarkable children," he says to himself,
" to care for oratorio. If it were a minstrel show,
I should n't wonder."
" Would n't I like to go?" says Ruby.
" Would n't I?" echoes Ben, with a low whistle.
"Don't you remember," says the girl, "the
night Papa and Mamma took us to hear Nilsson?
Miss Cary was there, you know, and she sang this:
" ' Birds of the night that softly call,
Winds in the night th.it strangely sigh.' "
It is a sweet and symjiathetic voice that croons
the first strain of Sullivan's lullaby.
"1 remember it," says Ben. "Mamma used
to sing it afterward, pretty near as well as she did.
And don't you remember that French chap that
played the violin ? Blue Tom, they called him,
or some such name."
" Vt£!/.v/f>i!ps," laughs Ruby, who knows a liltle
French.
" Yes, that 's it. But could n't he make the old
fiddle dance, though!" And the boy tilts his
basket against his shoulder, and executes upon it
an imaginar)' roulade with an imaginary bow.
" We used to have good times at home, did n't
we — when Papa played the violin and Mamma
the piano?" Ben goes on.
" Don't ! " pleads Ruby, turning, with a great sob,
from the bright promise of the bill-board.
io8
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER.
[December,
The two children walk on in silence for a few
moments, — Mr. Haliburton Todd still close behind
them. Ruby has resolutely dried her tears, but
her thoughts are still with the great singers, and
the voice of the wonderful Swede is ringing through
her memory, for presently Mr. Todd hears her
singing low ;
"Angels ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me to your care! "
" Well, my child," he says, in a low tone, " I
don't think that angels are apt to have gray hairs
in their whiskers, nor to wear ulsters ; but there 's
an old fellow about my size who would like to be
an angel just now for your sake."
While he is talking thus to himself, the children
turn into the hall of a tenement house. Mr. Hali-
burton Todd glances after them, and sees them
enter a room on the first landing. He walks on
a few steps slowly, hesitates, then quickly turns
back. In a moment he is knocking at the door
which had been opened for the children. The
knock is answered by the boy.
" I beg your pardon, my little man," says Mr.
Todd. " I am a stranger to you ; but I should like
to see your mother if she is not engaged."
" Come in, sir," says a voice within. It is the
voice of a lady. Her face is pale and anxious, but
her manner is quiet and self-possessed.
" It is a curious errand that brings me, madam,"
says Mr. Haliburton Todd ; " but I trust you will
pardon my boldness and grant my request. These
children of yours chanced to be standing with me
in front of the same placard, announcing the ora-
torio to-night ; and I heard enough of what they
said to know that they have a rare appreciation of
good music. I have come in to see if you will
let me take them to the Music Hall, this evening."
"Oh, Mamma ! " cries Ben.
Ruby's eyes plead, but the mother's face is
grave. "Your offer is extremely kind, sir," she
says at length, slowly; "and the thing you propose
would give my children great pleasure; but "
" You do not know me," Mr. Todd supplies.
" That is true ; and of course a wise mother would
not commit her children to the care of an entire
stranger. Here 's my card, — ' Todd & Templcton,
Mattawamkeag, Maine,' — but that proves noth-
ing. However, I 'm not going to give it up so.
Let me see ; I wonder if I know anybody that you
know in this big city. Who is your minister ? "
" We attend, at present, St. Matthew's Church,
of which Mr. Brown is rector."
"What is his first name?" "John, I think."
"John Robinson Brown?"
"Yes; that is the name."
" Cor-rect ! " ejaculates Mr. Todd, triumphantly.
with a distinct hyphen between the two syllables
of his favorite interjection ; "that fixes it. What
luck this is ! I know your minister perfectly. He
has been up in our woods fishing every summer
for five years, and we are the best of friends. Can
you tell me his residence ? "
" I know," cries Ben. " He lives next door to
the church, on Chaucer street."
" All right. Let the boy run up to his house
after dinner, and see whether Mr. Brown indorses
me. I '11 drop in on him this morning. If he .says
so, you '11 let the children go with me to-night? "
" I know no reason," answers the mother, "why
they may not go. You are very kind."
" Kind to myself, that 's all. But 1 shall be
obliged to ask your name, madam."
" Johnson."
" Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. I will call for the
children at half-past seven. Good-morning ! "
Mr. Haliburton Todd bows himself out with a
beaming face, and leaves sunshine behind him.
He pauses a moment on the landing. The door
of the room adjoining the Johnsons' stands open,
and he observes that the room is vacant. He steps
in and finds a glazier setting a pane of glass. It is
a pleasant room, with an open fire-place ; the rear
parlor-chamber of an old-fashioned house, and it
has been newly papered and painted. It com-
municates with the sitting-room where the children
and their mother live.
" Is this room rented ? " he asks the glazier.
" Guess not."
" Where is the agent ? "
" Number seven, Court street."
"Thank you!" Mr. Haliburton Todd glances
around the room again, nods decisively, and hurries
down the stairs.
What becomes of him for the next hour we will
not inquire. A man is entitled to have a little
time to himself, and it is not polite, even in stories,
to be prying into all the doings of our neighbors.
The next glimpse we get of him, he is sitting in
the study of the rector of St. Matthew's, explain-
ing to that gentleman what he wishes to do for
these two little parishioners of his.
"Just like you," cries the minister. " But who
are the children ? "
" Their name is Johnson, and they live in a tene-
ment house on Denison street, number forty-five."
"Ah, yes. Their father was the master of a
bark in the African trade, and he was lost on
the west coast a year and a half ago. Nothing
was ever known of his fate, excepting that a portion
of the vessel bearing its name, 'Ruby,' was washed
ashore, somewhere in Angola, I think. They had
a home of their own, bought in flush times, and
mortgaged for half its value, but in the shrinkage
A X A N G li L I N A N U L S T E R .
109
cvcrythinjj was swept away. They have lived in
this tenement now for nearly a year, supporting
themselves by sewing. I suspect they are poor
enough, but they are thoroughly independent; it
is hard to get a chance to do anything for them.
You seem to have outflanked them."
"Oh, no; I 'm not much of a strategist; I
moved on their works, and captured them. It 's
my selfishness; I want to hear Thursby and Cary
with those cliildren's ears to-night, that 's all. And
if you will kindly write a little note, assuring the
mother that I will not eat her children, the boy
will call for it. And now, good-morning. I shall
see you next summer in the woods."
The rector presses his friend to tarry, but he
pleads business, and hurries away.
Now he mysteriously disappears again. After
a few hours we find him seated before the grate,
in his cozy room at the Parker House ; the tele-
gram has gone to Cincinnati with the bad news
that he is not coming ; the oratorio tickets have
been purchased ; dinner has been eaten ; there is
time for rest, and he is writing a few letters to
those nephews and nieces who know-, by this time,
to their great grief, that they will not see Uncle
Hal to-morrow.
Meantime, the hours have passed cheerily at the
little room of the Johnsons, on Dcnison street ;
for, though the kindness of their unknown friend
could not heal the hurt caused by the hardness of
their greedy employer, it has helped them to bear
it. Ben has brought from the rector an enthusias-
tic note about Mr. Todd, and the children have
waited in delighted anticipation of the evening.
Promptly, at half-past seven, the step of their
friend is on the stair, and his knock at the door.
"Come in, sir!" says Ben. It is a very differ-
ent \-oicc from that of the boy who was talking at
Jackman & Company's entrance a few hours ago.
" This has been a day of great expectations
here," says Ben's mother. " I do not know what
could have been promised the children that would
iiavc pleased them more. Of music they have had
a passionate love from infancy, and they have n't
heard much lately."
"Well, they shall have to-night the best that
Boston affords," says Mr. Todd. "Now, you
must tell me your name, my boy. We want a
good understanding before we start."
" Ben, sir, is what my mother calls me."
"Ben Johnson, eh? A first-class name, and a
famous one. Correct ! " laughs Mr. Todd. "And
now, will the little lady tell me her name?"
" Ruby, sir, is all there is of it," answers the
maiden.
"Well, Ruby," says Mr. Todd, " your name is
like the boarder's coffee: it is good enough what
there is of it, and there 's enough of it, such as it
is. Now, you want to know what to call me. My
name's Uncle Hal. That's what a lot of boys
and girls out West would have been calling me to-
morrow if I had n't missed the train ; and if you '11
just let me play, to-night, that I 'm your uncle, I
shall have a great deal better time."
So they go off merrily.
Music Hall is packed from floor to topmost gal-
lery. On either side of the great organ rise the
ranks of the chorus, eight hundred singers ; the
orchestra is massed in front ; the soloists arc just
entering, to take their places at the left of the
conductor.
" There 's Miss Cary ! " cries Ruby, eagerly.
Mr. Todd points out to the children the other
singers whom they do not know, and, while he is
speaking, the click of Mr. Zerrahn's baton is
heard, the musicians of the orchestra lift their
instruments, and the glorious strains of the over-
ture burst upon the ears of the wondering children.
But no wise historian will try to tell about this
evening's music, nor how Ruby and Ben enjoy it.
More than once, in the rush of the great choruses,
Ben finds himself catching his breath, and there is
a rosy spot all the while on Ruby's cheek and
a dazzling brightness in her eye. Mr. Todd
watches them, momently; he listens, as he said,
with their ears as well as his own, and finds his
own pleasure trebled by their keen enjoyment.
" Oh, Mamma," says Ben, as she tucks him into
bed, " it seemed, some of the time, as if I was so
full that I could n't hold another bit. When Miss
Thursby sang that song — you remember, Ruby.
What was it ? "
" ' I know that my Redeemer liveth,'" answers
Ruby.
" Yes; that 's the one; — when she sang that, I
thought my heart would stop beating. "
" But what I liked best," says Ruby, true to her
old love, " was one Miss Cary sang about the Sav-
iour, ' He was despised.' "
" It was all very beautiful, I know, my darlings,"
answers the mother; "but you must forget it now,
as soon as you can, for it is late."
The next morning. Ruby is wakened by the stir-
ringof her mother. "Oh, Mamma," she says, softly,
putting her arms about her mother's neck, " 1 had
a beautiful dream last night, and I must tell it to
you before you get up. I dreamed that Miss
Tliursby was standing on a high rock on the sea-
shore, singing that song, ' I know that my Re-
deemer liveth ' ; and when she came to that part,
' In the latter day he shall stand upon the earth,'
I thought that dear Papa rose right up out of the
sea, and walked on the water to the shore ; and
that Mr. Todd took him by the hand and led him
I lO
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER
[December,
up to US ; and just as he flew toward us, and
caught you in his arms, I woke up."
The desolate mother kisses the daughter with
tears, but can not answer. Beside that dream the
dark and stern reahty is hard to look upon. Yet,
somehow, the child's heart clings to the comfort of
the dream.
Presently her eyes are caught by an unwonted
display of colors on a chair beside the bed. " Oh,
what are these ? " she cries, leaping to her feet.
"They are yours, my daughter."
" Look here, Ben ! Where did they come from.
Mamma ? M-m-y ! Oh, look ! look ! And here
are yours, Ben ! "
By this time the drowsy boy is wide awake, and
he pounces with a shout upon the treasures heaped
on his own chair, and gathers them into his bed.
A book and a nice silk handkerchief for each of
the children ; an elegant morocco work-box stocked
with all sorts of useful things for Ruby, and a com-
plete little tool-chest for Ben ; the Christmas St.
Nicholas for both, with a receipt for a year's sub-
scription, and a nice box of sweetmeats to divide
between them, — these are the beautiful and mys-
terious gifts.
" Who brought them, Mamma?" they cry, with
one voice.
"Your friend, Mr. Todd. He had two packages
concealed under his coat, when he came for you
last night ; and when he rose to go I found them
on the floor beside his chair, one marked, ' For the
Girl,' and the other, ' For the Boy ! ' "
" What makes him do such things?" asks Ben,
solemnly.
"'Good-will,' I think," answers his mother.
" He seems to be one of those men of good-will
of whom the angels sang."
"Anyhow, I 'd like to hug him," says the
impetuous Ben. "Did he say he would come and
see us again ? "
" Perhaps he will, in the course of the day. He
said that he should not return to Maine until the
evening train."
Suddenly Ruby drops her treasures and flings
her arms again about her mother's neck. "You
blessed Mamma!" she cries, tenderly, "you 've
got nothing at all. Why did n't some of the
good-willers think of you ? "
"Perhaps they will, before night," answers the
mother, speaking cheerfully, and smiling faintly.
" But whether they do or not, it makes the day a
great deal happier to me that my children have
found so good a friend."
It is a merry morning with Ruby and Ben. The
inspection of their boxes, and the examination of
their books, make the time pass quickly.
" Somebody 's moving into the next room," says
Ben, coming in from an errand. " I saw a man
carrying in a table and some chairs. Queer time
to move, I should think."
"They are going to keep Christmas, at any
rate," said Ruby ; " for I saw them, a little while
ago, bringing up a great pile of greens."
" P'r'aps they 've hired the reindeer-team to
move their goods," says Ben.
" Then," answers his mother, "they ought to
have come down the chimney instead of up the
stairs. "
So they have their little jokes about their new
neighbors ; but the children have moved once
themselves, and they are too polite to make use of
the opportunity afforded by moving-day to take an
inventory of a neighbor's goods.
They are to have a late dinner. The turkey,
hankered after by Ben, is not for them to-day ; but
a nice chicken is roasting in the oven, and a few
oranges and nuts will give them an unwonted
dessert. While they wait for dinner, the children
beseech their mother to read to them the Christmas
story in St. Nichol.\S. " It means so much
more when you read," says Ben, " than it does
when I read."
So they gather by the window ; the mother in
the arm-chair, on one arm of which Ben roosts,
with his cheek against his mother's — Ruby sitting
opposite. It is a pretty group, and the face of
many a passer-by lights up with pleasure as his eye
chances to fall upon it.
It is now a little past one o'clock, and Mr. Hali-
burton Todd, sauntering forth from his comfortable
quarters at Parker's, makes his way along Tremont
street, in the direction of Court. He is going
nowhere in particular, but he thinks that a little
walk will sharpen his appetite for dinner. When
he approaches Scollay's Square, his eye lights on
a man standing uncertainly upon a corner, and
looking wistfully up and down the streets. The
face has a familiar look, and as he draws a little
nearer, Mr. Todd makes a sudden rush for the
puzzled wayfarer.
"Hello, Brad!" he shouts, grasping the man
by the shoulders.
"Hello!" the other answers, coolly, drawing
back a little; then, rushing forward: "Bless my
eyes! Is this Hal Todd?"
" Nobody else, old fellow ! But how on earth
did I ever know you ? Come to look you over,
you 're not )ourself at all. Fifteen years, is n't it,
since we met ? "
" .^11 of that," says the stranger.
" Let 's see : you 've been in the sea-faring line,
have n't you ? " says Mr. Todd.
"Yes, I have, bad luck to me!" answers his
friend, with a sigh.
tSSi.J
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER.
Ill
•'Oh, well," says the hearty lumberman, "the
folks on shore have ji't all been fortunate. Where 's
your home, now ? "
" Just what I 'm tryinij to find out."
" What do you mean ? "
" My dear fellow," says the stranger, with qua-
vering voice, "my ship was wrecked a year and a
half ago on the west coast of Africa ; I reached the
shore, only to fall sick of a fever, through which
my cabin-boy nursed me ; for a long time I was
too weak to move ; finally, by slow stages, we
made our way to Bengucla ; there we waited
months for a vessel, and, to make a long story
short, 1. reached Boston this morn-
ing. I went to the house that was
mine two years ago, and found it
THE ANGEL SHOWS THE SAILOR A PRETTY PICTURE.
occupied by another family, — sold under mortgage,
they said. They could not tell me where I should
find my wife and children. 1 went to the neigh-
bors who knew them; some of them had moved
away, others w-ere out of town on their Christmas va-
cation. Of course, I shall find them after a little ; but
just where to look at this moment I don't know."
Mr. Todd has listened to this story with a
changing expression of countenance. When his
friend first mentioned the shipwreck, a sudden
light of intelligence sprang into his eye, and his
lips opened, but he quickly shut them again. He
is greatly interested in what he hears, but he is
not greatly pained by it. His friend wonders
whether Hal Todd has lost some of the old manly
tenderness of the academy days.
"Well, Brad Johnson," he cries, drawing a
long breath, after the short recital is ended, "this
is a strange story. But, as you say, this family of
yours can be found, and shall be. Come with me.
There is a police-station down this way."
The two men walk on, arm-in-arm, in the
direction of Denison street.
"How much is there of this missing family?"
asks Mr. Todd.
"There 's a wife and two children, — I hope,"
answers the other. "The best woman in
the world, Hal, and two of the brightest
children. Sing like larks, both of 'cm. Bless
their hearts ! " says the sailor, brushing
away a tear; " 1 thought I should have 'em
in my lap this Christmas day, and it 's tough
to be hunting for 'cm in this blind fashion."
" It i.< tough," says the lumberman,
choking a little. He has stopped on the
sidewalk, on Denison street. Just opposite
Number 45. He lays his hand on his
friend's shoulder. "Look here. Brad John-
son," he says, "we are going to find that
wife and those children pretty soon, I sus-
pect. And you 'vc got to keep cool. D' ye
hear?"
"What do you mean?" gasps the sailor.
The eye of Mr. Haliburton Todd is quietly
lifted to the window of the second story
opposite. His friend's eye follows, and falls
on the picture we saw there a little while
ago, — the mother intent upon the book, the
children intent upon the mother's face.
There is no outcry, but the father lifts his
hands, as if to heav'en, staggers a little, and
then plunges across the street. Mr. Todd
is after him, and seizes him by the collar
just as he reaches the foot of the stairs.
" Hold on, man ! " he says, decisively.
" You must n't rush in on that woman in
this way. You 'd kill her. She 's none too
strong. Wait here a few moments, and I '11 break
it to her."
" You 're right," answers the father, pressing
his hands against his temples, and steadying him-
self by the wall. " But you wont keep me waiting
long, will you ?"
Mr. Haliburton Todd knocks at the door, and is
let in by Ben.
"Oh, Mr. Todd, how good you are! Thank
you a hundred thousand times 1 " cry both the
children at once.
"Well, I 'm glad if you 've enjoyed my little
gifts," he answers. "But I 've been thinking that
112
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER.
[December,
your good mother ought to have a httle of the
cheer of this Christmas as well as you."
"Just what we said," answers Ben.
Mrs. Johnson colors a little, but before she can
speak, Mr. Todd goes on. " Pardon me, madam,
but what your minister told me yesterday of your
just now, in the street, an old friend of mine — and
of yours — who knows a good deal about it. And
I want to assure you, before he comes in, that —
that the story as it reached you — was — was con-
siderably exaggerated, that is all. Excuse me, and
I will send in my friend."
affairs has led me to take a deep interest in them.
How long is it since your husband left home? "
" More than two years," answers the lady.
"You have had no direct intelligence from him
since he went away ? "
"None at all, save the painful news of the loss
of his vessel, with all on board."
" Have you ever learned the full particulars of
the ship%vreck ? "
"No; how could I?" Mrs. Johnson turns sud-
denly pale.
' ' Be calm, I beseech you, my dear lady. I did
not suppose that you could have heard. But I met
Mr. Todd quickly withdraws. The color comes
and goes upon the mother's face. " Merciful
Father ! " she cries, " what does it all mean?"
She rises from the chair ; the door that Mr.
Todd has left ajar gently opens, and quickly closes.
We will not open it again just now. That place
is too sacred for prying eyes. It is a great cry of
joy that fills the ears and the eyes of Mr. Hali-
burton Todd, as he goes softly down the stairs, and
walks away to his hotel.
An hour later, when the shock of the joy is over
a little, and the explanations have been made, and
father and mother and children are sitting for a
i88i.]
AX ANGEI, IX AX ULSTER.
"3
few moments silent in a great peace, the nature
of the human boy begins to assert itself.
•'Is n't it," ventures Ben, timidly, as if the
words were a profanation, " is n't it about time for
dinner?"
"Indeed it is, my boy," answers his mother;
" and I 'm afraid our dinner is spoiled. Open the
oven door, Ruby."
Ruby obeys, and finds the poor, forgotten chicken
done to a cinder. "Never mind," says the mother.
"Our dinner will be a little late, but we '11 find
something with which to keep the feast."
Just then, there is a knock at the door opening
into the new neighbor's apartment.
"What can they want?" says Mrs. Johnson.
" Perhaps, my dear, you had better answer the
knock. They are new-comers to-day."
Mr. Johnson pushes back the bolt and opens the
door. The room is hung with a profusion of
Christmas greens. A bright fire blazes on the
"Your dinnah, sah. De folks's dinnah 'n dis
ycr front room. It was ordered fo' dem."
" Where was it ordered ? "
" Copeland's, sah."
" Who ordered it ? "
" den'l'm'n with gray ulcerated coat on, sah;
I seen him kim up t' ycr room 'bout 'n hour ago.
I was to git it all ready 'n' call you jcs' half-past
two."
"Another of Todd's surprises," exclaims Mr.
Johnson. "Well, my dears, the dinner is here;
and we should be very ungrateful not to partake of
it with thanksgiving."
What a happy feast it is ! How the laughter
and the tears chase each other around the table !
How swiftly the grief and misery and dread of
the two desolate years that arc gone, fly away into
a far-off land !
By and by, when the cloth is removed, and they
are seated around the open fire. Ruby says.
hearth. A table in the middle • of the room is
loaded with smoking viands. A smiling colored
waiter, with napkin on arm, bows politely when the
door is opened.
"Ef you please, sah, dinnah is ready, sah !"
"Whose dinner?" demands Mr. Johnson.
musingly: "Papa, did you really and truly know
Mr. Todd when you were a boy?"
" Certainly, my darting ; why do you ask?"
"I can't quite think," says the girl, "that he is
a real man. It seems to mc as if he must be an
angel."
114
AN ANGEL IN AN ULSTER.
[December,
While she speaks, the angel is knocking at the
•door. They all fly to him ; the father hugs him ;
the mother kisses his hand ; the children clasp his
knees.
" Help ! help ! " shouts the hearty lumberman.
" 1 did n't come here to be garroted."
Then, with much laughing and crying, they tell
him Ruby's doubts concerning him.
" Well," he says, merrily, "' 1 may be an angel,
but, if so, I 'm not aware of it. Angels are not
generally addicted to the lumber business. And
you need n't make any speeches to me, for I have
n't time to hear 'em. Fact is, this has been the
very reddest of all my red-letter days; the merriest
of my Christmases ; and you people have been
the innocent occasion of it all. And I 'm not done
with you yet. I '11 have you all up to my lumber-
camp next summer; there 's a nice cabin there, for
you. Pine woods 'II do you lots of good, madam.
Great fishing there, Ben ! You '11 all come, wont
you ? It 's almost train-time. Good-bye ! "
And before they have time to protest or to prom-
ise, Mr. Haliburton Todd is down the stairs, rush-
ing away to the station of the Eastern Railroad.
^v(^„;i?
There was a worthy bcliool-master uho wrote to the trustees
A full report, three times a year, in words quite like to these :
The scholars are so orderly, so studious and kind,
'T is evident I have a gift to train the youthful mind."
STORIES OF ART AM) ARTISTS.
115
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.*
BV Cl.ARA Erskink Clkmkni-.
Raphael.
Raphael Sanzio, or Santi, was born at Urbi-
no, on Good Friday, 1483. His father was a good
painter, and the son showed his talent for art when
very young. Raphael's mother died when he was
eight years old, and his step-mother, Bcrnardina,
was devoted to him, and loved him tenderly. As
his father died three years after liis mother, he was
left to the care of an uncle and of Bernardina. His
father was doubtless his first instructor, for he was
occupied in painting a chapel at Cagli before his
death, and he took the young Raphael with him to
that place. But we usually say that Perugino was
his first master, because, when twelve years old, he
was placed in the school of that painter at Perugia.
Here he remained nearly eight years, and here,
just before leaving, he jjainted one of his very cele-
brated pictures, which is now in the gallery of the
Brera at Milan. It represents the marriage of the
Virgin Mary, and is called " Lo Sposalizio."
The legend of the life of the Virgin relates that,
when she was fourteen years old, the high-priest
told her that it was proper for her to be married,
and that he had had a vision concerning her.
Then the high-priest followed the directions
which had been given him in the vision, and called
together all the widowers among the people, and
directed that each one should bring his rod or wand
in his hand, as a sign would be given by which
they should know whom the Lord had selected to
be the husband of Mary.
Now when Joseph came with the rest before the
high-priest, a dove flew out from his rod and rested
a moment on his head, and then flew off toward
heaven. And so it was known that he was to be
the husband of Mary. Still another account says
that all the suitors left their rods in the temple over
night, and in the morning that of Joseph had blos-
somed.
In the picture painted by Raphael, with this
story as its subject, there is a large temple in the
background, to which many steps lead up. At
the foot of the long flight of steps the high-priest
is joining the hands of Joseph and Mary, while
groups of men and women stand on each side.
Joseph holds his blossoming rod in his hand, while
some of the disappointed suitors are breaking their
rods in pieces.
This picture of " Lo Sposalizio" is a very inter-
esting and important one, because it shows the
highest point of his earliest manner of painting.
In the same year in which he painted this picture,
1504, Raphael made his first visit to Florence, and
though he did not remain very long, he saw a new
world of art spread out before him. He beheld
the works of Ghirlandnjo, Fra Bartolommeo, Leon-
ardo da Vinci, and Michael Angelo, and we can
well understand that after his return to Perugia he
tried to equal what he had seen. He soon returned
to Florence, and remained there until 1508. Some
of the most famous and lovely pictures of this
artist were painted during these three years,
before he was twenty-five years old ; one is called
the "Virgin of the Goldfinch," because the little
St. John is presenting a goldfinch to the infant
Jesus. Another is called " La Belle Jardiniere,"
on account of the garden in which the Virgin sits
with the child standing at her knee. In all,
he painted about thirty pictures during his stay
at Florence, and he made himself so famous that
the Pope, Julius II., who was a great patron of the
fine arts, sent for him to come to Rome.
When Raphael presented himself to the Pope,
he was assigned several rooms in the palace of
the Vatican, which he was to decorate in fresco.
These pictures can scarcely be described here, but
they were, taken altogether, his greatest work, and
they are visited by thousands of people every year.
They are frequently called " Le Stanze" [meaning
" the rooms " or " apartments"] of Raphael.
At this time he also painted several beautiful
easel pictures : his own portrait which is in the
Gallery of Painters at Florence, and the lovely
" Madonna di Foligno," in the Vatican gallery,
which is so called because it was at one time in a
convent at Foligno. While the painter was at
work upon " Le Stanze," Julius II. died, but LeoX.,
who followed him, was also a patron of Raphael.
The artist was \cry popular and became very rich ;
he built himself a house not far from St. Peter's, in
the quarter of the city called the Borgo. He had
many pupils, and they so loved him that they ren-
dered him personal service, and he was often seen
in the streets w'ith numbers of his scholars, just as
noblemen were accompanied by their squires and
pages. His pupils also assisted in the immense
frescoes which he did, not only at the Vatican, but
also for the rich banker Chigi, in the palace now
called the Villa Farnesina.
One of the great works Raphael did for Pope Leo
X. was the making of the Cartoons which are so
* Copyright, 1881, by Clara Ershine C'lement. All rights reserved.
ii6
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[December,
often spoken of, and which are now at Hampton
Court, in England. These were designed to be
executed in tapestry for the decoration of the
Sistine Chapel, where Michael Angelo painted
the "Last Judgment." The Pope, Leo X., ordered
these tapestries to be woven in the looms of Flan-
ders, in rich colors, with wool, silk, and threads of
gold. They were completed at Arras and sent to
Rome in 15 19, and were first exhibited on St.
Stephen's Day, December 26th, when all the peo-
ple of the great city flocked to see them. These
works have an interesting history. In 1527, when
Rome was sacked by the fierce Constable de Bour-
bon, the tapestries were removed by the French
soldiers ; they were restored in 1553, but one piece
was missing, and was supposed to have been
burned in order to obtain the gold thread that was
in it. In the year 1798 the French once more car-
ried off these precious spoils, and sold them to a
Jew in Leghorn. It is known that this jew burned
one of the pieces, but he found he gained so little
gold from it that he kept the others whole. Pius
VII. afterward bought them, and once more placed
them in the Vatican. This history adds an inter-
est to the tapestries, but the Cartoons are far more
valuable and interesting, because they were the
actual work of Raphael. After the weaving was
finished at Arras, they were tossed aside as worth-
less ; some were torn ; but, a hundred years later,
the painter Rubens learned that a part of them
were in existence, and he advised King Charles
I. of England to buy them. This he did, and
then the Cartoons went through almost as many
adventures as the tapestries had met. When
they reached England they were in strips, having
been so cut for the convenience of the workmen.
After Charles I. was executed, Cromwell bought
the Cartoons for ^300. When Charles II. was
king he was about to sell them to Louis XIV., for
the English king needed money badly, and the
French king was anxious to add these treasures to
the others which he possessed; but Lord Danby
persuaded Charles II. to keep them. They were
at Whitehall, and were barely saved from the fire
in 1698; and soon after that, by command of
William III., they were properly repaired, and they
now hang in a room at Hampton Court, which
was made expressly for them under the care of the
architect Sir Christopher Wren. There were orig-
inally eleven ; seven only remain.
Raphael's fame had so spread itself to other
countries that it is said King Henry VIII. invited
him to England. Henry VIII. was told that he could
not hope to see the artist, who, however, courteously
sent him a picture of St. George, a patron saint ot
England, and when Francis I., in his turn, tried to
induce Raphael to visit France, the artist sent him a
large picture of St. Michael overpowering the Evil
One. Francis I. then sent Raphael so great a sum
of money that he was unwilling to keep it without
some return, and sent to Francis the lovely " Holy
Family," now in the gallery of the Louvre, in which
the infant springs from his cradle into his mother's
arms, while angels scatter flowers. At the same
time the artist sent a picture of St. Margaret over-
coming the Dragon, to the sister of Francis —
Margaret, Queen of Navarre. After these pictures
had been received, Francis I. sent Raphael a sum
equal to fifteen thousand dollars, and many thanks
besides.
About 1520 Raphael painted his famous "Sis-
tine Madonna," so called because it was intended
for the convent of St. Sixtus, at Piacenza. The
Madonna, with the child in her arms, stands in
the upper part of the picture, while St. Sixtus and
St. Barbara kneel below. This is very beautiful
and very wonderful, because no sketch or draw-
ing of it has ever been found, and it is believed
that this great painter put it at once upon the
canvas, being almost inspired to the work. In the
year 1753, Augustus III., the Elector of Saxony,
bought it of the monks of Piacenza, and paid
nearly thirty thousand dollars for it. It is now
the great attraction of the fine gallery at Dresden.
It was originally intended for a procession stand-
ard, or drappellone, but the monks Used it as an
altar-piece. A copy of it is shown on page 120.
Another famous picture is called " Lo Spasimo,"
and represents Christ bearing his cross. In 1518
this was painted for the monks 'of Monte Oliveto,
at Palermo. The ship in which it was sent was
wrecked, and the case containing the picture
floated into the port of Genoa, and the picture
was unpacked and dried before it was injured.
There was great joy in Genoa over this treasure,
and the news of it spread over all Italy. W'hen
the monks of Palermo claimed it, the Genoese re-
fused to give it up, and it was only the command
of the Pope that secured its restoration to its own-
ers. During the time of Napoleon I. it was car-
ried to France, but it is now in the museum of
Madrid.
While Raphael was so productive as a painter,
he found time to devote to other pursuits. The
Pope had named him superintendent of the build-
ing of St. Peter's, and he made many architectural
drawings for that church ; he was also very much
interested in digging up the works of art which
were buried in the ruins of ancient Rome. There
still exists a letter that he WTOte to Leo X., in
which he explained his plan for examining all the
ruins of the city.
He also made some designs and models for
works in sculpture, and there is a statue of Jonah
igSi.J
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
117
sitting on a whale, in the Church of Santa Maria
del Popolo, in Rome, said to have been modeled
by Raphael and executed in marble by Lorenzctto
Lotli. An Elijah, seen in the same church, is said
generous in supplying the needs of those who were
poorer than himself.
Raphael lived in splendor and loved the gay
world, and at one time he expected to marry Maria
RAPHAELS PORTRAIT OF MIMSECLF. SPECIALLY REPRODUCED FOR ST. NICHOLAS.
to have been made by Lotti from a drawing by
Raphael. He also interested himself in wliat was
happening in the world ; he corresponded with
many learned men in different countries ; he sent
artists to make drawings of sucli things as he
wished to see and had not time to visit, and was
di Bibbiena, a niece of the Cardinal Bibbiena, but
she died before the time for the marriage came.
Among the most lovely Madonnas of this artist is
that called "Delia Sedia" [of the chair], and there
is a very pretty legend about it which says that
hundreds of years ago there was a hermit named
ii8
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[December,
Father Bernardo, dwelling among the Italian hills ;
and he was much loved by the peasants, who
went to him for advice and instruction. He often
said that in his solitude he was not lonely, for he
old oak-tree that grew near his hut and sheltered
it from storm, and hung its branches over him so
lovingly that the old man grew to feel it was like a
dear friend to him. There were many birds in its
had two daughters : one of them could talk to him, branches to whom he gave food, and they, in
1,A MADONNA DELLA SEDIA (THE MADONNA OF THE CHAIR). — PAINTED BV RAPHAEL. SPECIALLY REPRODUCED FOR ST. NICHOLAS.
but the other was dumb. He meant to speak of the
daughter of a vine-dresser who was named Mary,
and always tried to do all in her power for the com-
fort of the old man — she was the daughter who
spoke. By his dumb daughter he meant a grand
return, gave him sweet songs. Many times the
woodmen had wished to cut this strong tree do\vn,
but F.ather Bernardo prayed for its life, and it was
spared to him.
At last there came a terrible winter — the storms
i88i.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
119
\
were so severe that few trees and huts remained,
and the freshets that rushed down the hills swept
off all that the tempests had left. At last, after a
dreadful storm, Mary and her father went, with
fear, to see if the hermit was still alive, for they
thought he must have perished, liut when they
came to him they found that his dumb daughter
had saved his life. On the coming of the freshet,
he had gone up to the roof of his hut, but he soon
saw that he was not safe there ; then, as he cast his
eyes to heaven, the branches of the oak seemed to
bend toward him, and beckon him to come up to
them ; so he took a few crusts of bread and climbed
up into the tree, where he staid three days.
Below, everything was swept away, but the oak
stood firm ; and, at hist, when the sun came out
and the storm was ended, his other daughter came
to take him to her own home and make him warm
and give him food, for this dreadful lime of hunger
and storm had almost worn him out.
Then the good Father Bernardo called on heaven
to bless his two good daughters who had saved his
life, and [jrayed that in some way they might be
distinguished together. Years p.issed, and the old
hermit died. Mary married, and became the mother
of two little boys ; the old oak-tree had been cut
down and made into wine-casks. One day, as Mary
sat in the arbor, and her children were with her,
— she held the youngest to her breast, and the
older one ran around in merry play, — she called to
mind the old hermit, and all the blessings that he
had asked for her, and she wondered if his prayers
would not be answered in these children. Just then
the little boy ran to his mother with a stick to
which he had fastened a cross, and at that moment
a young man came near. He had large, dreamy
eyes, and a restless, weary look. And weary he
was, for the thought of a lovely picture was in his
mind, but not clear enough in form to enable him
to paint it. It was Raphael Sanzio d'Urbino, and
when his glance fell upon the lovely, living picture
of Mary and her children, he saw, in flesh and
blood before him, just the lovely dream that had
floated in his thoughts. But he had only a pencil !
On what could he draw ? Just then his eye fell on
the smooth cover of the wine-cask standing near
by. He quickly sketched upon this the outlines of
Mary and her boys, and when he went awa)- he
took the oaken cover with him. And, thereafter,
he did not rest until, with his whole soul in his
work, he had painted that wonderful picture which
we know as "La Madonna della Sedia."
Thus, at length, was the prayer of Father Ber-
nardo answered, and his two daughters were made
famous together.
At last the time came in Rome when there was
much division of opinion as to the merits of the
two great masters, Michael Angelo and Raphael;
the followers of the latter were the more numerous,
but those of the former were very strong in their
feelings. Finally, the Cardinal Ciiulio dei Medici,
who was afterward Pope Clement VII., gave
orders to Ra|)hael and to Sebastian del Piombo
to paint two large pictures for a cathedral which
he was decorating at Narbonne.
It was well known that Michael Angelo would
not enter into an open rivalry with Raphael, but
he was credited with making the drawing for the
" Raising of Lazarus," which was the subject to
be painted by Sebastian.
Raph-ael's picture was the " Transfiguration of
Christ" — but alas! before it was finished, he was
attacked with a fever, and died after fourteen days.
He died on Good Friday, 1520, his thirty-seventh
birthday. All Rome was filled with grief; his
body was laid in state upon a catafalque, and
the picture of the Transfiguration stood near it.
Those who had known him went to gaze on his
face, to weep, and to give the last tokens of their
love for him.
He was buried in the Pantheon, where he him-
self had chosen to be laid, near the grave of his
betrothed bride, Maria di Bibbiena. An immense
poncoursc, dressed in mourning, followed his body,
and the ceremonials of his funeral were magnifi-
cent. A Latin inscription was written by Pietro
Bembo, and placed above his tomb. The last sen-
tence is : " This is that Raphael by whom Nature
feared to be conquered while he lived, and to die
when he died." Raphael had also requested Lo-
renzetto Lotti to make a statue of the Virgin to
be placed over his sepulcher.
His property was large; he gave all his works
of art to his pupils, Giulio Romano and Francesco
Penni; he gave his house to Cardinal Bibbiena: he
ordered a house to be purchased with a thousand
scudi, the rent of which should pay for twelve
masses to be said monthly on the altar of his
burial chapel; and this wish was observed until
1705, when the rent of the house was too small
to pay for these services. The remainder of his
riches was divided among his relatives.
There was for many years a skull in the Acad-
emy of St. Luke, at Rome, which was called that
of Raphael, although there was no good reason
for this. At length, in 1833, three hundred and
thirteen years after his death, some antiquarians
began to dispute about this skull, and received per-
mission from the Pope, Gregory .XVL, to make a
search for the bones of Raphael in the Pantheon.
After five days spent in carefully removing the
pavement in several places, the skeleton of the
great master was found, and with it such proofs a&
made it impossible to doubt that the bones were
THE SISTINE MADONNA. — PAINTED BY RAPHAEL. SPECIALLY REPRODl'CED FOR ST. NICHOLAS.
i88i.]
WHAT MAKES THE GRASSES GROW?
121
really his. Finally, a grand funeral service was
held. Gregory XVI. gave a marble sarcophagus,
in which the bones were placed and interred rever-
ently in their old resting-place. More than three
thousand people attended the burial ceremony,
among whom were the persons of the highest
rank in Rome, and many artists of all nations,
who moved about the cliurch in a procession,
bearing torches, while beautiful music was chant-
ed by a concealed choir.
The number and amount of Raphael's works are
marvelous when the shortness of his life is remem-
bered. He left behind him two hundred and
eiglity-seven pictures and five hundred and sev-
enty-six drawings and studies.
It was not any one trait or talent which made
Raphael so great, but it was a rare combination
of faculties, and a personal charm which won all
hearts, that entitled him to be called the greatest
modern painter. His famous picture "St. Cecilia,"
with its sweet expression and exquisite coloring,
its impressive union of earthly beauty with hoh
enthusiasm, is symbolic of tlie varied qualities
of this wonderful man.
WHAT MAKES THE GRASSES GROW?
Kv W. W. Fink.
1 CLOSED my book, for Nature's book
Was opening that day.
And, with a weary brain, 1 took
My hat, and wandered toward the brook
That in the meadow lay.
And there, beside the tiny tide,
I found a child at play.
Prone on the sward, its little toes
Wrought dimples in the sand.
Its checks were fairer than the rose.
I heard it murmur, " Mam-ma knows.
But 1 not unnerstand."
While all unharmed a dainty blade
Of grass was in its hand.
" What wouldst thou know, my httle one ? '
Said 1, with bearing wise ;
For 1, who thought to weigh the sun.
And trace the course where planets run.
And grasp their mysteries,
Unto a baby's questionings
Could surely make replies.
" What wouldst thou know?" again 1 said,
And, gently bowing low,
1 stroked its half-uplifted head.
With chubby hand it grasped the blade
And answered: " 'Oo will know,
For 'oo has whixers on 'oor face. —
What makes the grasses grow ? "
" Last fall," I said, " a grass-seed fell
To the earth and went to sleep.
All winter it slept in its cozy cell
Till Spring came tapping upon its shell :
Vol. IX.— 9.
Then it stirred, and tried to peep,
With its little green eye, right up to the sk)',
And then it gave a leap :
■ For the sun was warm and the earth was fair.
It felt the breezes blow.
It turned its cheek to the soft, sweet air.
And a current of life, so rich and rare,
Came up from its roots below,
It grew and kept growing, and that, my child.
Is the reason the grasses grow."
' 'Oo talks des like as if '00 s'pose
I 's a baby and 1 don't know
'Bout nuffin' ! But babies and ev'vy one knows
That grasses don't think, for they only grows.
My Mam-ma has told me so.
What makes 'em start an' get bigger an' bigger ?
What is it that makes 'em grow ? "
How could 1 answer in words so plain
That a baby could understand ?
Ah, how could 1 answer my heart ! 'T were vain
To talk of the union of sun and rain
In the rich and fruitful land ;
For over them all was the myster)-
Of will and a guiding hand.
What could 1 gather from learning mori
Than was w-ritten so long ago?
I heard the billows of Science roar
On the rocks of truth from the mystic shore,
And, humbly bowing low,
1 answered alike the man and child :
God makes the grasses grow."
122
THE POOR COUNTS CHRISTMAS.
[December,
Tive lime A\^ice
This l/ftle moujie
reepeci wrmfn ;
TTliS (iftle mouire
Walked rigKt ml
This liftle mouSie
rieci OK^ 4 ear Me!
/ ij Dinner iS" clone ,
THE POOR COUNT'S CHRISTMAS.
(A Fairy Tale.)
By Frank R. Stockton.
Very many years ago there lived a noble Count,
who was one of the kindest and best-hearted men
in the world. Every day in the year, he gave to
the poor and helped the friendless, but it was at
the merry Christmas-time that his goodness shone
brightest. He had even vowed a vow, that, as far
as he was able to make them so, every child he
knew should be happy on Christmas-day.
Early every Christmas morning, each boy and
girl in the neighborhood, who was old enough, and
not too old, came to the castle of the Count Cormo,
and there the Count and the Countess welcomed
them all, rich or poor, and through the whole day
there were games, and festive merr>-making, and
good things to eat, and fun of every kind, and
besides all this, there was a grand Christmas-tree,
8..)
THE POOR COUNT S CHRISTMAS.
123
with a present on it for each of the eager, happy-
youngsters who stood around it.
But ahhough the good Count had a castle and
rich lands, lie gave away so much money that he
became poorer and poorer, so that at last he and
his wife often found it hard to get the clothes and
food they absolutely needed.
But this made no difference with the Christmas
festixities. The Count was not now able to be
very generous during the year, although he was
always willing to divide a meal with a hungry
person ; but he managed so that the children could
have their festival and their presents at Christmas.
Year by year he had sold for this purpose some of
the beautiful things which the castle contained, so
that now there was scarcely enough furniture left
for the actual use of himself and the Countess.
One night, about a week before Christmas, the
Count and his wife snt in the great hall before a tire
smaller and poorer than those which burned on the
hearth of most of the cottagers in the surrounding
country, for the cottagers could go into the woods
and pick up sticks and twigs, whereas the Count
had sold all his forests, so that he could not cut
wood, and he had only one old man for outdoor
work, and he had already picked up all the fallen
branches within a wide circuit of the castle.
"Well, one thing is certain," said the Countess
Cormo, .-IS she drew her chair nearer to the little
pile of burning sticks, " and that is, that we can
not have the children here at Christmas this year."
" Why not ? " asked the Count.
" Because we have nothing to give them," re-
plied his wife. " We have nothing for them to
eat ; nothing to put on the tree, and no money to
l5uy anything. What would be the good of their
coming when we have nothing at all for them ?"
" But we must have something," saidthe Count.
•'Think of ail the \cars that we have had these
Cliristmas gatherings, and then think how hard it
would be, both for us and the little ones, to give
them up now we arc growing old ; and we may not
be with the children another year. There are yet
several days before Christmas ; 1 can sell some-
thing to-morrow, and we can have the tree and
everything prepared in time. There will not be so
much to eat as usual, and the presents will be
smaller, but it will be our good old Christmas in
spite of that."
" I should like very much to know what you arc
going to sell," asked the Countess. " 1 thought
we had alre.'idy parted with everything that we
could possibly spare."
'■ Notcjuitc," said the Count. "There is our old
family bedstead. It is very large; it is made of
the most valuable woods, and it is inlaid with gold
and silver. It will surely bring a good price."
" Sell the family bedstead!" cried the Countess.
" The bedstead on which your ancestors, for gener-
ations, have slept and died ! How could you even
think of such a thing ! And what are we going to
sleep on, 1 'd like to know?"
" Oh, we can get along very well," said the
Count. " There is a small bedstead which you can
have, and 1 will sleep upon the floor. I would
much rather do that than have the children disap-
pointed at Christmas-time."
"On the floor! at your age!" exclaimed the
Countess. "It will be the death of you ! But if
you have made up your mind, I suppose there is
no use in my saying anything more .about it."
THE VOU.NG CilA.NT WAS TALKING TO A LITTLE FAIRY TliKCHED
ON HIS FOKEFINGEK.
" Not the least in the world," replied her hus-
band, with a smile ; and so she said no more.
It was on the morning of the next day that
there came through the forest, not very far from
124
THE POOR CUU.NTS CHRISTMAS.
[December,
the Count Cormo's castle, a tall young giant. As
he strode along, he appeared to be talking to the
forefinger of his right hand, which he held up
FELDAK INTERVIEWS THE SICK GIANT.
before him. He was not, however, talking to his
forefinger, but to a little fairy who was sitting on
it, chatting away in a very li\ely manner.
"And so," said this little creature, "you are
two hundred miles from your own home ! What
in the world made you take so long a journey? "
"I don't call it very long," replied the giant;
" and I had to take it. There was nothing else to
do. You see I have nothing to cat, or almost
nothing, in my castle, and a person can't get along
that way. He must go and see about things."
" And what are you going to see about ? " asked
the fairy.
" I am going to see if my grandfather's uncle is
dead. He is very rich and I am one of his heirs.
When I get my share of his money, I shall be
quite comfortable."
" It seems to me," said the fairv', " that it 'is a
very poor way of living, to be waiting for other
people's money."
" It is so," replied the giant. "I 'm tired of it.
I Ve been waiting ever since I was a little bov."
The fairy saw that her companion had not
e.xactly understood her remark, but she said no
more about it. She merely added, " It seems
strange to hear you say that
" you once were little."
" Oh, yes, I was," said the
giant. " At one time, I was
no taller than a horse."
"Astonishing!" said the
fairy, making believe to be
very much surprised. "Now,
when I was a baby, I was
about the size of a pea."
This made the giant laugh,
lull he said he supposed it
must have been so, consider-
ing the present size, and then
he said : " Talking of peas
reminds me that I am hun-
gry. We must stop some-
where, and ask for something
to eat."
"That will suit me very-
well, but don't let us go to
the same place," said the
fairy. " I expect you are
dreadfully hungry."
" All right," replied the
other. "There is a great
house over in the valley, not
more than fifteen miles away.
1 '11 just step over there, and
you can go to Count Cormo's
castle. I '11 take you to the
edge of the woods. When
you 've had your dinner, come back to this big oak,
and I will meet you; I 've heard the Count is get-
ting ver)' poor, but he '11 have enough for you. "
So the giant put the fairy down on the ground,
and she skipped along to the castle, while he
stepped over to the house in the valley.
In an hour or two they met again at the great
oak, and the giant taking up his little friend on his
forefinger, they continued their journey.
"You told me that Count Cormowas poor," she
said, "but I don't believe you know how poor he
really is. When I went there, he and his wife
had just finished their dinner, and were sitting,
before the fire-place. I did n't notice any fire in
it. They were busy talking, and so I did not dis-
turb them, but just climbed up on the table to see
what 1 could find to eat. You have n't any idea
what a miserable meal they must have had. Of
course there was enough left for me, for I need
only a few- crumbs, but everything was so hard
and stale that I could scarcely eat it. I don't see
how they can live in that way. But after the meal,
iSSi.l
THE POOR c: I) u N r s ci i r i s r m a s .
•25
when I heard them talking, 1 found out how poor
they really were."
•' It was n't exactly the proper thing to sit there
and listen to them, was it ? " asked the giant.
"Perhaps not," said the fairy, "but 1 did want
to hear what they were saying. So I sat quite still.
They were talking about the Christmas-tree, and
all the other good things they give the children
every year ; and although the>- arc so poor, they
are going to do just the same this year."
'■ I don't see how tlicy can," said the giant.
" The Count is going to sell his family bed-
stead," replied his comp.inion.
The young giant stopped short in the path.
" You don't mean to say," he exclaimed, " that
the celebrated family bedstead of the Cormo family
is to be sold to give the children a Christmas-
tree ! "
" That is exactly what I mean," replied the
fairy.
"Well, well, well!" said the giant, resuming
his walk. " I never heard of such a thing in all
my born days. It 's dreadful, it 's pitiful ! "
" Indeed it is," said the fair)-.
" It ought to be stopped," added the giant.
" He should n't be allowed to do such a thing."
" Indeed he should n't," the fairy said.
.■\nd thus they went on lamenting and regretting
the poor Count's purpose, for about eleven miles.
Then they came to a cross-road through the forest.
■• [ '11 go down here," said the giant, " and
leave you among your friends at Fairy Elms,
where you want to go."
" I 'm not sure that 1 do want to go there just
now," said the fairy. " I think 1 should Uke to go
with you to your grandfather's uncle's castle, and
see what your prospects are. If you find he is still
alive, shall you wait ? "
" I guess not," said the giant, laughing. " But
you can come along with me, and we '11 sec how
things stand."
Before ver)- long, they came to a great castle, and
a warder stood before the gate.
" Ho, warder! " cried the giant when he came
up. " How goes it with my grandfather's uncle,
the old giant Omscrag ? "
"He has been dead a month," said the warder,
" and his property is all divided among his heirs."
"That is not so," roared the giant. " I am one
of his heirs, and I have n't got anything."
" I don't know anything about it," said the
warder. " I was told to give that message to
every one who came, and I 've given it to you."
" Who told you to give it?" cried the giant.
" My master, Katofan, who is the old giant's
principal heir, and who now owns the castle."
" Katofan ! " exclaimed the giant. "What im-
pudence I He 's a ninth cousin by marriage.
Where is he ? I want to see him."
" I don't think he is well enough to see any-
body to-day," said the warder.
" Open that gate ! " the giant roared, " or I shall
plunge your family into woe ! "
The warder turned pale, and opened the gate as
wide as it would go, while the giant, with the fair)-
on his finger, walked boldly in.
In a large inner hall, sitting before a great fire,
they saw a giant so tall and thin that he looked as
if he had been made of great fishing-poles.- He
turned uneasily in his chair when he saw his vis-
itor, and was going to say something about being
too unwell to receive company, when our young
giant, whose name was Feldar, interrupted him by
calhng out, in a tremendous voice :
"Well, now, Katofan, I should like to know what
all this means ! How did you come to be heir to
this castle ? "
THE %'01:NG giant S WAV OF GETTING THE KEY.
" Because it descended to me from my good old
relative and friend," said the other.
" I expect there are a hundred heirs, who have a
126
THE POOR COUNT S CHRISTMAS.
[December,
better right to it than you," baid our giant. " The
truth is, no doubt, that you were here when my
grandfather's uncle died, and that you took posses-
sion, and have since kept everybody out."
" Oh, no," said the thin giant, " the other heirs
have had a share of the fortune."
" How many of them ? " said Feldar, '• and how
much did they get ? "
" As many as two or three of them," said the
other, "and they got some very nice things in the
way of ornaments and curiosities."
"Well," said Feldar, stretching himself up high,
" I am one of the heirs to this property, and I
want my share of it. Who attends to the dividing
business? Do you do it yourself ?"
"Oh, no!" said the thin giant. "1 am not
well enough for that. I can not go about much.
But I will send for my dividing-agent. I had to
employ one, there was so much to do. He will sec
that you get your share."
He then rang a bell, and a small man appeared.
When the fairy saw him, she could not help laugh-
ing, but her laugh was such a little one that no
one noticed it. He had a bushy head of hair,
which was black as ink on one side, and as white
as milk on the other. Looking at him from one
side, he seemed quite young, and from the other
side, quite old.
" Flipkrak," said the thin giant, " this is another
heir to this property ; we overlooked him when wc
made our division. I wish you would take him, as
you did the others, and let him choose something
that he would like to have."
" Certainly," said Flipkrak. "This way, good
sir," and he went out of a side-door, followed
closely by Feldar.
" How would you like a hinge ?" cried the thin
giant, as they reached the door. " There are some
very handsome and odd hinges, nearly new. If
you take one, you might some day get another to
match it, and then you would have a nice pair
all ready, when you put up a new door."
Feldar stopped a moment in the door-way.
" I '11 look at them," he answered, and then
went on.
" Here, good sir," said Flipkrak, showing the
young giant into a large room, " is a collection of
most beautiful articles. You can choose any one
of them, or even two if you like. They will be
admirable mementos of your deceased relative."
Feldar looked around. There were all sorts of
brass and iron ornaments, old pieces of furniture,
and various odds and ends, of little value.
" A nice lot of rubbish," said the young giant.
"If I ever have any holes to fill up, on my ground,
I may send for a few wagon-loads of it. Suppose
we look through the rest of the castle ? "
"Oh, good sir," said the dividing-agent, "the
things in the rest of the castle belong to my good
master ! "
" You can come, if you choose," said Feldar,
striding away, " or you can stay behind," and the-
poor man, frightened, ran after him as fast as he
could.
The young giant walked through several of the
vast rooms of the castle. " 1 see you have a great
deal of very fine furniture here," he said to Flip-
krak, " and I need furniture. I will mark some of
it with this piece of chalk, and you can send it
to me."
" Oh, yes, good sir," cried the dividing-agent,
quite pleased at this. " We can send it to you
after you go away."
P'eldar took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and
marked enough furniture to furnish an ordinary
castle.
" This kind of chalk will not rub off," he said,
" and I 've marked the things where it wont show.
But don't overlook any of them. Now, where are
your money-vaults ? "
" Oh, good sir ! " cried the dividing-agent, " you
can't go there, we don't divide any of — I mean we
have n't any money-vaults ! "
" Give me the key," said Feldar.
" Oh, good sir ! " cried Flipkrak, shaking Vith
terror, " 1 must not let that go out of my keeping
— I mean I have n't got it."
The giant made no answer, but taking the
dividing-agent by the heels, he held him upside
down in the air, and shook him. A big key
dropped from his pockets.
"That's the key, no doubt," said the giant, put-
ting the man down, and picking up the key. " I
can find the vault by myself. 1 wont trouble you
any more."
But as he went down to the lower parts of the cas-
tle, the dividing-agent ran after him, wailing and
tearing his two-colored hair.
When he reached the money-vault, Feldar
easily opened the door and walked in. Great bags
of gold and silver, each holding about a bushel,
were piled up around the walls. Feldar took out
his piece of chalk, and marked about a dozen of
those bags which held the gold coin.
" Oh, that 's right, good sir," cried Flipkrak,
feeling a little better. " We can send them to you
after you go away."
"What is in those small bags, on that shelf?"
asked Feldar.
"Those are diamonds, good sir," said the
agent; " you can mark some of them if you like."
" I will mark one," said the giant to the fairy,
who was securely nestled in the ruffles of his shirt-
bosom, "and that I will give to you."
THE POOR COUNTS CIIKIST.MAS.
127
" To nic ! " exclaimed Flipkrak, who did not
see the fairy; ''what docs he mean by that?"
"Thank you," said the httle creature, in dehght.
" Diamonds are so lovely ! How glad 1 am that
your grandfather's uncle died ! "
" You should n't say that." said the giant. " It
is n't proper."
" But you feel glad, don't you ? " she asked.
" I don't talk about it, if I do," said Keldar.
Then turning to the dividing-agent, he told him
that he thought lie had marked all the bags he
wanted.
" All right, good sir," said Flipkrak, " we will
send them to you, very soon — -very soon."
" Oh, you need n't trouble yourself about that,"
said Feldar; "I will take them along with me."
And so saying, he put the bag of diamonds in one
of his coat-pockets, and began to pile the bags of
money on his shoulders.
The dividing-agent yelled and howled with dis-
may, but it was of no use. Feldar loaded liimself
with his bags, and walked off, without even look-
ing at Flipkrak, who was almost crazy at seeing
so much of his master's treasure boldly taken away
from him.
Feldar stopped for a moment in the great hall.
where the thin giant was still sitting before the fire.
" I 'vc taken my share of the money," he said,
"and I 've marked a lot of furniture and things
which 1 want you to send me, inside of a week.
Do you understand ? "
The thin giant gave one look at the piles of bags
on Feldar's shoulders, and fainted away. He had
more money left than he could possibly use, but he
could not bear to lose the least bit of the wealth he
had seized upon.
"What in the world arc you going to do with
all that money ? " the fairy asked.
" 1 am going to give one bag of it to Count
Cormo, so that he can offer the children a decent
Christmas-tree, and the rest I shall carry to my
castle on Shattered Crag."
" I don't believe the Count will take it," said the
fairy. " He 's awfully proud, and he would say that
you were giving the Christmas feasts and not he.
I wish you would let me manage this affair for you."
"Well, I will," said the giant.
" All right," cried the fairy, clapping her hands.
" I '11 do the thinking, and you can do the work-
ing. It 's easy for me to think."
"And it 's just as easy for me to work," said
Feldar, with hearty good-will.
{Conclusion rtext vtonth.)
l-ART OF THE FAIRV S PLA.N.
128
LITTLE POLLY S VOYAGE.
[December^
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I.l ITl.K I'Ol.LY S VOYAGE.
129
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130
LITTLE POLLY S VOYAGE.
[December,
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l.ITTI.K POLLY S VOYAGE.
131
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LITTLK POLLY S VOYAGE.
[December,
i88i.l
I.ITTLE POLLY S VOYAGE.
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134
LITTLE POLLY S VOYAGE.
[D)
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iSSi]
LITTI.K POLLY S VOYAGE.
135
IV cv suuo little l)olc 'ncatl) au icc-cKjt "Uue,
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136
THE SEASONS.
[December,
TlIK SEASONS.
'.■>/
U'
■^. \;,'-^
Vol. IX.— I o.
138
RECOLLECTIONS OF A D R U M M E R - B O V
[December,
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.*
Bv Harry j\I. Kieffkr.
Chapter IV.
A GRAND REVIEW.
On a certain day near the beginning of April,
1863, we were ordered to prepare for a grand re-
view of our Corps. President Lincoln, Mrs. Lin-
coln, Master Tad Lincoln (who used to play among
itself to the eyes of the beholders when, on the
morning of the ninth day of April, 1863, our gal-
lant First Army Corps, leaving its camps among
the hills, assembled on a wide, extended plain for
the inspection of our illustrious visitors.
As regiment after regiment, and brigade after
brigade, came marching out from the surrounding
IHK llvESlDtN 1.
our tents at " Soldiers' Home"), and some of the
Cabinet officers, were coming down to look us over
and see what promise we gave for the campaign
soon to open.
Those who have never seen a grand review
of well-drilled troops in the field have never seen
one of the finest and most inspiring sights the
eyes of man can behold. I wish I could impart
to the readers of St. NICHOLAS some faint idea
of the thrilling scene which must have presented
hills and ravines, with flags gayly flying, bands
and drum corps making such music as was
enough to stir the blood in the heart of the most
indifferent to a quicker pulse, and -well-drilled
troops that marched in the morning sunlight with
a step as steady as the stroke of machinery — ah,
it was a sight to be seen but once in a century !
And when those twenty thousand men were all at
last in line, with the artillery in position off to one
side on the hill, and readv to fire their salute, it
* Copyright, 1881, by Harry M. Kieffer. All rights reser\-ed.
i88i.1
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY
139
seemed well worth the President's while to come
all the way from Washington to look at them.
But the President was a long, long time in com-
ing. The sun, mounting fast toward noon, began
to be insufferably hot. One hour, two hours, three
hours were passing away, when, at last, far off
through a defile between the hills, we caught sight of
a great cloud of dust.
" Fall in, men I " for now here they come, sure
enough. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln in a carriage,
escorted by a body of cavalry and groups of offi-
cers, and at the head of the cavalcade Master
Tad, sure as the world, mounted on a pony, and
having for his especial escort a boy orderly, dressed
in a cavalryman's uniform and mounted on another
pony! And the two little fellows, scarce restraining
their boyish delight, outrode the company and
came on the field in a cloud of dust and at a full
gallop — little Tad shouting to the men, at the top
of his voice : " Make way, men ! .Make way, men !
Father 's a-coming ! Father 's a-coming ! "
Then the artillery breaks forth into a thundering
salute, that wakes the echoes among the hills and
sets the air to shivering and quaking about your
ears, as the cavalcade gallops down the long line,
and regimental standards droop in greeting, and
bands and drum corps, one after another, strike
up "Hail to the Chief," till they are all playing
at once in a grand chorus, that makes the hills
ring as they never rang before.
But all this is only a flourish by way of prelude.
The real beauty of the review is yet to come, and
can be seen only when the cavalcade, havmg gal-
loped down the line in front and up again on the
rear, has taken its stand out yonder immediately
in front of the middle of the line, and the order is
given to "pass in review."
Notice now, how, by one swift and dexterous
movement, as the officers step out and give the
command, that long line is broken into platoons
of exactly equal length ; how, straight as an arrow,
each platoon is dressed ; how the feet of the men
all move together, and their guns, flashing in the
sun, have the same inclination. Observe particu-
larly how, when they come to wheel off, there is no
bend in the line, but they wheel as if the whole
platoon were a ramrod made to revolve about its
one end through a quarter-circle; and now that
they arc marching thus down the field and past the
President, what a grandeur there is in the steady
step and onward sweep of that column of twenty
thousand boys in blue !
But, once we have passed the President and
gained the other end of the field, it is not nearly
so nice. For we must needs finish the review in
a double-quick, just by way of showing, I suppose,
what we could do if we were wanted in a hurr\- —
as, indeed, we will be, not more than sixty days
hence ! Away we go, then, on a dead run off the
field, in a cloud of dust and amid a clatter of bay-
onet-scabbards, till, hid behind the hills, we come to
a more sober pace, and march into camp just as
tired as tired can be.
CH.M'TER V.
ON PICKET ALONG THE R.VPPAHANNOCK.
" Harry, would n't you like to go out on picket
with us to-morrow ? The weather is ple.isant, and
I 'd like to have you for company, for time hangs
rather heavy on a fellow's hands out there ; and,
besides, 1 want you to help me with my Latin."
Andy was a studious fellow, and carried on his
studies with greater or less regularity during our
whole time of service. Of course we had no books,
except a pocket copy of " Cx'sar," but to make up
for the deficiency, particularly of a grammar, I had
written out the declensions of the nouns and the
conjugations of the verbs on odd scraps of paper,
which Andy had gathered up and carried in a roll
in his breast-pocket, and many were the lessons we
had together under the canv;is or beneath the sigh-
ing branches of the pines.
" Well, old boy, I W like to go along first-rate,
but we must get permission of the adjutant first."
Having secured the adjutant's consent, and pro-
vided myself with a gun and accouterments, the
next morning at four o'clock I set out, in company
with a body of some several hundred men of the
regiment. We were to be absent from camp for
two days, at the expiration of which time we were
to be relieved by the next detail.
It was pleasant April weather, for the season was
well advanced. Our route lay straight over the
hills and through the ravines, for there were no
roads, fences, nor fields. But few houses were to
be seen, and from these the inhabitants had, of
course, long since disappeared. At one of these
few remaining houses, situated some three hundred
yards from the river's edge, our advance picket-
reserve was established, the captain in command
making his head-quarters in the once beautiful
grounds of the mansion, long since left empty and
deserted by its former occupants. The place had
a very distressing air of neglect. The beautiful
lawn in front, where merry children had no doubt
played and romped in years gone by, was over-
grown with weeds. The large and commodious
porch in front, w-here in other days the family
gathered in the evening-time and talked and sang,
while the river flowed peacefully by, was now-
abandoned to the spiders and their webs. The
whole house was pitifulU' forlorn-looking, as if
I40
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOV,
[December,
wondering why the family did not come back to fill
its spacious halls with life and mirth. Even the
colored people had left their quarters. There was
not a soul anywhere about.
We were not permitted either to enter the house
or to do any damage to the property. Pitching
our shelter-tents under the outspreading branches
of the great elms on the lawn in front of the house,
and building our fires back of a hill in the rear, to
cook our breakfast, we awaited our turn to stand
guard on the picket-line, which ran close along the
river's edge.
It may be interesting to the boys of St. Nicho-
las to know more particularly how this matter of
standing picket is arranged and conducted. When
a body of men numbering, let us say, for the sake
of example, two hundred in all, go out on picket,
the detail is usually divided into two equal parts,
consisting in the supposed case of one hundred
each. One of these companies of a hundred goes
into a sort of camp about a half-mile from the
picket-line, — usually in a woods or near by a spring,
if one can be found, or in some pleasant ravine
among the hills, — and the men have nothing to
do but make themselves comfortable for the first
twenty-four hours. They may sleep as much as
they like, or play at such games as they please,
only they must not go away any considerable dis-
tance from the post, because they may be very
suddenly wanted, in case of an attack on the
advance picket-line.
The other band of one hundred takes position
only a short distance to the rear of the line
where the pickets pace to and fro on their beats,
and is known as the advance picket-post. It is
under the charge of a captain or lieutenant, and is
divided into three parts, each of \\hich is called a
"relief," the three being known as the first, the
second, and the third relief, respectively. Each
of these is under the charge of a non-commissioned
officer, — a sergeant or corporal, — and must stand
guard in succession, two hours on and four
off, day and night, for the first twenty-four hours,
at the end of which time the reserve one hundred
in the rear march up and relieve the whole advance
picket-post, which then goes to the rear, throws off
its accouterments, stacks its arms, and sleeps till it
can sleep no more. I need hardly add that each
picket is furnished with the countersign, which is
regularly changed every day. While on the
advance picket-post no one is permitted to sleep,
whether on duty on the line or not, and to sleep on
the picket-line is death ! At or near midnight a
body of officers, known as " The Grand Rounds,"
goes all along the line examining every picket to
see that "all is well."
Andy and I had by request been put together on
the second relief, and stood guard from eight to
ten in the morning, two to four in the afternoon,
and eight to ten and two to four at night.
It was growing dark as we sat with our backs
against the old elms on the lawn, telling stories,
singing catches of songs, or discussing the proba-
bilities of the summer campaign, when the call rang
out: "Fall in, second relief! "
" Come on, Harry — get on your horse-hide and
shooting-iron. We 've got a nice moonlight night
for it, anyway."
Our line, as I have said, ran directly along the
river's edge, up and down, which Andy and I
paced on our adjoining beats, each of us having to
walk about a hundred yards, when we turned and
walked back, with gun loaded and capped and at a
right-shoulder-shift.
The night was beautiful. A full round moon
shone out from among the fleecy clouds overhead.
At my feet was the pleasant plashing of the river,
ever gliding on, with the moonbeams dancing as if
in sport on its rippling surface, while the opposite
bank was hid in the deep, solemn shadows made by
the overhanging trees. Yet the shadows were not
so deep there but that occasionally I could catch
glimpses of a picket silently pacing his beat on the
south side of the river, as I was pacing mine on the
north, with bayonet flashing in the patches of
moonlight as he passed up and down. I fell to
wondering, as 1 watched him, what sort of man
he was ? Young or old ? Had he children at
home, may be, in the far-off South ? Or a father and
mother ? Did he wish this cruel war was over ? In
the next fight may be he 'd be killed ! Then I fell
to wondering who had lived in that house up yon-
der— what kind of people were they ? Were the
sons in the war, and the daughters, where were
they ? — and would they ever come back again and
set up their household gods in the good old place
once more ? My imagination was busy trying to
picture the scenes that had enlivened the old planta-
tion, the darkies at work in the fields and the
" Hello, Yank ! We can lick you ! "
" Beautiful night, Johnny, is n't it? "
" Y-e-s, lovely!"
But our orders are to hold as little conversation
with the pickets on the other side of the river as
necessary, and so, declining any further civilities, I
resume my beat.
"Harry, I 'm going to lie down here at the
upper end of your beat," says the sergeant who
has charge of our relief. " 1 aint agoing to
sleep, but 1 'm tired. Every time you come up to
this end of your beat speak to me, will you ? — for
I might fall asleep."
"Certainly, Sergeant."
The first time 1 speak to him. the second, and
iSSi.l
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
141
the third, he answers readily enough, ''AH right,
Harrv," but at the fourth summons he is sound
asleep. Sleep on, Sergeant, sleep on ! Your slum-
bers shall not be broken by me — unless the
"Grand Rounds" come along, for whom I must
keep a sharp lookout, lest they catch you nap-
ping and give you a pretty court-martial ! But
Grand Rounds or no, you shall have a little
IN A DANGEKOrs PART OF HIS BEAT.
sleep. One of these days, you, and many more
of us besides, will sleep the last long sleep that
knows no waking. But hark! — I hear the chal-
lenge up the line ! I must rouse you, after all.
" Sergeant ! Sergeant ! Get up — Grand Rounds ! "
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"The Grand Rounds."
"Advance, officer of the (".i:ind Rounds, and
give the countersign."
An officer steps out from the group that is half-
hidden in the shadow, and whispers in my ear,
"Lafayette," when the whole body silently and
stealthily passes down the line.
Relieved at ten o'clock, we go back to our post
at the house, and find it rather hard work to keep
our eyes open from ten to two o'clock, but sleep is
out of the question. At two o'clock in the morn-
ing the second relief goes out again — down
through the patch of meadow, wet with the heavy
dew, and along down the river to our posts. It is
nearly three o'clock, and Andy and 1 are standing
talking in low tones, he at the upper end of his
beat and I at the lower end of mine, when
Bang ! And the whistle of a ball is heard over-
head among the brariches. Springing forward at
once by a common impulse, we get
behind the shelter of a tree, run out
our rifles, and make ready to fire.
"You watch up-river, Harry," whis-
pers Andy, "and 1 '11 watch down,
.ind if you see him trying to handle
his ramrod, let him have it, and don't
miss him."
But apparently Johnny is in no hurry
to load up again, and likes the deep
shadow of his tree too well to walk his
beat any more, for we wait impatienth'
for a long while and see nothing of
him. By and by we hear him calhng
over: "I say, Yank! "
•■Well, Johnny?"
■'If you wont shoot, 1 wont. "
■■ Rather late in the morning to
make such an offer, is n't it ? Did n't
you shoot. Just now?"
" You see, my old gun went off by
accident."
' ' That 's a likely yarn o' yours,
Johnny ! "
•' But it 's an honest fact, any way."
" Well, Johnny, next time your gun
's going to go off in that uncomfort-
able way, you will oblige us chaps
over here by holding the muzzle
down toward Dixie, or somebody '11
turn up his toes to the daisies before
morning yet."
" All right. Yank," said Johnny, stepping out
from behind his tree into the bright moonlight like
a man, " but we can lick you, any way ! "
"Andy, do you think that fellow's gun went off
by accident, or was the rascal trying to hurt some-
body ? "
" I think he 's honest in what he says, Harry.
His gun might have gone off by accident. There
's no telling, though. He '11 need a little watching,
I guess."
But Johnny paces his beat harmlessly enough
for the remainder of the hour, singing catches of
song, and whistling the airs of Dixie, while we pace
ours as leisurely as he, but, with a wholesome
regard for guns that go off so easily of themselves,
we have a decided preference for the dark shadows,
and are cautious lest we linger too long on those
142
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[December,
parts of our several beats where the bright moon-
beams lie.
It must not be supposed that the sentries of the
two armies were forever picking one another off
whenever opportunity offered ; for what good did it
do to murder each other in cold blood ? It only
wasted powder, and did not forward the issue
of the great conflict at all. Except at times im-
mediately before or after a battle, or when there
was some specially exciting reason for mutual
defiance, the pickets were generally on friendly
terms, conversed freely about the news of the
day, exchanged newspapers, coffee, and tobacco,
swapped knives, and occasionally had a friendly
game of cards together. Sometimes, however,
picket duty was but another name for sharp-shoot-
ing and bushwhacking of the most dangerous and
deadly sort.
When we had been relieved, and got back to our
little bivouac under the elms on the lawn, and sat
down there to discuss the episode of the night, 1
asked Andy:
"What was that piece of poefry you read to me
the other day, about a picket being shot ? It was
something about ' all quiet along the Potomac to-
night.' Do you remember the words well enough
to repeat it ? "
" Yes, I committed it to memorj-, Harry, and if
you wish, I '11 recite it for your benefit. We '11 just
imagine ourselves back in the dear old Academy
again, and that it is ' declamation-day,' and my
name is called and I step up and declaim :
" 'all quiet along the POTOMAC TO-NIGHT.
*' ' All quiet along the Potomac, they say.
Except, now and then, a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro.
By a rifleman hid in the thickeL
'T is nothing — -a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle ;
Not an officer lost — only one of the men.
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.
" ' All quiet along the Potomac to-night.
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ;
Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn mom.
O'er the light of the watch-fires are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-wind
Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping.
While stars up above, >vith their glittering eyes.
Keep guard, for the army is sleeping.
•' ' There 's only the sound of the lone sentr>''s tread.
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain.
And thinks of the two, in the low trundle-bed.
Far away in the col on the mountain.
His musket falls slack — his face, dark and grim.
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep —
For their mother — may Heaven defend her!
** ' He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree —
His footstep is lagging and wear^' ;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
Hark I was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves ?
Was it the moonlight so wondrously flashing ?
It looked like a rifle — " Ha ! Mary, good-bye ! "
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing !
" ' All quiet along the Potomac to-night —
No sound save the rush of the river :
While soft falls the dew on the fece of the dead —
The picket 's off duty forever ! ' "
Chapter VI.
HOW WE GOT A shelling.
" Pack, up ! " " Fall in ! " All is stir and excite-
ment in the camp. The bugles are blowing
"boots and saddles " for the cavalry camped above
us on the hill ; we drummer-boys are beating the
"long roll" and "assembly" for the regiment;
mounted orderlies are galloping along the hill-side
with great yellow envelopes stuck in their belts;
and the men fall out of their miserable winter-
quarters, with shouts and cheers that make the hills
about Falmouth ring again. For the winter is
past ; the sweet breath of spring comes balmily
up from the south, and the whole army is on the
move — whither ?
"Say, Captain, tell us w'here are we going?"
But the captain does n't know, nor even the colonel
— nobody knows. We are raw troops yet. and
have not learned that soldiers never ask questions
about orders.
So, fall in there, all together, and fonvard !
And we ten little drummer-boys beat gayly enough
" The Girl I Left Behind Me," as the line sweeps
over the hills, through the woods, and on down to
the river's edge.
And soon here we are, on the Rappaliannock,
three miles below Fredericksburg. We can see, as
we emerge from the woods, away over the river,
the long line of earth-works thrown up by the
enemy, and small dark specks moving about along
the field, in the far, dim distance, which we know
to be officers, or perhaps cavalry-pickets. We can
see, too, our own first division laying down the
pontoon-bndge, on which, according to a rumor
that is spreading among us, we are to cross the
river and charge the enemy's works.
Here is an old army-letter lying before me,
written on my drum-head in lead-pencil, in that
stretch of meadow by the river, where 1 heard my
first shell scream and shriek :
" NE.'^R RAPP.A.HANNOCK RiVER, Apr. 2Sth.
"De.\r F-\THER: We have moved to the river,
and are just going into battle. I am well and so
are the boys. — Your affect, son, Harry."
But we do not go into battle that day, nor next
day, nor at all at that point ; for we are making
only a " feint," though we do not know it now, to
attract the attention of the enemv from the main
<88i.J
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
143
movement of the army at Chancellorsville, some
twenty-five or thirty miles farther up the river.
The men are in good spirits and all ready for the
fray, but as the day wears on without further devel-
opments, arms arc stacked, and wc begin to roam
about the hills ; some are writing letters home,
some sleeping, some even fishing in a little rivulet
that runs by us, when toward three o'clock in the
afternoon, and all of a sudden, the enemy opens
fire on us with a salute of three shells fired in rapid
succession, not quite into our ranks, but a little to
the left of us ; and see ! over there where the Forty-
third lies, to our left, come three stKlchcrs, and you
can sec deep crimson stains on the canvas as they
go by us on a lively trot to the rear; for " the ball
is opening, boys," and we are under fire for the
first time.
I wish I could convej- to the readers of St.
NiCHOL.AS some faint idea of the noise made by a
shell as it flies shrieking and screaming through
the air, and of that peculiar -i^'/iiniiig sound made
by the pieces after the shell has burst overhead or
by your side. So loud, high-pitched, shrill, and
terrible is the sound, that one unaccustomed to it
would think at first that the \ery heavens were
being torn down about his ears !
How often I have laughed and laughed at myself
when thinking of that first shelling we got there by
the river ! For, up to that time, 1 had had a ver\-
poor, old-fashioned idea of what a shell was like,
having derived it probably from accounts of sieges
in the Mexican war.
I had thought a shell was a hollow ball of iron,
filled with powder and furnished with a fuse, and
that they threw it o\cr into your ranks, and there
it lay, hissing and spitting, till the fire reached the
powder, and the shell burst and killed a dozen men
or so — that is, if some venturesome fellow did n't
run up and stamp the fire off the fuse before the
miserable thing went off ! Of a conical shell,
shaped like a minie-ball, with ridges on the out-
side to fit the grooves of a rifled cannon, and ex-
ploding by a percussion-cap at the pointed end, 1
had no idea in the world. But that was the sort
of thing they were firing at us now — Hur-r-r —
bang! Hur-r-r — bang!
Throwing myself flat on my face while that terri-
ble shriek is in the air, I cling closer to the ground
while I hear that low, whirring sound near by,
which 1 foolishly imagine to be the sound of a
burning fuse, but which, on raising my head and
looking up and around, I find is the sound of
pieces of exploded shells flying through the air about
our heads ! The enemy has excellent range of us,
and gives it to us hot and fast, and we fall in line
and take it as best we may, and without the pleas-
ure of replying, for the enemy's batteries are a full
mile and a half away, and no Enfield rifle can
reach half so far.
■■ Colonel, move your regiment a little to the
right, so as to get under cover of yonder bank. '
It is soon done ; and there, seated on a bank about
twenty feet high, with our backs to the enemy, we
let them blaze away, for it is not likely the)' can
tumble a shell down at an angle of forty-five
degrees.
And now, sec ! Just to the rear of us, and there-
fore in full view as we are sitting, is a battery of
our own, coming up into position at full gallop — a
grand sight indeed ! The officers with swords
flashing in the evening sunlight, the bugles clang-
ing out the orders, the carriages unlimbered, and
the guns run up into position ; and now, that ever
beautiful drill of the artillery in action, steady and
regular as the stroke of machiner)' ! How swiftly
the man that handles the swab has prepared his
piece, while the runners have meanwhile brought
up the little red bag of powder and the long, coni-
cal shell from the caisson in the rear! How swiftly
they are rammed home ! The lieutenant sights his
piece, the man with the lanyard with a sudden jerk
fires the cap, the gun leaps five feet to the rear
with the recoil, and out of the cannon's throat, in a
cloud of smoke, rushes the shell, shrieking out its
message of death into the lines a mile and a half
away, while our boys rend the air with wild hur-
rahs, for the enemy's fire is answered !
Now ensues an artillery duel that keeps the air
all quivering and quaking about our ears for an
hour and a half, and it is all the more exciting that
we can see the beautiful drill of the batteries beside
us, with that steady swabbing and ramming, run-
ning and sighting and bang ! bang ! bang ! The
mystery is how in the world they can load and fire
so fast.
" Boys, what are you trying to do ? " It is the
general commanding the division, who reins in his
horse and asks the question, and he is one of the
finest artillerists in the ser\'ice, they say.
" Why, General, we are trying to put a shell
through that stone barn over there ; it 's full of
sharp-shooters."
" Hold a moment ! " — and the general dis-
mounts and sights the gun. " Try that elevation
once. Sergeant," he says ; and the shell goes crash-
ing through the barn a mile and a half away, and
the sharp-shooters come pouring out of it like bees
out of a hive. " Let them have it so, boys." And
the general has mounted, and rides, laughing,
away along the line.
Meanwhile, something is transpiring immediately
before our eyes that amuses us immensely. Not
more than twenty yards away from us is another
high bank, corresponding exactly with the one we
144
RECOLLECTIONS OK A D R U M M E R - B O V
[December,
are occupying, and running parallel with it, the
two hills inclosing a little ravine some twenty or
thirty yards in width.
This second high bank, — the nearer one, — you
must remember, faces the enerny's fire. The water
has worn out of the soft sand-rock a sort of cave,
in which Darky Bill, our company cook, took
refuge at the crack of the first shell. And there,
crouching in the narrow recess of the rock, we can
see him shivering with affright. Every now and
then, when there is a lull in the firing, he comes to
the wide-open door of his house, intent upon flight,
and, rolling up the great whites of his eyes, is about
to step out and run, when Hur-r-r — bang —
crack 1 goes the shell, and poor scared Darky Bill
dives into his cave again head-first, like a frog into
a pond.
After repeated attempts to run and repeated
frog-leaps backward, the poor fellow takes heart
and cuts for the woods, pursued by the laughter
and shouts of the regiment — for which he cares far
less, however, than for that terrible shriek in the
air, which, he afterward told us, " was a-sayin' all
de time, 'Where 's dat nigger ! Where 's dat nig-
ger! Where 's dat nigger ! ' "
As night-fall comes on, the firing ceases. Word
is passed around that under cover of night we are
to cross the pontoons and charge the enemy's
works ; but we sleep soundly all night on our arms,
and are awaked only by the first streaks of light
in the morning sky.
We have orders to move. A staff-officer is deliv-
ering orders to our colonel, who is surrounded by his
staff They press in toward the messenger, standing
immediately below me as I sit on the bank, when
the enemy gives us a morning salute, and the shell
comes ricochetting over the hill and tumbles into a
mud-puddle about which the group is gathered ;
the mounted officers crouch in their saddles and
spur hastily away, the foot officers throw them-
selves flat on their faces into the mud ; the drum-
mer-boy is bespattered with mud and dirt; but
fortunately the shell does not explode, or the read-
ers of St. Nichol.\S would never have heard how
we got our first shelling.
And no<v, " Fall in, men ! " and we are off on a
double-quick in a cloud of dust, amid the rattle of
canteens and tin cups, and the re^guXar Jlop, J?op of
cartridge-boxes and bayonet-scabbards, pursued
for two miles by the hot fire of the enemy's batter-
ies, for a long, hot, weary day's march to the
extreme right of the army at Chancellorsville.
( To be conthnted. )
'THE GENERAL DISMOUNTS AND SIGHTS THE GUN.
i38i.]
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
145
THI-: HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
Bv Edw.xrd Egclesto.v.
'NOT THERE, NOT THERE, MY CHILD!" [SEE PAGE 151.]
CH.^KIEK I.
THE NEW SCHOL.\R.
While the larger boys in the village school of
Greenbank were having a game of "three old
cat " before school-time, there appeared on the
playground a strange boy, carrying two books, a
slate, and an atlas under his arm.
He was evidently from the country, for he wore
a suit of brown jeans, or woolen homespun, made
up in the natural color of the "black" sheep, as
we call it. He shyly sidled up to the school-house
door, and looked doubtfully at the boys who were
playing; watching the familiar game as though he
had never seen it before.
The boys who had the " paddles " were stand-
ing on three bases, while three others stood each
behind a base and tossed the ball round the
triangle from one hole or base to another. The
new-comer soon perceived that, if one with a
paddle, or bat, struck at the ball and missed it,
and the ball was caught directly, or "at the first
bounce," he gave up his bat to the one who had
"caught him out." When the ball was struck,
it was called a " tick," and when there was a tick,
all the batters were obliged to run one base to the
left, and then the ball thrown between a batter
and the base to which he was running "crossed
him out," and obliged him to give up his "pad-
dle " to the one who threw the ball.
" Four old cat," "two old cat," and "five old
cat" are, as everybody knows, played in the same
way, the number of bases or holes increasing
with the addition of each pair of players.
It is probable that the game was once- — some
hundreds of years ago, may be — called "three
hole catch," and that the name was gradually cor-
rupted into " three hole cat," as it is still called in
the interior States, and then became changed by
mistake to "three old cat." It is, no doubt, an
early form of our present game of base-ball.
It was this game which the new boy watched,
trying to get an inkling of how it was played. He
stood by the school-house door, and the girls who
came in were obliged to pass near him. Each
146
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[December,
of them stopped to scrape her shoes, or rather the
girls remembered the foot-scraper because they
were curious to see the new-comer. Thej' cast
furtive glances at him, noting his new suit of
brown clothes, his geography and atlas, his arith-
metic, and last of all, his face.
"There 's a new scholar," said Peter Rose, or,
as he was always called, " Pewee" Rose, a stout
and stocky boy of fourteen, who had just been
caught out by another.
" I say, Greeny, how did you get so brown ? "
called out Will Riley, a rather large, loose-jointed
fellow.
Of course, all the boys laughed at this. Boys
will sometimes laugh at any one suffering torture,
whether the victim be a persecuted cat or a per-
secuted boy. The new boy made no answer, but
Joanna Merwin, who, just at that moment, hap-
pened to be scraping her shoes, saw that he grew
red in the face with a quick flush of anger.
" Don't stand there. Greeny, or the cows '11 eat
you up ! " called Riley, as he came around again
to the base nearest to the school-house.
Why the boys should have been amused at this
speech, the new scholar could not tell — the joke
was neither new nor witty — only impudent and
coarse. But the little boys about the door giggled.
" It 's a pity something would n't eat you. Will
Riley — you are good for nothing but to be mean."
This sharp speech came from a rather tall and
graceful girl of sixteen, who came up at the time,
and who saw the annoyance of the new boy at
Riley's insulting words. Of course the boys laughed
again. It was rare sport to hear pretty Susan Lan-
ham "take down" the impudent Riley.
" The bees will never eat you for honey, Susan,"
said Will.
Susan met the titter of the playground with a
quick ilush of temper and a fine look of scorn.
" Nothing would eat you, Will, unless, may be,
a turkey buzzard, and a very hungry one at that."
This sharp retort was uttered with a merry laugh
of ridicule, and a graceful toss of the head, as the
mischievous girl passed into the school-house.
" That settles you. Will," said Pewee Rose. And
Bob Holhday began singing, to a doleful tune :
" Poor old Pidy,
She died last Friday."
Just then, the stern face of Mr. Ball, the master,
appeared at the door; he rapped sharply with his
ferule, and called: "Books, books, books!" The
bats were dropped, and the boys and girls began
streaming into the school, but some of the boys man-
aged to nudge Riley, saying: "You'd better hold
your tongue when Susan's around," and such like
soft and sweet speeches. Riley was vexed and
angry, but nobody was afraid of him, for a boy
may be both big and mean and yet lack courage.
The new boy did not go in at once, but stood
silently and faced the inquiring looks of the pro-
cession of boys as they filed into the school-room
with their faces flushed from the exercise and
excitement of the games.
" I can thrash him easy," thought Pewee Rose.
" He is n't a fellow to back down easily," said
Han'ey Collins to his next neighbor.
Only good-natured, rough Bob Holliday stopped
and spoke to the new-comer a friendly word. All
that he said was " Hello ! " But how much a boy
can put into that word " Hello ! " Bob put his
whole heart into it. and there was no boy in the
school that had a bigger heart, a bigger hand, or
nearly so big a foot as Bob Holliday.
The village school-house was a long one built of
red brick. It had taken the place of the old log
institution in which one generation of Greenbank
children had learned reading, writing, and Web-
ster's spelling-book. There were long, continuous
writing-tables down the sides of the room, with
Ijackless benches, so arranged that when the pupil
was writing his face was turned toward the wall —
there was a door at each end, and a box stove
stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by a
rectangle of four backless benches. These benches
were for the little fellows who did not write, and for
others when the cold should drive them nearer the
stove.
The very worshipful master sat at the east end
of the room, at one side of the door ; there was a
blackboard — a " new-fangled notion" in 1850 —
at the other side of the door. Some of the older
scholars, who could afford private desks with lids to
them, suitable for concealing smuggled apples and
maple-sugar, had places at the other end of the
room from the master. This arrangement was con-
venient for quiet study, for talking on the fingers
by signs, for munching apples or gingerbread, and
for passing little notes between the boys and girls.
When the school had settled a little, the master
struck a sharp blow on his desk for silence, and
looked fiercely around the room, eager to find a
culprit on whom to wreak his ill-humor. Mr. Ball
was one of those old-fashioned teachers who gave
the impression that he would rather beat a boy
than not, and would even like to eat one, if he could
finda good excuse. Hiseyelituponthenewscholar.
" Come here," he said, severely, and then he
took his seat.
The new boy walked timidl)- up to a place in
front of the master's desk. He was not handsome,
his face was thin, his eyebrows were prominent,
his mouth was rather large and good-humored, and
there was that shy twinkle about the corners of his
l88i.]
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
147
eyes which always marks a fun-loving spirit. But
his was a serious, fine-grained face, with marks of
suffering in it, and he had the air of having been
once a strong fellow ; of late, evidently, shaken to
pieces by the ague.
" Where do you live ? " demanded Mr. Ball.
"On Ferry street."
" What do they call you ? " This was said with
a contemptuous, rasping inflection that irritated
the new scholar. His eyes twinkled, partly with
annoyance and partly with mischief.
" They call mc Jack, for the most part," — then
catching the titter that came from the girls' side
of the room, and frightened by the rising hurri-
cane on the master's face, he added tiuickly :
" My name is John Dudley, sir."
"Don't you tr>' to show your smartness on me,
young man. You are a new-comer, and 1 let you
off this time. Answer me that way again, and you
will remember it as long as you live." And the
master glared at him like a savage bull about to
toss somebody over a fence.
The new boy turned pale, and dropped his head.
" How old are you ? " " Thirteen."
"Have you ever been to school?" "Three
months."
" Three months. Do you know how to read?"
" Yes, sir," with a smile.
"Can you cipher?" "Yes, sir."
" In multiplication ? " " Yes, sir."
" Long division ? "
" Yes, sir; I 've been half through fractions."
"You said you'd been to school but three
months ! " " My father taught me."
There was just a touch of pride in his \oice as
he said this — a sense of something superior about
his father. This bit of pride angered the master,
who liked to be thought to have a monopoly of all
the knowledge in the town.
" Where have you been living ? "
" In the Indian Reserve, of late ; I was born in
Cincinnati."
" I did n't ask you where you were born. When
I ask you a question, answer that and no more."
"Yes, sir." There was a touch of something
in the tone of this reply that amused the school,
and that made the master look up quickly and
suspiciously at Jack Dudley, bvit the expression on
Jack's face was as innocent as that of a cat who
has just lapped the cream off the milk.
Chaptkk II.
KING MII-KMAID.
Pewee Rose, whose proper name was Peter
Rose, had also the nickname of King Pewee. He
was about fourteen years old, square built and
active, of great strength for his size, and very
proud of the fact that no boy in town cared to
attack him. He was not bad-tempered, but he
loved to be master, and there were a set of flatter-
ers who followed him, like jackals about a lion.
As often happens. Nature had built for King
Pewee a very fine body, but had forgotten to give
him any mind to speak of. In any kind of chaff
or banter, at any sort of talk or play where a good
head was worth more than a strong arm and a
broad back. King Pewee was sure to have the
worst of it. A very convenient partnership had
therefore grown up between him and Will Kiley.
Riley had muscle enough, but Nature had made
him mean-spirited. He had — not exactly wit —
but a facility for using his tongue, which ho found
some difficulty in displaying, through fear of other
boys' fists. By forming a friendship with Pewee
Rose, the two managed to keep in fear the greater
part of the school. Will's rough tongue, together
with Pewee's rude fists, were enough to bully almost
any boy. They let Harvey Collins alone, because
he was older, and, keeping to himself, awed them
by his dignity ; good-natured Bob Holliday also,
was big enough to take care of himself. But the
rest were all as much afraid of Pewee as thc)' were
of the master, and as Riley managed Pewee, it
behooved them to be afraid of the prime minister,
Riley, as well as of King Pewee.
From the first day that Jack Dudley entered the
school, dressed in brown jeans, Will Riley marked
him for a victim. The air of refinement about his
face showed him to be a suitable person for teasing.
Riley called him "milksop," and "sap-head";
words which seemed to the dull intellect of King
Pewee exceedingly witty. And as Pewee was
Riley's defender, he felt as proud of these rude
nicknames as he would had he invented them
and taken out a patent.
But Riley's greatest stroke of wit came one
morning when he caught Jack Dudley milking the
cow. In the village of Greenbank, milking a cow
was regarded as a woman's work; and foolish
men and boys are like savages, — very much
ashamed to be found doing a woman's work. Fools
always think something else more disgraceful than
idleness. So, having seen Jack milking, Riley
came to school happy. He had an arrow to shoot
that would give great delight to the small boys.
"Good-morning, milkmaid!" he said to Jack
Dudley, as he entered the school-house before
school. " You milk the cow at your house, do
you ? Where 's your apron ? "
"Oh-h! Milkmaid! milkmaid! That 's a
good one," chimed in Pewee Rose and all his set.
Jack changed color.
148
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[December,
" Well, what if I do milk my mother's cow ?
I don't milk anybody's cow but ours, do I ?
Do you think I 'm ashamed of it ? I 'd be
ashamed not to. I can" — but he stopped a min-
ute and blushed — " I can wash dishes, and make
good pancakes, too. Now if you want to make
fun, why, make fun. I don't care." But he did
care, else why should his voice choke in that way ?
"Oh, girl-boy; a pretty girl-boy you are "
but here Will Riley stopped and stammered.
There right in front of him was the smiling face of
Susan Lanham, with a look in it which made him
suddenly remember something. Susan had heard
all the conversation, and now she came around
in front of Will, while all the other girls clustered
about her from a vague expectation of sport.
" Come, Pewee, let 's play ball," said Will.
"Ah, you 're running away, now; you 're afraid
of a girl," said Susan, with a cutting little laugh,
and a toss of her black curls over her shoulder.
Will had already started for the ball-ground,
but at this taunt he turned back, thrust his hands
into his pockets, put on a swagger, and stam-
mered: "No, I 'm not afraid of a girl, either."
" That 's about all that he is n't afraid of," said
Bob Holliday.
" Oh ! you 're not afraid of a girl ? " said Susan.
" What did you run away for, when you saw me ?
You know that Pevvec wont fight a girl. You *re
afraid of anybody that Pewee can't whip."
" You 've an awful tongue, Susan. We '11 call you
Sassy Susan," said Will, laughing at his own joke.
" Oh, it is n't my tongue you 're afraid of now.
You know I can tell on you. I saw you drive your
cow into the stable last week. You were ashamed
to milk outside, but you looked all around "
"I did n't do it. How could you see? It was
dark," and Will giggled foolishly, seeing all at
once that he had betrayed himself.
" It was nearly dark, but I happened to be
where I could see. And as I was coming back, a
few minutes after, I saw you come out with a pail
of milk, and looking around you like a sneak-thief
You saw me and hurried away. You are such a
coward that you are ashamed to do a little honest
work. Milkmaid ! Girl-boy ! Coward ! And Pe-
wee Rose lets you lead him around by the nose ! "
" You 'd better be careful what you say, Susan,"
said Pewee, threateningly.
" You wont touch me. You go about bullying
little boys, and calling yourself King Pewee, but
you can't do a sum in long division, nor in short
subtraction, for that matter, and you let fellows
like Riley make a fool of you. Your father 's poor,
and your mother can't keep a girl, and you ought
to be ashamed to let her milk the cow. Who
milked your cow this morning, Pewee ? "
" I don't know," said the king, looking like the
king's fool.
" You did it,"said Susan. "Don't deny it. Then
you come here and call a strange boy a milkmaid ! "
" Well, 1 did n't milk in the street, anyway, and
he did." At this, all laughed aloud, and Susan's vic-
tory «as complete. She only said, with a pretty toss
of her head, as she turned away : "King Milkmaid!"
Pewee found the nickname likely to stick. He
was obliged to declare on the playground the next
day, that he would "thrash" any boy that said
anything about milkmaids. After that, he heard
no more of it. But one morning he found " King
Milkmaid " written on the door of his father's cow-
stable. Some boy who dared not attack Pewee,
had vented his irritation by w-riting the hateful
words on the stable, and on the fence-comers near
the school-house, and even on the blackboard.
Pewee could not fight with Susan Lanham, but
he made up his mind to punish the new scholar
when he should have a chance. He must give some-
body a beating.
Ch.\pter III.
ANSWERING BACK.
It is hard for one boy to make a fight. Even
your bully docs not like to " pitch on" an inoffen-
sive school-mate. You remember yEsop's fable of
the wolf and the lamb, and what pains the wolf
took to pick a quarrel with the lamb. It was a lit-
tle hard for Pewee to fight with a boy who walked
quietly to and from the school, without giving any-
body cause for offense.
But the chief reason why Pewee did not attack
him with his fists was that both he and Riley had
found out that Jack Dudley could help them over a
hard place in their lessons better than anybody else.
And notwithstanding their continual persecution
of Jack, they were mean enough to ask his assist-
ance, and he, hoping to bring about peace by
good-nature, helped them to get out their geogra-
phy and arithmetic almost every day. Unable to
appreciate this, they were both convinced that
Tack only did it because he was afraid of them,
and as they found it rare sport to abuse him, they
kept it up. By their influence, Jack was shut out
of the plays. A greenhorn would spoil the game,
they said. What did a boy that had lived on
Wildcat Creek, in the Indian Reserve, know about
playing buffalo, or prisoner's base, or shinny ? If
he was brought in, they would go out.
But the girls, and the small boys, and good-
hearted Bob Holliday liked Jack's company very-
much. Yet, Jack was a boy, and he often longed
to play games with the others. He felt very sure
that hecould dodge and run in "buffalo" as well as
THE 1 1 O O S I E R S C H ( M ) L - H O Y -
149
any of them. He was very tired of Riley's contin-
ual ridicule, whicli grew worse as Riley saw in hiin
a rival in influence with the smaller boys.
" Catch Will alone sometime," said Hob Hol-
iday, ■' when Pewee is n't with him, and then thrash
him. He '11 back right down if you bristle up to
him. If Pcwec makes a fuss about it, I '11 look
after Pewee. 1 'm bigger than he is, and he wont
fight with me. What do you say ? "
" I sha' n't fight unless I have to."
"Afraid?" asked Hob, laughing.
" It is n't that. 1 don't think I 'm much afraid, al-
though I don't like to be pounded or to jxjund any-
body. 1 think I 'd rather be whipped than to be
made fun of, though. But my father used to say
that people who fight generally do so because they
are afraid of somebody else, more than they are of
the one they fight with."
" I belie%e that 's a fact," said Bob. '• Hut
Riley aches for a good thrashing."
" I know that, and 1 feel like giving him one,
or taking one myself, and I think 1 shall fight him
before 1 've done. Hut Father used to say that
fists could never settle between right and wrong.
They onh' show which is the stronger, and it is
generally the mean one that gets the best of it."
" That 's as sure as shootin'," said Hob. " Pewee
could use you up. Pewee thinks he 's the king,
but laws ! he 's only Riley's bull-dog. Riley is
afraid of him, but he manages to keep the dog on
his side all the time."
"My father used to say," said Jack, "that
brutes could fight with force, but men ought to
use their wits."
" You seem to think a good deal of what your
father says, — like it was your Hible, you know."
" My father 's dead," replied Jack.
" Oh, that 's why. Hoys don't always pay atten-
tion to what their father says when he 's alive."
"Oh, but then my father was " Here
Jack checked himself, for fear of seeming to boast.
" You see," he went on, " my father knew a great
deal. He was so busy with his books that he lost
'most all his money, and then we moved to the
Indian Reserve, and there he took the fever and
died; and then wc came down here, where we
owned a house, so that I could go to school."
"Why don't you give Will Riley as good as he
sends?" said Bob, wishing to get away from
melancholy subjects. " You ha\'e as good a tongue
as his."
" I have n't his stock of bad words, though."
" You 'vc got a power of fun in you, though,
— you keep everybody laughing when you want to,
and if you 'd only turn the pumps on him once,
he 'd howl like a yellow dog that 's had a quart o'
hot suds poured over him out of a neighbor's win-
dow. Use your wits, like your fether said. You
've lived in the woods till you 're as shy as a flying-
squirrel. All you 've got to do is to talk up and
take it rough and tumble, like the rest of the
world. Riley can't bear to be laughed at, and you
can make him ridiculous as easy as not."
The next day, at the noon recess, about the time
that Jack had finished helping Bob Holliday to
find some places on the map, there came up a little
shower, and the boys took refuge in the school-
house. They must have some amusement, so
Riley began his old abuse.
" Well, greenhorn from the Wildcat, where 's the
black sheep you stole that suit of clothes from?"
"1 hear him bleat now," said Jack, — "about
the blackest sheep I have ever seen."
" You 've heard the truth for once, Riley," said
Hob Holliday.
Riley, who was as vain as a peacock, was very
inuch mortified by the shout of applause with
which this little joke of Jack's was greeted. It was
not a case in which he could call in King Pewee.
The king, for his part, shut up his fists and looked
silly, while faint-hearted Jack took courage to keep
up the battle. Hut Riley tried again.
" I say. Wildcat, you think you 're smart, but
you 're a double-distilled idiot, and have n't got
brains enough to be sensible of your misery."
This kind of outburst on Riley's part always
brought a laugh from the school. But before the
laugh had died down. Jack Dudley took the word,
saying, in a dry and quizzical way :
"Don't you try to claim kin with me that way,
Riley. No use ; I wont stand it. 1 don't belong to
your family. I 'm neither a fool nor a coward."
" Hurrah ! " shouted Bob Holliday. bringing
down first one and then the other of his big feet
on the floor. " It 's your put-in now, Riley."
" Don't be backward in coming forward. Will,
as the Irish priest said to his people," came from
grave Har\-ey Collins, who here looked up from his
book, thoroughly enjoying the bully's discomfiture.
"That's awfully good," said Joanna Merwin,
clasping her h.mds and giggling with delight.
King Pewee doubled up his fists and looked at
Riley to see if he ought to try his sort of wit on
Jack. If a frog, being pelted to death by cruel
boys, should turn and pelt them again, they could
not be more surprised than were Riley and King
Pewee at Jack's repartees.
" You 'd better be careful what you say to Will
Riley," said Pewee. " I stand by him."
But Jack's blood was up now, and he was not
to be frightened. " All the more shame to him,"
said Jack. "Look at me, shaken all to pieces with
the fever and ague on the Wildcat, and look at that
great big, bony coward of a Riley. I 've done
ISO
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[December,
him no harm, but he wants to abuse me, and he 's
afraid of me. He dare n't touch me. He has to
coax you to stand by him, to protect him from
poor little me. He 's a great big "
" Calf," broke in Bob Holliday, with a laugh.
"You'd better be careful," said Pewee to Jack,
rising to his feet. " I stand by Riley."
"Will you defend him if I hit him ? " "Yes."
"Well, then, I wont hit him. But you don't
mean that he is to abuse me, while 1 am not allowed
to answer back a word ? "
"Well " said Pewee, hesitatingly.
" Well," said Bob Holliday, hotly, " I say that
Jack has just as good a right to talk with his
tongue as Riley. Stand by Riley if he 's hit,
Pewee : he needs it. But don't you try to shut up
Jack." And Bob got up and put his broad hand
■on Jack's shoulder. Nobody had ever seen the
big fellow angry before, and the excitement was
very great. The girls clapped their hands.
"Good for you, Bob, I say," came from Susan
Lanham, and poor ungainly Bob blushed to his
hair to find himself the hero of the girls.
" I don't mean to shut up Jack," said Pewee,
looking at Bob's size, "but I stand by Riley."
"Well, do your standing sitting down, then,"
said Susan. "1 '11 get a milking-stool for you, if
that'll keep you quiet."
It was well that the master came in just then, or
Pewee would have had to fight somebody or burst.
Chapter IV.
LITTLE CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.
Jack's life in school was much more endurable
now that he had a friend in Bob Holliday. Bob
had spent his time in hard work and in rough
surroundings, but he had a gentleman's soul,
although his manners and speech were rude. More
and more Jack found himself drawn to him. Har-
vey Collins asked Jack to walk down to the river-
bank with him at recess. Both Harvey and Bob
soon liked Jack, who found himself no longer
lonel)'. The girls also sought his advice about
their lessons, and the younger boys were inclined
to come over to his side.
As winter came on, country boys, anxious to
learn something about "reading, writing, and ci-
phering," came into the school. Each of these
new-comers had to go through a certain amount
of teasing from Riley and of bullying from Pewee.
One frosty morning in December, there ap-
peared among the new scholars a strange little
fellow with a large head, long straight hair, an
emaciated body, and legs that looked like reeds,
they were so slender. His clothes were worn and
patched, and he had a look of being frost-bitten.
He could not have been more than ten years old,
to judge by his size, but there was a look of pre-
mature oldness in his face.
" Come here ! " said the master, when he caught
sight of him. "What is your name?" And
Mr. Ball took out his book to register the new-
comer, with much the same relish that the Giant
Despair in Pilgrim's Progress showed when he had
bagged a fresh pilgrim.
"Columbus Risdale." The new-comer spoke
in a shrill, piping voice, as strange as his weird face
and withered body.
" Is that your full name ? " asked the master.
"No, sir," piped the strange little creature.
"Give your full name," said Mr. Ball, sternly.
" My name is Christopher Columbus George
Washington Marquis de Lafayette Risdale." The
poor lad was the victim of that mania which some
people have for "naming after" great men. His
little shrunken body and high, piping voice made
his name seem so incongruous that all the school
tittered, and many laughed outright. But the dig-
nified and eccentric little fellow did not observe it.
" Can you read ? "
"Yes, sir," said the lad, more shrilly than ever.
" Umph," said the master, with a look of doubt
on his face. " In the first reader ? "
" No, sir; in the fourth reader."
Even the master could not conceal his look of
astonishment at this claim. At that day, the
fourth-reader class was the highest in the school,
and contained only the largest scholars. The
school laughed at the bare notion of little Chris-
topher Columbus reading in the fourth reader,
and the little fellow looked around the room,
puzzled to guess the cause of the merriment.
"We'll try you," said the master, with suspi-
cion. When the fourth-reader class was called,
and Harvey Collins and Susan Lanham and some
others of the nearly grown-up pupils came forward,
with Jack Dudley as quite the youngest of the
class, the great-eyed, emaciated little Columbus
Risdale picked himself up on his pipe-stems and
took his place at the end of this row.
It was too funny for anything !
Will Riley and Pewee and other large scholars,
who were yet reading in that old McGufiey's Third
Reader, which had a solitary picture of Bonaparte
crossing the Alps, looked with no kindly eyes on
this preposterous infant in the class ahead of them.
The piece to be read was the poem of Mrs. He-
mans's called " The Better Land." Poems like
this one are rather out of fashion nowadays, and
people are inclined to laugh a little at Mrs. He-
mans. But thirty years ago her religious and
sentimental poetry was greatly esteemed. This
one presented no difficulty to the readers. In that
t88i.]
THK HOOSIEK SCHOUL-BOV,
151
day. little or noattention was paid to inflection — the
main endeavor being to pronounce the words with-
out hesitation or slip, and to " mind the stops."
Each one of the class read a stanza ending with a line :
"Not there, not there, my child! "
The poem was exhausted before all had read, so
that it «as necessary to begin over again in order
to give each one his turn. All waited to hear the
little Columbus read. When it came his turn, the
school was as still as death. The master, wishing
to test him, told him, with something like a sneer,
that he could read three stanzas, or "verses," as
Mr. Hall called them.
The little chap squared his toes, threw his head
back, and more fluently even than the rest, he read,
in hisshrill,eager voice, the remaining lines, winding
up each stanza in a condescending tone, as he read :
'* Not there, not there, my child ! "
The efTect of this from the hundred-year-old
baby was so striking and so ludicrous that every-
body was amused, while all were surprised at the
excellence of his reading. The master proceeded,
howe\er, to whip one or two of the boys for laughing.
When recess-time arrived, Susan Lanham came
to Jack with a request.
'• I wish you 'd look after little Lummy Risdale.
He 's a sort of cousin of my mother's. He is as
innocent and helpless as the babes in the wood."
" I '11 take care of him," said Jack.
So he took the little fellow walking away from the
school-house ; Will Riley and some of the others
calhng after them: "Not there, not there, my
child ! "
But Columbus did not lay their taunts to heart.
He was soon busy talking to Jack about things in
the country, and things in town. On their return,
Riley, crying out : " Not there, my child ! " threw a
snow-ball from a distance of ten feet and struck the
poor little Christopher Columbus George Washing-
ton Lafayette so severe a blow as to throw him off
his feet. Quick as a flash, Jack charged on Riley,
and sent a snow-ball into his face. An instant
later, he tripped him with his foot and rolled the
big, scared fellow into the snow and washed bis
face well, leaving half a snow-bank down his back.
"What makes you so savage ? " whined Riley.
"I did n't snow-ball you." And Riley looked
around for Pewee, who was on the other side of the
school-house, and out of sight of the scuffle.
" No, you dare n't snow-ball me," said Jack,
squeezing another ball and throwing it into Riley's
shirt-front with a certainty of aim that showed that
he knew how to play ball. " Take that one, too,
and if you bother Lum Risdale again, I '11 make
you pay for it. Take a boy of your size." And
with that he molded yet another ball, but Riley
retreated to the other side of the school-house.
(To be continued.}
152
FUN A T G R A N D M A M MA S .
[December,
One Christ-
mas day at Grand-
mamma's, we all dressed
up, for fun ; and sat in a line and
called them in to look when we were
done. We never laughed a single time,
but sat in a solemn row. Tomm\' was Queen Eliza-
beth, and Jane had an Alsace bow. Freddy was
bound to be a nun (though he did n't look it, a
bit ! ) and Katy made a Welsh-woman's hat and
sat down under it. Sister was Madame de Main-
tenon, or some such Frenchy dame ; and Jack had
a Roman toga on, and took a classic name. As for
poor me, 1 really think 1 came out best of all,
though I had n't a thing for dressing up, 'cept
Dinah's bonnet and shawl. Well, Grandma
laughed, and Grandpa laughed, and all admired
the show, — 1 wish I 'd seen us sitting there, so
solemn, in a row !
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
13 V \\'. H. \^ENABLli.
The area of the original thirteen States, a century
ago, was less than one-eleventh as great as that of
our entire country now, and their population did not
reach one-fifteenth the number at present within
the nation's borders. New York, Pennsylvania,
Ohio, and Illinois each had as many inhabitants in
1870 as the united colonies had in the year 1770.
A hundred years ago, the region west of the
Alleghanies was styled The Wilderness, and only a
few bold spirits, like Daniel Boone, had dared to
penetrate its solitude. The Rocky, then called
Stony, Mountains were known to exist, but no
white man had e.\plored them. Even within this
century, the belief was held that the Missouri River
had some connection with the Pacific Ocean.
The journey from Baltimore to Pittsburgh took
twelve days, and was not only toilsome, but dan-
gerous, for hostile Indians lurked in the woods.
Wagons often stuck fast in the mire, or broke
down on " corduroy " roads made of logs laid side
by side in the mud. The heavy stage-coach of
early times, although it made great show of speed
when dashing through a village, was as long in
lumbering from New York to Boston as a mod-
ern express train is in crossing the continent. In
great contrast with the present mode of traveling
was the journey made by Thomas Jefferson, in
the year 1775, when he went in a carriage from
Williamsburg, Virginia, to Philadelphia. He was
ten days on the road, and twice was obliged to
hire a guide, to show the way to the largest citj'
in the country. In 1777, Elkanah Watson rode
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
15:
from Newbcrn to Wilmington, North Carolina, The life and habits of the common people were
on horseback, and not only lost his way, but extremely simple. The furniture of an ordinary
was embarrassed further by meeting a large bear, house, in 1 776, was scanty, plain, and cheap.
A person traveling in New England, about a
century ago, would have found there a frugal and
industrious people, dwelling generally in or near
villages, and employed mainly in trade and tillage.
He might have seen, in the older towns, factories
In many houses, the floor had no carpet, and the
walls of that day had no paper nor paint. Neither
pumps nor cooking-stoves were in use. The sofa
was a high-backed bench of unpainted wood. The
rude, low bedstead was honored almost always with
a coat of green paint. The sewing-machine was
I :;v^^
THE ACT OF OFKEKING ANU RECEIVING A TINXH OF SNL'FF WAS PERFORMED WITH PROFOUND CF.HEMONV
for the making of cloth, hats, shoes, axes, ropes, not dreamed of; but the spinning-wheel, flax-dis-
paper, and guns ; and with a sail-boat he might taff, and yarn-reel found a place in all houses,
have visited flourishing fisheries off the coast, and the weaver's loom could be seen in many.
Vol. IX.— II.
154
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
[December,
Queen's-ware, or glazed earthenware, was un-
known, yet well-to-do families often had sets of
small china cups and saucers. The rich took pride
in displaying urns and salvers of pure silver. There
was no plated ware. The table was set with dishes
of wood and of pewter.
Our forefothers depended upon the tallow-candle
and the lard-oil lamp for artificial light. They
knew nothing of kerosene, gas, and sulphur
matches. The embers in the fire-place were sel-
•dom suffered to burn out, but when the last coal
chanced to expire, the fire was rekindled by strik-
powdered wigs, three-cornered hats, and swords.
Women's dresses were made of heavy silks and
satins, called brocades, on which raised figures of
leaves and flowers were woven, or worked, in col-
ored silk or thread of silver and gold.
Both sexes took pains in dressing the hair. A
stylish gentleman had his locks curled and frizzed,
or suspended in a queue, as you have often seen
in old pictures. A New England belle spent many
hours in plastering her hair up into a sort of tower,
decorated with powder and ribbons.
There were few, if any, millionaires in the early
ing a spark from a flint into a piece of tinder.
Sometimes a burning brand was borrowed from
the hearth of a neighbor.
The dress of the common folk in town and
country was more for use than beauty. A pair of
buckskin breeches and a corduroy coat formed the
essentials of a man's suit, and they never wore out.
After the breeches had been rained upon a few
times they hardened into a garment more durable
than comfortable.
The wearing-apparel of fashionable people of
the city, however, was \-ery gay and picturesque.
Men wore knee-breeches and hose, broad-skirted
coats lined with buckram, long waistcoats, some-
times of gold-cloth, wide cuffs lined with lace.
days of the Republic, and the power of money was
not felt as it is now. However, the aristocracy was
less approachable by the common people than are
the higher circles of to-day, or, probably, of the
future. This was owing to the fact that, at that
time, American society was mainly copied after the
English system, in which rank and title play an
important part ; and also to the influence of slavery,
which existed in all the States.
Magistrates and clerg\men were regarded, in
New England, with extreme respect and rever-
ence. Had our traveler dropped into a Puritan
meeting-house, and sat through the ser\'ice, he
would have seen the minister and his family walk
iSSi.J
A IlfXDRED VKARS AGO.
155
solemnly down the aisle and through the door-way
before the congregation presumed to leave the pews.
The New England countr)- people combined
^) ■mil \m\
■j
'/^^y-^^^'-^^./iW.:
A nEI.LR OF A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
amusement with work, at their house-raisings,
quilling parties, and like gatherings. The poet
Bryant speaks of the process of cider-making as
one that "came in among the more laborious
rural occupations in a way which diversified them
pleasantly, and which made it seem a pastime.
A hundred barrels to a single farm was no uncom-
mon proportion."
" But," says Doctor Greene, in his charming
Short History of Rhode Island, "the gieat pas-
time for young and old, for matron and maid,
and for youth just blushing into manhood, was the
autumn husking, where neighbors met at each
other's corn-yards to husk each other's corn —
sometimes husking a thousand bushels in a single
meeting. Husking had its laws, and never were
laws better obeyed. For every red ear, the lucky
swain who had found it could claim a kiss from
every maid ; with every smutted car he smutched
the faces of his mates, amid laughter and joyous
shoutings ; but when the prize fell to a girl, she
would walk the round demurely, look each eager
aspirant in the face, and hide or reveal the secret
of her heart by a kiss. Then came the dance and
supper, running deep into the night, and often
encroaching upon the early dawn."
Our traveler would be interested in Salem, next
to the largest town in New England, and a flour-
ishing sea-port; and he certainly would have gone
to Boston, then, as now, a center of education and
culture. Many of the streets of Boston were nar-
row and crooked. Shops and inns were distin-
guished in Boston, as in other cities and towns, by
pictorial signs for the benefit of those who could
not read. One did not look for a lettered board,
nor a number over the street door, but for the sign
of the " Bunch of Feathers," the " Golden Key,"
the " Dog and Pot," or the " Three Doves."
<o™cUii\.cs 4 5vr.Cvn£, Jri^? *is \."<To»c4|fts^'*icWMV«{a f^kc-
The time that was given to making cider, and the Had our traveler passed from New England to
number of barrels made and stored in the cellars the State of New York, say at Albany, he would
of the farm-houses, would now seem incredible, have had evidence that the frontier was not far off.
156
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
[December,
Goods sent from Albany to supply the Indian trade,
and the forts and settlements out West, were hauled
in wagons to Schenectady, then loaded in light
boats, and poled up the Mohawk to Fort Schuyler,
then carried across to Wood Creek, and again
transported in boats down Oneida Lake and Osage
River to the great lakes. The town of Albany
was, at that time, a quiet, shady, delightful place,
with cow-bells tinkling in the streets. Lazy In-
dians went lounging about the principal thorough-
fares with bead-work and baskets to sell.
New York State continued to show evidence of
' IT MADE GREAT SHOW OF SPEED IN DASHI.NG THKOU
Dutch customs, as could be seen by going down the
Hudson from Albany to Manhattan Island. The
trip was taken in regular passenger sloops. The
scenery along the Hudson was grander than now,
for the wild forest had not disappeared from the
hills. The passenger saw no large towns nor vil-
lages, but farm-houses nestled in the rich hollows,
and the Dutch "bouweries" or farms spread to
view broad acres of corn and tobacco, and thrifty
orchards of apple and pear trees. Just below Al-
bany the family mansion and great barns of Gen-
eral Schuyler used to stand. The good general
had many negro slaves, — indolent fellows, who
were scared into occasional fits of work by the
threat that they should be sent to the West Indies,
and traded off for rum and molasses.
New York City was an important commercial
center, larger than Boston, but not so large as
Philadelphia. It occupied but a small part of the
southern end of Manhattan Island, the whole of
which it now covers. Most of its streets were nar-
row and crooked. Tradition says that the Dutch
settlers built their houses along the winding courses
of cow-paths. Broadway, however, was a fine
street, even in the days of the Revolution, and gave
promise then of the splendor it
afterward attained. New York
City, in 1776, was lighted dimly
with oil-lamps. Burning gas
did not come into use till forty
years later. Not unusually the
New York houses were built
with a flat space on the roof,
surrounded by a railing, and
where the people came out on
the house-tops on summer even-
ings to enjoy the pleasant breeze
from the bay.
Our traveler would have \is-
ited Philadelphia, the largest
city in America, and the capital
of the Republic. There he
might have seen many evi-
dences of wealth and social re-
finement. There were to be
found noted public men from
different parts of the countrj'.
The wise and benevolent Frank-
lin lived there. There Congress
met, and there Washington
dwelt during the greater part
of his administrations.
Philadelphia society claimed
to lead the fashion in dress and
amusements, though New York,
Williamsburg, Charleston, and
other places disputed this pre-
Fashionable people frequently gave
The lady guests, robed in
\lLL.\Gt.
emmence.
formal dinner-parties,
their stiff brocades, were handed from their coaches
and sedans, and daintily stepped to the door of the
reception-room. A sedan was a covered chair for
carrying a single person, borne on poles in the hands
of two men, usually negroes. The dinner consisted
of four courses, with abundance of wine. The health
of every guest at table had to be drunk separately,
at least once during the sitting, as to neglect this
compliment was considered a breach of politeness.
After dinner, a game of whist was in order.
Smoking was not fashionable, but every gentleman
A HUNDRE]) YKARS AGO.
157
carried a snuff-box, and the act of offering and
receiving a pinch of snuff was performed with
profound ceremony.
IJancing was a favor-
ite amusement in all
parts of the country.
General Greene tells
us that, on a certain
occasion, GeorgeW'ash-
ington danced for three
hours without once sit-
ting down. No doubt
the stately Virginian
chose to tread the dij;-
nified measure of the
contra-dance rather
than to trip through
the lighter movements
of the minuet. The
quadrilles and rouii*
dances of our day wer
unknown in 1776.
The violin was hel !
in high esteem, esp
cially in the Middl'
and Southern State-.
Thomas Jefferson saiil
of Patrick Henry, that
"his passion was for
liddling, dancing, and
pleasantry." Jefferson was himself fa-
mous for attending balls. Once, when he
was away from home, his father's house
burned down. A slave was sent to tell this
bad news to his young master Thomas.
"Did n't you sa\e any of my books ?"
asked the future author of the Declara-
tion of Independence.
" No, massa," answered the ebony
messenger ; '• but we saved the fiddle ! "
It was customary for young ladies to
take lessons on the harpsichord or the
spinet, as they do nowadays on the
piano-forte.
Our traveler, extending his journey
to the Southern States, would have
found few towns of considerable size,
excepting Williamsburg and Richmond,
in Virginia, and Charleston, South
Carolina. Wealthy planters of cotton
and rice owned most of the fertile land.
The Fairfax estate, on the I'otomac,
had five million acres. It was quite an
expedition to go from one planter's
house to another, for the distance, in
some cases, was as much as ten or twelve miles,
and the roads were bad. When a visit was under-
taken, the great family coach, drawn by four or
six horses, driven by a pompous black coachman,
conveyed the ladies, while the gentlemen of
the party went on horseback. Not unfrcqucntly
ladies rode behind gentlemen, mounted on
cushions, called pillions ; but the more inde-
pendent of the "fair sex" preferred to manage
their own palfrey, and to grace the saddle
alone. Colored servants, riding upon mules,
jogged after their masters and mistresses, to
carry bandboxes and parcels, and to open gates.
Southern estates were distinguished by de-
scriptive names, such as " Mount Vernon,"
" Monticello," " Ingleside," " The Oaks."
Particular mansions were known, also, by ro-
mantic titles, — such as " Bclvoir," "Liberty
Hall," " Greenway Court," — reminding us of
old English manor-houses. Such Southern
mansions were large and strongly built, and
some of them were costly and elegant. " Dray-
ton Hall," on Ashley River, cost ninety thou-
sand dollars — a vast sum to spend on a house
AN OLD-TIME
DANCE.
THE LADY GUESTS WERE HANDED FROM THEIR COACHES.
at the period of which I write. "Drayton Hall" is
yet standing, a fair specimen of old-fashioned
158
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
[December^
architecture. The wainscot and mantels are of solid
mahogany. The walls were once hung with tapestry.
The planters, like the
English rural gentry, laid
off their grounds with ter-
races, hedges, and ponds;
and adorned them with
shrubbery, summer-houses,
and statuary. Many lived
at ease in the midst of
plenty. They had much
pride, and looked down
upon the laboring and trad-
ing classes of the North.
All their work was done by
slaves. The planters' sons
were sent to the mother
country to be educated.
The daughters were in-
structed by private tutors.
Most fine gentlemen were fond of fine horses
and dogs. There is a flavor of romance in the
page of history that tells of Washington and his
friends dashing through the forests of the Old
Dominion, to the music of hound and horn.
The times of which this article treats are often
spoken of as the "good old days" of our ances-
tors ; we should be strangely at loss if we had to
SAVING COOD-BVE TO THE LADY IN THE SEDAN,
should consider it inconvenient enough to do with-
out steam-boat, railroad, telegraph, and daily news-
paper, not to mention horse-
cars, express companies,
letter-carriers, and the tel-
ephone.
The farmer of 1776 had
no grain-drill, harvester,
or threshing-machine ; and
even his plow, ax, and
hay-fork were so rude and
clumsy that a modern
laborer would laugh at
them.
How great, to-day, should
we regard the general loss,
were the shipper deprived
of his grain-elevator ; the
merchant of his fire-proof
safe ; the publisher of his
revolving press ; the surgeon of the use of ether ;
the physician of vaccination ; the cripple of arti-
ficial limbs ; the writer of envelopes and metallic
pens ; the ladies of pins, and hooks and eyes ;
the soldier of his breech-loading gun ! All the
articles and arts above enumerated, and many
more now considered essential to comfort and
convenience, are of modern invention. A hundred
live in the good old ways of the last centurj'. We years ago they did not exist.
THE POET WHO COULD N'T
WRITE POETRY.
Bv Joel Stacy.
Mr. Tennyson Tinkleton Tupper von Burns
Was no poet, as every one knew ;
But the fact that he had his poetical turns
Was well understood by a few.
" I long, I aspire, and I suffer and sigh,
When the fever is on," he confessed;
"Yet never a line have I writ, — and for why?
My fancies can not be expressed !
"Ah, what avail language, ink, paper, and quill.
When the soul of a gifted one yearns ;
Could 1 write what 1 think, all creation would
thrill,"
Said Tennyson Tupper von Burns.
8i.]
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
159
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
By James Baldwin.
The Fore Word.
When the world was in its childhood, men
looked upon the works of Nature with a strange
kind of awe. They fancied that everything upon
the earth, in the air, or in the water had a life like
their own, and that every sight which they saw,
and every sound which they heard, was caused by
some intelligent being. All men were poets, so far
as their ideas and their modes of expression were
concerned, although it is not likely that any of
them wrote poetry. This was true in regard to
the Saxon in his chilly northern home, as well as
to the Greek in the sunny southland. But, while
the balmy air and clear sky of the south tended to
refine men's thoughts and language, the bleak
storms of the north made them rugged, bold, and
energetic.
Thus, in the south, when reference was made to
winter and to things connected with it, men did
not take pains to explain the changes of the sco-Sons,
as our teachers do at school ; but they probably
told how Hermes had stolen Persephone (the sum-
mer) from her mother Demctre (the earth), and
had carried her in a chariot, drawn by four coal-
black steeds, to the gloomy land of Hades; and
how, in sorrow for her absence, the earth was
clothed in mourning, and no leaves grew upon the
trees nor flowers in the garden. And they added
that, after five or six months, Persephone would
return for a time to her sorrowing mother, and
then the flowers would bloom, and the trees would
bear fruit, and the harvest-fields would be full of
golden grain.
In the north, a different story was told, but the
meaning was the same. They said that Loki (heat)
had betrayed Balder (the sunlight), and induced
blind Hoder (the winter months) to slay him ; and
that all things, living and inanimate, wept for the
bright god until Death allowed him to revisit the
earth for a time.
Sometimes men told how Odin (the All-Father)
had become angry with Brunhild (the maid of
spring), and had wounded her with the thorn of
sleep, and how all the world was wrapped in silence
until Sigurd or Siegfried (the sunbeam) awakened
her with a kiss. So, also, when the sun arose, and
scattered the darkness, men spoke of how a noble
young hero had slain a dreadful dragon, or how
he had taken possession of the golden treasures
of Mist Land. When threatening clouds darkened
the sky, and thunder rolled overhead, they said
that Thor was battling with the storm-giants.
It was thus that men, in the earlier ages of the
world, spoke of all the workings of Nature, and in
this manner many myths, or poetical fables, were
formed, which embody some of the most beautiful
ideas ever expressed in any language. By and by,
the first meaning of the story was forgotten, and
men began to regard it no longer as a poetical
fancy, but as a historical fact. Perhaps some real
hero had performed noble deeds, and had made the
world around him happier and better. It was easy
to compare him with Sigurd, or some mjthical
slayer of dragons, and soon the deeds of both were
ascribed to but one. Thus you see that many
myth-stories probably contain some historical facts,
as well as poetical fancies ; but it is often impossi-
ble to distinguish what is history from what is fable.
All nations have had their myth-stories, but, to
my mind, the purest and grandest are those which
we have received from our ancestors who once
lived in Northern Europe. These stories are ours
now, because they are our inheritance ; and when
we are able to make them still more our own, by
removing the blemishes which rude and barbarous
ages have added to some of them, we shall doubt-
less find in them many things that are beautiful
and true, and well calculated to make us wiser and
better.
One of the oldest, as well as one of the finest, of
these Northern myths, is the story of Sigurd, the
son of Sigmund. But, while this story contains
much that is grand and beautiful, it is somewhat
tarnished with the prevailing coarseness of a rude
and war-loving people. There are many later ver-
sions of the same myth, differing from one another,
according to the time in which they were written,
and the character of the people among whom they
were received. One of the most recent of these
versions is the Nibelungcn Lied, a grand old Ger-
man poem, which may well be compared with the
Iliad of the Greeks. In it, Sigurd is called Sieg-
fried ; and, while it retains very much of the origi-
nal myth-story, it introduces many notions peculiar
to the Middle Ages, and unknown to our Norse
ancestors.
Our purpose here is to tell you a few stories
founded on some of the earlier portions of this
poem, and if, now and then, we allow our fancy
and judgment to color the narrative, it is quite in
keeping with the way in which writers and story-
i6o
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[December,
tellers of various nations and times have dealt with
these Myths of the Northland.
Story the First.
It was in the old Norwegian days, in a strong-
built castle by the sea, that were told the stories
which I shall relate. The summer-time and the
short-lived autumn had passed away. Warm
breezes had ceased to blow. The Frost-giants, in
their chill northern home, had rallied all their
strength, and had forced the Sun to withdraw to-
ward the south. Then the Winter came and stole
the flowers, and stripped the trees, and sealed up
the rivers, and built great ice-mountains, and
wrapped the world in silence. And the North-
winds, with flapping wings, swept furiously over
land and sea, and covered the earth with snow, and
filled the air with flying frost.
But within the low-raftered halls of the Norse
castle, the fire blazed bright and warm, and there
were comfort and good cheer. Safely housed from
the storms, the good jarl (or earl) Ronvald and his
handsome wife Gudrun entertained their guests and
their fair-haired children with games, and music and
song, and with wondrous stories of the olden time.
Well-built and tall was jarl Ronvald ; somewhat
rude in manners, but kind at heart ; and his face,
though roughened by wind and weather, was
lighted always with a pleasant smile. A right
jovial host was he. And among the ch'iefs who
did homage to King Harold Harfager, Ronvald
was accounted the most noble. The fair Gudrun
was in every way worthy to be the wife of such a
man, for she was loving and wise, and lacked no
grace of mind or body. To her husband, she was
a true helpmate ; to her children, a loving mother,
and a kind teacher and friend.
Three sons and a daughter brought sunshine
and laughter into this household ; RoUo, the eldest,
tall, slim, and straight as the mountain pine, having
his mother's clear gray eyes, and his father's heavy
brow ; Leif, the second son, of small stature, quiet
and timid as a girl, with high forehead, betokening
deep thoughts; then Ingeborg, the daughter, fairer
than dream can paint, with golden locks, and eyes
bluer than the clearest sky of summer ; lastly,
Harold, a tottering baby-boy, the mother's darling,
the father's pet, with all of life's promises and
uncertainties still before him.
Few guests came that year to jarl Ronvald's cas-
tle; only two young men, — ^kinsmen to dame
Gudrun, — and a strolling harper, old and gray.
The winter days passed swiftly away, and brought
many joys in their train. For, while such good
cheer was found within the castle walls, no one
recked that outside the cold winds whistled and
shrieked, and the half-starved wolves howled and
snarled even in sight of the gates, and at the doors
of the poor. Thus, the season of the Yule-feasts
came; the great hall was decked with cedar and
spruce, and sprigs of the mistletoe ; and a plen-
teous feast was ser\-ed ; and the Yule-log was rolled
into the wide-mouthed chimney-place, where the
cheerful fire blazed high, throwing warmth and a
ruddy glow of light into every nook and comer of
the room. When the feast was over, and the com-
pany had tired of the festal games, the jarl and
his family and guests sat around the hearth, and
whiled the evening hours away with pleasant talk.
And each of them sang a song, or told a story, or
in some way added to the merriment of the hour.
First, the old harper tuned his harp, and played
most bewitching music. And as he played, he
sang. He sang of the Asa-folk, who dwell in
Gladsheim on the heaven-towering Asgard mount-
ain ; of Odin, the All-Father, and of his ravens.
Thought and Memory ; of the magic ring, Draup-
ner, which gives richness to the earth ; and of the
wondrous horse, the winged Sleipnir, upon whom
the worthiest thoughts of men are carried heaven-
ward. Then he sang of Thor, the mighty Asa,
who rides in the whirlwind and the storm, and
wages fiercest war with the giants of the mist and
frost ; and of Frey, the gentle peace-maker, who
scatters smiles and plenty over the land ; and of
the shining Balder, beloved by gods and men ; and
of the listening Heimdall,* who guards the shim-
mering rainbow-bridge, and waits to herald, with
his golden horn, the coming of the last twihght.
When the harper had ended, all sat in silence
for a time, watching the glowing embers and the
flames that encircled the half-burnt Yule-log. For
never had they heard more charming music, or
listened to words more touching. Then Rollo, the
ever restless, broke the silence.
"Father," said he, "it is now four months
since you came back from Rhineland and the
south. You have told us about the strange people
you saw there, and of the sunny skies and the pur-
ple grapes. But I should like to know more; I
should never tire of hearing about those lands.
Tell us, please, some story that you heard while
there. — some story that the Rhine people love."
" Yes, Father," said Ingeborg, laying her slender
hand in the broad, rough palm of the jarl ; "tell
us a story of those people. Do they think and act
as we do ? Do they know aught of Odin, and Thor,
and Balder ? And do they love to think and speak
of noble deeds, and brave men, and fair women?"
" They think and act very much like our Norse
people," answered the jarl ; "for they are kinsfolk
of ours. Indeed, their forefathers were our fathers
long ago, in a distant and now forgotten land. I
will tell you a story which is often sung among
* See Volume VI., page 277.
i88i.]
STORIKS FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
l6[
SlECiFKlED TEMPERING THE SWORD BALMl'NG.
thorn. I5iit it is not all a storj- of the Rhine people.
Tales much like it you already know, which were
told in Norivay hundreds of years ago."
THE SWORD B.AI.MUNG.
At Santen, in the Lowlands, there once lived a
noble young prince named Siegfried. His father,
Siegmund, was king of the rich country through
which the lazy Rhine winds its way just before
reaching the great North Sea ; and he was known,
both far and near, for his good deeds and prudent
thrift. And Siegfried's mother, the gentle Sigel-
ind, was loved by all for her goodness of heart and
her kindly charity to the poor. Neither king nor
l62
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[December,
queen left aught undone that might make the
young prince happy or fit him for hfe's usefulness.
Wise men were brought from far-off lands to be
his teachers, and every day something was added
to his store of knowledge or his stock of happiness.
Very skillful did he become in warlike games and
in manly feats of strength. No other youth could
throw tke spear with so much force, nor shoot the
arrow with truer aim. No other youth could run
more swiftly, nor ride with more becoming ease.
His gentle mother took delight in adding to the
beauty of his matchless form by clothing him with
costly garments, decked with the rarest jewels.
The old, the young, the rich, the poor, the high,
the low, — all praised the fearless Siegfried, and all
vied in friendly strife to win his favor. One would
have thought that the life of the young prince
could never be aught but a holiday, and that the
birds would sing, and the flowers would bloom,
and the sun would shine forever for his sake.
But the business of man's life is not mere
pastime, and none knew this truth better than the
wise old king, Siegmund.
"All work is noble," said he to Siegfried, "and
he who yearns to win fame must not shun toil.
Even princes should know how to earn an honest
livelihood by the labor of their hands."
And so, when Siegfried had grown to be a tall
and comely youth, he was apprenticed to a black-
smith named Mimer, and sent to live at the smithy
near the borders of the great Rhine forest. For,
from the earliest times, the work of the blacksmith
has been looked upon as the most noble of all
trades — a trade which the gods themselves are
not ashamed to follow. And this smith, Mimer,
was the keeper of a wonderful well, or flowing
spring, the waters of which imparted wisdom and
far-seeing knowledge to all who drank of them.
To Mimcr's school, then, where he would be
taught to work skillfully and to think wisely,
Siegfried was sent, to be, in all respects, like
the other pupils there. A coarse blue blouse,
heavy leggins, and a leathern apron took the
place of the costly clothing which he had worn in
his father's castle. His feet were incased in awk-
ward wooden shoes, and his head was covered
with a wolf-skin cap. The dainty bed, with its
downy pillows, wherein every night his mother had
been wont, with gentle care, to sec him safely
covered, was given up for a rude heap of straw in
a corner of the smithy. And the rich food to
which he had been used gave place to the
coarsest and humblest fare. But the lad did not
complain, and for a time he was mirthful and
happy. The sound of his hammer rang cheer-
fully, and the sparks from his forge flew briskly,
from morning till night.
And a wonderful smith he became. No one
could do more work than he, and none wrought
with greater skill. The heaviest chains and the
strongest bolts, for prison or for treasure-house,
were but as toys in his stout hands, so easily and
quickly did he beat them into shape. And he was
alike skillful in work of the most delicate and brit-
tle kind.
One morning, his master, Mimer, came to the
smithy with a sullen frown and a troubled look.
It was clear that something had gone amiss, and
what it was the apprentices soon learned from the
smith himself Never, until lately, had any one
questioned Mimer's right to be called the foremost
smith in all the world ; but a rival had come for-
ward. An unknown upstart, one Amilias, in Bur-
gundy-land, had made a suit of armor which, he
boasted, no stroke of s\\ord could dint, and no
blow of spear could scratch; and he had sent a
challenge to all the other smiths in Rhineland to
equal that piece of workmanship, or else acknowl-
edge themselves his underlings and vassals. For
days had Mimer himself toiled, alone and vainly,
trying to forge a sword whose edge the boasted
armor of Amilias would not foil ; and now, in de-
spair, he came to ask the help of his apprentices.
" Who among you will undertake the forging of
such a sword ?" he asked.
One after another, the twelve apprentices shook
their heads. And the foreman, whose name was
Veliant, said: "1 have heard much about that
wonderful armor, and I doubt if any skill can make
a sword with edge that can injure it. The best we
can do is to make a coat of mail whose temper
shall match that of Amili;!s's armor."
Then the lad Siegfried quickly said: "1 will
make such a sword as you want, — a blade that no
coat of mail can foil. Give me but leave to try ! "
The apprentices laughed in scorn, but Mimer
checked them : " You hear how this stripling can
talk ; let us see what he can do. He is the king's
son, and we know that he has uncommon talent.
He shall make the sword ; but if, upon trial, it
fail, I will make him rue the day."
Then Siegfried went to his task. And for seven
days and seven nights the sparks never stopped fly-
ing from his flaming forge ; and the ringing of his
anvil, and the hissing of the hot metal, as he tem-
pered it, were heard continuously. On the eighth
day the sword was fashioned, and Siegfried brought
it to Mimer.
The smith felt the razor edge of the bright
weapon, and said: "This seems, indeed, a fair
fire-edge. Let us make a trial of its keenness."
Then a thread of wool as light as thistle-down
was thrown upon water, and, as it floated there,
Mimer struck it with the sword. The glittering
iSSi.J
STORIES KROM THE NORTHERN MVTHS.
163
blade cleft the slender thread in twain, and the
pieces floated undisturbed upon the surface.
" Well done ! " cried the delighted smith.
•' Never have 1 seen a keener edge or truer tem-
per. With this, methinks, 1 can well cope with
Amilias for the championship of the world."
But Siegfried was not so easily satisfied, and he
said to Mimer: "1 pray you give me leave to
temper the weapon yet a little more."
And he took the sword and broke it into many
pieces ; and then for three days he welded it in a
red-hot fire, and tempered it with milk and oat-
meal. Then, in sight of Mimer and the scoffing
apprentices, he cast a light ball of wool upon the
water, and, as it floated, he struck it with the
bright blue blade. And it was parted at a stroke,
as had been the single thread before, and not the
smallest fiber was moved out of its place.
Then back to the smithy Siegfried went again,
and his forge glowed with a brighter fire, and his
hammer rang with a cheerier sound. But he
suffered none to come near, and no one ever knew
what witchery he used. For seven weeks he
wrought, and then, pale and haggard, he came
and put the sword into Mimer's hands. "It is
finished," he said. "The sword Balmung is
yours. Try its edge and prove its temper in any
way you list."
Forthwith, a great pack of wool, the fleeces of
ten sheep, was brought and laid upon the water.
And the sword Balmung divided it as smoothly
and as easily as it had cleft the woolen ball or the
slender woolen thread.
" Now, indeed," cried the delighted Mimer,
"I no longer fear to make trial with that upstart
Amilias. If his coat of mail shall withstand the
stroke of such a sword as Balmung, then will I
cheerfully be his underling. But, if this good
blade deceive me not, it will serve me well, and 1,
Mimer, shall still be called the wisest and greatest
of all the smiths in the world."
And he at once sent a challenge to Amilias in
Burgundy ; and a time and place were set for the
two mighty smiths to meet and settle, by trial, the
question of the championship.
When the time which had been appointed drew
near, Mimer, with the sword Balmung by liis side,
and followed by all his apprentices, set out on his
way to the place of meeting. T'hrough the forest
they went, by the nearest road, to the sluggish
Rhine, and then they followed the river's winding
course for many a league, until they came to the
height of land which marked the boundary be-
tween Burgundy and the Lowlands. It was here,
midway between the shops of the rival smiths, that
the trial was to be made. And here were already
gathered great numbers of people from the Low-
lands and from Burgundy, anxiously waiting lor
the coming ol their champions. On the one side
were the wise Siegmund and his gentle queen, and
their train ot attendant knights and courtiers and
fair ladies. On the other side were the three Bur-
gundian kings, Gunther, Gemot, and the child
Giselher, and a mighty retinue of warriors led by
grim old Hagen, the uncle of the kings, and the
wariest chief in all Khineland.
When everything was in readiness for the con-
test, Amihas, clad in his boasted armor, went up
to the top of the hill, and sat upon a great rock,
and waited for the appearance of Mimer. As he
sat there, he looked, to the people below, like
some great castle-tower ; for he was a giant of
huge dimensions, and his glittering coat of mail
was not only skillfully wrought, but so great in size
that fifty men of common mold might find shelter
or be hidden within it. As the smith Mimer,
himself a man of no mean st.ature, toiled up the
steep hill-side, a grim and ghastly smile overspread
the giant's face ; for he felt no fear of the slender,
glittering blade which was to try the metal of his
armor. And, already, a shout of triumph was
sent up by the Burgundian hosts, so sure were
they of their champion's success.
But Mimer's friends waited in breathless silence.
Only King Siegmund whispered to his queen, and
said: "Knowledge is stronger than brute force.
The smallest dwarf who lias drunk from Mimer's
well, and carries the sword of the knowing one,
may safely engage in contest with the stoutest giant. "
When Mimer reached the top of the hill,
Amilias folded his huge arms and smiled again —
this time in scorn. But the smith knew no fear.
"Are you ready?" asked the smith.
" Ready ! " answered the giant. " Strike ! "
Mimer drew back the glittering sword, and the
muscles on his brawny arms stood out like great
ropes. Then Balmung, swift as lightning, cleft
the air from right to left. The waiting lookers-on,
in the valley below, thought to hear the noise of
clashing steel ; but they listened in vain, for no
sound came to their ears, save a sharp hiss, like
that which red-hot iron gives when plunged into a
tank of cold water. The giant sat, unmoved, with
his arms still folded upon his breast ; but the smile
had vanished from his face.
"How do you feel now?" asked Mimer, in a
half-mocking tone.
"Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched
me," faintly answered the giant.
" Shake thyself!" cried Mimer.
The giant did so, and lo! he fell in two halves,
for the sword had cleft sheer through the vaunted
coat of mail, and cut in twain the huge body in-
cased within. Down tumbled the giant's head
164
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[December,
and shoulders, and his still folded arms; and they
rolled with thundering noise to the foot of the hill,
and fell with a fearful splash into the deep Rhine
waters. And there, fathoms down, they may now
be seen, when the water is clear, lying like great
gray rocks at the bottom of the river. The rest of
the huge body, with its incasing armor, still sat
upright in its place. And to this day, travelers
sailing down the Rhine are shown, on moonlight
evenings, the giant's armor on the high hill-top.
In the dim, uncertain light, one easily fancies it to
be the ivy-covered ruins of some old castle of
former times.
The smith Mimer sheathed his sword, and
walked slowly down the hill-side to the plain,
where his friends welcomed him with glad cheers
and shouts of jov. But the Burgundians, baffled
and feeling vexed, turned silently homeward, nor
cast a look back to the scene of their disappoint-
ment and their ill-fated champion's defeat.
And Siegfried returned, with Mimer and his
fellows, to the smoky smithy, to his roaring bel-
lows and ringing anvil, and to his coarse fare and
rude, hard bed, and to a life of labor. And while
all the world praised Mimer and his skill, and the
fiery edge of the sunbeam blade, none knew that
it was the boy Siegfried who had wrought the
wonderful piece of workmanship.
But, after a while, it was whispered around that
not Mimer, but one of his apprentices, had forged
the sword. And when the smith was asked what
truth there was in this story, he shook his head
and made no answer. The apprentices, too, were
silent, save Veliant, the foreman, who said: "It
was I who forged the fire-edge of the blade Bal-
mung ; but to my master, Mimer, belongs all the
praise, for my work was done in accordance with
his orders." And none denied the truth of what
he said ; even Siegfried himself was speechless.
Hence it is that, in songs and stories, it is said by
some that Mimer, and by others that Veliant,
made the doughty sword Balmung.
But blind hate and jealousy were uppermost in
the coarse and selfish mind of the foreman, and
he sought how he might injure the prince, and,
mayhap, drive him away from the smithy in
disgrace. "This boy has done what none of us
could do," said he. " He may yet do greater
deeds, and set himself up as the champion smith
of the world. In that case, we shall all have to
humble ourselves before him."
And he nursed this thought, and brooded over
the hatred which he felt toward the blameless
prince. Yet he did not dare to harm him, for fear
of their master, Mimer. And, although Siegfried
suffered much from the cruel taunts oi the foreman
and the unkind words of his fellow apprentices, yet
the sparks flew from his forge as merrily and as
bright as ever, and his busy bellows roared from
early morning until late at night. And Mimer's
heart grew warm toward the prince, and he
praised his diligence and skill, and by pleasant
talk urged him to greater efforts.
" Hold on in your course, my brave lad," said
he, "and your workmanship will, one day, rival
the handicraft of the dwarfs themselves."
Here the jarl paused, and all his hearers waited
silently for several minutes, expecting him to go
on with his story. But he only smiled, and stroked
gently the silken tresses of little Ingeborg, and
gazed thoughtfully into the glowing fire. Then
RoUo, when he saw that his father had ended, said,
impatiently : " Is that all ? "
" That is all of Siegfried's smithing. For, the
next day, the envious Veliant sent him on an
errand into the forest, and he never came back to
the smithy again."
"Why?" asked Ingeborg. "Was he lost, or
did he go back to his parents at Santen ? "
" Neither," answered the jarl. " The world lay
before him, and much noble work was waiting
to be done. With brave heart and willing hands,
he went out to help the innocent and weak, and
to punish wrong-doers wherever he might find
them."
" What did he do ? " asked RoUo.
"About the first thing that he did was to slay
the dragon of the Glittering Heath."
•'Tell us about it!" cried all the young people
in a breath.
" Not now," said the jarl, smiling. " It is not a
very pleasant stor)- to tell before the Yule-fire.
But our good harper will sing for you again ; and
then, mayhap, he will tell you something about
the dragon that Siegfried slew."
(To be continued.)
i88i.]
THE NKRVOl^S LITTLK MAN.
165
,JhE JNlERyOUS [ITTLE MaN
BY MALCOLM DOUGLAS
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1 66
A REMARKABLE FIGHT.
[December,
A REMARKABLE FIGHT.
Every reading boy or girl knows something about
the poisonous serpent of India, called the Cobra
de Capcllo. This name, which means "hooded
snake," was given it on account of its habit of dilat-
ing or stretching its neck into a sort of hood, partly
covering the head. The snake is from three to
four feet long, of a brownish-yellow color, and its
poison is exceedingly dangerous, and generally fatal.
But there is also in India a little animal called
the mongoose, which is said to fight and overcome
the cobra, and even to receive its bite without
injury. The mongoose, which resembles the
weasel in size and general habits, is covered w'ith
gray and dark-freckled hairs, — a sharp-nosed, won-
derfully agile little creature, as you will see from
the picture. Some naturalists believe that the
mongoose knows of a plant or root which, when
eaten, counteracts the snake-poison ; but others
deny this, and maintain that the venom has no
effect on the animal, which therefore destroys the
cobra without danger, just as hogs kill rattlesnakes
in our own country. It is a singular fact that
poisons do produce different effects upon different
animals, and the following account seems to show
that the mongoose is really a natural enemy of the
cobra, and is thoroughly proof against the serpent-
poison. The fight described was witnessed by sev-
eral officers of the British army in India, who signed
a report of it, which reads, mainly, as follow-s :
" The mongoose approached the cobra with cau-
tion, but without fear. The cobra, with head erect
and body vibrating, watched its opponent anxiously,
knowing well how deadly an enemy he had to
contend with. The mongoose was soon within
easy striking distance of the snake, which, sud-
denly throwing back his head, struck at the mon-
goose with tremendous force. But the little
creature, quick as thought, sprung back out of
reach, uttering savage growls. Again the hooded
reptile rose, and the mongoose, nothing daunted
by the distended jaws and glaring eyes of its an-
tagonist, approached so near to the snake as to
force it to draw its head back considerably ; this
lessened its distance from the ground. The mon-
goose, at once seizing the opportunity, sprung at
the cobra's head, and appeared to inflict as well as
to receive a wound. Again the combatants renewed
the encounter; again the snake struck at its wily
opponent, and again the latter's agility saved him.
" The fight went on in this way three-quarters of
an hour, and both creatures seemed now to nerve
themselves for the final encounter. The cobra,
changing its position of defense for that of attack,
advanced, and seemed determined now ' to do or die. '
The cobra soon approached so close that the mon-
goose (which, owing to want of space behind, was
unable to spring out of reach by jumping backward,
as it had done in the previous encounters) nimbly
bounded straight up in the air. The cobra missed
its object, and struck the ground under him. Im-
mediately on the mongoose alighting, the cobra
struck again, and, to all appearance, fixed its fangs
in the head of the mongoose. The mongoose, as the
cobra was withdrawing its head after it had inflicted
the bite, instantly retaliated by fixing its teeth in the
head of the snake, which quickly unfolded its coils
and ignominiously slunk away. Instantly the mon-
goose was on its retreating foe, and burying its
teeth in the cobra's head, at once ended the contest.
" The mongoose now set to work to devour its
victim, and in a few minutes had eaten the head
and two or three inches of the body, including the
venom so dreaded by all. We should have men-
tioned before that, previous to this encounter, the
cobra had struck a fowl, which died within half an
hour after receiving the bite, showing, beyond doubt,
the snake's power of inflicting a deadly wound.
"After the mongoose had satisfied its appetite,
we proceeded to examine with a pocket lens the
wounds he had received from the cobra ; and on
cleansing one of these places, the lens disclosed the
broken fang of the cobra deeply imbedded in the
head of the mongoose. . . . We ha\'e had the
mongoose confined ever since (now four days' time),
and it is as healthy and lively as ever."
l88i.]
TlIK RL-XAWAV PRIXCKSS.
167
1 68
THE RUNAWAY PRINCESS.
[December,
" Lost ! lost ! " you hear him say —
" Stolen or strayed away !
Strayed away from Buttercup town,
The fair little Princess Thistledown ! "
All the court had gone to dine,
Knights and lords and ladies fine.
Through the open gate-way straying,
Came a troop of minstrels playing:
One was a fiddler, shriveled and black ;
One had a banjo over his back ;
One was a piper, and one did naught
But dance to the tune, as a dancer ought.
First, the fiddler drew his bow.
Struck a chord, so sweet and low.
Lords and ladies held their breath
In a silence deep as death.
Ting-a-ting, the banjo rang.
Up the lords and ladies sprang;
y.-^-^^aijM^,..*y;*y^t^g>^ ^.1
Round about the piper pressed —
' Ho, good piper, pipe your best ! "
And they danced to the sound
In a merry-go-round.
For never before had a minstrel band
Chanced to stray into Fairyland.
They filled their pockets with silver money,
They fed them on barley-cakes and honey ;
But when they were fairly out of the town,
They missed little Princess Thistledown.
Call the crier ! ring the bells !
Search through all the forest dells;
Here is silver, here is gold,
Here are precious gems untold ;
i88i.]
Tin; RUNAWAY PRINCESS.
169
He who finds the child may take
Half the kingdom for her sake ! "
Bim ! boom ! comes a blustering fellow,
Dressed in black velvet, slashed with yellow.
He 's the king's trumpeter, out on the track
Of the wandering minstrels, to bring them back.
But the fiddler is telling his beads by the fire,
In a cap and a gown, like a grizzly old friar.
The man with the banjo is deaf as a post,
The jolly old piper as thin as a ghost,
And the dancer is changed, by some magical
touch.
To a one-legged beggar that limps on his crutch.
Then Mistress Gentian bent to look
At her own sweet image in the brook,
And whispered, " Nobody knows it, dear,
But I have the darling safely here."
And, dropping her fringes low, she said :
" I was tucking my babies into bed.
When the poor little Princess chanced to pass,
Sobbing among the tangled grass;
Her silver mantle was rumpled and torn.
Her golden slippers were dusty and worn ;
The bats had frightened her half to death,
The spiders ch;ised her quite out of breath.
I fed her with honey, I washed her with dew,
1 rocked her to sleep in my cradle of blue ;
And I could tell, if I chose to say.
Who it was coaxed her to run away."
The mischievous Wind the cradle swung.
" Sleep, little lady, sleep!" he sung;
'■ What would they say if they only knew
It was I who ran away with you?"
Vol. IX.— 12.
170
THE MAGIC PEN.
[December^
THE MAGIC PEN.
By E. S. Brooks.
(Continued /r()tfi the November Number.)
After a moment of deep thought, the Master continues :
Where all speak well, 't is hard to tell
Just which advice to take.
Come, Fancy Bright ! Come, High Desire !
What choice now shall we make ?
Come, Fact ! come, Fable ! Counsel now !
From all these stories gleaming,
Can you not say which way — whicli way
Your special choice is leaning?
What ? Not a word ? Why, that 's absurd !
I 'm ready to receive it
Pause.
Now, by the Pen, I have it, then —
We '11 to the children leave it !
All, eagerly :
Yes — to tlie children leave it.
Master ;
What ho ! my Puck, my sprightly Puck,
Come hither to thy master.
Now hasten, hasten, merry Puck,
Come — faster, faster, faster !
Puck, as a messenger-boy, running in breathless :
Hail, Master of the Magic Pen !
What would you now witlj Puck again ?
hill and vale, The Sun
rud-dy health Than gold .
eyes so bright Can read . .
lamp still is bum-ing ;
is . . . rich • er treasure ;
where sag-es pon-der ;
Seek ye, then, seek ye, then, Seek ye, then, the
Seek ye, then, seek ye, then, Seek ye, then, the
Seek ye, then, seek ye, then, Seek ye, then, the
Master :
Puck
Haste ihee, Puck, to earth now go,
To some happy home below.
With children in it.
Bring me three — all joy and mirth, —
I '11 put a girdle round the earth.
In half a minute.
Exit, running.
Frolics, chorus ; sing only the first two stanzas :
Allegretto.
Mag-ic
Mag- ic
Mag - ic
Quick come, for, quick re-tum-ing,
Here,, .wait-ing for your pleasure,
'T is... here ! no fa r- the r wander,
guick come, for, quick re-turn-ing, Children, come,
ere,..wait-!ng for thy pleasure, Children, etc.
'Tis...herel no far-t her wander, Children, etc.
1. Come, children, come, by
2. Come, children, come, your
3. Come, children, come, your
children, come, children, children, come
l88i.]
THE MAc;iC PEN.
171
A/ter yi Verse.
Puck, reentering in haste :
I came back by the moon.
Not a moment too soon ;
The children are coming
By special balloon.
Chorus of Frolics, third stanza:
During this chorus the Children enter, on the Elephant-car, with a
toy balloon tied to the waist of etch. Driver salams. The
Children stand am.ized, and jump down from car. Driver
leads off elephant.
Children, to Master :
We are Dolly, Dot, and Dick!
What you want us for ?
Please to tell us pretty quick,
What you want us for !
They look around in wonder.
Oh 1 what lots of pretty things !
Little ^rls with birdies' wings.
Lots of folks — and boys — and kings ! —
What you want us for ?
Master:
Children dear.
Welcome here,
To our council-hall !
Whence — you know —
Stories flow
For the children all.
Tell me, then —
For the Pen
Some new tale would write —
What shall be
Told by me
Through the Pen to-night ?
Stories nice.
In a trice.
Here may be expressed.
Can you find.
In your mind.
Which you like the best ?
Children :
We like 'em big — we like 'em small,
But most we like — the best of all —
The kind our m.inima tells.
Master:
Children :
Master :
And what arc they?
Why, what we say !
The kind our mamma tells.
But what does she tell, children dear ?
Children, checking them off on their fingers :
Why — fairy, Bible, true, and queer;
That
Fact, quickly :
Fable :
Master :
s what our mamma tells.
Then they 're fact !
Well, and fable!
Yes, they 're both !
I 'm unable
To decide what the Pen shall write yet;
For the children, I find,
To no merits are blind —
.\s they like any kind they can get.
Reenter Puck, who says :
O Master, a herald from Gnome Man's Land
Craves leave to present you his sovereigns' command.
Master:
Let the herald appear.
Puck, ushering in the herald:
Master mine — he is here.
Herald :
There are forty kings in the (Jnome Man's Land —
Forty kings wilh their crowns of gold;
-\nd not a king of the kingly b.iiid
Is over twelve years old.
There are forty queens in the Gnome Man's Land — -
Forty queens m their jewels fine ;
-^lul not a queen of the queenly band
Has passed the age of nine.
.\nd the forty kings, and the forty queens.
In Gnome Man's Land hear a'l day long
The stories told by the tinome Man old.
As he sits in that royal throng.
.\nd the forty kings, and the forty queens.
Know your trouble, O Master great,
And they bid me .say that the Gnome Man gray
Can set the matter straight.
So the forty kings, and the forty queens.
Send him here to your council-hall ;
Bid the Gnome Man tell what he knows so well, —
The needs of the children small.
General Chorus of Welcome;
Tempo Marziale.
Welcome to the hap-py day; Hail ! hail ! hail ! To ihe
P^^^5E^E51t^5^
zszr
172
THE MAGIC PEN.
[December,
fe*
:-^-g^^gj=rt — j:^
r 1 * -I-
gnome man gray.
Hail ! hail ! hail !
^fe
fei=
-f —
E65=*=-'«=iS==^EE^
Ji^talz
=ff=|5=»=
=t?=tii
Welcome to the happy day; Hail ! hail ! hail ! To the
■^^0- tti -!» -^- ■^- ,
l^^^s^
l^nome man gfray. From the kings and the queens over
field and glen^ He is com - ing to coun-sel the
Master, rising joyfully :
Gay are the joys of Christmas;
Thanksgiving's feasts are gay ;
But the ringing chime of the Gnome Man's rhyme
Marl<s the children's fairest day.
Curtain parts at rear and discloses the Gnome Man on elevated
dais- All form in open half-circle before him. Gnome Man:
In storm and shine,
In cloud and sun,
O Master mine,
Life's course is run.
And shine and cloud,
And sun and storm,
Are all allowed
Life's course to form.
All colors blend
For rainbow hues.
All forces send
The morning dews.
So, Master great.
The childish mind.
In (?// you state.
May pleasure find.
Not Fact alone
Can counsel give,
Dry as a bone ;
May Fable live.
Fable and Fact
Should mingled be ;
Both counteract.
Yet both agree.
Let both be dressed
In colors gay ;
Tints mix the best
That varying lay.
All things have worth,
All joys are bright ;
Give children mirth —
Good-night — good-night '.
Master, to Gnome Man :
Thanks, Gnome Man gray,
Thy counsel sage
Shall be my gauge.
For tale or lay.
Gnome Man disappears.
Master continues, to all the others :
" Black spirits and white.
Red spirits and gray.
Mingle, mingle, mingle.
You that mingle may."
Mingling Chorus. Frolics, Stories, and all the characters join in
this chorus, marching and countermarching in effective figures,
the design being to represent the mixing of fact and fable m the
children's stories.
Moderato,
w.
I L_l I Lj I I !
i88i.1
THE MAGIC PEN.
173
Jin-gle, jin-gle, jin-gle. jin-gle. Thus we fix,...
May we thus be a - ble good to see.
^— «f »t5-Un^=i=£3=^
Mingle, mingle, mingle, mingle, Mix ! mix ! mix !
=F
^m
rt
n * *-
f ts r — tJ^^^r
--)«-» !■ iw:
^^^pi^^
Mingle, mingle, mingle, mingle, Only then,
^^^^^m^^^
Brightest joys may jin - gle, 'Round the Pen, 'Round the
All the blending glo - ries, gold and gray
Pen, Mingle, mingle, on - ly then. Mingle, mingle,
Of the children's sto-ries grave and gay.
-J- ■! y J w ic
-i^r^r-
on - ly then. Brightest joy may jingle, 'Round the
'i;z*-i»=
^i=r**=t^
«^i^
=«=»=»
r=i^=^
I — I — ^ — I —
m
^=P=5-
4^^-j^.N^
s-K — = y 1
^ Mingling fact and fa -
J- 1 ^'""-J-
— 1 — ' ^^^ '
ble fast and free,
J 3. J. -J- W- •'
— M 1 — 4 * & 1
^&=w=^-%=w=^
^=^=^=^T=^
^— £ — U — tf — g=
=ff^::35=(
^^
^ — 1»-
Pen, 'Round about the Pen, 'Round about the
174
THE MAGIC PEN.
[December,
Pen ; Brightest joys may jingle, jingle, 'Round about the
Then ho ! fill the little folks' magazines.
Load the presses with stories again.
And salute the world with our flag unfurled —
The flag of the Jlagic Pen !
Grand salute; all characters marching abreast, or in two files, to
front of stage — standard in center. Colors are dipped to audi-
ence: then countermarch to throne. Salute the Master.
Elephant-car enters, and all the characters (excepting the chil-
dren) march off in procession, singing the Chorus.
Pen ; Brightest joys may jingle, jingle, 'Round about the
^^PZZ^Ei^ESE
^^EE=^^
=r
=^J^^
^ Mag - ic Pen we
go, Bear-ing joy
u r-?~Fr
-*— « — « — '
to high and
T 1 i-t"
1*^^' ^ '■^-
^Ci^
t^ —
^ Von 'P/MtnH oKrttif tlid P*in 'Rmindc
Pen, 'Round about the Pen, 'Round about the Pen
ei_ — I— 1— .'— j^-i — =-.^-,-^--»
low, Bear-ing stories. Bright with glories, Bright with
-Pix^ , I 1-
Master, rising :
The spirit moves !
From gaze of men
Bear off the Pen ;
The spirit moves !
Page of Pen presents cushion, kneeUng at throne. The Master
deposits the Pen on the cushion, and the Page bears it off.
Master ;
I 'm the lord of the wonderful Magic Pen,
I 'm the master of every tongue,
And my stories old for the children I 've told,
Since the days when the earth was young.
So, while Fact and Fable both agree
To color my stories all.
And my Magic Pen writes the thoughts of men
For the children large and small,
I will rule with iny scepter the teeming brain,
No monarch more mighty than I ;
And the warm hearts glow as the ages go,
With the thoughts that can never die.
pleasure's inventories. Bright with pleasure's in-ven-
to - ries ; Fall and flow Fall and flow. With the
i8Si.]
THE MAGIC PEN.
175
All:
Why, why, why !
Then, suddenly remembering, they suirt after the retreating proces-
sion, saying :
-J- H- All :
Oh ! here ! say ! yoti forgot us !
Reenter Puck.
I TTTj— J 0 I I "i I m . M , Z n- ^"'^'^ ■
I ^* m V i m — ' I I ~^r~[~f^ " Come with me ;
\ F LJ * .J. -*— s«- |» '^m-tz^ 1 I 11 agree
■■^^ Safe at home
Meantime, the children stand amazed until the procession passes off You soon shall be.
Then walking slowly to front of stage, they look at each other Children to Puck :
and say : ' , '
DoLLy : AH right !
Mv mv my! To audience:
Do^r: Good-night:
Did you ever ! To one another :
Dick : Now we '11 wait for the stories bright.
No, I never ! All lock arms and run off with Puck.
A CHRISTMAS-GIFT IN THE OLDEN IIMK.
176
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
^DECEHBERy
Which of these little girls lives in your house?
l-OR VKKV I irri.E FOLK.
177
Wllicii of these little boys lives in your house ?
1/8
J A C K - I X - T H E - P U L P I T .
[December,
JACK- IN -THE- PULPIT.
Again the beautiful wonder-day, called Christ-
inas, is drawing near, sending long gleams of light
before it like a star.
May it bring you abundant joy, my youngsters ;
so much joy that your little hearts will overflow,
and fill the land with brightness.
Now for a word or two about my friends,
THE BIRDS.
What keen eyes they have ! And it is a happy
thing for those brave little things who stay North
through the winter that they have far sight as well
as sharp sight, or else they might miss many a
meal that they could ill spare in that hungry sea-
son. Just try them, m\' hearers. Throw a fresh
bone or a piece of meat on the snow, and watch
the crows come. It is a cheering thing to scatter
bread-crumbs or a little corn on some bare place
in snow-time, and to see the eagerness of the
poorly fed wild birds as they enjoy the unexpected
feast.
"One midwinter," wTites a real bird-lover, "I
•cleared away the snow under an apple-tree near
the house, and scattered some corn there. I had
not seen a blue-jay for weeks, yet that very day
they found my corn, and after that the jays came
daily and partook of it, holding the kernels under
their feet upon the limbs of trees and pecking them
vigorously."
Your Jack thinks, too, that it may prove to be a
pleasant thing to invite the birds in this way to a
share in the Christmas festivities, especially if all
the other dear "chicks" — the poor and ill-pro-
vided human ones — have also been well remem-
bered, for then the Christmas carolings will be
complete. Not one will be overlooked if, as the
Little School-ma'am says, "Loving eyes have the
sharpest sight of all."
WHAT ABOUT THIS.=
Dear Jack : You are interested, I know, in every new and
strange invention, and like to have something odd to chat about
with your hearers. So I 'U just tell you of a wonderful instrument
that Slonsieur Armengaud, a scientific Frenchman, positively prom-
ises to bring out.
It is called the "telestroscope," and, if successful, it will enable a
man in his own office at, say. New York, not only to hear the voice
of his friend in Nankin, China, but also to see an image of his
friend exactly as he may happen to be at the moment of communi-
cation ! Yours very truly, J. A. K.
A VESPER-BELL OF NATURE.
Not so very long ago, we talked about the
Campanero, or Bell-bird, of South America, and
now here is news concerning a useful little cousin
of his in Australia. He is not much' larger than a
snow-bunting, but he has a pleasant note, not
unlike the sound of a distant sheep-bell. About
sunset the bell-birds begin their tinkling, and for
a while the whole forest echoes with the silvery
tones, — a sort of Angclus, or Vesper-bell of Na-
ture in the wild bush, hushing the woods for
evening prayer.
Besides their musical sweetness, these notes are
a sure sign that water is near, and the weary trav-
eler in that thirsty land is glad enough to hear the
bell-bird calling to rest and refreshment after a
hot day's tramp.
A MUSIC LOVING SQUIRREL.
Dear Jack : You told us once that hunters of seals sometimes
manage to draw close to their game by whistling tunes to engage
their attention. -And now I have just read about a sportsman who,
one day, in the woods, sal very still, and began to whistle an air to
a red squirrel on a near tree.
" In a twinkling," says he, " the little fellow sat up, leaned his
head to one side, and listened. A moment after, he had scrambled
down the trunk, and when within a few yards he sat up and
listened again. Pretty soon he jumped upon the pile of rails on
which I was, came within four feet of me, sat up, made an umbrella
of his bushy tail, and looked straight at me, his little eyes beaming
with pleasure. Then I changed the tune, and chut ! away he
skipped. But before long he came back to his seat on the rails,
and, as I watched him, it actually seemed as if he were trying to
pucker up his mouth to whistle. 1 changed the tune again, but this
time he looked so funny as he scampered off that I burst out laugh-
ing, and he came back no more."
Now, Jack dear, that man had much more enjoyment out of his
music-loving squirrel than if he had shot him : and perhaps after
this you will hear the boys of your neighborhood piling up rails to
sit on, and whistling to the squirrels who come to talk with you.
And if they don't whisde well enough, send for me, for I can
whistle nicely, if I am a girl. — Yours and the squirrels' friend.
Amy T D, twelve years.
SNOW EMBROIDERY.
I don't mean the frozen lace-work on branch
and spray, nor the pretty heaps and furrows sculpt-
ured in the snow by the wind, nor the star-marks
of the partridge on his hungry rounds, nor the
dents of the hare's soft pads among the trees, nor
the scratchy tracks of the busy squirrel. But I
mean the stitching left by the Deer-mouse on his
swift journeys over Mother Earth's snowy cover-
lid. The lines cross one another like a little girl's
first attempts at quilting by hand. He does n't
really need to risk showing his little brown body on
the white surface, for below the snow his dwelling
is joined to the homes of his friends by a maze of
little tunnels and -.vinding arch-ways, and along
these he can stroll quietly and safely to pay neigh-
borly visits and exchange the compliments of the
season. And, if 1 'm not mistaken, you will find a
JACK-IX-THP:-rL- 1,1'IT.
'79
portrait of him and his mate in St. Nicholas for
June, 1877. I may as well tell you, too, that he
is commonly called the "white-footed Western
mouse."
QUITE A DIFFERENT "REASON."
Dear Jack : I suppose your more learned youngsters know all
about why winter days are short and summer days are long. I wish
I did: but I really can not understand the reasons given in the
astronomy books, 1 get so nniddlcd up w'S the " inclination of the
earth's axis," " the eccentricity of the earth's orbit/' and " the pre-
cession of the equinoxes" — but I am not quite sure this last thing has
anything to do with it. Anyhow, I wish to tell you a different reason,
which I heard in a song. It is something like this: In summer the
weather is warm, and to walk fast would make everybody uncomfort-
able; so people just stroll along, and the globe is pushed around but
slowly, like the barrels that acrobats walk on. But in winter the
weather is so chilly that cver>*body is glad to walk briskly, and even
to run, in order to keep warm ; and the consequence is that the globe
gets kicked around quickly, and night comes sooner than in summer.
This is convenient, because it tires one so to walk fast all day.
After making this explanation, the song says : " Oh, it 's wonder-
ful how they do it, — but they do ! " and that is just what I say about
the causes given in the astronomy book. Perhaps, when I am older,
I shall grasp the proper idea ; I am sure I hope I shall. — Yours
truly, WiiJ-iE Hanson, ten years.
P. S. — I told my papa what to say and he wrote it, because my
handwriting is too joggly. W. H.
Yes, Master Willie, and it strikes your Jack that
the earth's motion would be joggly, too, if it moved
according to the theory of that merry song. Ever
since I 've been a Jack-in-the-Pulpit I *ve noticed that
folks don't rf//move in the same direction.
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED CARRIAGES!
Now and then a fine carriage rolls along the
corduroy road by my meadow, drawn by spirited
horses that evidently do not relish exploring ex-
peditions. They would much prefer the fine turn-
pike, and for my part I am quite
willing that they should keep to it.
No literary Jack-in-thc-Pulpit with
sensitive nerves craves the company
of clattering horses and rumbling
carriages; but just think what my
noble ancestors on the Prussian side of the family
must have endured in the days when the first
King Frederick came into power. Why, I 've just
had an interesting letter from a little school-ma'am
that has made me almost deaf with its racket.
Onlv listen :
" It was on the occasion, dear Jack, of the coronation of Frederick,
the first king of Prussia, the grandfather of the famous Frederick the
Great. The cavalcade moved from Berlin to Konigsberg, five hun-
dred miles, through a wild, uncultivated country. It required eighteen
hundred carriages and thirty thousand post-horses to convey the
court to the scene of coronation. The carriages moved like an army,
in three divisions of six hundred each.
'* 'I he streets of the coronation city were tapestried with the richest
and most gorgeous colored cloth, and many of them were carpeted.
The king's diamond coat-buttons each cost a sum equal to seven and
a half thousand dollars.
*' Frederick's own hands placed the crown upon his brow. U was
in 1700 that thus began the now powerful kingdom of Prussia."
STAND BY THE DEACON.
I 'm told my good friend Deacon Green is com-
ing out with a grand offer of a hundred brand-new
dollar-bills, as prizes for my boys and girls. Stand
by the deacon, my chicks, and get his money if
you can !
A CHRISTMAS SERENADE FOR ME.
Bear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: Do you ever lie — no, I mean stand
awake nights? If you do, listen sharply, as Christmas draws near;
for Percy, Charley, .ind I are going to surprise you with a serenade !
We are practicing for it already. Uncle Ben says we need not
stand out-of-doors to serenade, as the big screnaders do, for if we
sing and play in the house with all our might, you will like it just as
well, if not belter. That seems queer to me, but I suppose it must
be so. I 'II send you in this letter the picture Uncle drew of us three
practicing. He made it out of ink, and he put Pompey and Kitty
mto the picture, because they are so much interested. We have
hard work teaching Pompey not to bark as
soon as Percy begins to scrape. Though we
live about a quarter of a mile from the dear
Litde School-ma'am's red school-house, we do
not go to school there. We have a nice gov-
erness.
Percy and Charley send their love to you,
and so do I. — From your faithful little friend,
LiLV KrssAM.
i8o
THE LETTER-BOX.
[December,
DEACON GREEN'S OFFER.
ONE HUNDRED NEW ONE-DOLLAR BILLS!
Sometimes, in the best-ordered printing-offices, it so happens that
a for7n (which is one or more pages of reading-matter, set up in
type, and fastened in an iron frame ready for the printing-press)
meets with an accident. The man who is carrying it trips and drops
it, or he bangs it down in such a way that it is loosened, and out
tumble the type, heher-skeher. It is then "in pi," as the printers
call it, and some one must pick up the scattered type, and, examin-
ing each little bit of metal, restore it to its proper position. The
printer who sits in the comer busied with this pi is not in the least
like Jack Homer, but is generally for the moment a sad and sorely
tried fellow.
Now see what has happened to us ! Deacon Green, assisted by
his friend Mr. Timothy Plunkett. had prepared some instructive
paragraphs concerning certain noted men of history, and no sooner
were they put in type than a young compositor tumbled them into
pi. He at once, in the excitement of the moment, did his best to
restore the paragraphs, but ah ! what a mess he made of the work !
When the Deacon heard of it, he WTOie, in his hearty way :
" Never mind ! The boys and girls of St. Nicholas shall make
all straight. Print it just as it is, call it Historical Pi, and tell the
young folks that I, Deacon Green, happen to have by me exactly
one hundred new one-dollar bills, all of which shall be given as
prizes for restoring the pi, viz. : one bill for each of the one hundred
best solutions received. The conditions are that the paragraphs
are to be restored with perfect accuracy as to historical fact and
the punctuation of e%'ery sentence; that the solution must be written
on one side of the paper only, and addressed to Deacon Green, care of
The Century Co., Union Square (north), N.Y. — and that not only
accuracy, but neatness and penmanship, are to be considered in decid-
ing upon the best solutions. Every word, every letter, every punctu-
ation point that was in the original paragraphs is also in the pi, and
all that is necessary is to make sure that, in the re-arrangement, they
all get into the right places. The prizes will be awarded by a com-
mittee of seven, including the editor of St. Nicholas, 'The Little
School-ma'am," Mr. Timothy Plunkett, and
" The children's to command, Silas Green.'
Now, you shall have the Pi, just as the Deacon returned it.
Fortunately, no one word is injured in the least; and the opening
sentence is unharmed. But look at the rest of the paragraphs \
Even the names are divided and mL\ed up '
Historical Pl
We propose to mention here a few of the world's great generals,
inventors, discoverers, poets, and men of noted deeds.
George Stephenson wxs bom at Carthage, which city was so hated
by Goethe that he rarely made a speech without saying : and
"Carthage must be destroyed!" Of other noted generals, Eli
Whitney was a Roman; Shakespeare was a Prussian; James Watt
was a Corsican ; and Hannibal is an American.
It is believed that Charles Darwin invented Man ; Newton, the
horse; Julius Caesar, the monitor; Napoleon, the blood; Frederick,
the sewing-machine ; Cato, the circulation of the earth ; that Erics-
son invented the satellites of Jupiter; that Bucephalus frequently
discovered the law of gravitation and Dante the revolution of the
steam-boat ; Galileo the Great, the telegraph ; William Harvey
Bonaparte, the steam-engine ; Elias Howe and Bloiidin, the cotton-
gin of the telescope and Dr. Tanner, the fastest, if not the most fiery,
naturalist of ancient times, discovered the theory of The Descent.
Among poets, the greatest in all history is Samuel Morse; while
Robert Fulton ranks highest in the poetry of Germany, and Ulysses
S. Grant in that of Italy. John and Isaac are famous English poets
of our day.
Many men have performed special feats. Alexander conquered
and rode the locomotive; Tennyson crossed the Niagara River on
the tight-rope; and Browning claims to have lived forty days with-
out eating.
Now, young folk, one and all, who of you will belong to the fort-
unate one hundred who are to receive the Deacon's dollar-bills ?
Remember, the hundred prizes are for the best hundred solutions
received before January loth, i88z, and they shall be awarded even
if not a single solution should prove to be absolutely correcL A
"Solution" is the entire pi properly straightened and written out
according to the above directions.
Send your full post-office address, and state whether you are
under or over fifteen years of age.
THE LETTER-BOX.
The news of the sudden death of Dr. J. G. Holland comes to us
just as this number is going to press, and therefore we can add only
a few words to the sad announcement. Dr. Holland's life and
work, as author, lecturer, and editor, are familiar to some of our
readers, and to many thousands of parents all over the land. Our
next number will contain a paper conceming the helpful influences
which he exerted upon young people. Meanwhile, it should inter-
est all our boys and girls to know that, while a member of the com-
pany which publishes St. Nicholas, his generous spirit showed
itself constantly in his hearty enthusiasm for the magazine, and for
any new or special delight which we were able to bring to our read-
ers. His kindliness and high courtesy were always among the most
cherished associations of the editorial offices.
Our thanks are due to Messrs. Jouvet & Co., of Paris, for their
kind permission to reproduce in this number their beautiful engrav-
ings of Raphael's " Madonna di San Sisto " and ** La Madonna della
Sedia" ; and we are indebted to Messrs. Goupil & Co., of Paris, for
their courteously allowing us to copy, for our frontispiece this month,
the fine picture of "The King's Favorite," by the famous Spanish
painter, Zamacois.
Acknowledgment is also made to Messrs. Porter & Coates, of
Philadelphia, owners of the copyright of the poem " All Quiet along
the Potomac to-night" — which, through their courtesy, is given to
our readers in the present chapters of " Recollections of a Drummer-
boy."
The Very Little Folk will find for themselves charming stories in
the pretty silhouettes given on pages 1 76 and 1 77, and which we have
copied from a book printed in far-away Russia.
It is an excellent plan, as many wise mothers and teachers well
know, to encourage young folk to reaa aloud from pictures as well
as frt)m printed words. These bright glimpses of " little boys " and
"little girls" will set many a toddler talking, or we are much
mistaken.
THE LETTER-BOX.
i8i
We had' hoped to notice in this month's " Letter-box" the many
capital letters that have been received in response to our request for
" New Games " and lo the September " Invitation to our Readers."
But the pressure upon our space in this number has been so great,
that wc are forced to defer our special acknowledgment of these
hearty communications until next month — meanwhile, thanking the
generous young writers, each and all, for the promptness and earnest
spirit of iheir replies. Wc shall be glad if others of our readers,
who may have failed to send answers, in fear of being too late, will
regard the invitations as still open to them and foru'ard their letters
soon.
A CHARMING little book just published by Messrs. J. R. Osgood
& Co., with colored illustrations in the Kate Greenaway style, is
entitled "The Glad Year Round." The author, A. G. Plympton.
is well known to many of our readers through the capital " Mar>'
Jane" stories contributed lo St. Nicholas. "The Glad Year
Round " is full of good things both in text and pictures. It u-ill cer-
tainly delight the young folk of every household into which it enters,
and will make a beautiful holiday gift.
Another pretty volume is " The May Blossom" or " The Princess
and Her People." illustrated by H. H. Kmmer^on, and published in
New York by A. C. Armstrong & Son, and in London by F. Wamc
& Co. The illustrations are in color throughout, all interesting, and
some of them unusually hne. Although not announced in the book,
it is evident from the pictures that the "Little Princess" is the good
Queen Victoria, and the illustrations in which the Princess appears
probably represent actual scenes in the child-life of that gracious
lady. The book comes in happily at this holiday season for those
who are seeking pretty Christmas presents for young folk.
The editor hopes that not a single reader oi St. Nicholas, —
whether interested in history and art or not, — will "skip" the admi-
rable articles by Mrs. Clement, which have now reached the era of the
great masters of painting. For these papers arc anything but dry
descriptions and biographies, and, as shown in the article on Raphael
in this number, contain many charming stories and legends, full of
interest to young readers.
The list of Raphael's works was crowded out of the pages contain-
ing the article, and therefore is given here. It must be remembered,
however, that, as Mrs. Clement tells you in the article, the great
artist left nearly three hundred pictures and more than five hundred
studies and sketches, so that the following list mentions, of course,
only the most important existing works of Raphael, and where they
now are:
The Madonna di Foligno, Vatican, Rome.
The Transfiguration, Vatican, Rome.
The Violin -player, Sciana Palace, Rome.
St. Cecilia, Pinakothek, Bologna.
Several fine portraits, Piiti G.illery, Florence.
La Madonna delta Sedia, Pitti Gallery, Florence.
Holy Family, called "Dell" Impannata," Pitti Gallery*, Florence.
The Madonna del Baldacchino, Pitti Gallery, Florence.
The Madonna "del Gran Duca," Pitti Gallery, Florence.
The Madonna of the Goldfinch, Uffizi Gallery, Florence.
Sl John in the Desert, UflTui Gallery, Florence.
Portrait of Pope Julius IL, Uffizi Gallery, Florence.
Lo Sposalizio, The Brcra, Milan.
Adoration of the Shepherds, Museum, Berlin.
Madonna and Child and John Baptist, Museum, Berlin.
Madonna di San Sisto, Gallery at Dresden.
Seven pictures in the Pinakothek, Munich.
Seven pictures in the Museum, Madrid.
Ten pictures in the Louvre, Paris.
The Vision of a Knight, National Gallery-, London.
St. Catherine of Alexandria, National Gallery, London.
The " Gar\'agh " Madonna, National Gallcrj', London.
Two fine Madonnas, The Hermitage, St. Petersburg.
St. George and the Dragon, The Hermitage, St. Petersburg.
In the " Double Acrostic," on page 88 of the November number,
the description of the fifth cross-word should have read as follows:
.'\n island named by a sailor, credited with wonderful adventuies, in
describing his sixth voyage.
THE AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION— NINTH REPORT.
AWARD OF PRIZES.
The competition for the prize ofifered for the best six specimens of
pressed flowers was not very extended, owing, doubtless, to the fact
that the time during which the collections had to be made was
limited and came during the extremely hot months of July and
August. All that were sent, however, were dese^^■ing of much
credit. The prize of an Anierican Plant Book is awarded to Miss
S. E. Arnold, of the Hartford, N. Y., Chapter. The contest for the
saw of the saw-fish has been much more exciting; almost cverj-
mail has brought one or more essays on the curious Pristis, detailing
the strange habits of the fish and the deeds of its wonderful saw.
After careful comparison, the saw is awarded to Master T. Mills
Clarke, of Southampton. There were others who sent reports more
elegantly written, and longer; but his smacked least strongly of the
cyclopedia, and is on the whole most satisfactory. His drawing of
the fish is reproduced upon the next page, and his report is as follows :
The Saw-fish.
The saw-fish (Pristis) is a ^enus of cartilaginous fishes consti-
tuting the family Pristido", which is ranked with the rays, but the
elongated form of its body agrees rather with that of the sharks.
Still, it differs from the sharks, and agrees with the rays, in several
anatomical characters, most conspicuously in that it has the gill
openings on the under surface, as in rays, and not on the side, as in
sharks. Several of the rays seem to have weapons of offense or
defense — indeed, you might say all of them, the sea-eagle being the
only kind, as far as I can find, which is not armed in some way,
several of them being armed with terrible spines. The torpedo is
armed with electricity, and the saw-fish itself is armed by having its
snout elongated into a flat, bony sword, sometimes five or six feet
longr, with from twenty to thirty bony spines or teeth on each side.
This terrible instrument seems to be used in killing its prey; and it
dashes about among the shoals of fish, slaying them right and left.
This saw is indeed a terrible weapon. It is said that even whales are
often slain by it, and the hulls of vessels pierced by its fearful power.
An East Indian species lives partly in fresh water. 1 he saw-fish is
grayish-black above, and lighter beneath. It is a very rapid swim-
mer, and is often found far out at sea.
There are six or seven known species of the saw-fish, which are
found all over the world, from the pole to the tropics. The common
saw-fish (Pristis antiqiwrum) is found in the Mediterranean, and
was known to the ancients, but no species is included in the list of
Britisih fishes.
It is found off the coast of Florida, and is occasionally found all
along the eastern coast of the United States and Canada.
The fish are often (including the saw, which is generally about
one-third of the entire length) eighteen feet long.
Those of you who have become interested in this fish will be glad
to read Hugh Miller's book, "Foot-prints of the Creator." In it
he tells how he once discovered part of .in ancient skeleton embed-
ded in a rock in Orkney. It proved to be a bone of the AstcroUpis
— so far as is yet known, the most gigantic ganoid of the Old Red
Sand-stone, and, judging from the place of this fragment, apparently
one of the first. Now the placoid family of fishes, to which our
saw-fish belongs, is still older than the ganoid family, and many
things of great interest are told about these old monsters in Mr.
Miller's book. The meaning of the words Pristis antiquontnt is
the saw-fish of the ancients.
Of course most of our information regarding such creatures must
come from books; but when we come to "sand-dollars," and such
small specimens as can be obtained along any of our coasts, we are
sure to get some information from some member who relies for
knowledge mainly on his eyes; as the following letter shows:
l82
THE LETTER-BOX.
[December,
Galveston, Texas, Sept. 9, 1881.
Dear Sir : I noticed your request to some dweller by the ocean,
to write a description of the sand-dollar and its habits. I caught
one while I was in bathing in the Gulf of Mexico. It was the first
one that I had ever seen alive. It was covered with short spines, and
was of a handsome violet red. Here it is called the Texas star-fish.
After finding it, I searched for it in several
books. After some time my search was re-
warded. Its zoological
name is ClyPfoster Ro-
sacciis (rosy shield-star) ; and it be-
longs to the family of Ecki?u>der-
tnaia or sea-urchins. It is supplied with six ambulacra, or
feet. I have often picked them up on the beach here. They
rarely exceed two inches in width. — Yours truly,
Philip C. Tucker, Jr.
Not long ago I received from a lady of Galveston a specimen of
this "Texas star" — which I imagine may, oddly enough, be the
identical one that the writer of the above
letter found. This letter seems to indi-
cate as much ;
Galveston, Texas.
Dear Sir: In St. Nicholas for Sep-
tember mention is made of what you call
sand-dollar. We call it "Texas star." You
ask who has seen one alive. I send you
one taken from the Gulf of Me.vico, last
month (August), by a boy, who, while
bathing, dived and brought it up. Though
dry, you can yet see t5ie hairy coat it is
covered with. WTien first taken from the
water you could see this hairy coat move,
which proved it was alive. I was always
under the impression that it was peculiar
to our coast. — Respectfully,
Mrs. M.'E. Steele.
Our Texas friends will have to relin-
quish their "patent " on this little urchin,
for he is found abundantly along the coast
'*f Massachusetts, and probably any-
where along the Adantic coast between
there and the Gulf.
REPORTS OF CHAPTERS-
The following new Chapters have been admitted to the "A. A." :
No- 0/
Name. ^fembers. Secretary s AJJress.
Lansing, Mich. (A) 10. .Mrs. N. B. Jones.
St. CroTx, Wis. (A) 8 . . Ray L. Baker.
Chicago (C) 5. . Nelson Bennett, 65 Cicero st.
Leonidas, Mich. (A) — . . Adelbert S. Covey.
Hartford, Cl (B) 12. .F. Parsons, 55 Prospect si.
Middletown, Cl (A) 12.. Philip P. Wells.
Oakland, Cal. (B) 5 . . Geo. S. Meredith.
7. .Frank Eliel.
— . -John T Nixon (Pres).
13. -John W. Jordan.
:5.. Robert M. Royce.
6. .Nannie G. Poore.
No.
96.
97-
98.
99.
lOO.
101.
102.
103.
104.
105.
106.
107.
108.
La Porte, Ind. (A)
Osage City, Kan. (B) .
Limerick, 111. (A)
Lebanon Springs, N. Y. (A)
Newburyport, Mass. (A) .
Chicago, (D)
Washington, D. C. (C)...
.Emily K. Newcomb, 1336
nth St., N- W.
.R. T. Taylor, 131 Adams st.
110. Frankford, Pa. (A) 18
Will the secretaries of Chapters 99 and 104 kindly forward names
of all members for our register ?
In July St. Nicholas, an error of the printer made Chapter 96
hail from Stanton, instead of Taunton, Mass., and the secretary of
said chapter is now F. H. Lothrop.
The secretary of Chicago (D) writes:
There are four of us boys who would like to join the "A. A."
We ha\e been waiting with longing hopes for the 15th of Septem-
ber. We have quite a collection of geological specimens, and also
insects, and have made a cabinet to hold them all, but it is hard work
to find specimens in the city, and we have to make trips into the
woods after our butterflies and moths.
The secretary of No. 107 says :
If any of the members have mothers who are of the same opin-
ion as mine, that inexperienced girls and boys should not handle
poisons, I would advise them to put any butterflies, etc., which they
wish to kill, under a goblet, or in an odorous cigar-box with
camphor.
Mr. Crucknell writes : We thinfc it would be best for all the
members to have the same kind of badge, the only thing different
being the name of the chapter.
Apropos of the badge, here is the manner in which the Nashua,
N. H., Chapter has cut the knot:
Sept. 17. We held a meeting in our club-room, and decided the
badge question. We decided to have a blue ribbon 2 f^ inches long by
I ^ wide, with lettering on it in gilt [see first columnj. What do you
think of it? Our members are very much pleased with it.
It seems to us pretty, and perhaps
nothing more generally acceptable
could be devised. We would suggest,
however, that the inscription would be
moresatisfactory if it ran asin the cut
below; it is easier to infer that the
last " A." stands lor " Chapter A."
than that the "N."stands for"Nash-
au, N. H." If the corresponding
THE saw-fish. members of the Lenox Chapter like
this idea, let us know at once, and badges will be provided which can
he ordered direcdy from us, as desired. Each Chapter will, of
course, provide its own badges.
Chapter no sends a very neat litde book, containing the constitu-
tion and by-laws of the Frankford Chapter. It is the best yet.
Requests for Ex'Changes.
Eggs, minerals, and shells, for gold
or silver ore — Whitney Kirke, 1518
N. 18th street, Philadelphia, Pa-
Mounted Sea-weed — R. S. Tarr,
Gloucester, Mass., Box 729.
Prepared woods, pressed flowers,
or mounted sea-weed, for mounted
birds, or labeled eggs — Frank N.
Barrows, Lenox, Mass.
Questions.
Where can I get entomological
supplies, such as pins, nets, etc. ?
Frank E. Austin,
Northampton, Mass.
We wish to know how many eyes
a fly has. We suppose the red spots
on each side of the head are the
compound eyes, but has he any oth-
ers? If so, how — ■-_
1
many? We
have obser\ed
a horn protrud-
ing from the
mouth of a lo-
cust. What is
W^ASHINGTON,
D. C, Chap-
ter C.
Notes bv Members.
In the August report it says: "The king-
fisher lays two white eggs on a nest of fish-
bones." I have often found the eggs deposited
on the floor of the room at the end of the
hole, and never found a nest containing less
than six eggs, and often eight or nine. The
following is a ground plan of a hole that I dug
out this spring. It was about five feet deep.
Harry G. White, Taunton, Mass.
I send drawings and descriptions of three
birds. These descriptions are made from my
own observations of the living birds. The draw-
ings are copied by myself from *' Wilson's
Birds," and I am twelve years old.
Respectfully yours, D. M. Perine.
„,, J . II I J . kingfisher's
I he drawings were excellently made, the nest-hole
descriptions fine, and the methods of study
worthy the imitation of members who are puzzled as to what they
can do "in a city." We will give one of these descriptions next
month, but must now bid our members (numbering nearly 1300)
a temporary adieu.
Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.
THE R 1 1) L) L E - B O X .
i8-
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
Answers to All the October Puzzles were received, before October 20, from " Skipper " — Frederica and Andrew Davis —
" Mama and Ba" — Two Subscribers — F. Th waits — H. C. Brown — M. and E. Pc la Ouerra — Gucsser — F. L. Kyte — E. Vultee.
Answers to Puzzlks in the October number were received, before October 20, from Etta Hawxhurst, i— Robert Van K. Hams, 3
— *' Kid." 5 — Edith Sinclair, i — Anna B. Ely, 1 — Waldo S. Reed, i— Alcibiades, 7 — Lottie and Milton Laccy, 10^ Milan Goodrich, i
— "Dorothy," 14 — Florence P. Jones, i — May I. Jones, i — Jennie Callmeycr, 9 — " Crocus," 2 — Clara, 14— " Professor & Co.," lo—
Effie K.. Talboys, o— Alice S. Rhoads, 6^ Rose O. Raritan, 2 — Tommy and Jack, 5 — Louis B. Frankel, 3— " Two Dromios," 13 —
Algic Tassin, 5 — Nanna D. Stewart, 2 — Nannie Duff, i — B. and F. families, 12 — MoIUe Weiss, 4 — "Bassanio," 2 — Bessie Taylor, 6 —
P. S. Clarlcson, 14 — Clarence Reeves, i— Edward Dana Sabine, 1 — *' Puss-in- Boots," 3— Ellen Louise Carman, 3 — Mattie E. Janscn, 4—
Geo. W. Barnes, ^— "X. Y. Z.," i— M. A. Snow, 4 — C. Power, 8 — M. Chcsebroiigh, 2— T. Minot, i— L P. Bostwick. 8 — G. R.
Ingraham, 13 — Engineer, 12 — A. Ward, 4 — Roderick, 3 — J. S. Tennant, 13 — Comie and May, 7 — F. C. McDonald, 14 — E. M.
Parker. 4— " Puck," i— Daisy May, 13— Queen Bess, 14— H. L. Pruyn, 3— L. Clarke and N. Caldwell, 5— Henry and John, 7— A.
Pcierkin, i — Partners, 12 — L. McKinney, 11 — Shoo-fly, 11 — Saliic Viles, 10 — Peierkin Family, 1— Willie V. Draper, i.
Answkrs to September Puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the November number, from May B. and Alfred
B. Creighton, Nova Scotia, 7 — Edmund Walter Winipcris, London, England, 4 — '* Dycie," Havre, France, 11 — Fanny J. Dennis, Cecil
S. Hand, and William H. Buckler, London, England, all — George S. Hayicr, Jr., Highgatc, England, 2 — L. and W. McKinney, 7.
The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
A "SCOTT" DOl'BIiE ACROSTIC.
FOR OLDER PUZZLERS.
All the characters referred to are to be found in Sir Walter
Scott's noveU ; and the titles of two of his works are named by the
Primals and Finals.
Cross-wokds; 1. The hero of an early novel, who was stolen
in his infancy. 2. A commander of the Covenanters, mentioned in
the ■* Legend of Montrose," who took part in the engagement at
Tippcmuir. 3. The rejected suitor of Amy Robsart. 4. The name
of a beautiful Jewess. 5. The discoverer of the jjretended Popish
plot in " Peveril of the Peak." 6. An English colonel who obtains
the pardon of Edward Waverly, when guilty of treason. 7. The
name of a noble lady, the ward of George Heriot, occurring in the
"Fortunes of Nigel." 8. The name of the owner of "Wolfs
Crag," who perished in a quicksand, o. A nobleman who was a
favorite of Queen Elizabeth, and husband of Amy Robsart. i. s.
DOrBLE CROSS-WORD £MGMA.
Is some parts of Germany there is obscr\-ed the following custom:
On a certain day, a quaintly dressed man visits the homes of the
children, and on such as have beeen dutiful, he bestows various
gifts. The 6rst letter of the name given to the person who distrib-
utes the presents, and the first letter of the day on which the pres-
ents are distributed, arc to be found " in crack, but not in hole";
the second letters, "in panther, not in mole," and so on, till the
name of the person and day have been rightly spelled :
In crack, but not in hole;
In panther, not in mole;
In cinder, not in soot;
In inch, but not in foot;
In short, but not in long;
In twitter, not in song;
In rhyme, but not in lay;
In auburn, not in grey ;
In spring, but not in fall;
In slender, not in small ;
In rats, but not in mice;
In pretty, not in nice. parthema.
HOLIDAV ANAGRAMS.
The Unes of each couplet rhyme, and the omitted words may all
be formed from the thirteen letters omitted in the last line.,
A fair little maid, with the kindest **«**,
Flitted about to bazar and to *•*•.
Purchasing gifts, if rightly I guess;
First, 't was a doll, then a board to play *****.
Then, dear Mamma! — 't was surely no ****
To buy for her watch-chain a tiny gold *****
Hours seemed just little inches of**** ; —
They flew till she found she had spent her last***'.
Then, turning homeward, this fair little ****
Saw one whom she pitied and gladly would ***.
"Are you not cold, little girl, with that *****,
And what is your name?" She replied, " It is Bess.
"Yes, I am cold, but," — her eyes they grew **^', —
" But I 'm only thinking of sick brother *** ;
"He 's home, and he 's lame, and he never was **--** ;
I wish I could buy him just one little •***."
Her sorrow our fair little maid could not ****.
" My purse is quite empty," she whispered *****.
" But here 's my gold dollar — ; 't is precious ! no ****** !
Her face is so blue, and her teeth — how they *"<**'*^/'
Then, speaking aloud, — " Little girl, come with **,
For first you need clothing, — that plainly I see.
" A part of my wardrobe and supper I 'II spare,
And poor little Tim, too, shall have his full *****."'
Very happy that night were those three little******;
One happy from giving, — two happy with **»**.
And our dear little maiden's sweet joy will abide.
And she long will remember that glad ********* **--** .
LILIAN PAVSON.
CENTRAL. SYNCOPATIONS AND REMAINDERS*
Each of the words described contains five letters, and the synco-
pated letters, placed in the order here given, spell the name of a
famous English philosopher, who was born on Christmas Day, 1642.
1. Syncopate to besiege, and leave a vegetable. 2. Syncopate to
balance, and leave a formal attitude. 3. Syncopate to sharpen, and
leave a check. 4. Syncopate a river in France, and leave learning.
5. S_yncopate dispatch, and leave to detesL 6. Syncopate a minute
particle, and leave a smirk. 7. Syncopate a country in Europe, and
leave to whirl. 8. Syncopate worldly pelf, and leave a snare.
9. Syncopate to chop in small pieces, and leave rodent anirr.als. 10.
Syncopate to delude, and leave small talk. 11. Syncopate an
under-ground canal, and leave a soothsayer. 12. Syncopate rhythm,
and leave a small lake. 13. Syncopate to be buoyed up, and leave
insipid. 14. Syncopate a weapon, and leave to f;isten with a cord.
DYCIE.
RIDDLE.
Cut off my head, — a title you will see;
Cut off my tail, — you '11 find me on a tree;
Cut both off, and it truly may be said
I still remain a portion of the head.
Curtail me twice, and then there will appear
A dainty edible, for spring-time cheer.
Though deep in tropic seas my whole is found.
It often glimmers in the dance's round.
GEORGE D.
NUMERICAL ENIG.MA.
I AM composed of forty-seven letters, and am a well-known saying
by a famous man.
My 25-36-33-44-7-14-27 is this evening. My 43-26-28 is a fixed
regulation. Sly 3-40-37 is an uproar. My ^1-36-35 is land.
My 18-32-38-15 is an instrument for grasping things closely. My
22-19-24 are "children of a larger growth, ' My 39-2-24-46 is
general character. .My 10-22-5-10-20 is an Arabian ruler. My 42-
17-1 is a bulky piece of timber. My 4-2-29-47-13 is to prepare for
food by exposure to heat. My 28-6-11-12-2-28-47 are casements.
My 9-6-8 IS a transgression. My 31-40-45-46 is the home of cer-
tain insects. My 16-17-2-30-15 is a tailor's smoothing-iron. My
2i-23-34-4-i7is an African. a. h. and g. h.
1 84
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
[December.
PICTORIAL ACROSTIC.
r"^?" of the small pictures may be described by a word which rhymes with "celebration." The initial letters of the words to be
supplied spell two words which fitly describe one of the above illustrations. The following lines hint at the meaning of each picture :
My first is kingly
My second, vague
My third, an intimate -
My fourth, a formal —
My fifth, a courtly
My sixth, a trying
My seventh, decided —
My eighth, a heated
My ninth, a thorough —
My tenth is saying " —
My eleventh is lofty
My twelfth is tearful
My thirteenth, welcome ■
My fourteenth, final
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER.
Numerical Enigma : " The wisdom of many, and the wit of one. '
Zig-zag. Nutcrack night- Cross-words: i. Near. 2. BUm
3. MaTe. 4. ChiC. 5. TaRe. 6. SAte. 7. Core. 8. SKin,
9. PaNe. 10. Lodl. ir. PaGe. 12. SHed. 13. Tell.
Combination Puzzle. Thanksgi\-ing. i. Stage — gaTes.
Throe — otHer. 3. Regal — glAre. 4. Roman — maNor. 5. Spike
— piKes. 6. Saves — vaSes. 7. Rouge— roGue. 8. Tints — stint,
9. Drove— roVed. 10. Withe — white. 11. Noted — toNed. 12,
Gapes — paGes.
Paris.
I.
2. Aside.
Azure.
3. Risen. 4
3. Rural. 4
Two Word-Squares,
Ideas. 5. Sense. 11. i. Larch.
Crane. 5. Helen.
Charade. Fox-glove.
Novel Double Acrostics. I. Odin — Thor. Cross-words
I. COaTs. 2. IDaHo. 3. BIgOt. 4. ANgRy. II. Edda — Saga
Cross-words: i. FEaSt. 2. IDeAl. 3. ADaGe. 4. PApAl.
Diamond, i. C. 2. Car. 3. Caper. 4. Captain. 5. Realm.
6. Rim. 7 N.
Rebus: "A prince can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that ;
But an honest man 's above his might"
Robert Burns, in '^ Honest P<n>erty."
Double Decapitations, i. S-t-ray. 2. S-t-rap. 3. S-t-ale.
Quadruple Acrostic. Reading across: 1. BmD. z. RoaR.
3. AriA. 4. GliB.
Double Acrostic. Agassiz — Audubon. Cross-words : i.
AgricolA. 2. GnU. 3. AmenD. 4. SoU. 5. SeneriB. 6.
IndigO. 7. ZitherN.
Central Syncopations. Purse. 1. Se-P-al. 2. Fo-U-nd.
3. Ho-R-se. 4- Ba-S-il. 5- St-E-ep.
Changed He.\ds. 1. Bat 2. Cat. 3. Mat. 4. Hat 5. Nat.
6. Pat. 7. Rat. 8. Sat. 9. Fat. 10. Vat.
/
\\\f\ A Sack, /Kn6^oT\\of^eD^rHKr/\m SkooLQ
Fill iF A/vd Evcn TifLPEO Hia\ NEVEf^ SAy//va/4
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX.
JANUARY, 1882.
No. 3.
[Copyright, 1881, by The CENTURY CO.]
MAX AND THE WONDER-FLOWER.
By Julia D. Fay.
Long before the great king Charlemagne ruled
over Germany and France, the mountain forests
that border the Rhine were peopled by gnomes and
dwarfs, witches and fairies, some of whom were
very mischievous and could never be trusted, while
others did kind deeds for the people.
They all were under the control of a fairy king,
■who lived in the deepest recesses of the mountains,
and whose palace was so vast that it reached even
under the river. On moonlight nights, the river
fairies could be seen playing in the clear waters,
sometimes enticing fishers to their death, by
showing them gold and jewels ; for the poor sim-
ple fishermen would dive down into the water and
would never be seen again. But then there were
good fairies among the mountains, and these gave
presents to persons whom they thought deserving
of rich gifts, for the mountains were filled with
treasures of gold, silver, and precious jewels ; and
my story is about a little boy who was rewarded
by these good fairies.
He was only a poor little shepherd-boy, and
tended the flocks of a rich baron, whose castle stood
high upon a rock that looked down over the valley
where the little boy lived. His father was dead,
and he was the only help of his mother and two
litde sisters, Roschen and Elsie. They owned a
little cottage, a goat, and a small bit of ground,
which Max, for that was the boy's name, tilled in
the evening, after the sheep were all safely penned
for the night.
He was always cheerful, and kind to all. He
loved the beautiful river that flowed along so peace-
fully, and the vine-terraces where grew the purple
grapes. The dark forests, that seemed so still, filled
Vol. IX. — 13.
his heart with wonder and reverence toward the
great Being who had made such a lovely world.
Max longed to know how to read, so as to
learn more about it all, and yet he worked on, early
and late, and enjoyed even the air, and the flowers;
and the butterflies, as they flew by him, made him
glad that he was alive and well.
But there came a day of sadness for poor little
Max, in the winter time, for his mother w\is taken
very ill, and the old nurse of the village, who took
care of her, said that she must die unless an herb
could be procured that grew in the mountains, and
these were now covered with sno-.v, beneath which
the herb lay buried. But Max did not despair ; he
started forth, with his snow-shoes and a stout stick,
to climb the mountain and find the herb that should
cure his sick mother.
It was cold, and the wind blew drearily through
the trees ; still he tramped on boldly, until at last he
stood on the summit of the mountain. The snow
lay around like a soft white blanket, covering all
the herbs, ferns, and flowers, keeping them warm
and tucked out of sight until the spring time. It
was not very deep, and Max, with a little spade he
had brought along, pushed it aside, and there was
the brown earth beneath. Yet in that spot there
was no herb, but before his eyes there grew a beau-
tiful, strange flower, whiter than snow, its heart like
gold, and its perfume so sweet that it seemed like
a breath from the gardens of heaven. Max gazed
with longing upon its beauty, and his first thought
was to pluck it and take it home, that they all might
see its loveliness, but his second thought was, "Oh,
no : I must find first the herb for to cure Mother,
and then I can come here again for this flower
1 86
MAX AND THE \V ON DE R - FLOW E R.
[January,
with which to gladden her eyes." So, with a part-
ing look, he went farther on his search, found the
precious herb, and with it safely in his pocket,
came back to the spot where he had left the lovely
flower.
Alas, it had disappeared ! But while the tears
filled his eyes, the mountain where he stood opened
wide, like a door, a dazzling fairy figure appeared,
and a silvery voice said :
" Enter, little Max, for thou didst first thy duty.
Take what thou wilt of the treasures before thee.
The Wonder-flower that thou hast seen, thou canst
not take with thee. It blooms but once in a thou-
sand years, and can only be seen by the pure in
heart. Take of the gold and diamonds, love thy
mother ever as now, aim to be a good man, and
keep thy heart pure, that thou mayest again see the
flower in the gardens of heaven, where a thousand
years are but as a day."
And the fairy vanished; but around in a great
marble hall shone diamonds, and rubies, and bright
bars of gold, before the eyes of the bewildered
Max. A little brown dwarf, who seemed to be a
guard over the treasures, gave him a sack and
motioned that Max should fill it, and even helped
him, never saying a word. When it was filled, it
was so heavy that Max wondered how he could
ever carry it home ; but while he hesitated, the
dwarf threw it over his own shoulder, and beckon-
ing Max to follow, crept out of the door ; and as
Max followed, the mountain closed behind them,
and the snow lay over it as before.
It all would have seemed a dream, only that there
stood the dwarf, with his pointed little hat, and
strange face with eyes like a squirrel's. Not a word
did he speak, but he trotted on down the mountain,
and it seemed to Max scarcely an hour before they
stood at its foot. There, with a bow, the dwarf set
down the sack, and then he clambered up the
mountain.
Max hastened home as fast as he could with his
heavy treasure, and gave the nurse the herb, hiding
the sack under his bed, until his mother should be
able to hear of his good fortune.
The herb did its work so well that in a few days
his mother was able to sit up, and then Max, with
his hand in hers, and his little sisters standing by
him, told her all.
She clasped her hands, and said :
" My sweet child, the dear God has been very
good to thee. Thou hast seen the Wonder-flower
that first blossomed when Christ was born, and that
no one but an innocent child may see. Keep its
beauty always in mind, else the treasure it brought
will give thee no happiness. Let us thank the
great God of heaven for his love to thee, a poor
little shepherd-boy, to whom He has shown the
Wonder-flower, which even the king himself may
not see ! "
And it was in this strange manner that Max's
wish was at last granted ; for with his treasure to
help him, he now could go to school, and learn all
about the great world outside of his little Rhine
valley. He hved to be an honored and learned
man, always doing good to others ; and with all
his wisdom he was as unassuming as a child.
TOMMY HAS HONORABLY RESOLVED NOT TO SEE SANTA CLAUS.
^
I883.J
SIR Will. I AM NAPIER AND LITTLE JOAN.
187
When I work in the
house I always
say:
" How I 'd like to toil
out of doors all
day!"
And when they send
me to weed the
flowers
The day seems made
of a hundred
hours !
SIR WILLIAM NAPIER AND LITTLE JOAN.
Bv Celia Thaxter.
Sir William Napier, one bright clay,
Was walking doun the glen —
A noble English soldier,
And the handsomest of men.
Through fields and fragrant hedge-rows
He slowly wandered down
To quiet Freshford village,
By pleasant Bradford town.
With look and mien magnificent.
And step so grand, moved he,
And from his stately front outshone
Beauty and majesty.
About his strong white forehead
The rich locks thronged and curled,
Above the splendor of his eyes.
That might command the world.
A sound of bitter weeping
Came up to his quick ear.
He paused that instant, bending
His kingly head to hear.
Among the grass and daisies
Sat wretched little Joan,
And near her lay a bowl of delf.
Broken upon a stone.
Her cheeks were red with crying.
And her blue eyes dull and dim.
And she turned her pretty, woful face,
All tear-stained, up to him.
Scarce six years old, and sobbing
In misery so drear !
' Why, what 's the matter. Posy ? "
He said, — -"Come, tell me, dear."
1 88
SIR WILLIAM NAPIER AND LITTLE JOAN.
[January,
It 's Father's bowl I 've broken ;
'T was for his dinner kept.
I took it safe, but coming back
It fell" — again she wept.
But you can mend it, can't you ? "
Cried the despairing child
With sudden hope, as down on her,
Like some kind god, he smiled.
Don't cr)', poor little Posy !
I can not make it whole.
" Will not Sir William come and dine
To-morrow with his friends ? "
The letter read: '• And we 've secured
The man among all men
You wish to meet. He will be here.
You will not fail us then?"
To-morrow ! Could he get to Bath
And dine with dukes and earls.
And back in time ? That hour was pledged-
It was the little girl's !
But 1 can give you sixpence
To buy another bowl."
He sought in vnin for silver
In purse and pockets, too,
And found but golden guineas.
He pondered what to do.
This time to-morrow. Posy,"
He said, " again come here.
And I will bring your sixpence.
I promise ! Never fear ! "
Away went Joan rejoicing —
A rescued child was she ;
And home went good Sir William ;
And to him presently
A footman brings a letter,
And low before him bends :
SIR WILLIAM NAPiER WRITING HIS LETTER OF EXCUSE
TO HIS FRIENDS.
He could not disappoint her.
He must his friends refuse.
So " a previous engagement "
He pleaded as excuse.
Next day when she, all eager.
Came o'er the fields so fair,
As sure as of the sunrise
That she should find him there.
THE POOR COUNT S CHRISTMAS.
189
He met her, and the sixpence
Laid in her Uttle hand.
Her woe was ended, and her heart
The hghtest in the land.
How would the stately company.
Who had so much desired
His presence at their splendid feast.
Have wondered and admired !
As soldier, scholar, gentleman.
His praises oft are heard, —
'T was not the least of his great deeds
So to have kept his word !
THE POOR COUNT'S CHRISTMAS.— CONCLUDED.
(Begun in the December Ulttnber.)
By Frank R. Stockton.
The day before Christmas, poor Count Cormo
sat, quite disconsolate, in his castle-hall, before a
hearth where there was no fire. He had sold his
family bedstead, but he had received very little
money for it. People said such old bedsteads
were not worth much, even if they were inlaid with
precious metals. So he had been able only to pre-
pare a small tree, on which he had hung the cheap-
est kind of presents, and his feast was very plain
and simple. The Countess, indeed, was afraid the
things would not go around, for their old servant
had told them that he had heard there would be
more children at the castle the next day than had
ever been there before. She was in favor of giving
up the whole affair and of sending the children
home as soon as they should come.
" What is the use," she said, " of having them
here, when we have so little to give them ? They
will get more at home ; and then if they don't come
we shall have the things for ourselves."
" No, no, my dear," said the Count; " this may
be the last time that we shall have the children
with us, for I do not see how we can live much
longer in this sorrowful condition, but the dear
girls and boys must come to-morrow. I should not
wish to die knowing that we had missed a Christ-
mas. We must do the best with what we have,
and 1 am sure we can make them happy if we try.
And now let us go to bed, so as to be up early
to-morrow."
The Countess sighed. There was only one lit-
tle bedstead, and the poor Count had to sleep on
the floor.
Christmas-day dawned bright, clear, and spark-
ling. The Count was in good spirits.
" It is a fine day," he said to his wife, "and that
is a great thing for us."
"We need all we can get," said the Countess,
"and it is well for us that fine days do not cost
anything."
Very soon the Count heard the sound of many
merry voices, and his eyes began to sparkle.
" They are coming ! " he cried, and threw open
the door of the castle, and went to meet his little
guests ; but when he saw them he started back.
"What do you think?" he exclaimed to the
Countess, who stood behind him. "There is a
long procession of them, and they are headed by a
giant — the young giant Feldar ! Who ever heard
of such a thing as a giant coming to a children's
festi\al ! He will eat up everything we have in a
few mouthfuls ! "
"You might as well let him do it!" said the
Countess. " There wont be enough for the others,
any way. There seem to be hundreds of them ;
and if there is n't a band of music striking up ! "
Sure enough, quite a procession was approaching
the castle. First came the giant Feldar, with Til-
Ictte, the Httle fairy, on his finger ; then four or
five musicians ; and after them a long line of
children, all dressed in their best clothes, and
marching two by two.
" Merry Christmas! " shouted the giant, as soon
as he saw Count Cormo, and then all the children
shouted "Merry Christmas!!" until the castle
court-yard echoed with the cheerful greeting,
while the band played loudly and merrily.
"Come in, my dears," cried the Count to the
children. "I am glad to see you. But as for you,
good giant, I fear my door is not quite large
I go
THE POOR COUNT S CHRISTMAS.
[January,
enough. But perhaps you can stoop and squeeze
yourself in."
" Count Cormo ! " cried the fairy, from the
giant's finger. " I have a plan to propose."
The good Count looked up in surprise.
of the line of children and just behind the musi-
cians. Then they all marched across the great
court-yard to the old wing of the castle, and when
they reached the doors of the great hall, the giant
swung them open, and everybody entered.
THE YOUNG GIANT FELDAR COMPELS THE WARDER TO OPEN IHE SICK GIANT S CASTLE-GATE.
"If it is n't a dear little fairy ! " he exclaimed.
" Why, certainly, if you have a plan to propose, I
shall be happy to hear it."
"Well, then," said Tillette, "suppose we go
first into the great hall in the old wing of the
castle. That is so large that it will hold us all,
and we can have a grand dance, if we feel like it,
after we get there."
"I am afraid that the great hall would be very
uncomfortable," said the Count. " No one has
lived in it, nor even entered it, so far as I know, for
many years ; and everything must be covered with
dust and cobwebs."
" But it would be so nice to march around that
great hall with the music and everything. I don't
believe there 's any dust."
" Well, then," said the Count, " as you seem
to have set your heart on it, we '11 go."
So the Count and the Countess put on their hats
and took their places in the procession, at the head
Never were there two such astonished people as
the Count and Countess !
Right in the middle of the hall stood a great
Christmas-tree, which the giant had brought in on
his shoulders from the woods. On the wide-spread-
ing branches of this tall tree were hung hundreds
of presents and sparkling ornaments.
"What does this mean?" gasped the Count.
" Whose tree is this ?"
"It is yours! It is yours! "cried all the chil-
dren in a merry chorus which made the old walls
ring. " It is your Christmas-tree, and we, the
children, who love you, give it to you ! "
The Count looked around from one to another
of the children, but did not say a word. His heart
was too full for him to speak. Then the giant put
the fairy on his shirt-frill, and, stooping down, took
up the Count and Countess, one in each hand,
holding them gently, but very firmly, and carried
them around the tree, raising them up and down.
J8»a.]
THE POOR COUNT S CHRISTMAS.
191
so that they could see all the presents, even those
at the very top.
Everything was labeled — not with the name of
the person they were for, for they were all for the
Count and Countess, but with the names of those
who gave them.
Presently, the Count began to read out ever)' name
aloud, and each time a child's name was called, all
the other children would clap and cheer. There
were a good many small bags, which looked as if
they were very heavy, hanging here and there,
and these were all marked " From Feldar," while
some beautiful clusters of diamonds, which glit-
tered in the sunlight that poured in through the
windows, were labeled " From Tillctte."
It took a long time to look at all the presents,
which were rather different from the things gener-
ally seen on Christmas-trees, for the great branches
and boughs held every kind of useful and orna-
mental articles that the Count and Countess
needed. Many of these were old family treasures
which they once had owned, but had been ol)liged
to sell, to keep up their Christmas festivals.
" Now for a dance ! " cried the fairy, in her clear
little voice, and the music struck up, while all the
children began to dance gayly around the tree.
The Count and Countess, with the giant and
fairy, stood aside, while this happy play was going
on, enjoying it almost as much as the children, but
when the dancing began to flag, the Count thought
that the time had now come when the party ought
to have something to eat, and his heart failed him
when he thought of the very meager repast he had
to offer them.
But he need not have troubled his mind about
that. As soon as the dance was done, the giant
stepped to a door which led to another apartment,
and throwing it open he cried :
" Enter the banqueting-hall ! This is the feast
the children give to the good Count Cormo and his
wife. He has feasted them often and often, and
made them happy, for many a Christmas. It is
their turn now."
Everybody trooped through the door, the chil-
dren gently pushing the Count and Countess
before them. The room was truly a banqueting-
PROCESSION WAS APPROACHING THF, CASTLE.
The Count and his wife were more and more
delighted as they were carried around the tree, but
at last this happy business was over, and the giant
put them down upon the floor.
hall. A long table was covered with every kind of
thing good to eat, and, on smaller tables in the
corners, was ever so much more, in case it should
be needed. Here and there, on the long table,
192
THE POOR COUNT S CHRISTMAS.
[January^
were enormous cakes, great bowls of jelly, and vast
pies. Everybody knew these were for the giant.
The Count and Countess took their places at the
i iM U
THE CHILDREN DANCED GAVLY AROUND THE TREE.
head and foot of the table ; and all the children
gathered around, and everybody had a splendid
appetite. Just in the center of the table there was
a little table about three inches high, on which there
were dear little morsels of the dainties the others
were eating. At this table, on a little chair, the
fairy Tillette sat, where she could see everything,
and she enjoyed herself as much as anybody
else did.
When the banquet was over, they all went into
the great hall, where
they had dances and
games and singing, and
there never was a mer-
rier company before.
When evening ap-
proached, the Count
stood up and made a
little speech. He tried
to tell the children how
good he thought they
were, and how happy
they had made him.
He did not say much,
but they all understood
him. When he had
finished, there was a
silence over the whole
room. The children
looked at one another,
some of them smiled,
and then, all together,
as if they had planned
it out before, they cried :
"The giant and the
fairy did it all. He gave
us the money and she
told us what to buy."
" Oh, pshaw ! " said
the young giant, his
face turning very red ;
"I thought nothing was
to be said about that,"
and he went outside
so that nobody should
make a speech to him.
Now all the children
came up, and each in
turn bade the Count
and Countess farewell,
and then, headed by
the giant's band of
music, and singing mer-
rily, they marched away
to their homes.
But Count Cormo
would not let the giant
and the fairy go away so soon. He made them
come with him to the dwelling part of his castle,
and there, after a little squeezing and stooping by
the giant at the door, they all sat down around the
hearth, on which a fine blazing fire had been built.
" I don't know what to say, my dear Feldar,"
said the Count, "and I can never repay you "
Z883.1
THE POOR COUNT S CHRISTMAS.
193
The giant was just about to exclaim that the
Count need not say anything, and that he did not
wish to be repaid, when, seeing he felt embarrassed,
the fairy broke in :
"Oh, yes, dear Count, you can repay him. Vou
can adopt him. You have no children, you are
getting old, and are living alone. He has no par-
ents,— even his grandfather's uncle is now dead,
— and he lives all by himself in his castle on the
Shattered Crag. He is rich, and you can show-
young giant kneeled on the floor; and the Count
got up on a table, and put his hands on the young
giant's head, and adopted hnn.
" Now you ought to adopt her," said Feldar,
after he had kissed the Count and Countess, and
had sat down again by the fire.
" No," said Tillettc, " 1 can not be adopted. But
1 will often come to see you, and we shall be happy
together, and the children will have a splendid
Christmas festival every year."
THE COUNT AND HIS HAPPV GUESTS ENJOY THE CHRISTMAS FEAST.
him how to do good with his great wealth. He
could come amd live in the old wing of the castle,
where the rooms are so large ; the furniture he has
inherited could be sent here, and you could all be
so happy together ! Will you take him ? "
The Count's eyes filled with tears.
" Would you like us to adopt you ? " he said to
Feldar.
" Indeed I should," was the reply. Then the
" As long as we live," said the Count and
Countess.
" As long as I live," said Feldar.
When the Count and Countess went up to their
room, that night, there they found the family bed-
stead, all cleaned and polished, with its gold and
silver ornaments sparkling like new.
"What a happy Christmas I have had!" said
good Count Cormo.
COUNT CORMO ADOPTS THE YOUNG GIANT.
194
ABOUT OTTERS.
[January,
ABOUT OTTERS.
By John Lewees.
Among the animals that Uve partly in the water
and partly on the land, that can run about on the
shore and breathe the air just as well as we can,
and yet dive under the water and swim like a fish,
•one of the most interesting is the otter. A com-
mon otter is about the size of a small dog, having
a narrow body two feet long, and very short legs.
It is covered with handsome fur next to its skin, and
outside of this there is a coat of long, coarse hair.
As this animal is very fond of the water, and
lives principally on fish, it makes its home on the
shore of a creek or river. This home is a hole
under-ground, generally quite close to the water.
The entrance to the burrow is always under water,
and leads upward to the main apartment, which is
dug out as high up in a bank as possible, so that,
in case of a flood in the stream, the water v\ill not
rise up along the entrance-way and into the otter's
house. Sometimes the animal makes two or three
•chambers, one above another, so that, in case the
water should rise in a lower room, he and his family
could go up higher, and keep dry. He does not
mind being under the water for a time, but he
can not live under water. From the top of his
house up to the surface of the ground he makes a
small hole to let in air ; so, you see, the otter is a
very clever creature. The entrance to his house
is hidden under water, where no dog nor other
enemy is likely to find it, or to get in if they do find
it ; and his home is so well planned that some part
lof it is always dry and well ventilated.
When the otter wants his supper, — for, as he eats
only at night, it may be said that he takes neither
breakfast nor dinner, — he slips quietly into the
water, and as soon as he sees a fish, he gives chase
to it. He has large, full eyes like a seal's, and he
can see in the water as well as on land. He is
web-footed, and his long, flexible body and stout
tail enable him to move through the water with a
motion very much like that of a fish. He can thus
swim very fast, and few fish are able to escape
him.
During the day-time, the otter generally stays
quiet in his burrow, but at night he comes out, and
makes it very lively for the fish. Sometimes, when
fish are scarce, he will do his midnight hunting on
land, and will be glad to catch a chicken or any
other small animal he may meet.
If an otter is caught when it is quite young, it
may be tamed. I once saw a couple of tame ones
in New York, and they were as lively and playful
as a pair of terrier dogs. Sometimes tame otters
are trained to catch fish for their masters. In this
kind of fishing, the otter shps quietly into the
water, and generally catches first all the fish he
wants to eat himself. When he has had enough, he
brings the next one he catches to his master. A
very well-trained otter will go into the water several
times in this way, and frequently will bring out a
large fish each time. Otters are occasionally em-
ployed by fishermen who use nets. The nets are
first set, and then the otters go into the water and
drive the fish into the nets, where they are caught.
There is a story told of a man in England who
had a tame otter which followed him about on
shore like a dog, and which, also, used to fish for
him. The two companions would go out on the
river in a boat, when the otter would jump over-
board, and bring fish back to the man. If the
animal staid away too long, his master would call
him by his name, and he would immediately
return.
One day the man was away from home, and his
young son thought it would be a good idea to take
his father's otter and go fishing. So he took the
little animal into the boat, and rowed out upon the
river. The otter jumped into the river exactly
as he used to do for the boy's father, but he staid
below a long time, and when the boy called him he
did not come back. Either he did not know his
name when spoken by a strange voice, or he did
not like the boy well enough to come back to him,
for he remained out of sight, and after the boy
had called him in vain for a long time, he was
obliged to return to shore without him.
Several days after this, the man was walking
along the river-bank near the place where his son
had gone fishing. He was greatly grieved at the
loss of his pet otter, and I expect the boy had
been whipped. The man stood at the edge of the
water, and began to call the otter by his name.
He did not think there was any particular use in
doing this, but it reminded him of his little friend
and of old fishing times. But you can scarcely
imagine his astonishment when, in a few moments,
his faithful otter came swimming out of the water,
and lay down on the shore at his feet. If he had
brought a string of fish along with him, 1 do not
think the man could have been more surprised and
delighted.
In India and some other Eastern countries, this
fishing with tame otters is made quite a business.
xSSi.)
ABOUT OTTERS.
195
Bishop Heber tells us tliat on tlio bank u( a river these otters were used for fishing, their native mas-
in Hindostan he once saw eight or nine tine large ters did not set them loose and allow tliem to
otters tied to stakes driven into the sand. These swim about as they pleased ; but made them go
THE OTTER AT HiS Sl'PPER.
handsome fellows were either lying asleep on the into the water with the long cord still fastened to
shore or swimming about in the water as far as their necks. In this way the otter could swim far
their ropes would let them. It is likely that when enough to catch fish, and his master would be
196
THE PORTER S IRON COLLAR.
[January.
always sure of having his otter, whether he got
any fish or not.
In England, otter-hunting used to be a favorite
amusement, and in some parts of the country it is
carried on yet. A certain kind of dog, called the
otter-hound, is especially trained for this sport, and
the hunters use short spears. Some of the hunters
and dogs go on one side of the stream where otters
are expected to be found, and some on the other.
If an otter has recently been along the bank, the
dogs catch his scent, and they bark and howl, and
scratch the ground, and the men shout and beat
the reedy bushes and the shore until the poor otter
is frightened out of his house, and takes to the
water. But here he is discovered by the bubbles
of air which come up where he is breathing, and
the men wade into the stream and strike at the
place where they suppose the otter is. The dogs,
too, sometimes go into the water, and in this way
the otter is either killed or driven ashore. When
he goes on land he generally shows fight, and the
dogs often have a very hard time before he is
killed.
There are otters, however, which are much bet-
ter worth hunting than the common otter. These
are the great sea-otters, which are found in the re-
gions about Behring's Straits and in Kamtschatka,
also in some of the waters of South America.
These are much larger than the common otter,
some of them weighing seventy or eighty pounds.
These animals are hunted for the sake of their fur,
which is very valuable, and they are probably not
so active and difficult to kill as the common otter,
which has so many enemies that it is obliged to be
very cunning and courageous. Up in those cold
regions where the sea-otter lives, he is only occa-
sionally disturbed by man, and probably never by
any other creature. These otters do not appear to
pursue ordinary fish in the water, but feed upon
lobsters and other shell-fish.
Sea-otters are said to be very affectionate to
their young, but it is not likely that they are
more so than the common otter ; the difference
probably is that the sea-otter is much less wild and
shy than the common otter, and its habits and dis-
position toward its young are therefore more easily
observed. Ordinary young otters, even when mere
infants, will, at the slightest sign of danger, pop
into the water with their parents, and come up in
some spot among the reeds and grass where it is
impossible to see them.
There is an animal in this country which is
placed by some writers in the otter tribe, although
we do not generally consider it as such. This is
the mink, or minx, and it is a great deal more
troublesome to us than any ordinary otter ; for it
does not confine itself to catching fish, but will
come into a barn-yard and kill chickens or any
other poultry it can lay hold of. Its work, like
that of the common otter, is done at night.
The fur of all the otter family is soft and valuable,
and if it were not for this fact, there would proba-
bly be a great many more otters in the world than
there are now.
THE PORTER'S IRON COLLAR.
By David Ker.
About sixteen miles from St. Petersburg, in
the midst of a wide plain, stands the Czar's country
palace of Tsarskoe-Selo (Czar's Village), the great
park of which is a very pretty place in fine summer
weather. All through June and July, you may
see the Russian children running about under the
trees by scores, with a shouting and laughing that
would do the Czar's heart good to hear, if he were
anywhere within reach. In every shady spot you
are pretty sure to find a picnic party making merry
on the grass, with two or three well-filled lunch-
baskets beside them; and when you come to the
little summer-houses near the lake, you will most
likely find at least half a dozen people in each,
gathered around a big bowl of prostokvasli, which
is the Russian name for curds and cream.
This lake is one of the great "sights" of the
park, for it has a boat-house filled with a model of
every kind of boat in the world, down to Green-
land fishing-boats and Polynesian war-canoes: and
THE PORTERS IRON COLLAR.
197
•when they are all sent floating over the lake after
dark, hung with colored lamps, they make a very
fine show indeed. But there is something even
better worth seeing a little farther on, and that is
the palace museum, filled with strange presents
which have been given to the Russian Czars by
lived about a hundred years ago, and was not only
a count, but an admiral as well, though there were
people who said that if he had had to manage
the fleet by himself, instead of having three or four
excellent naval commanders to help him, he would
have made a poor job of it. But whatever doubts
various kings, savage or civilized, from a jeweled
sword presented by the first Napoleon to a Persian
carpet sent by the Ameer of Bokhara.
On a table near the door lies a very curious relic,
which every one who comes in notices at once. It
is a large silver dish, rolled up like a sheet of
paper, so as to make a kind of funnel; and if you
ask the old soldier who shows the museum how it
came to be twisted up like that, he will give a
knowing grin, and ask if you ever heard of Count
Gregory Orlofi".
This Gregory Orloff was a Russian count who
there might be about his seamanship, there
could be none about his strength, for he was one
of the largest and most powerful men in Russia.
Like many other giants, he was, perhaps, just a
little too fond of showing off his great strength.
Nothing pleased him more than to bend a horse-
shoe between his fingers, or pull out of the ground
a stake which no one else could move; and if one
of his sailors turned mutinous, and began to make
a noise, Orloff would just take him by the throat,
and shake him as a cat shakes a mouse, after
which the brawler was usually quiet enough.
1 98
THE CLOWN S BABY.
[January,
Now, it happened that one night this strong-
handed admiral was at an evening party at the
palace, and as he was handing a bouquet of flow-
ers to one of the ladies, the silver paper which was
wrapped around it slipped off. Orloff said nothing,
but stepped to the supper-table, and taking up a
silver dish, rolled it up like a piece of paper, put
the bouquet into it, and handed it to the lady;
and this is the same silver dish which you now see
in the museum.
Not long after this, Orloff arrived in St. Peters-
burg from a journey, and was met at his own door
by a messenger from the palace, who told him
that the Empress particularly wished to see him,
and that he must go to her at once. Some men
would have waited to put on their finest clothes,
and to make themselves look quite gay and dan-
dified ; but the admiral was used to obeying
orders at once, and off he started for the palace,
just as he was.
Now, while the admiral had been journeying, there
had come to the palace a new hall-porter who had
never seen him before. This porter was a strong
fellow, although not nearly as big as Orloff, and not
a nice-tempered man by any means ; so when he
saw this big, coarse-looking figure (for the admi-
ral, with all his fine titles, was terribly ugly) com-
ing up to the door of the stately palace in a dusty
traveling-dress, he shouted fiercely :
"Be off, you vagabond! You 've no business
here ! Who ?Lrs yon, I should like to know ?"
Orloff never answered, but stooped and picked
up a long iron bar that fastened the door at night.
One jerk of his great strong hands twisted it
around the porter's neck like a ribbon, so that the
poor fellow had to hold up the ends.
"Now, my boy," said he, with a broad grin,
"go and show yourself to the Empress with that
iron collar on, and she will know who 1 am, even
if you don't ! "
Then the porter knew at once that this must be
the terrible Count Orloff, of whose strength he had
heard so much, and he fell on his knees to ask
pardon. But Orloff only laughed, and told him
not to be quite so ready to judge a man by his
outside another time; and, indeed, from that day
forth, the porter was always wonderfully civil to
everybody.
[Last month we gave you Mr. Peirce's account of the old-time wearers of the cap-and-bells. The day of
the court jester has long since passed away, but his representative— after a fashion — lives in the well-known
Clown of the circus and the pantomime show. Therefore, we are glad in the present number to follow Mr.
Peirce's article with a narrative poem by Miss Vandegrift, showing how our modern Clown, like his earlier
fellow, is a man at heart, notwithstanding his grotesque face and his "quips and cranks and wanton wiles." — Ed.J
THE CLOWN'S BABY.
By M.'iRGARET Vandegrift.
It was out on the Western frontier —
The miners, rugged and brown,
Were gathered around the posters ;
The circus had come to town !
The great tent shone in the darkness.
Like a wonderful palace of light.
And rough men crowded the entrance -
Shows did n't come every night !
Not a woman's face among them ;
Many a face that was bad.
And some that were only vacant.
And some that were very sad.
iSSi.]
THE CLOWN S BABY
199
And behind a canvas curtain,
In a corner of the place,
The clown, with chalk and vermilion.
Was " making up " his face.
A weary-looking woman.
With a smile that still was sweet,
Sewed on a little garment,
With a cradle at her feet.
Pantaloon stood ready and waiting ;
It was time for the going on,
She lifted her baby gently ;
"You '11 be very careful, dear?"
" Careful ? You foolish darling " —
How tenderly it was said !
What a smile shone through the chalk and
paint —
" I love each hair uf his head ! "
The noise rose into an uproar.
Misrule for the time was king;
The clown, with a foolish chuckle,
.£^::?i
But the clown in vain searclied wildly;
The "property-baby" was gone!
He murmured, impatiently hunting ;
" It 's strange that I can not find —
There ! I 've looked in every corner ;
It must have been left behind ! "
The miners were stamping and shouting.
They were not patient men.
The clown bent over the cradle —
" I must take you, little Ben ! "
The mother started and shivered,
But trouble and want were near ;
Bolted into the ring.
But as, with a squeak and flourish.
The fiddles closed their tune,
" You '11 hold him as if he was made of glass.'"
Said the clown to pantaloon.
The jovial fellow nodded ;
" I 've a couple myself," he said,
"I know how to handle 'em, bless you 1
Old fellow, go ahead ! "
Tlie fun grew fast and furious.
And not one of all the crowd
Had guessed that the baby was alive.
When he suddenly laughed aloud.
200
THE CLOWN S BABY.
[January,
Oh, that baby-laugh ! It was echoed
From the benches with a ring,
And the roughest customer there sprang up
With: "Boys, it's the real thing!"
The ring was jammed in a minute,
Not a man that did not strive
For "a shot at holding the baby" —
The baby that was "alive!"
He was thronged by kneeling suitors
In the midst of the dusty ring.
And he held his court right royaUy, —
The fair little baby-king, —
Till one of the shouting courtiers,
A man with a bold, hard face,
The talk, for miles, of the country,
And the terror of the place,
Raised the little king to his shoulder,
And chuckled, "Look at that! "
As the chubby fingers clutched his hair.
Then, "Boys, hand round the hat!"
There never was such a hatful
Of silver, and gold, and notes ;
People are not always penniless
Because they don't wear coats !
And then, "Three cheers for the baby!'
I tell you, those cheers were meant.
And the way in which they were given
Was enough to raise the tent.
And then there was sudden silence.
And a gruff old miner said,
' Come, boys, enough of this rumpus !
It 's time it was put to bed."
So, looking a little sheepish,
But with faces strangely bright.
The audience, somewhat Ungeringly,
Flocked out into the night.
And the bold-faced leader chuckled,
"He was n't a bit afraid!
He 's as game as he is good-looking —
Boys, that was a show that paid .'"
'^^^^f^-i^^mkvm^^^^
iSfe.]
THE IIOOSIKR sen <)0 I.- 1!()V.
20I
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.*
Bv Edward Egglestox.
Chapter \'.
WHll.INC; AWAV IIMK.
Excluded from the plays of the older fellows,
Jack drew around him a circle of small boys, who
were always glad to be amused with the stories of
hunting, fishing, and frontier adventure that he
had heard from old pioneers on Wildcat Creek.
Sometimes he played " tee-tah-toe, three in a row,"
with the girls, using a slate and pencil ' in a way
well known to all school-children. And he also
showed them a better kind of " tee-tah-toe,"
learned on the Wildcat, and which may have been
in the first place an Indian game, as it is played
with grains of Indian corn. A piece of board is
grooved with a jack-knife in the manner shown in
the diagram in the next column.
One player has three red or yellow grains of
corn, and the other an equal number of white
■ones. The player who won the last game has
the " go" — that is, he first puts down a grain of
corn at any place where the lines intersect, but
usually in the middle, as that is the best point.
Then the other player puts down one, and so on
urrtil all are down, .'\ftcr this, the players move
alternately along any of the lines, in any direction,
to the next intersection, provided it is not already
occupied. The one who first succeeds in getting
his three grains in a row wins the point, and the
board is cleared for a new start. As there are
always three vacant points, and as the rows may be
formed in any direction along any of the lines, the
game gives a chance for more variety of cotnbina-
tions than one would expect from its appearance.
Jack had also an arithmetical puzzle which he
had learned from his father, and which many of
the readers of this story will know, perhaps.
"Set down any number, without letting me
know what it is," he said to Joanna Merwin.
She set down a number.
" Now add twelve and multiply by two. '
" Well, that is done," said Joanna.
"Divide by four, subtract half of the number
first set down, and your answer will be six."
"Oh, but how did you know that I {jut down
sixty-four ? " said Joanna.
"'l did n't." said Jack.
" How could you tell the answer, then ? "
"That 's for you to find out."
This puzzle excited a great deal of curiosity. To
Vol. IX.— 14.
IJIAGKAM Ut-
TEE-TAH-TOE BOARD.
add to the wonder of the scholars. Jack gave each
time a different number to be added in, and some-
times he varied the multiplying and dividing.
Harvey Collins, who was of a studious turn, puzzled
over it a long time, and at last he found it out;
but he did not tell the secret.
He contented himself with
giving out a number to Jack
and telling his result. To
the rest it was quite miracu-
lous, and Riley turned green
with jealousy when he found
the girls and boys refusing to
listen to his jokes, but gath-
ering about Jack to test his
ability to "guess the answer," as they phrased it.
Riley said he knew how it w;is done, and he was
even foolish enough to try to do it, by watching
the slate-pencil, or by sheer guessing, but this only
brought him into ridicule.
" Try me once," said the little C. C. C. W. M.
de L. Risdale, and Jack let Columbus set down a
figure and carry it through the various processes
until he told him the result. Lummy grew excited,
pushed his thin hands up into his hair, looked at
his slate a minute, and then squeaked out:
"Oh^let me see — yes — no — yes — Oh, I see !
Your answer is just half the amount added in,
because you have — — "
But here Jack placed lii?. hand over Columbus's
mouth.
" You can sec through a pine door. Lummy, but
you must n't let out my secret," he said.
But Jack had a boy's heart in him, and he longed
for some more boy-like amusement.
Chapter VL
A liATTLE.
O.N'E morning, when Jack proposed to play a
game of ball with the boys, Riley and Pewec
came up and entered the game, and objected.
" It is n't interesting to play with greenhorns,"
said Will. " If J.ick plays, little Christopher
Columbus ,-\ndsoforth will want to play, too; and
then there '11 be two babies to teach. I can't be
always helping babies. Let Jack play two-hole
cat or Anthony-over with the little fellows." To
which answer Pewee assented, of course.
* Copyright, 1881, by Edward Eggleston. .\U rights reserved.
202
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[January,
That day at noon Riley came to Jack, with a most
gentle tone and winning manner, and whiningly
begged Jack to show him how to divide 770 by 14.
' " It is n't interesting to show greenhorns," said
Jack, mimicking Riley's tone on the playground
that morning. " If I show you, Pewee Rose will
want me to show him ; then there '11 be two babies
to teach. I can't be always helping babies. Go
and play two-hole cat with the First-Reader boys."
That afternoon, Mr. Ball had the satisfaction of
using his new beech switches on both Riley and
Pewee, though indeed Pewee did not deserve to be
punished for not getting his lesson. He did not
make his own cannon-ball head — it was Nature's
doing that his head, like a goat's, was made for
butting and not for thinking.
But if he had to take whippings from the master
and his father, he made it a rule to get satisfaction
out of somebody else. If Jack had helped him he
would n't have missed. If he had not missed his
lesson badly, Mr. Ball would not have whipped
him. It would be inconvenient to whip Mr. Ball
in return, but Jack would be easy to manage, and
as somebody must be whipped, it fell to Jack's lot
to take it.
King Pewee did not fall upon his victim at the
school-house door — this would have insured him
another beating from the master. Nor did he
attack Jack while Bob Holliday was with him. Bob
was big and strong — a great fellow of sixteen.
But after Jack had passed the gate of Bob's house,
and was walking on toward home alone, Pewee
came out from behind an alley fence, accompanied
by Ben Berry and Will Riley.
" I 'm going to settle with you now," said King
Pewee, sidling up to Jack like an angry bull-dog.
It was not a bright prospect for Jack, and he cast
about him for a chance to escape a brutal encounter
with such a bully, and yet avoid actually running
away.
"Well," said Jack, "if I must fight, I must.
But I suppose you wont let Riley and Berry help
you."
"No, I'll fight fair." And Pewee threw off
his coat, while Jack did the same.
" You '11 quit when 1 say ' enough,' wont you? "
said Jack.
"Yes, I 'U fight fair, and hold up when you 've
got enough."
" Well, then, for that matter, I 've got enough
now. I '11 take the will for the deed, and just say
'enough' before you begin," and he turned to
pick up his coat.
"No, you don't get off that way," said Pewee.
" You 've got to stand up and see who is the best
man, or I '11 kick you all the way home."
" Did n't you ever hear about Davy Crockett's
'coon?" said Jack. "When the 'coon saw him
taking aim, it said : ' Is that you, Crockett ? Well,
don't fire — I '11 come down anyway. I know you
'11 hit anything you shoot at.' Now, I 'm that
'coon. If it was anybody but you, I 'd fight. But
as it 's you, Pewee, I might just as well come down
before you begin."
Pewee was flattered by this way of putting the
question. Had he been alone, Jack would have
escaped. But Will Riley, remembering all he had
endured from Jack's retorts, said :
"Oh, give it to him, Pewee; he 's always mak-
ing trouble."
At which Pewee squared himself off, doubled up
his fists, and came at the slenderer Jack. The lat-
ter prepared to meet him, but, after all, it was hard
for Pewee to beat so good-humored a fellow as
Jack. The king's heart failed him, and suddenly
he backed off, saying :
"If you '11 agree to help Riley and me out with
our lessons hereafter, I '11 let you off If you don't,
I '11 thrash you within an inch of your life." And
Pewee stood ready to begin.
Jack wanted to escape the merciless beating that
Pewee had in store for him. But he was high-
spirited, and it was quite impossible for him to sub-
mit under a threat. So he answered :
" If you and Riley will treat me as you ought to,
I '11 help you when you ask me, as I always have.
But even if you pound me into jelly I wont agree to
help you, unless you treat me right. I wont be
bullied into helping you."
" Give it to him, Pewee," said Ben Berry; "he's
too sassy."
Pewee was a rather good-natured dog — he had
to be set on. He now began to strike at Jack.
Whether he was to be killed or not. Jack did not
know, but he was resolved not to submit to the
bully. Yet he could not do much at defense
against Pewee's hard fists. However, Jack was
active and had long limbs; he soon saw that he
must do something more than stand up to be
beaten. So, when King Pewee, fighting in the
irregular Western fashion, and hoping to get a
decided advantage at once, rushed upon Jack and
pulled his head forward. Jack stooped lower than
his enemy expected, and, thrusting his head between
Pewee's knees, shoved his legs from under him,
and by using all his strength threw Pewee over his
own back, so that the king's nose and eyes fell into
the dust of the village street.
"I '11 "pay you for that," growled Pewee, as he
recovered himself, now thoroughly infuriated ; and
with a single blow he sent Jack flat on his back,
and then proceeded to pound him. Jack could do
nothing now but shelter his eyes from Pewee's blows.
Joanna Mcrwin had seen the beginning of the
tin: IIOOSIKR SCIIUUl,- IK) V
battle from the window of her father's house, and
feeling sure that Jack would be killed, she had run
swiftly down the garden walk to the back gate,
through which she slipped into the alley ; and then
she hurried on, as fast as her feet would carry her,
to the blacksmith-shop of Pewee Rose's father.
" Oh, please, Mr. Rose, come quick! Pewee 's
just killing a boy in the street."
" V'itin' ag'in," said Mr. Rose, who was a Penn-
sylvanian from the limestone country, and spoke
English with difficulty. "He ccs a leetlc ruffien,
dat poy. I '11 see apout him right avay a'ready,
may be."
And without waiting to put off his leathern
apron, he walked briskly in the direction indicated
by Joanna. Pewee was hammering Jack without
pity, when suddenly he was caught by the collar
and lifted sharply to his feet.
"Wot you doin' down dare in tie dirt wunst
a'ready ? Hey ? " said Mr. Rose, as he shook his
son with the full force of his right arm, and cufted
him with his left hand. " Did n't 1 dclls you I 'd
gill you some day if you did ii't guit vitin' mit oder
poys, a'ready ? "
" He commenced it," whimpered Pewee.
" You dclls a pig lie a'ready, I beleefs, Peter,
and 1 '11 whip you fur lyin' besides .wunst more.
Fellers like him" pointing to Jack, who was
brushing the dust off his clothes, — " fellers like
him don't gommcncc on such a poy as you. You
're such anodcr viter I never seed." And he shook
Pewee savagely.
" I wont do it no more," begged Pewee — " 'pon
my word and honor 1 wont."
" Oh, you don't gits off dat away no more,
a'ready. You know what 1 '11 giff you when I git
you home, you leedle ruffien. I shows you how to
vitc, a'ready."
And the king disappeared down the street, beg-
ging like a spaniel, and vowing that he " would
n't do it no more." But he got a severe whipping,
1 fear; — it is doubtful if such beatings ever do any
good. The next morning Jack appeared at school
with a black eye, and Pewee had some scratches,
so the master whipped them both for fighting.
ClI.VPTKR V'll.
HAT-BAI.I, AND BUFFALO.
Pf.wee did not renew the quarrel with Jack —
perhaps from fear of the rawhide that hung in the
blacksmitli's shop, or of the master's ox-gad, or of
Bob Holliday's fists, or perhaps from a hope of
conciliating Jack and getting occasional help in his
lessons. Jack was still excluded from the favorite
game of "bull-pen," or, as it is better named,
"buffalo." I am not sure that he would have
been refused had he asked for admission, but he did
not want to risk another refusal. He planned a
less direct way of getting into the game. He asked
his mother for a worn-out stocking, and he pro-
cured an old boot-top. He raveled the stocking,
winding the yarn into a ball of medium hardness.
Then he cut from the boot-top a square of leather
large enough for his purpose. This he laid on the ,
kitchen table, and proceeded to mark off and cut it
into the shape of an orange-peel that has been
quartered off the orange. But Jack left the four
quarters joined together at the middle. This
leather he put to 5oak over night. The next morn-
ing, bright and early, with a big needle and some
strong thread he sewed it around his yarn-ball,
stretching the wet leather to its utmost, so that
when it should contract the ball should be firm and
hard, and th'j leather well molded to it. .Such a
ball is far belter for all play in which the player is
to be hit than are those sold in the stores nowa-
days. 1 have descri'oed the manufacture of the
old-fashioned home-made ball, because there are
some boys, especially in the towns, « ho have lost
the art of making yarn balls.
When Jack had finished his ball, he let it dry,
while he ate his breakfast and did his chores.
Then he sallied out and found Bob Holliday, and
showed liim the result of his work. I!ob squeezed it,
"hefted" it, bounced it against a wall, tossed it high
in the air, caught it, and then bounced it on the
ground. Having thus " put it through its paces,"
he pronounced it an excellent ball, — "a good deal
better than Ben Berry's ball. But what are you
going to do with it?" he asked. " Play Anthony-
over? The little boys can play that."
I suppose there are boys in these days who do
not know what "Anthony-over" is. How, indeed,
can anybody play Anthony-over in a crowded city?
The old one-story village school-houses stood
generally in an open green. The boys divided into
two parties, the one going on one side, and the
other on the opposite side of the school-house. Tlie
party that had the ball would shout, ".Anthony!"
The others responded, " Over ! " To this, answer
was made from the first party, " Over she comes ! "
and the ball was immediately thrown over the
school-house. If any of the second party caught it,
they rushed, pell-mell, around both ends of the
school-house to the other side, and that one of
them who held the ball essayed to hit some one of
the opposite party before they could exchange sides.
If a boy was hit by the ball thus thrown he was
counted .as captured to the opposite party, and he
gave all his efforts to beat his old allies. So the
game went on, until all the players of one side
were captured b\' the others.
204
THE IIOOSIKR SCHOOL -BOY
[January,
" I 'm not going to play Anthony-over," said
Jack. " I 'm going to show King Pewee a new
trick."
" You can't get up a. game of buffalo on your
own hook."
" No, I don't mean that. I 'm going to show
the boys how to play hat-ball — a game they used to
play on the Wildcat."
" I see your point. You are going to make
Pewee ask you to let him in," said Bob, and the
two boys set out for school together. Jack explain-
body-Else might throw from where the ball lay, or
from the hats, at the rest, and so on, until some
one missed. The one who missed took up his hat
and left the play, and the boy who picked up the
ball proceeded to drop it into a hat, and the game
went on until all but one were put out.
Hat-ball is so simple that any number can
play at it, and Jack's friends found it so full of
boisterous fun, that every new-comer wished to set
down his hat. And thus, by the time Pewee and
Riley arrived, half the larger boys in the school
JACK AMUblNG THE S.MALL BOVS WITH STORIES OF HLNITNU, FISHING, AND FRONTIER ADVENTTRE. [SEE I'AGE 20I.J
ing the game to Bob. They found one or two boys
already there, and when Jack showed his new ball
and proposed a new game, they fell in with it.
The boys stood their hats in a row on the
grass. The one with the ball stood over the row
of hats, and swung his hand to and fro above them,
while the boys stood by him, prepared to run as
soon as the ball should drop into a hat. The boy
who held the ball, after one or two false motions,
— now toward this hat, and now toward that one,
— would drop the ball into Somebody's hat. Some-
body would rush to his hat, seize the ball, and
throw it at one of the other boys who were fleeing
in all directions. If he hit Somebody-Else, Some-
were in the game, and there were not enough left
to make a good game of buffalo.
At noon, the new game drew the attention of the
boys again, and Riley and Pewee tried in vain to
coax them away.
" Oh, I say, come on, fellows ! " Riley would say.
" Come — let 's play something worth playing."
But the boys staid by the new game and the
new ball. Neither Riley, nor Pewee, nor Ben Berry
liked to ask to be let into the game, after what had
passed. Not one of them had spoken to Jack since
the battle between him and Pewee, and they did n't
care to play with Jack's ball in a game of his starting.
Once the other boys had broken away from
TIIK H'lOSlKR sen GO L- HO V
205
Pewee's domination, they were pleased to feel
themselves free. As for Pevvee and his friends,
they climbed up on a fence, and sat like three
crows watching the play of the others. After
awhile they got down in disgust, and went off, not
knowing just what to do. When once they were
out of sight, Jack winked at Hob, who said :
" I say, boys, wc can pla\- hat-l^all at recess when
there is n't time for buffalo. Let 's have a game of
buffalo now, before school takes up."
It was done in a minute. Bob Holliday and
Tom Taylor "chose up sides," the bases were all
read)-, and by the time Pcwee and his aids-de-
camp had walked disconsolately to the pond and
back, the boys were engaged in a good game of
buffalo, or, as they called it in that day, "bull-pen."
Perhaps I ought to say something about the
principles of a game so little known over the
country at large. I have never seen it played any-
where but in a narrow bit of country on the Ohio
River, and yet there is no merrier game played with
a ball.
The ball must not be too hard. There should
be four or more corners. The space inside is called
the pen, and the party winning the last game al-
ways has the corners. The ball is tossed from one
corner to another, and when it has gone 'around
once, any boy on a corner may, immediately after
catching the ball thrown to him from any of the
four corners, throw it at any one in the pen. lie
must throw while "the ball is hot," — that is, in-
stantly on catching it. If he fails to hit anybody
on the other side, he goes out. If he hits, his side
leave the corners and run as they please, for the
boy who has been hit may throw from where the
ball fell, or from any comer, at any one of the
side holding the corners. If one of them is hit, he
has the same privilege ; but now the men in the
pen are allowed to scatter also. Whoever misses is
"out," and the play is resumed from the corners
until all of one side are out. When but two are
left on the corners the ball is smuggled, — that is,
one hides the ball in his bosom, and the other pre-
tends that he has it also. The boys in the ring do
not know which has it, and the two " run the cor-
ners," throwing from any corner. If but one is left
on the corners, he is allowed also to run from cor-
ner to corner.
It happened that Jack's side lost on the toss-up
for corners, and he got into the ring, where his
play showed better than it would have done on the
corners. As Jack was the greenhorn and the last
chosen on his side, the players on the corners
expected to make light work of him ; but he was an
adroit dodger, and he put out three of the men on
the corners by his unexpected way of evading a
ball. Everybody who has ever played this fine old
game knows that expertness in dodging is worth
quite as much as skill in throwing. Pewee was
a famous hand with a ball, Riky could dodge
well, Ben Berry had a happy knack of dropping
flat upon the ground and letting a ball pass over
him. Bob Holliday could run well in a counter
charge ; but nothing could be more effective than
Jack Dudley's quiet way of stepping forward or
backward, bending his lithe body or spreading his
legs to let the ball pass, according to the course
which it look from the player's hand.
King Pewee and company came back in time to
see Jack dodge three balls thrown point-blank at
him from a distance of fifteen feet. It was like
witchcraft — he seemed to be charmed. Every
dodge was greeted with a shout, and when once he
luckily caught the ball thrown at him, and thus put
out the thrower, there was no end of admiration
of his playing. It was now evident to all that Jack
could no longer be excluded from the game, and
that, next to Pewee himself, he was already the
best player on the ground.
At recess that afternoon, Pewee set his hat
down in the hat-ball row, and as Jack did not
object, Riley and Ben Berry did the same. The
next day Pewee chose Jack first in buffalo, and the
game was well played.
CllAI'I'I'.R Vlll.
IIIIO DKFF.NDF.R.
If Jack had not about tliis time undertaken the
defense of the little boy in the Fourth Reader, whose
name was large enough to cover the principal
features of the history of the New World, he might
have had peace, for Jack was no longer one of the
newest scholars, his courage was respected by
Pewee, and he kept poor Riley in continual fear of
his ridicule — making him smart every day. But,
just when he might have had a little peace and
happiness, he became the defender of Christopher
Columbus George Washington Marquis dc la Fay-
ette Risdale — little " Andsofortli," as Riley and
the other boys had nicknamed him.
Theetrange, pinched little body of the boy, his
eccentric ways, his quickness in learning, and
his infantile simplicity had all conspired to win
the affection of Jack, so that he would have pro-
tected him even without the solicitation of Susan
Lanham. But since Susan had been Jack's own
first and fast friend, he felt in honor bound to
run all risks in the case of her strange little cousin.
I think that Columbus's child-like ways might
have protected him even from Riley and his set, if it
had not been that he was related to Susan Lanham,
and under her protection. It was the only chance
2o6
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[January,
for Riley to revenge himself on Susan. She was
more than a match for him in wit, and she was not
a proper subject for Pcwee's fists. So with that
heartlessness which belongs to the school-boy bully,
he resolved to torment the helpless fellow in re-
venge for Susan's sarcasms.
One morning, smarting under some recent taunt
of Susan's, Riley caught little Columbus almost
alone in the school-room. Here was a boy who
certainly would not be likely to strike back again.
His bamboo legs, his spindling arms, his pale face,
his contracted chest, all gave the coward a perfect
assurance of safety. So, with a rude pretence at
play, laughing all the time, he caught the lad by
the throat, and in spite of his weird dignity and
pleading gentleness, shoved him back against the
wall behind the master's empty chair. Holding
him here a minute in suspense, he began slapping
him, first on this side of the face and then on that.
The pale cheeks burned red with pain and fright,
but Columbus did not cry out, though the con-
stantly increasing sharpness of the blows, and the
sense of weakness, degradation, and terror, stung
him severely. Riley thought it funny. Like a cat
playing with a condemned mouse, the cruel fellow
actually enjoyed finding one person weak enough
to be afraid of him.
Columbus twisted about in a vain endeavor to
escape from Riley's clutches, getting only a sharper
cufif for his pains. Ben Berry, arriving presently,
enjoyed the sport, while some of the smaller bo\s
and girls, coming in, looked on the scene of torture
in helpless pity. And ever, as more and more of
the scholars gathered, Columbus felt more and
more mortified ; the tears were in his great sad
eyes, but he made no sound of crying or complaint.
Jack Dudley came in at last, and marched
straight up to Riley, who let go his hold and
backed off. "You mean, cowardly, pitiful villain ! "
broke out Jack, advancing on him.
" I did n't do anything to you," whined Riley,
backing into a corner.
" No, but I mean to do something to you. If
there 's an inch of man in you, come right on and
fight with me. You dare n't do it."
" I don't want any quarrel with you."
" No, you quarrel with babies."
Here all the boys and girls jeered.
■ "You 're too hard on a fellow. Jack," whined
the scared Riley, slipping out of the corner and
continuing to back down the school-room, while
Jack kept slowly following him.
"You 're a great deal bigger than 1 am," said
Jack. " Why don't you try to corner me? Oh, I
could just beat the breath out of you, you great,
big, good for nothing "
Here Riley pulled the west door open, and Jack,
at the same moment, struck him. Riley half
dropped, half fell, through the door-way, scared
so badly that 'ne went sprawling on the ground.
The boys shouted " coward " and " baby" after
him as he sneaked off, but Jack went back to com-
fort Columbus and to get control of his temper.
For it is not wise, as Jack soon reflected, even in a
good cause to lose your self-control.
" It was good of you to interfere," said Susan,
when she had come in and learned all about it.
" 1 should have been a brute if 1 had n't," said
Jack, pleased none the less with her praise. " But
it does n't take any courage to back Riley out of a
school-house. One could get more fight out of a
yearling calf. I suppose I 've got to take a beating
from Pewee, though."
" Go and see him about it, before Rifey sees
him," suggested Susan. And Jack saw the pru-
dence of this course. As he left the school-house at
a rapid pace, Ben Berry told Riley, who was skulk-
ing behind a fence, that Jack was afraid of Pewee.
" Pewee," said Jack, when he met him starting
to school, after having done his "chores," includ-
ing the milking of his cow, — " Pewee, I want to
say something to you."
Jack's tone and manner flattered Pewee. One
thing that keeps a rowdy a rowdy is the thought
that better people despise him. Pewee felt in his
heart that Jack had a contempt for him, and this
it was that made him hate Jack in turn. But now
that the latter sought him in a friendly way, he
felt himself lifted up into a dignity hitherto un-
known to him. " What is it ?"
" You are a kind of king among the boys," said
Jack. Pewee grew an inch taller.
" They are all afraid of you. Now, why don't
you make us fellows behave .' You ought to pro-
tect the little boys from fellows that impose on
them. Then you 'd be a king worth the having.
All the boys and girls would like you."
" I s'pose may be that 's so," said the king.
" There 's poor little Columbus Risdale ''
" I don't like him," said Pewee.
"You mean you don't like Susan. She is a
little sharp with her tongue. But you would n't
fight with a baby — it is n't like you."
" No, sir-ee," said Pewee.
" You 'd rather take a big boy than a little one.
Now, you ought to make Riley let Lummy alone."
" I '11 do that," said Pewee. " Riley 's about a
million times bigger than Lum." «
" 1 went to the school-house this morning," con-
tinued Jack, " and I found Riley choking and beat-
ing him. And I thought I 'd just speak to you,
and see if you can't make him stop it."
" I '11 do that," said Pewee, walking along with
great dignity.
1 882.)
A FUTURE DOGE.
207
When Ben Berry and Riley saw Pewee coming
in company with Jack, they were amazed and hung
their heads, afraid to say anything even to each
other. Jack and Pewee walked straight up to the
fence-corner in which they stood.
" I thought I 'd see what King Pewee would say
about your fighting with babies, Riley," said Jack.
" I want you fellows to understand," said Pewee,
" that I 'm not going to have that little Lum Ris-
dalc hurt. If you want to fight, why don't you
fight somebody your own size? I don't fight babies
myself," and here Pewee drew himself up, ''and I
don't stand by any boy that does."
Poor Riley felt the last support drop from under
him. Pewee had deserted him, and he was now an
orphan, unprotected in an unfriendly world !
Jack knew that the truce with so vain a fellow as
Pewee could not last long, but it served its pur-
pose for the time. And when, after school, Susan
Lanham took pains to go and thank Pewee for
standing up for Columbus, Pewee felt himself
every inch a king, and for the time he was — if
not a "reformed prize-fighter," such as one hears
of sometimes, at least an improved boy. The
trouble with vain people like Pewee is, that they
have no stability. They bend the way the wind
blows, and for the most part the wind blows from
the wrong quarter.
(I'o be continmd. )
Fl'Tl'KE DOliE. [SKE "LETTER-BOX.'
208
THE MAN WITH THE PEA.
[Januarv,
THE MAN WITH THE PEA.
(A Modt:r7i Greek Folk-story.)
Hon. Jeremiah Curtin.
"■ HERE
«as once
a country-
man nam-
ed Pentek-
limas, and
one day he
went forth
boldly to
seek his
I fortune.
After he
had jour-
neyed for
a length of
time, he
discovered
a pea that
lay in the
road, and
he picked
it up. He was about to throw it away, when it
occurred to him that he had gone out to seek his
fortune, and that since he had found the pea, this
must be his fortune. While considering how this
might be, he said to himself:
" If I put this pea in the ground, I shall have
a hundred peas next year ; and if I sow them 1
shall have ten thousand the year after ; then I shall
sow those, and in the fourth year 1 shall have no end
of peas. My fortune is sure ; 1 will take the pea."
He tied it safely in his handkerchief, and kept
his thoughts fixed on it all the time, so that as
often as he began any transaction he always stopped
in the middle, and took out his handkerchief to see
if he still had the pea. Then he would take a pen
and calculate how many peas he should harvest one
year, and how many the next, and so on ; and
when he had finished the reckoning he would say :
" Oh, I 've got a sure thing of it ! "
After he had passed some time in this manner,
he rose up, went to the sea-shore, and made known
that he wished to hire two hundred ships.
When the people asked him what he wanted so
many ships for, he answered, that he wished to put
his property on board.
All were astonished at this reply, and thought at
first that he was making sport of them. But as
he kept on inquiring for ships, they demanded to
know exactly how many he needed. Then he took
out the pea, made his calculations anew, and con-
cluded a contract with the seamen.
The ship-owners hastened to the king, and told
-him how a man had come to the harbor, who was
so rich that he needed two hundred ships to carry
his goods. When the king heard this, he mar-
veled greatly, and sent for the man, so as to speak
with him in person.
Penteklimas was quite stately in appearance, and
when starting on his journey he had bought such
fine clothes that now he had only two hundred
piasters left ; but he took no trouble on that
account, for had n't he the pea, from which his
fortune was to come ? He appeared, therefore, in
good spirits before the king, who asked him where
he kept his property. Penteklimas answered :
" I keep it in a safe place, and need two hun-
dred ships to bring it here."
The king then thought, " That 's the husband
for my daughter ; " and asked him if he would n't
marry his daughter.
When Penteklimas heard this, he grew very
thoughtful, and said to himself:
' 1 am, in truth, not yet perfectly sure of my
fortune, for if I now say no, the king will not let
me have the ships."
When the king pressed him for an answer, Pen-
teklimas said, at length :
" 1 will go first and get my property ; and then
we can have the wedding."
Penteklimas's thoughtfulness in thus replying to
such a proposition roused the ardor of the king,
who said ;
"If you must make the journey first, let the
betrothal at least take place before you go, and we
can have the wedding when you come back."
Penteklimas was satisfied with this.
While they were speaking, evening came on.
The king did not wish to let him depart, but had
him spend the night in the palace. In order to
find out whether his guest was used to good living,
the king gave a secret command to prepare for
him a bed with torn sheets and a ragged quilt. A
ser\'ant was charged to watch him through the
night, and to see if he would sleep, — "for if he
sleeps," thought the king, "he is a poor fellow;
but if he does n't sleep, then he is well brought up,
and can not rest on rags."
Next morning the servant told the king that
Penteklimas had -been very restless all night, and
i883.]
THE MAN WITH THE PEA.
209
had n't closed an eye. The real cause of his unrest
had been that he feared to lose his pea amongst the
rags. He could not sleep, and was continually put-
ting his hand on the place where he had hidden
the pea, so as to make sure it was there.
The following night the king ordered as soft and
beautiful a bed as possible to be given him. In
this Penteklimas slept splendidly, because he had
no fear of losing the pea. When the king heard
of his guest's quiet slumbering, he was convinced
that he had found the right husband for his daugh-
ter, and so he hastened the betrothal. On the
evening of the ceremony, the bride came to Pentek-
limas, but he had little attention to bestow on her,
for his whole mind was directed to the pea, and the
harvests he expected from it. He soon left her
and went to his room, and no sooner had he fallen
urged on by the king, he decided to put to sea with
two hundred ships. While on the voyage, he
betook himself to calculations once more, when, of
a sudden, it became clear to him, as if bandages
had fallen from his eyes, how silly his conduct
had been, for he had not yet obtained even a piece
of ground in which to plant his pea, while now he
was sailing on with two hundred ships to carry
back a harvest which could only come after many
years! "I am mad," said he to himself; "but
what shall I do now that 1 have deceived the king
and so many people ?"
After much meditation, he hit upon a prcte.vt by
which he could get away from the ships. He told
the captains, when they arrived at the first favor-
able coast, " Put me on land here, and wait until I
call; for 1 must be alone to tind my treasures."
fc^af
^•J»
^5%
THE ENTRANCE To THE IRKASURE-CAVERN WAS GUARDED BV A .SECIRO WITH A DRAWN SWORD.
asleep, than he dreamt that the pea was lost. He
jumped up, and snatched after it so fiercely that
it fell to the floor. Then he began to cry and sob :
" Oh, misery, misery ! where is my fortune?" until
he found the pea again. And the servant, not
understanding this, wondered not a little at his
outcry and strange behavior.
So he continued for a short time, becoming more
and more absorbed in his calculations, until at last,
When he reached the shore, he went into a forest
and hid himself there, not wishing to come out
until the captains, weary of waiting, should sail
away.
They waited for him a long time in vain, and as
he did not come, they determined to look for him.
They searched the whole forest through, and dis-
covered there a cavern all filled with gold pieces,
which was guarded by a negro with a drawn sword-
2IO
JUST FOR YOU.
[January,
As the negro resisted, the sailors in their haste
and greed at once slew him. Just then, Pentekli-
mas appeared suddenly from a neighboring thicket.
When he saw the sailors, he was both surprised and
alarmed. But they cried out to him, "Come
here — come this way — we have found your
treasures ! "
When he heard this, Penteklimas could not be-
lieve his ears at first ; but he took courage, and
went with them into the cavern to look at the
heaps of gold. Then he heaved a great sigh, and
ordered the sailors to lade the two hundred ships
with the treasures from the cave. After this was
done, they all sailed home.
The king received his son-in-law in great
magnificence, with torches and lanterns; and
Penteklimas celebrated his wedding with the prin-
cess, and
became a i
PENTEKLIMAS AND THE PRINCESS ARE MARRIED BEFORE THE SHRINE OF HYMEN.
JUST FOR YOU.
Bv DoR.A. Read Goodale.
I WOULD sing a lullaby, —
Not as mother robins do,
Answering the what and why
Of the babies cradled high, —
I will tell you by and by,
Now I only sing for you.
I would sing a lullaby, —
Not as mother pussies do,
When on chilly nights they lie,
With their furry babies by.
Answering the broken cry
With a little plaintive "mew!'
1 would sing a lullaby.
Just as other mothers do
When the verses that they. try
Break in jarring melody, —
Sing? I know not what or why,
I will simply sing for you !
1882.)
DK. HOLLANDS BOOKS.
211
DR. HOLLANDS HOOKS.
BV \\'.\SHINGTON GLADDKN.
It is doubtful whether any wTiter of books can
be to the present generation of young people just
what Dr. Josiah Gilbert Holland was to the last
generation. This is not because there arc no good
writers nowadays ; it is partly because there are so
many of them. Nor is it because the writers now
living do not know how to entertain young people;
scores of them are masters of that art. But a great
inheritance of power and aflfection w^s waiting for
somebody when Dr. Holland came, and he was the
man called by Providence to enter in and take
possession.
For children, distinctively, Dr. Holland wrote but
little. I do not think that he had any remarkable
skill in pleasing children. His mission was not to
the little folks. But to the older boys and girls.
and the younger men and women, he had some-
thing to say, and he contrived to say it in a wa)-
that gained their attention, and inspired their con-
fidence.
Up to the time when " Titcomb's Letters to
Young People " appeared, the young folk had heard
very little talk about conduct that was not dismal
and repelling. Lectures and letters to young men
and women were apt to be full of cant and conde-
scension— two very offensive things. 1 was a boy
in those days, and I know all about it. Do I not
remember the volumes of Advice to Young Men
that were bestowed on me, and what I did with
them ? Do I not recall the kind of speeches that
used to be made to us, in school and in Sunday-
school, and how far away they seemed to be from
the thought and life of growing boys and girls?
There was often a great effort on the part of the
speakers to come down to us, and this was what
disgusted us most. When we saw some learned
and lordly instructor ride in on a very high horse,
and then with a wave of the hand proceed to come
down a long ladder of condescension backward, to
our level, we generally took to our heels, mentally
if not literally.
So, when Timothy Titcomb's "Letters" came,
they were a genuine surprise to many of us. No-
body had ever talked to us in this way before. He
did not begin by addressing us as his dear young
friends, nor by telling us how deeply interested he
was in the moral and spiritual and eternal welfare
of every one of us, nor by assuring us that Youth
was the Morn of Life ; he did not talk through his
nose at all ; he neither patronized nor condescended ;
he spoke to us in a plain and jolly way ; he laughed
at us, and laughed with us ; he hit us hard some-
times, but he always struck fair ; he knew more
than we did, but he felt no bigger ; he understood
us through and through, and he liked us, and he
wanted to help us, God bless him ! He was a new
sort of man altogether. Wc took to him at once.
I was in college when the Titcomb "Letters"
were first printed in the Springfield Republican,
and I remember well the enthusiasm with which
the fellows hailed the words of this new teacher.
It was not only because he talked in a fresh and
unconventional way that wc liked him, l)ut also be-
cause he could talk in such a pleasant fashion con-
cerning the highest matters. He did not undertake
to amuse us; if he had, we might have ai)plauded
him more, but wc should not have loved him so well.
For the truth is that young people generally, even
in their most exuberant days, have a genuine care
for the deep things of character. They believe,
quite as truly as their elders do, that wise saying
of Matthew Arnold : "Conduct is three-fourths
of life." To the appeal which summons them to
purity and courage, and honor and faith, if it be
wisely spoken, they readily respond. This was
true of young people in my day, 1 know ; and 1
trust that it is not less true of young people in these
days. We felt ourselves honored when one who
understood us, and did not try to set himself high
above us, offered to talk with us about these great
matters of conduct. Wc liked him because he
believed in us enough to take it for granted that we
should enjoy such talk. And there are men and
women not a few in this land, who are now- up in
the forties and the fifties, who look back with thank-
fulness to Ijie wholesome impulse given to their
thoughts by these letters of Timothy Titcomb.
1 have just been reading them over again. Some-
body borrowed my copy fifteen or twenty years
ago, and I have not seen it since. But it all seems
very fresh and familiar. 1 have marked a few pas-
sages that 1 had remembered a little too well, be-
cause 1 had forgotten that I remembered them. I
had thought that the thought was my own, and
had expressed it elsewhere, in different words, of
course, but precisely the same idea. It had become
so much a part of me that I did not know that any-
body ever gave it to me.
1 do not wonder now, when I read these letters
over, that they w-ere so popular and so useful in the
da)- when they were written. They ought to have
been. They ought to l)c in this day. We have
212
DR. HOLLAND S BOOKS.
[January,
had many good books for young people since these
were written, — one noble book within a year — Mr.
Hunger's " On the Threshold" ; but without mak-
ing any comparisons, the exceptional success of the
Titcomb " Letters" is not mysterious. The home-
liness of the style, the broad but pure and genial
humor, the oft-hand directness and point of the
counsels, entitle them to the popularity they won.
I came back to them expecting that a maturer
judgment might find some things that were crude
and extravagant ; but this is one of the books the
youthful estimate of which has not needed much
•revision. And it is not out of date. Such home-
ly counsels are never antiquated. The questions
of behavior confronting young people in these
times are the same questions that confronted their
fathers and mothers ; and there is as much help for
our boys and girls in this little volume as there was
for us. I am glad that a new and beautiful edition
of it is just appearing, and I trust that the older
boys and girls among the readers of St. Nicholas
will make the acquaintance of this sunny and sensi-
ble writer, who to their fathers and mothers was
"guide, philosopher, and friend."
Others of Dr. Holland's books of essays are good
books for young people, though none of them,
excepting the Titcomb " Letters," is especially in-
tended for the young. And although there is much
of wise philosophy and earnest practical talk in
''Gold Foil" and " Lessons in Life" and "Letters
to the Joneses, " yet the Titcomb ' ' Letters " remains,
even in a literary point of view, the best of his
books of essays. This is a point, I confess, on
which my judgment has undergone revision. I
used to think "Gold Foil" finer than the "Let-
ters," but it does not seem so now. Or perhaps I
should say it is finer, and for that reason it is not
so good writing. The "Letters" were struck off
impromptu ; the suggestion of the series came from
Mr. Bowles, Dr. Holland's associate on the Jic-
publican, and the Doctor sat down at once and
wrote the first letter, printing it the same week.
They appeared regularly, after that, in the Satur-
day issues of a daily newspaper ; they were thrown
off rapidly, without thought of their preservation in
book form, and in the midst of the strenuous labors
of a busy journalist ; their style is therefore collo-
quial, unambitious, straightforward. Dr. Holland
has written no better prose than this little volume
contains. When "Gold Foil" was written, he had
begun to be an author of fame, and he naturally
wanted to maintain his reputation. Because he
tried a little harder to write finely, he did not suc-
ceed in writing quite as well.
This criticism refers, however, only to the style,
and it applies to "Lessons in Life" much less
forcibly than to " Gold Foil." By the time the
"Lessons in Life" were written, the Doctor had
pretty well passed -the anxieties of early authorship ;
his standing was assured : he therefore was at home
with himself again, and he wrote simply and
directly, as his nature prompted him. But you
will find in all these books of essays much that the
sober and right-hearted among you will greatly
enjoy. As students of literature, you read Bacon's
Essays, of course, and some of Addison's and
Swift's, and Johnson's, and Montaigne's, but let me
say to you that, though the turf has not yet begun
to grow above the grave of Dr. Holland, his books
of essays are quite as well worth your reading as
those of these elder worthies. Not, perhaps, as
models of literary style, — into that question we
need not go, — but as wholesome moral tonics. The
>oung man or woman who wants to know how to
think justly, how to choose wisely, how to act a
worthy part in life, — and there are many such, 1
trust, among those who will read these words, —
will find in the essays of Dr. Holland a kind of
nutriment for the better life that none of the classic
essays will furnish. Not a man of all those wor-
thies I have named had the genius for morality that
Dr. Holland had.
Dr. Holland's poetry is less likely than his prose
to attract young people. In " Bitter-sweet " they
will find much to enjoy ; and many of his minor
pieces are musical and sweet. " Daniel Gray,"
and " The Heart of the War," and " Gradatim "
are for them as much as for their elders ; but the
poets of the young are the poets of nature and of
action, and these were not Dr. Holland's provinces.
His novels are, however, excellent books for the
)Oung. Every one of them is a novel with a pur-
pose ; there is always some point to make, some
wrong to right, some reform to push ; but the story-
does not flag; he is not a novelist who often stops
to preach ; the story itself preaches. I have known
bright boys and girls, from fourteen to eighteen,
who would read some of these stories through a
dozen times ; and you never do that, you know, with
stupid stories. If his poems are abstract and re-
flective, his stories are full of life and action. The
men and women in them are, for the most part,
real people, and the pages throb with human in-
terest. There is very little romance in Dr. Hol-
land's stories ; in his poetry he sometimes touches
upon the marvelous, but his prose keeps close to the
facts of life, and he tells us few things that may not
have happened. Indeed, we are very sure that a
good many things of which he tells us did happen
to him.
I will not undertake to judge among his stories ;
all of them, from " The Bay Path" to "Nicholas
Minturn," are full of fresh pleasure for the young
folks who have not read them. The most dramatic
i883.]
DR. HOLLAND S BOOKS.
213
of them all, beyond a doubt, is "The Story of
Sevenoaks"; but "Miss Gilbert's Career" and
" Arthur Bonnicastle," and "Nicholas Minturn"are
all good books for the young. And I think that
the boys and girls who read these books will agree
that Dr. Holland knew boys and girls ; that the
experiences of his own boyhood were well remem-
bered, and that he understood, therefore, how to
put himself in the places of the young folks round
about him, and to interpret life as it appears to
them. In most of his stories he goes well back
toward the youth of his principal characters: Ar-
thur Blague, Fanny Gilbert, Arthur Bonnicastle,
Henry Huhn, Millie Bradford, Jenny Coates, are
known to us from tlieir boyhood and girlhood. In
reading their histories we are brought into imme-
diate contact with the world in which young people
now live and move ; we share their duties and their
cares, their aspirations and their perplexities,
their enthusiasms and their resentments. Life,
to the young people of these stories, is the same
kind of life that we arc living; they make the same
mistakes that we have made ; and when we see
them going onward to victory and peace, we know
that the way by which they went is the way by
which we, too, must go. Certain it is that we shall
never learn from these stories to be irreverent, nor
undutiful, nor babyish ; that we shall get no encour-
agement in waiting on luck, nor in taking short
cuts to fortune. Industry, and manliness, and
sturdy independence arc the lessons taught in every
one of them.
Of Dr. Holland's stories, " Arthur Bonnicastle"
is the one in which young people will find most
that concerns themselves. There is more religion
in it than in any of the rest of them ; and I sus-
pect that Dr. Holland has given us in Arthur's
early religious struggles a bit of recollection. The
experience through which the hero passes in the
revival is one that could not well have been
imagined. It reads like history. This peculiar
experience is less common now than it was when
Dr. Holland was a boy, because the theories now
prevailing concerning religious life are more simple
and intelligible than those of fifty years ago. Never-
theless, the story of Arthur is one which the boys
of our own time can understand, and it is full
of instruction for them. The childhood of this
shy, sensitive, imaginative boy recalls to many of
them passages in their own lives that are not
yet far enough off to be forgotten ; and the school
life and college life of Arthur take them over
familiar paths.
It is well known, I suppose, that the original of
the " Birds'-Nest," to which Arthur went, was the
school called "The Gunnery," in Washington,
Connecticut, named, by a doubtful pun, after its
principal, and filmed for its original methods of
discipline, and for the great emphasis placed in all
its training upon the values of character. Mr.
(lunn, who is no longer living, was a teacher after
Dr. Holland's own heart, and what the Doctor says
about this school conveys his own notion of the
right relation between boys and their teachers.
"Self-direction and self-government — these," he
says, "were the most important of all the lessons
learned at the "Birds'-Nest.' Our school was a lit-
tle community brought together for common objects
— the pursuit of useful learning, the acquisition of
courteous manners, and the practice of those
duties which relate to good citizenship. The only
laws of the school were those which were planted
in the conscience, reason, and sense of propriety
of the pupils. * * * The boys were made to feel
that the school was their own, and that they were
responsible for its good order. Mr. Bird was only
the biggest and best boy, and the accepted presi-
dent of the establishment. The responsibility of
the boys was not a thing of theory only : it was
deeply realized in the conscience and conduct of
the school. However careless or refractory a new
boy might be, he soon learned that he had a whole
school to deal with, and that he was not a match
for the public opinion."
The idea here ascribed to Mr. Bird of giving
boys liberty and teaching them to use it, is central
in Dr. Holland's philosophy of education. I have
sometimes questioned whether he did not put this
a little too strongly. Doubtless the lesson of the
use of liberty is all-important, but the lesson of
obedience is not less important, and one can not
help thinking, as he looks around upon life and
notes the failures that grow from self-conceit and
willfulness, that the first thing for every boy and
girl to learn is how to obey. There is much less
danger now than when Dr. Holland was a boy of
tyranny in school and family government, — less
danger now of tyranny than of anarchy, perhaps ;
and the virtue to emphasize just now is the soldierly
virtue that dares to say, " 1 obey orders." Never-
theless, Dr. Holland nowhere countenances any-
thing like insubordination ; he only insists that
boys and girls shall have a fair chance ; that they
shall be trusted and put upon their honor ; and in
this I am sure he will have them all on his side.
But let them read "Arthur Bonnicastle," if they
have not read it. I am not afraid that they will
learn from that, nor from any other book that he
ever wrote, any lessons but those of purity, and
manliness, and honest faith.
214
HOW TO MAKE PUPPETS AND PUPPET-SHOWS.
[January,
HOW TO MAKE PUPPETS AND PUPPET-SHOWS.
By Daniel C. Beard.
The puppet-show is certainly an old institution ;
and, for aught I know, the shadow pantomime may
be equally ancient. But the puppet-show here to
be described originated, so far as I am aware,
within our family
circle, having grad-
ually evolved itself
from a simple
sheet of
paper
FIGURE NO.
THE FRAME SET UP.
hung on the back of a chair, with a light placed
on the seat of the chair behind the paper.
The puppets (not the most graceful and artistic)
originally were impaled upon broom-straws, and by
this means their shadows were made to jump and
dance around in the most lively manner, to the
intense delight of a juvenile audience. As
juveniles advanced in years and knowledge, tl
developed a certain facility with pencil and sciS'
sors ; the rudimentary paper animals an '
fairies gradually assumed more possible
forms ; the chair-back was replaced by a
wooden soap or candle box with the bot-
tom knocked out ; and the sheet of
paper gave way to a piece of white mus-
lin. Thus, step by step, grew up the
puppet-show, from which so much pleas-
ure and amusement has been derived
by the writer and his young friends
that he now considers it not only a
pleasure, but his duty, to tell the
readers of St. Nicholas how to
make one like it for themselves.
The construction of properties and act-
ors, and the manipulation of the puppets
at an exhibition, are by no means the least of
the fun. To start the readers fairly in their career
of stage-managers, this article not only will tell
how to build the theater and make the actors, but
it will give an original adaptation of an old story,
prepared especially for a puppet-show.
Among the rubbish of the lumber-room, or attic,
you can hardly fail to find an old frame of some
kind, — one formerly used for a picture or old-
fashioned mirror would be just the thing. Should
your attic contain no frames, very little skill with
carpenters' tools is required to manufacture a strong
wooden stretcher. It need not be ornamental, but
should be neat and tidy in appearance, and about
two feet long by eighteen inches high.
On the back of this, tack a piece of white muslin,
being careful to have it stretched perfectly tight,
like a drum-head. The cloth should have no
seams nor holes in it to mar the plain surface.
A simple way to support the frame in an upright
position is to make a pair of "shoes," of triangular
pieces of wood. In the top of each shoe a rectan-
gular notch should be cut, deep enough to hold the
frame firmly. Figure No. I shows a wooden frame
on a table, and the manner in which the shoes
should be made.
The scenery can be cut out of card-board. Very
natural-looking trees may be made of sticks with
bunches of pressed moss pasted upon the ends.
Pressed maiden-hair fern makes splendid tropical
foliage, and tissue or any other thin paper may be
BEHl.N'D THE
SCENES. — HOW
THE PUPPETS ARE WORKED.
used for still water. Thin paper
allows the light to pass partially
through, and the shadow that the spectator
sees is lighter than the silhouette scenery
around, and hence has a sort of translu-
cent, watery look. Scenery of all kinds should be
placed flat against the cloth when in use.
And now that you have a general idea how the
i883.)
HOW TO MAKE PL I'PETS AND PUPPET-SHOWS.
215
show is workeS, I will confine my remarks to the
play in hand. It is a version of the old story of
" Puss-in-Boots," and there will be given here pat-
terns for all the puppets neces- v /
sary, although in the court \'^ #1/
FIGURE NO. 3. — SLOT IN MILL-BEAM,
WITH AXLE OF WHEEL IN PLACE.
FIGURE NO. 2. — TlIK
.MILL-WHEEL.
scene you can introduce as
many more as you like.
The first scene is the old
mill.
This scene should be made
of such a length that, witli the
bridge and approach, it will
just fit in the frame. Fake
the measurement of the inside
of the frame. Then take a
stiff piece of card-board of the requisite length, and
with a pencil carefully copy the illustration, omit-
ting the wheel. Lay the card-board flat upon a
pine board or old kitchen table, and w ith a sharp
knife (the tile blade is the best) follow the lines you
ha\e drawn. Cut out the spaces where the water
is marked, and paste tissue-paper in their place.
Take another piece of card-board and cut out a
wheel; in the center of this cut a small, square
hole, through which push the end of a stick, as in
^^~=:
^m
/ r —
CURTAIN TO ROLL UP.
beams of the mill. (See Figure No. 3. ) The wheel
can then be made to turn at pleasure by twirling
between the fingers the stick to which the wheel
is attached.
To make Puss : Take a piece of tracing paper,
and carefully trace with a soft pencil the outlines
of the cat, from the illustration here given. Then
tack the four corners of the tracing, reversed (that
is, with the tracing under), on a piece of card-board.
Any business-card will answer for this pur-
pose. Now, by going \ over the lines (which
will show I through the tracing
paper) with ^-^•—■^4^ H ahard pencil, you will
find it will "^ ^ '§ leave a sufficiently
strong irn-
FIGUKE .NO. 4. — SHOWING HOW TO MAKl-
THE KICKING DONKEY.
pression on the card to guide
you in cutting out the puppet.
Almost all the puppets can be made in the same
way. Puss as he first appears, the rabbit, rat,
and bag, should be impaled upon the end of a
broom-.straw ; but the remaining puppets should
each have a stick or straw attached to one leg, or
some other suitable place, just as the stick is pasted
10 the donkey's leg as represented in Figure No. 4.
CURTAIN TO SLIDE ON A ROD.
Figure No. 2. Drive a pin into the end of the Corsando and the donkey are made of two
stick, allowing it to protrude far enough to fit separate pieces, as indicated in Figure No. 4. The
easily into a slot cut for that purpose in the cross- dotted line shows the continuation of the outUne of
2l6
HOW TO MAKE PUPPETS AND PUPPET-SHOWS.
[January,
the fonvard piece. Cut out the two pieces in
accordance with the diagram, and then place the
tail-piece over the head-piece, and at the point
marked ' ' knot," make a pin-hole through both pieces
of the puppet. Tie one end- of a piece of heavy
thread into a good hard knot ; put the other end of
the thread through the holes just made, draw the
knotted end close up against the puppet, and then
tie another knot upon the
opposite side, snug against
the card-board, and cut off
the remaining end of the
thread. Having done this,
tie a piece of fine thread to
the point near the knee of
King separately, and then fastening the lower end
of his body to the coach in the way the two parts
of the donkey are joined, he can be made to sit up-
right, to fall forward -♦-W when desired, and
to look out as Puss j approaches, in the
attitude show n in ^^^ one of the illus-
trations. This .^H^^ will add to
the effect.
i
THE MILL. THE BRIDGE, ETC. — FIRST SCENE.
Corsando, and fasten a stick to the fore leg of the
donkey, as shown in Figure No. 4. Paste a
straw in one of Corsando's hands for a whip, and
two pieces of string in the
other hand for a halter or
bridle. By holding in one
hand the stick attached to
In cutting out the puppet showing Carabas in a
bathing-suit, use as pattern only the silhouette part
of the second figure of him ; by following the open
outline, you will have Carabas in court dress.
To make Puss carry the Bag, the operator will
have to use both hands, holding in one hand the
stick attached to Puss, and in the other the straw
attached to the Bag. Then, by keeping the Bag
close against Pussy's paws, it will appear to the
audience as if he were holding the Bag. In the
same manner he is made to carry the dead Rabbit
to the King. When the Rabbit seems to hop into
the Bag, he, in real- - ity, hops behind it,
and then drops be- "\ low the stage.
The operator .^^^^ ) must remember
never to allow jS^^^L / his or her hands
THE ELDER BROTHER-
MILLER.
CARABAS, AS HE FIRST
APPEARS.
the leg of the donkey, and gently pulling the
thread marked "string" in the diagram, the don-
key can be made to kick up in a most natural and
mirth-provoking manner.
When you make the King and Princess in their
coach, you will have to enlarge the whole drawing
proportionally, so that each horse will be about as
large as Corsando's donkey. By cutting out the
CORSANDO (THE SECOND SON)
AND HIS DONKEY.
to pass between the light and
the cloth, as the shadow of an immense hand upon
the cloth would ruin the whole effect. All the
puppets for each scene should be carefully selected
l88i]
HOW TO MAKE PUPPETS AND PUPPET-SHOWS.
217
before the curtain rises,
that the operator can at
hand upon the one wanted.
be no talking behind the
scenes; and the puppets should
be kept moving in as life-like a
manner as possible while their
speeches are being made for
them. Several rehearsals are
nccessar)' to make the show pass
off successfully. With these hints,
we will now go on with the play.
and so placed
once lay his
There must
FLSS. — AS HE FIKST APPEARfi.
PUSS-IN-BOOTS.
PirppETs: Carabas, afterw-ird the Marqcis; his oldest brother, the
Millbr; Corsando, his next older brother: Pltss-iN-BooTs:
Wolfgang, the Ogre ; King; Princess: King's Skrvants:
Donkey : Rabbit : Bag : Rat. .\1so, if desired. Courtiers.
Act J. Scene I.
Scene: L,-indscape with tree, bridge, mill at one side. Corsa.ndo
discovered riding the Donkey backward and fr)rw.ird. Miller
and Carabas emerge from the mill, and stop under tree.
-Miller :
Come, come, brother Carabas, don't be downcast !
You know, as the youngest, you must be the last.
Our father, of course, left to me the old mill,
.And the ass to Corsando, for so reads the will;
.■\nd he had noth-
ing else but our
big pussy-tat.
Which is all
he could
give you.
.\ fool can
see that !
Yet Dick
Whitting-
ton once
the Lord
PUSS-IN-DOOTS.
Mayor became.
And his start and yours arc precisely the same.
But see ! I am wasting my time from the mill,
For while I am talking the wheels are all still.
I have nothing to give you — -be that under-
stood.
So farewell, my brother ! May your fortune
be good.
[Exit Miller into Mill, when wheel begins to turn. Corsando
approaches, and stopping the Donkey in front of Carabas, ad-
dresses him.
Corsando :
Now, dear brother Carabas, take my advice :
Go hire out your cat to catch other men's mice.
Vol. IX.— 15.
[Corsando turns to leave; Puss comes out and gives the Donkey a
scratch, causing him to kick wildly as he goes off.
C.'VR.'VBAS : O Fortune, befriend me ! what
now shall I do ?
Come, Pussy, stay by mc — I de-
pend upon you.
You arc all that I h.ive. but can
do me no good,
Unless 1 should kill you and cook
you for food.
Puss :
Meow! Meow! Kill me not, my
good master, I pray —
Have mercy upon mc ! Now list ^vhat I say :
I 'in no common cat,
I assure you of that.
In tlie top of the mill, where the solemn owl
hoots.
You will find, if you look, an old [lair of top-boots.
Bring them to me,
With the bag you
will sec
Under the mill, by
the roots of yon
tree.
the rabbit
leaping into
THE BAG.
Carabas :
Well, Puss,
you ask for I will not refuse,
what
Since I have all t(
lose.
uain and have nothing to
[Exit into the mill.
[Puss stands a moment as if to think, then capers up .ind down the
stage and speaks.
Puss : A rat ? Bah ! w hat 's that ?
Sir Whittington's cat
Would have grown very fat,
Mad she lived upon such prey.
All the time, day after day,
Till she made a Lord Mayor of her
master !
But mine shall gain a name
Through much sweeter game,
And not only climb higher but
faster ! [Curtain.
Ac/ I. Scene II.
Scene : Woods. Enter Puss-in-Boots, carrj--
ing Bag.
Puss :
Mey-o-w ! m-e-y-o-w !
Were it not for these boots I should the rabbit.—
DEAD.
sure have pegged out ;
But if I 'm not mistaken, there 's game here-
about.
For I scent in the air
A squirrel or hare.
1 wonder now whether he 's lean, lank, or stout?
2l8
HOW TO MAKE PUPPETS AND PUPPET-SHOWS.
[January,
But I know a habit
Of the shy little rabbit:
He 'II enter this bag, and then, my ! wont I
grab it ?
[Arranges bag. and hides : Rabbit comes out, and, after running
away several times, enters the Bag, when Puss pounces upon
Puss:
To the King in a moment I '11 take you, my dear,
For he 's e'en over-fond of fat rabbits, I hear.
An I once gain his ear,
I see my way clear;
For I '11 tell him a story both wondrous and queer.
And then my poor master '11 have nothing to
fear —
[Curtain.
Act II. Scene I.
Scene: King's Palace. King discovered standing behind a throne.
Princess and attendants standing around. A loud "meow ! "
heard without. King and Col-rt start. Enter Puss, with Rab-
bit in his paws.
Puss:
Meow ! My great Liege, may Your Majesty please
To smile on a slave who thus, here on his knees,
A humble offering
From Carabas doth bring.
And Sire, my master further bade me say.
If it please his gracious King, he will gladly
send each day
The choicest game that in his coverts he can find ;
And your kind acceptance of it still closelier will
bind
A hand and a heart as loyal and true
As e'er swore allegiance, O King, unto you !
King :
Your master has a happy way
Of sending gifts. Thus to him say,
That we accept his offer kind,
And some good day, perhaps, may find
A way to thank him which will prove
We value most our subjects' love.
Carabas, is your master's name ?
What rank or title doth he claim ?
Shall we among the high or low
Look for your lord, who loves us so ?
Puss :
A marquis is my master, Sire ;
In wealth and honor none are higher.
[Aside :
(Cats must have a conscience callous !
Who work their way into a palace.)
Now, if it please Your Majesty,
I will return, and eagerly
To my marquis inaster bring
This kind message from his king.
• [C;;rtain.
Act If. Scene II.
Scene : High-road ; one or two trees. Carabas and Puss-IN-
BooTS discovered.
Puss:
Meow ! my good master, have patience I pray.
Carabas:
Patience to doctors! I 'm hungry, 1 say!
Puss :
All will go well if )'ou mind me to-day,
And while the sun shines we must surely make
hay.
Carabas:
Carry your hay to Jericho !
Who can eat hay, I 'd like to know !
Puss:
Meow ! my good master, your help 1 implore,
And while I help fortune, you open the door.
Carabas:
No house do I own, so where is the door? —
Ah ! Pussy, forgive me, I '11 grumble no more,
But help all I can in your nice little plan ;
For I know you have brains, Puss, as well as
a man.
Puss :
Meow ! my good master, e'en though you froze,
You must bathe in yon river !
[E.\it Carabas.
And now for his clothes !
The King's coach is coming, and I 've laid a
scheme —
Though of that, I am sure, the King does n't
dream.
The coach is in sight ! Now, may I be blessed
If I don't wish my master was wholly undressed !
[Loud cries without.
There! now hear him screaming — the water is
cold ;
I '11 go bury his clothes, for they need it — they
're old.
[Exit Puss, who soon returns. As he reenters, the King's Coach
appears.
Puss : Meow ! my good master I Alas for him !
Help ! Fire ! Murder I My master can't swim.
[Runs to Coach.
Help ! help ! gracious King, or Lord Carabas
drowns I
KING:
Ho, slaves ! To the rescue ! A hundred gold
crowns
Will we give to the man who saves Carabas' life !
[SER^■ASTS rush across the stage. [King continues, aside:
My daughter shall soon make the marquis a wife.
HOW TO MAKE I' T 1' I' K TS AND I' I' P P E 1' - S II O WS .
19
Puss (aside) :
Mighty keen are a cat's ears !
Who knows all that Pussy hears !
This is better than 1 hoped for, by a heap.
What a very lucky thing
The blessed, kind old King
Does n't know this shallow river is n't deep !
[Exit Puss, running after Servants. Piss immediately
returns, crying :
O King ! what a combobbery !
Act in. Scene I.
Scene: Interiorof Ogre's castle. Puss-IN-BooTS discovered.
Puss :
I 'm here at kist !
Much danger
's past;
THE KINt; AND THE PRINCESS IN THEIR COACH.
There 's been an awful robbery.
And no clothing for the marquis can we find.
King:
That is no great disaster,
For tell your worthy master
We always pack an extra suit behind.
If we can trust
He's just about
So, while in
yonder grove
we take a rest,
Your master
'11 not en ^^^^ ^^^^
use our coach.
And not to haste,
but drive up when
he 's dressed.
[Exit Coach, backingout.
the Driver crying:
Whoa ! Hack !
Back ! No room
to turn here !
SERVANTS.
Whoa ! Back ! Back !
[KntcrCARADAS, in bathing-suit. Pi:ss runs after him.
Puss:
Meow, my good master !
1 could n't do it faster.
But 1 'vc now a costly suit, and just your size.
In the King's coach you're to ride.
With the Princess by your side;
Make love to her, and praise her beauteous eyes.
And, master, list to me !
Whate'er you hear or see,
Be very sure you never show surprise.
[Curtain.
But such long tramps my liking hardly
suits;
'T was wisdom when I guessed
That it was surely best
To secure these blessed, helpful old top-boots
I was made to understand
That all this beauteous land
Belonged to this man-eating old Wolfgang.
But as down the road I sped,
To each laborer I said :
Your life upon your answer now doth hang.
When the sovereign comes
this way,
When he questions, you
straightway :
•• This land belongs to Cara-
bas," must say.
[. Awful growling and noise heard,
.ind Wolfgang enters.
WOLFC.\NG :
Blood and thunder !
Who, I wonder,
Sent me such a tempting
pussy-cat for dinner?
I can't under-
stand the blunder ;
But I 'm glad, my pussy-cat,
that you 're no thinner.
„ THE KING.
Puss:
M-e-o-w ! — my brother Wolfgang — (ah, how
rich!)
I would n't have believed
You so easily deceived.
Know that I am Catoscratch, the witch.
220
HOW TO MAKE PUPPETS AND PUPPET-SHOWS.
[January,
Wolfgang : Rattledy bang !
Snake and fang !
So you 're a witch, all skilled in herbs and roots !
fMy power is no less,
But 1 must confess
That 1 ne'er before this saw
a cat in boots !
THE PRINCESS.
Puss :
Meow ! my brother, speak
not of my skill :
'T is true 1 can change
to a cat, but no more,
While fame says that you
can assume at your will
Any form that you please,
be it higher or lower.
Many a league.
With much fatigue,
From a country of ice and
snow,
On my broomstick steed
Have 1 come, with speed.
These great wonders to see and know.
Wolfgang :
Cuts and slashes !
Blood in splashes !
Who dares doubt what I can do?
Now tell me, old witch,
Of the many forms,
which
Shall I take to
prove this to you ?
Puss:
Meow ! my great
Wolfgang, it
seems to me that
Of all 't would be
hardest to turn
to a rat !
[Wolfgang must be
drawn backward tow-
ard the light. This will
cause his shadow to
grow to immense pro-
portions. After slowly
lifting him over the
candle, take up the
Rat and just as slowly
put it over the light,
and move the puppet
up until it touches the
cloth. The audience
will see Wolfgang
swell up to a shapeless
mass, and then, ap-
parently, reduce him- '^"^ "C""^'
self to a tiny rat.
Puss must then be made to pounce upon the Rat, and by pass-
ing the Rat behind Puss, and then letting it drop, it will look to
the audience as if Puss swallowed the Rat whole.
Puss:
Bah! Ugh! Spat!
What a horrid rat !
CARABAS. — FIRST, IN
bathing-suit : then
in court dress.
[Struts up and down the stage.
Well, 1 think for a cat I 'm pretty plucky !
Now I '11 go and bring
The Princess and the King
To the castle of Lord Car-
abas, The Lucky !
[Puss, dancing frantically, laugh-
ing and purring, nearly tumbles
against the King, Carabas, and
the Princess, as they enter.
Puss:
Pardon, most gracious
Sire, pardon, great
King !
That your humble servant
should do such a thing ;
It 's because 1 'm so de-
lighted,
More than if I had been
knighted.
That the marquis, my mas-
ter, should entertain the
King.
King :
A truly faithful servant you must be. Pussy.
When the marquis can spare you, come to
me. Pussy.
We '11 see that you 're not slighted.
Even now you shall be knighted,
Sir Thomas Cat de Boots your name shall
be, Pussy.
King, continuing, to Cabadas;
This casde, marquis brave,
Beats the very best we have.
Carabas :
Most gracious Sire, there 's not a thing
Belongs to me
[Puss rushes frantically to Carabas, and whispers in his ear; then
returns.
Carabas :
But to my King.
For my life and all I have to thee I owe.
King:
My Carabas, we 're pleased ;
Our mind is cheered and
eased.
For we feared that this great
castle held a foe.
'T is a princely home, 't is
true,
And we '1! make a prince of )'0u.
You shall wed m)- charming daughter, ere
we go.
BONES AND B(i\V-\VC)\VS.
22 I
Puss : M-e-o-w ! M-e-o-w ! M-c-o-w !
What would say his brothers, now,
If they saw Lord Marquis Carabas the Great?
And until the last horn toots
(With Sir Thomas Cat de Boots),
He shall occupy his present high estate !
[All dance. [Curtain.
BONES AND BOW-WOWS.
By Frank Bellew.
OMMY TOODLEMACKER had
grown to be nine years old, and
his father and mother thought it
was high time he should begin
to go to school. So, as soon ;is
the Christmas holidays were
over, Tommy's mother dressed
him in good warm clothes,
and giving him a basket full of bread and meat
and pie and doughnuts, she sent him off to the
village school-house, two miles away.
On the next page is his portrait as he appeared
at starting, and as it does not reveal to you the
expression of his mouth, nor the form of his nose,
we may as well say that in those features he did
not differ greatly from the average American
school-boy.
As to his clothes, although they were good and
warm, they were all home-made, and they were
the funniest lot of wearables ever seen in that
district, — one garment having been reconstructed
from an old army-coat of his father's. His father
and mother owned a small farm, out of which they
just managed to make a living, and that was all.
The first day that Tommy went to school, all the
dogs along the road rushed out and barked at him ;
but he was not afraid of dogs — indeed, he was
very fond of them, and so he had a pleasant word
for each of these, and to two or three who looked
rather lean he gave a bit of his lunch.
Every day after that, as he went to school, he
would take a little parcel of scraps, such as chicken-
bones, and bits of fat or bacon-rind, and give them
to different dogs on the way, until at last they all
looked out for the coming of Tommy Toodle-
macker, and as he passed, trotted out, wagging
their tails, as much as to say (provided they were
Irish dogs), "There is our old friend Tommy.
The top of the morning to you. Tommy " ; or
(if they were very sober native American dogs),
" How do you do, Thomas Toodlemacker ? "
This went on for some months, until, one fine
morning. Tommy did not come past as usual,
and when the dogs trotted out at the regular hour
with their tails all ready to wag, and no Tommy
came, they crawled back with their unwagged tails
hanging dow^n, for they were much disappointed.
When the second morning came, and no Tommy
arrived, all the dogs grew very anxious, and one
big fellow named Bruno galloped off to Tommy's
house, and there learned from Tommy's own dog
(for of course he had a dog) that their poor little
friend was sick in bed.
This sad news was soon con\eyed to all the
other dogs, and they at once held a council of sym-
pathy, and all agreed that, as Tommy was sick, he
must want something to eat, and they would each
save the finest bone out of his supper, and carry it
over to their sick friend next morning.
So, early the next day, a file of dogs of all
sorts and sizes might have been seen, each with
a bone in his mouth, marching along the road
toward Tommy Toodlemacker's home. When they
got there, and found he was too sick to be
interviewed, each deposited his bone at the front
door (just as fashionable gentlemen leave their
cards), and then they marched off again.
This ceremony was repeated every morning, even
after Tommy got well enough to come out and see
the dogs, and pat each one on the head, and say,
" How do you do ?" And every morning, after they
had gone, Tommy's father took the fresh pile of
bones and put them in a barrel in the wood-
shed.
Now, by the time Tommy was quite well, the
barrel in the wood-shed was full up to the brim
with bones, and Tommy scarcely knew what to do
with them, for he was a tender-hearted little fel-
low, and was afraid the dogs' feelings might be
hurt if they should find out he had not eaten the
bones. Just as he w'as wondering whether it would
be better to throw them into the river or to
BONES AND BOW-WOWS.
[Janl'arv,
bury them in the garden, along came a funny old
man in an old rattle-trap of a wagon, drawn by
a broken-kneed, broken-spirited old horse. And
this man asked Tommy if he had any old rags, or
bottles, or bones to sell. Tommy had no idea that
any one ever bought bones, and you may believe
that he was rather astonished when the funny old
man, after looking at his stock of bones, offered
him a dollar and fifty cents for them.
Tommy scarcely knew whether he stood on his
head or his heels, he was so delighted ; but when he
found he was right-side up, and when the man
PORTRAIT OF TOMMY TOODLEMACKER.
A FILE OF DOGS OF ALL SORTS AND SIZES, EACH WITH
A BONE IN HIS MOUTH.
gave him a real silver dollar and a real silver half-
dollar from a bag full of dollars and greenbacks, he
thought he must be the richest man
in the world, or a fairy in disguise,
or something wonderful.
When he told his mother what
had happened, she, too, was de-
lighted, and advised him to put his
money in a box, and when he
should get any more, to save it up ;
for that was the way to become rich,
or, at least, it was one way.
So Tommy put his money in a
box, and his mind to collecting
bones, and rags, and bottles, and
old horseshoes, and scraps of iron.
This may not seem a very nice kind
of occupation to many of my
young readers, but to Tommy it was as good fun
as nutting or fishing, and quite as exciting. And,
besides, he had all his old friends, the dogs, to help
him ; for, when they found it gave him pleasure to
receive bones, they brought him all the big ones
they could not eat. And so it came to be a regu-
lar thing for the funny old rag-man to come around
once a month, when Tommy always had a stock
of bones, and horseshoes, and bottles, and some-
times rags, to sell him ; but as a general rule, all
the rags were required for Tommy's own wardrobe.
Well, this went on for three years, and then
Tommy, who had talked a good deal to the funny
i883.]
LOVE IN A NOAH S ARK.
223
old man, and had learned some things about the
rag and bottle business, bought himself a little light
kind of wagon, which he used to drag about the
countr)- to the farmers' houses, when he would buy
their old stuff, and eoUect it, and sell it to the
funny old man at a profit. And here, too, one of
his old friends among the dogs helped him : big
Bruno's master died, and he came to live with
Tommy, and he helped to drag his wagon around
the country.
At first, Tommy used to pay in money for the
bones and bottles that he bought ; but after a while
he found out a better plan : he went to the neigh-
boring town, and laid in a stock of needles and
thread, and buttons, and candies, and such things,
which he found tempted the women and children
more than money, and besides gave him a larger
profit.
And so, at length, when I last heard of him.
Tommy Toodlemacker, although he was only fifteen
years old, had cle\en hundred and seventy-five
dollars in bank, and he may yet be as rich as the
great Parsee millionaire, Sir Jamsctsjee Jiggeboy
(if that is the way to spell his extraordinary name),
who started in life with two empty ale-bottles, and
died in Calcutta one of the richest men in the
world, after building hospitals, and baths, and
doing great good for his fellow-creatures.
SUSIE SEEDEL.MEVER (WHO IS NOT LIKE TOMMY TOODLEMACKER): "DO AWAY, GO DKATE,
BIG, UGLY DOG ! "
LOVE IN A NOAH'S ARK.
Only a wooden lady,
With but half an arm at most ;
Yet her look is so quaint.
And so fresh is her paint,
My heart is forever lost !
Only a wooden lady,
Is all that your eyes can see ;
But the straight up and down
Of her plain wooden gown
Has a hundred charms for me.
Only a wooden lady !
But that does n't alter my plan.
For, in spite of that clause,
I can love her, because
I 'm onlv a wooden man !
224
THE LAND OF NOD.
[January,
t88=.)
THE LAND OF NOD.
225
226
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
[January,
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
By Sophie Swett.
The farm was perched up on the very top ot
Crow Hill, and everybody in the town called it
the Crow's-nestf and, before long, they began to
call the Jones family, that moved there, " the
Crows," to distinguish them from another family
of Joneses, in the town.
They began by calling them the " Crow-hill
Joneses," but they were economical people in
Damsonfield, and could not spend time to say all
that. None of the Jones family minded having it
shortened, excepting Jim: he did n't like to be
called Jim Crow.
They had moved to the Crow's-nest from a
manufacturing city, where the father, until his
health failed, had been an overseer in one of the
mills. When he became unable to work, the
three older children — Enoch, and Abijah, and
Priscilla — went into the mill, and earned just
enough to keep the wolf from the door. There
were so many mouths to feed and feet to shoe, so
many sharp little elbows to stick through jacket-
sleeves, so many restless knees to wear out trou-
sers, that the father's hoard of savings melted
rapidly away, and if a distant relative had not
died and bequeathed this old farm to them, 1 am
afraid they would have suffered for shelter and
food. Even now they had almost forgotten how
gingerbread tasted, and as for a good, crisp, rosy-
cheeked apple, they knew they might as well wish
for the moon.
They moved to the Crow's-nest early in April,
and in the sweet, fresh, country air which he had
longed for, their father breathed his last. Their
mother had died three years before, and they were
all alone in the world.
They held a family council to consider what
they had better do. It was held in the barn, on
the hay-mow. They had had so much of being
shut up within four walls in their lives, that they
did n't mean to have any more, of it than the\'
could help. Barns were new to their experience,
and very fascinating; with the great door open,
and the balmy May wind blowing through, it was
even better than out-of-doors, especially to Jim
and Nehemiah, because there was an opportunity
to create a diversion by performing circus feats on
the great beams, if the proceedings should prove
uninteresting.
Enoch, as the head of the family, was the chief
spokesman. He was almost sixteen, and they all
thought that, if there was anybody in the world
who was wise and venerable, it was their Enoch.
When he had worked hard, all day, in the mill,
he went to evening school, and spent all his spare
time in study. And all the other Crows boasted
that the minister could n't ask Enoch a question
that he could n't answer; and they declared that,
if he did n't get to be President some day, it would
only be because the people did n't know who was
fit for President ! He was strong, too, if he was
slender, and he had never failed to " get the better
of any fellow that pitched into him." I am afraid
that all his wisdom and learning would have gone
for but little with Jim and Nehemiah if he could
not have done that.
Enoch said there were two alternatives : They
could sell the farrfi, and buy a little house in the
city which they had come from. The older ones
could work in the mill, and support the family
comfortably, since they would no longer have rent
to pay, and the others could go to school. Or
they could stay where they were, and try to get a
living off the farm. Some people said the land
was poor, and " run down," and they were young,
and inexperienced in farming, and had no money
to begin with, but they might try what stout
hearts and willing hands could do ; and there was
the district school where they could all go in the
winter, and a high school over In the village.
(Enoch was always looking out for an education.)
" Priscilla tied her forehead up in a knot." as
Abijah said, while she thought about it. She
was only fourteen, but she had been the "house-
mother " for a long time, and she knew they
would need a thousand little things the others
did n't think of, and it did not seem possible to
her that all those things could grow out of that
dry, stubbly-looking ground — Sunday hats, and
copper-toed shoes, and all ! But, when she thought
of going back to the mills, she gave a great sigh,
as if her heart would break, especially for little
Absalom's sake; he was delicate, and needed
countn- air.
When the question was put to vote, it came
out that they were all of one mind.
With the grass growing greener ever\' day. and
the buds swelling on the fruit-trees ; with Methu-
selah, the old gray horse, rolling and kicking up
his heels like a colt on the grass ; with Towzer,
the great Newfoundland dog, basking in the sun-
shine ; with the white turkey promenading through
the barn, followed by her newly fledged brood —
i88z.]
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
227
the procession headed by the bristling, strutting
gobbler, whose airs and whose scolding were a
never-failing delight; with a dozen chicks —
downy, chirping balls, which had that very morn-
ing ijecked their way into the world from the
most ordinary-looking egg-shells: with ducks that
set out in a waddling procession for the brook
as regularly as if they had watches in their
pockets; with seven tiny, brand-new pigs in the
pen, every one with a most fascinating quirk in his
.^^v^\
" JIM CKOW.
tail ; with Buttercup the cow, and her fawn-col-
ored calf, to be fed and petted; with a hive full
of bees, that made honey which was the pride
of the whole neighborhood; with a strawberry-lied,
two long rows of currant-bushes, and an orchard,
with cherry, and pear, as well as apple trees ; with
wild-strawberry vines in abundance in their south
meadow, and chestnut-trees in the grove behind the
house; — with all these present and prospective
delights, more enchanting to these poor little Crows
than any country child can possibly imagine, —
could they think of going back to the narrow,
stifling, brick-walled streets — to the dirt and din
of the mills ?
Jim, who was the belligerent one of the family,
doubled up his fists and took the floor, in fighting
attitude, to show his opinion of such a proposal,
and little Absalom, who had discovered the advan-'
tage of making a noise in the world in order to
carry his point, set up an car-splitting howl.
" We '11 hunt bears and wolves, and dress our-
selves in skins, like Robinson Crusoe and his man
Friday," said Nehemiah, solving the problem of
clothes, which Knoch had suggested.
And Nancy echoed this brilliant idea. Nehe-
miah and Nancy were twins, and Nehemiah fur-
nished ideas for both. Nehcmiah's ideas were
not always regarded as strictly practical Ijy other
people, but they suited Nancy.
Jim said the woods were full of rabbits and par-
tridges, and he was going to tame a gray squirrel
and carry him about in his pocket ; and the coast-
ing down Crow Hill in the winter must be " im-
mense " ; he should think anybody was crazy to
talk about going back to the city !
But Jim was not quite eleven, and he was not
looked upon, liy the older Crows, as much more
of a business man than Nehemiah.
Abijah was only two years older than Jim, but
th'e\' called him Solomon, he was so wise and pru-
dent. He looked like a little old man, with his
shrewd, shriveled face and stooping shoulders. In
fact, Abijah was a little too prudent; he did not
dare attempt much of anything, lest it should not
turn out well, and he borrowed trouble whenever
there was any to lend.
" If Absalom should get lost in the woods, and a
bear should eat him, I guess we should feel bad !
We should wish we had gone back to the city."
This was .Abijah's remark.
Little Absalom set up a dismal screaming at the
prospect of this untimely end, and his mind was
only diverted from it by his being allowed to take
a peeping little chicken in his hand — -a proceeding
not countenanced by the mother hen.
" If the house should burn down, on a winter's
night, we should freeze before we could get to the
nearest neighbor's ; and if we can't get money to
pay the taxes, they '11 put us all in jail ; and it
would be just exactly like Nancy to get choked to
death with a cherry-stone ! " continued Abijah,
cheerfully.
But with all these catastrophes before his mental
vision, Abijah still preferred staying at the Crow's-
nest to going back to the city. He knew of even
more perils there, because he had been thinking
them up all his life.
" Then it is decided that we shall stav," said
228
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
[January,
Enoch, at last; and just as he said it, the big-
gest rooster, who was all purple, and green, and
gold, and walked as if the ground were not good
enough for him to step on, mounted the saw-horse,
and crowed — a triumphant cock-a-doodle-do, as if
he had some especial cause for rejoicing.
" It really seems as if that were a good sign,"
said Priscilla, and all the wrinkles were suddenly
smoothed out of her forehead.
But Jim, who did n't believe in signs, said that
the rooster probably got up late, and had n't yet
had time to get his crowing all done that morning.
Nehemiah and Nancy thought there was some-
thing very queer about that rooster, and that he
might prove to be as wonderful and useful as Puss-
in-Boots, or the Goose that laid the Golden Egg.
They took to the marvelous as naturally as a duck
takes to water, and they were deeply learned in
giant and fairy lore. To be sure, they had never
met any of those wonderful beings outside of story
books, but then such folk were not supposed to live
in cities. Here, in the country, they expected to
meet a fairy at every turn.
They all went to work with a will to prove that,
although they had everything to learn, they could
be good farmers. There was one thing that
frightened and discouraged them, and that was the
tax-bill, which was due when the farm came into
their possession, and which they were being pressed
for, and had no means of paying.
If they could only be allowed to wait until their
crops were harvested, they felt sure of being able
to pay it, but the old farmers in the neighborhood
had very little faith in their ability to raise crops,
and the tax-collector was impatient. They must
sell something off the farm to pay the bill, that was
clear, but the question was, what had they that
anybody would pay so much money for ? They
could not spare Methuselah, and, if they could, he
was so old that nobody wanted to buy him. But
the)- had two cows, and Buttercup was part Alder-
ney, and very handsome, and they thought her
milk was better than the other cow's, though it was
all so different from city milk that they could not
quite decide.
Enoch walked down to the village, one night, to
try to find a purchaser for Buttercup. He came
back in high spirits, saying that Doctor Douglas
had seen and admired her, and offered a good
price for her ; it was enough to pay the tax-bill,
and something over. Tony, the doctor's colored
boy, would come for the cow the next morning.
There was great rejoicing at this news, although
a little sorrow would mingle with it at the thought of
parting with Buttercup. She had a saucy way of
tossing her head, and some of the neighbors had
hinted that she was not always good-tempered; but
with the Crows she had always seemed a most
amicable cow, and they would have parted with
Daisy, the other cow, much less sadly. Butter-
cup's calf would have to go, too ; that was the worst
of it, the children thought; it was so pretty — fawn-
colored, with white spots, and with beautiful, soft,
brown eyes.
They all assembled to take leave 'of Buttercup
and the calf when Tony appeared, early the next
morning. Absalom, to whose mind tax-bills were
unimportant, howled piteously, and Abijah prophe-
sied that they should never have another such cow
and calf as long as they lived. But the others
were so happy in the thought of having the bill
paid that they thought little about Buttercup.
Buttercup's opinion, however, seemed to agree
with Abijah's and little Absalom's. The moment
that she saw Tony, she gave her head one of those
saucy tosses, and when he approached her, rope in
hand, with a sudden, vicious jerk she brought her
horns into very unpleasant proximity to his jacket.
Tony retreated, but manfully returned to the
charge, this time offering Buttercup a turnip as a
bribe. But Buttercup used not only her horns,
but her heels now, and with such effect that over
went the milking-stool, sticks flew off the wood-
pile, the wheelbarrow was broken into pieces, the
saw-horse and the pitchfork were whisked into the
air, the hens and ducks flew about, cackling and
quacking ; and when Tony and all the Crows had
retired to a respectful distance, and left Buttercup
mistress of the situation, what did that knowing
rooster do but get up on the fence and crow with
all his might !
Absalom clapped his hands with delight, and
Abijah recalled several instances which he had
heard of persons being killed by vicious cows.
And Nehemiah and Nancy decided that it was
probable, judging by the height to which Butter-
cup kicked up her heels, that she was the very cow
that jumped over the moon.
Tony's wool fairly stood upright with terror, and
he rolled his eyes so wildly that but little more
than the whites was visible.
" Dat am a cur'us cow, no mistake!" remarked
Tony, surveying Buttercup critically — from a dis-
tance. " 'Pears like dere 's an uncommon libeli-
ness about her. See hyar ! You 'd better cotch
her ; she mought hab a dislike to a gcmman ob
color." And he handed the rope to Enoch.
Abijah, and Priscilla, and Jim, all clung to
Enoch, and begged him not to go near the cow,
and even Nehemiah and Nancy clung to his coat-
tails.
" Do you suppose I am going to let that little
darkey think I am afraid?" said Enoch, in a low
but awful voice.
iSSa.)
THE cow THAT C O N S 1 I) K R E D.
229
And he shook them all off, put the rope in his
pocket, so that it need not offend liuttercup's
eyes, and walked boldly up to her, addressing her
in persuasive and complimentary terms, such as:
" Quiet now, Buttercup ! Cood old Buttercup !
Nice cow ! "
But Buttercup was not to be deceived by flattery.
She cocked her head on one side, and gave Enoch
a knowing and wicked look, that was as much as
to sav: " Vou can't put a rope around niv nerk.
with wrath, and evidently feeling like the knight
who declared it
" Etcmal shame if al the from
I>ord Ronald grace not battle's bnmt."
The gobbler was always ready to take sides in a
combat ; you never found him sitting on the fence,
when a fight was going on. The wliitc turkey
gathered her brood around her, and surveyed the
rontost from afir, witli a dignified and matronly air.
IK r^ cow, N<
sir, even if you have kissed the blarney stone ! If
you think you can, you had better try it ! "
Enoch stopped, irresolute, even with the '" little
darkey " looking on. Buttercup cast down her
eyes, and chewed her cud with a mild and virtuous
expression of countenance, and Enoch went toward
her ; he was near enough to put his hand upon
her, when, with a dive of her horns and a fling of
her heels, off she started on a run. Enoch started
in pursuit, and so did Towzer, barking furiously :
so did the calf, frisking and prancing, as if it were
great fun ; so did the gobbler, bristling all over
Jim followed the procession, turning a somer-
sault now and then, as he went, to relieve his
excited feelings, and Tony sat on the fence and
cheered on Buttercup and her pursuers, first one,
and then the other, with strict impartiality, self-
interest evidently being lost sight of in the excite-
ment of the contest. Buttercup, becoming tired,
and perceiving that her pursuers were gaining upon
her, suddenly backed up against a stone wall, and
stood at bay.
Towzer barked madly at her heels, and the
gobbler, standing provokingly just under her nose,
230
THE COW THAT CUNSIDERED.
[January,
gobbled out a long tirade against her evil behavior,
but Buttercup had a mind above such petty annoy-
ances : she calmly disregarded her inferior pur-
suers, and fixed her eyes, with a " touch-me-if-you-
dare " expression, upon Enoch.
Enoch walked up to her, with stern determina-
tion, and — threw the rope over her head — almost,
but not quite ! It caught upon one of her horns,
and, with a playful gesture, Buttercup tossed it
over the stone wall, into the field.
Enoch climbed over after it, urged on by a
derisive shout from Tony, and the somewhat irri-
tating announcement that "dis niggar was ready to
bet on de cow ! "
Having got Enoch out of the way. Buttercup
flung out her heels at Towzer and sent him off,
limping and yelping with pain ; then she made a
swoop upon the gobbler with her horns, and that
valiant warrior retired in great confusion ; and then
she took to the road again, at an easy, swinging gait,
as if it were really not worth the while to hurry.
But when Enoch approached her again, she turned
suddenly, and, taking him by surprise, tossed him
over the fence with her horns, almost as lightly
and airily as she had tossed the rope !
She looked over the fence after him with a
deprecating air that was as much as to say, " I
did n't want to, but you forced me to it ! " and then
she walked quietly along, feeding on the road-side
grass.
Enoch was stunned for a moment, but when he
recovered, he was astonished to find that his bones
were all whole ; he had suffered only a few slight
bruises.
The whole family rushed to the spot ; even Tony
descended from his secure perch.
" It 's no use to cotch her ! " said Tony, when
they had all assured themselves that Enoch was
unharmed. " De doctor wont hab a animile dat's
possessed ob de debble ! "
This brought back the thought of the tax-bill,
at which Enoch's heart sank.
" She never behaved like this before," he said.
" I am sure if she could once be got into the
doctor's barn she would be peaceable enough."
" 'Pears like it aint so drefHe easy to done fotch
her dar! But I '11 send Patsy up. Patsy can
cotch a streak ob chain lightnin'."
So it was decided that Patsy, the doctor's man-
servant, should come up the next morning, giving
Buttercup time to sober down.
They all went their several ways to the day's
work, leaving Buttercup to her own devices.
Enoch and Priscilla looked discouraged and
anxious, and Abijah cheerfully reminded them that
he had foretold that they should all be put in jail
for debt.
Nehemiah and Nancy were deputed to shell corn
for planting, and they perched themselves on the
meal-chest in the barn, with a bushel-basket con-
taining the corn between them. As the basket
overtopped their heads, it was inconvenient and a
barrier to sociability, but no better way occurred
to them, and as Nehemiah was buried in thought,
and Nancy always respected his silence, it did not
matter as far as sociability was concerned.
But, after a while, Nancy heard a voice on the
other side of the basket say :
" Do you remember whether it says that the cow
did consider, Nancy ? Don't you know, —
" 'There was a piper and he had a cow,
And he had no hay to give her.
So he took out his pipes, and played her a tune —
Consider, old cow, consider!'"
" I don't think it says any more," said Nancy.
"But of course she considered; she knew he was
poor, and picked up anything she could find to
eat."
"Well, I 've been thinking that we had better
play Buttercup a tune, and ask her to consider
and go with the doctor's man, so that we can pay
the tax-bill."
"That 's a beautiful plan! Let 's do it, right
off! " said Nancy, dropping her apron, and letting
the corn in it roll all over the floor in her excite-
ment. " Only, don't you think, Nehemiah, that
truly cows are different, some way, from the cows
that Mother Goose knew about? They don't
seem to have so much sense. They don't under-
stand what you say to them."
" They do ! They only pretend not to. They
are deep," said Nehemiah. "And people don't
know how to manage them. If they would have
let me manage Buttercup, I could have made her
go with Tony, just as easy ! " ,
"Could you, really?" said Nancy, looking at
him admiringly. " But you '11 let me help, when
you play her the tune, wont you ?"
"Yes, if you don't make a noise, and let every-
body know beforehand, just like a girl. You
get down and pick up the corn you spilled, and
all that I 've dropped, too, and then 1 '11 tell you
how 1 'm going to do it."
Nancy got down obediently, and picked up every
kernel faithfully, never minding that she got splin-
ters into her fat little hands, and made her chubby
little knees ache.
" We can't do it when anybody 's near," said
Nehemiah, after Nancy had climbed up on to the
meal-chest again, "because they will make fun
of us, and say it is n't of any use. They don't
know that cows can understand. But we 'II get
up early in the morning, before Jim goes to milk-
1 883.]
THK COW 111 AT CONSI |)i: Ri: 1).
231
ing, even, and I '11 take the old accordion, and you
take a comb, and we 'II go right into Buttercup's
stall, and we 'II play a ' Pinafore' tune to her —
' Little Buttercup ' will be just the thing, because
it 's her name, you know. And then we '11 tell
her all about the bill. And, after that, we '11 play
a psalm tune — "Old Hundred,' or 'Lord, dismiss
us with Thy blessing.' That will kind of make
her feel solemn, and think about being good.
.And then you see if she don't go with Patsy, when
he comes ! And then the tax-bill will be paid,
and we '11 have new shoes awful often, and we
wont eat anything but jam and pound-cake, and
we 'II have a velocipede, and a balloon as big as
this barn ! "
The prospect of such happiness was too much
for Nancy's composure, and again the corn was
spilt, and this time they both had to get down
and pick it up, for Abijah came and scolded them
for being so slow, because Enoch already wanted
the corn to plant.
The next morning, before it was light, Nancy
heard a low whistle just outside her door. She
slipped out of bed without waiting to get her
eyes open, and very softly, so as not to wake Pris-
cilla, and dressed herself hurriedly. Xehemiah
was waiting for her at the back door, with a lan-
tern. It seemed very queer to be up and out-of-
doors while it was still dark, but there was some-
thing delightfully exciting about it.
Towzer suddenly roused from sleep, took them
for burglars, and barked like mad. He seemed
to recognize them after carefully smelling at their
heels, but it struck him as such an unusual pro-
ceeding for them to go into the barn at that hour,
that he insisted upon accompanying them.
That irrepressible rooster got up and crowed,
but otherwise it was perfectly still in the barn.
Buttercup was awake, chewing her cud and look-
ing rather sad and grave, as if she were meditating
upon her bad behavior.
Nehemiah hung the lantern on a nail, and then
walked boldly into the stall, followed by Nancy,
who was a little afraid of Buttercup, but would not
hesitate to follow Nehemiah anywhere.
Nehemiah struck up " Little Buttercup" on the
accordion, and Nancy chimed in on the comb.
The accordion was old and wheezy, and Nehe-
miah was not a skillful performer, and a comb is
not a pleasing musical instrument at the best; the
echoes in the old barn must have been astonished
when they were called upon to respond to such
sounds as those ! Towzer and the rooster both
assisted, to the utmost extent of their powers.
Buttercup looked over her shoulder at them,
with a puzzled expression, and she whisked her tail
a little, but gave no other sign of emotion.
" Now, you go on, and play easy, while I tell
her all about it," said Nehemiah, at length.
He put his lips very near Buttercup's ear.
" We have played you a tune. Buttercup," he
said, "and now we want you to consider! You
were a very bad cow, yesterday, and made your
friends very unhappy, but perhaps you did n't
stop to think, and did n't know how much differ-
ence it made. Before we got the farm, we were
awful poor, and we shall be awful poor if we lose
it, besides having to go to jail, Abijah says; and
we can't pay the tax-bill unless you let yourself
be sold to Doctor Douglas. Cows can be very good
and smart if they try. And perhaps, when we are
rich, we 'II buy you back."
Buttercup kept very cpiiet, and looked as if she
were listening to every word.
" Now you consider and go with Patsy, without
making a fuss ! " said Nehemiah, in conclusion.
"We 'II have 'Old Hundred ' and the ' Do.xol-
ogy,' and then we '11 go," he said to Nancy. "And
you see if she is n't a different cow from wh.it she
was yesterday ! "
They got into the house and hung the lantern in
its place, just as Jim came stumbling sleepily down-
stairs to milking.
Nancy went back to bed, and dreamed that
Buttercup, in a long trained dress and with hair
done up behind, was dancing a polka with the tax-
collector, while the big gobbler played for them on
a comb.
It was c[uite disappointing to find that it w.is only
a dream.
Nehemiah and Nancy were on hand when Patsy
arrived. He was a big, good-natured Irishman,
who announced himself as a remarkable cow-com-
pellcr, and declared that there was " not a baste
in the wurruld that contrairy that she could get the
betther iv him ! "
He had provided himself with a stout stick, and
with this in one hand and a rope in the other, he
approached Buttercup in the boldest manner,
while Nehemiah and Nancy held their breaths and
watched.
But, alas for the remarkable cow-compeller !
Buttercup made such a furious lunge at him that
he was fain to take to his heels. And alas for
Nehemiah and Nancy, whose tunes and appeals
now seemed to have been thrown away ! Yester-
day's pranks were but mild and tame compared
with those that Buttercup played to-day. She
kicked and she pranced, she capered and she
danced, until everything that had legs was glad to
run away, and leave her in possession of the field.
And Patsy was forced to go home, acknowledging
that one " baste had got the betther iv him ! "
Nehemiah and Nancy looked at each other in
232
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
[January,
silent surprise and disappointment. Then Nehe-
miah approached as near Buttercup as he dared, in
the excited state of her feehngs,' and reproached
her in strong terms for faihng to consider, after the
"beautiful music" with which they had favored
her. Buttercup turned her head, and looked
steadily at him, and uttered a long-drawn-out low.
It was very different from her ordinary ''moo-oo-
00." It seemed to consist of two syllables, and
she looked as if it meant a great deal.
" Nehemiah, it sounds just as if she were trying
to say something," said Nancy. " What divs she
mean ? "
"She says, 'But-ter!' 'but-ter!'" said Nehe-
miah. " But I don't think she means anything.
Cows are silly things, anyway ! "
" Perhaps she means for us to make butter out
of her milk, so that she can do us some good, even
if she wont be sold."
"We might," said Nehemiah. "There 's a
churn in the pantry, and you only have to turn a
crank. Priscilla said we might as well sell the
milk, but I guess she '11 let us try, just for the
fun ! "
Nancy skipped into the house, delighted that
she had thought of something that Nehemiah said
it would be fun to do — though, to be sure, it really
was Buttercup's suggestion. She was so excited
about it that before she stopped to think she had
told Priscilla and Enoch all about their playing
Buttercup a tune, and asking her to "consider,"
and that Buttercup- had kept saying, "But-ter!
but-ter ! " And though they laughed, and made
a great deal of fun of it, Priscilla gave them some
cream that she had saved from Buttercup's milk,
and told them they might churn it, if they liked.
She had never thought of doing such a thing.
Butter was a luxury to them, and they could very
well do without it, and she had not thought of
making it to sell, for they had only two cows.
Nehemiah and Nancy worked with a w'ill. It
w-as n't altogether fun; the butter was so long in
coming, and their arms ached, and Nancy would
open the churn every three minutes, to see if there
was some butter. At last, little thick yellowish
specks appeared in the cream, and, not long after
that, the crank became very hard to turn, and lo
and behold ! there was a mass of yellow butter
inside. It was the sweetest, and the richest, and
the goldenest butter that ever was tasted or seen !
Priscilla made it into balls, and Enoch bought a
stamp, — a beautiful pattern, with strawberry leaves
and fruit, — and, when Priscilla had stamped it,
they sent some balls down to Doctor Douglas. He
had been very kind to their father when he was ill,
and they were delighted to have something to send
him.
The doctor came up to the Crow's-nest the very
next day, to say that he had never tasted such de-
licious butter, and that if they would keep him sup-
plied with it, he would be willing to pay a very high
price for it. And he said if that was the kind of
butter they could make, he thought they had better
keep a dairy farm, and nothing else ; very few of
the farmers in the neighborhood made butter, and
there was a great demand for it in the town ; and he
thought their land was better adapted for dairy-
farming than for anything else.
He lent them the money to pay their tax-bill, and
said they need not pay him until they began to get
some profit from their farm, and then what did he
do but buy them another cow, which they need
not pay for until they were able.
And Priscilla, and Nehemiah, and Nancy made
butter — and I might say that httlc Absalom
helped, for he drank the buttermilk! — ^ while the
others worked on the farm. The butter brought
very good prices, but they made the butter from
Buttercup's milk by itself, and that butter had
such a reputation that it found its way into the
city market; it was what the dealers called "gilt-
edged" butter, and commanded a fabulous price.
And now that Buttercup's calf has grown to
cowhood, and gives milk, too, you may see in the
window of a large city store this sign — "Butter
from Crow's-nest Dairy."
And the Crows would not begin to change places
with any Rothschild of them all !
And whene\'er they talk about the wonderful
good fortune that their dairy has brought them,
and say, "What should we have done if we had
sold Buttercup ? " Nehemiah and Nancy look at
each other. They don't like to say anything, be-
cause they have been laughed at so much, and, be-
sides, they are older, now, and would not think of
getting up at four o'clock in the morning to play
tunes to a cow; but sometimes Nancy does whisper:
"They may laugh as much as they please, but I
shall always believe that dear old Buttercup tiiii
consider."
There was once on a time a little boy,
And a small, greedy boy was he ;
His mother gave him two plums and a pear.
And he hurriedly ate all three.
But just as he finished the very last,
He grew very gloomy and glum ;
And muttered, " I think she could just as well
Ha\e made it two pears and a plum."
l8g2.]
RECOLI, ACTIONS OK A D U U M M li K - ISO V.
233
RECOLLECTIONS OF A 1) R U M MER-BO Y.»
BV llARKY M. KlEFFER.
Chapter \11.
i\ the woods at chancellorsville.
It is no easy matter to describe a long day's
march to one who knows nothing of the hardships
of a soldier's hfe. That a body of troops marched
some twenty-five or thirty miles on a certain day
soldier's powers of endurance to the very utmost.
He has, in the first place, a heavy load to carry.
His knapsack, haversack, canteen, ammunition,
musket, and accoutermcnts are by no means a light
matter at the outset, and they grow heavier with
every additional mile of the road. So true is this
that, in deciding what of our clothing to take
along on a march and what to throw away, we soon
".\ iLKGJio:; \VKJTi:.C LIU.N TJIE P0.MMEL UK HIi S.VDDLli .\.N uliDEK FOR .\.N .\.MeLL-\NLE-
from daylight to midnight, from one point to
another, seems, to one who has not tried it, no
great undertaking. Thirty miles ! It is but an
hour's ride in the cars. Nor can the single pedes-
trian, who easily covers greater distances in less
time, have a full idea of the fatigue of a soldier as
he throws himself down by the road-side, utterly
exhausted, when the day's inarch is done.
Unnumbered circumstances combine to test the
Vol. IX. — 16. * Copyright, i£8i, by Harr>- M
learned to be guided by the soldiers' proverb that
" what weighs an ounce in the morning weighs a
pound at night." Then, too, the soldier is not
master of his own movements, as is the solitary
pedestrian ; for he can not pick his way, nor hus-
band his strength by resting when and where he
may choose. He marches generally "four abreast"
— sometimes at double-quick, when the rear is clos-
ing up, and again at a most jjrovokingly slow pace
Kicffcr. .Ml righLs resen-ed.
234
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[January,
when there is some impediment on the road ahead.
Often his canteen is empty, no water is to be had,
and he marches on in a cloud of dust, witli parched
throat and lips and trembling limbs — on and on,
and still on, until about the midnight hour, at the
final " Halt ! " he drops to the ground like a shot,
feverish, irritable, exhausted in body and soul.
It would seem a shame and a folly to take troops
thus utterly worn out, and hurl them at midnight
into a battle the issue of which hangs trembling in
the balance. Yet this was what they came pretty
near doing with us, after our long march from four
miles below Fredericksburg to the extreme right
of the army at Chancellorsville.
I have a very indistinct and cloudy recollection
of that march. I can quite well remember the
beginning of it, when at the early dawn the enemy's
batteries drove us, under a sharp shcU-fire, at a
lively double-quick for the first four miles. And I
can well recall how, at midnight, we threw our-
selves under the great oak-trees near Chancellors-
ville, and were in a moment sound asleep amid the
heaven-rending thunder of the guns, the unbroken
roll of the musketry, and the shouts and yells of
the lines charging each other a quarter of a mile to
our front. But when I attempt to call up the inci-
dents that happened by the way, I am utterly at a
loss. My memory has retained nothing but a con-
fused mass of images ; here a farm house, there a
mill ; a company of stragglers driven on by the
guard ; a Surgeon writing upon the pommel of
his saddle an order for an ambulance to carry a
poor exhausted and but half-conscious fellow ; an
officer's Staff or an Orderly dashing by at a lively
trot ; a halt for coffee in the edge of a wood ; fill-
ing a canteen (oh, blessed memory !) at some
meadow stream or road-side spring; and on, and
on, and on, amid the rattle of bayonet-scabbards
and tin cups, mopping our faces and crunching our
hard-tack as we went ; — this, and such as this, is
all that will now come to mind.
But of events toward night-fall the images are
clearer and more sharply defined. The sun is set-
ting, large, red, and fiery-looking, in a dull haze
that hangs over the thickly wooded horizon. We
are nearing the ford where we are to cross the
Rappahannock. We come to some hill-top, and —
hark ! A deep, ominous growl comes, from how
many miles away we know not; now another;
then another !
On, Boys, on ! There is work doing ahead,
and terrible work it is, for two great armies are at
each other's throat, and the battle is raging fierce
and high, although we know nothing as yet of how
it may be going.
On, — on, — on !
Turning sharp to the left, we enter the approach
to the ford, the road leading, in places, through a
deep cut, — great high pine-trees on either side of
the road shutting out the little remaining light of
day. Here we find the first actual evidences of
the great battle that is raging ahead : long lines of
ambulances filled with wounded ; yonder a poor
fellow with a bandaged head, sitting by a spring ;
and a few steps away another, his agonies now
over ; here, two men, one with his arm in a sling
supporting the other, who has turned his musket
into a crutch ; then more ambulances, and more
wounded in increasing numbers; Orderlies dashing
by at full gallop, while the thunder of the guns
grows louder and closer as we step on the pontoons
and so cross the gleaming river.
" Colonel, your men have had a hard day's
march; you will now let them rest for the night."
It is a Staff-officer whom I hear delivering this
order to our Colonel, and a sweeter message 1 think
I never heard. We cast wistful e)'es at the half-
extinguished camp-fires of some regiment that has
been making coffee by the road-side, and has just
moved off, and we think them a godsend, as the
order is given to "stack arms." But before we
have time even to unsling knapsacks, the order
comes, "Fall in ! " and away we go again, steadily
plodding on through that seemingly endless forest
of scrub-pine and oak, straight in the direction of
the booming guns ahead.
Why whippoorwills were made I do not know ;
douljtless for some wise piu'pose ; but never before
that night did I know they had been made in such
countless numbers. Every tree and bush was full
of them, it seemed. There were thousands of
them, there were tens of thousands of them, there
were millions of them ! And every one whistling,
as fast as it could, " Who-hoo-hoo ! Who-hoo-
hoo ! Who-hoo-hoo ! " Had they been vultures or
turkey-buzzards, — vast flocks of which followed the
army wherever we went, almost darkening the sky
at times, and always suggesting unpleasant reflec-
tions.— they could not have appeared more exe-
crable to me. Many were the imprecations hurled
at them as we plodded on under the light of. the
great red moon, now above the tree-tops, while
still from every bush came that monotonous half-
screech, half-groan ," Who-hoo-hoo! Who-hoo-hoo! "
But, O miserable birds of ill-omen, there is
something more ominous in the air than your lugu-
brious night-song ! There is borne to our ears at
every additional step the deepening growl of the
cannon ahead. As the moon mounts higher, and
we advance farther along the level forest-land, we
hear still more distinctly anothersound — the long,
unbroken roll of musketry.
Forward now. at double-quick, until we are on
the outskirts of the battle-field.
l88z.|
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-HOY
235
Shells are crashing through the tall tree-tops
overhead.
"Hall! Load at will! Load!"
In the moonlight that falls shimmering across the
road, as 1 look back over the column, I see the
bright steel flashing, while the jingle of the ram-
rods makes music that stirs the blood to a quicker
pulse. A well-known voice calls me down the line,
and Andy whispers a few hurried words into my
ear, while ho grasps my hand, hard. But we are
off at a quick step. A sharp turn to the left, and
— hark! The firing has ceased, and they are
" charging " down there ! That peculiar, and
afterward well-known, " Yi ! Yi ! Yi ! " indicates a
struggle for which we are making straight and
fast.
At this moment comes the order: "Colonel,
you will countermarch your men, and take position
down tliis road on the right. Follow me ! " The
staff-officer leads us half a mile to the right, where,
sinking down utterly exhausted, we are soon sound
asleep.
Of the next day or two 1 have but an indistinct
recollection. What with the fatigue and excite-
ment, the hunger and thirst, of the last few days,
a high fever set in for me. I became half-delirious,
and lay under a great oak-tree, too weak to walk,
my head nearly splitting with the noise of a bat-
tery of steel cannon in position fifty yards to the left
of me. That battery's beautiful but terrible drill I
could plainly see. My own corps was put on re-
serve : the men built strong breast-works, but took
no part in the battle, excepting some little skir-
mishing. Our day was yet to come.
One evening, — it was the last evening we spent
in the woods at Chancellorsville, — a Sergeant of my
company came back to where we were, with orders
for me to hunt up and bring an ambulance for
one of the Lieutenants who was sick.
" You see, Harry, there are rumors that we are
going to retreat to-night, for the heavy rains have
so swollen the Rappahannock that our pontoons
are in danger of being carried away, and it appears
that, for some reason or other, wc 've got to get
out of this at once under cover of night, and Lieu-
tenant can't stand the march. So you will go for
an ambulance. You '11 find the ambulance park
about two miles from here. You '11 take through
the woods in that direction," — pointing with his
finger, — "until you come to a path; follow the
path till you come to a road ; follow the road, taking
to the right and straight ahead, till you come to
the ambulances."
Although it was raining hard at the time, and
had been raining for several days, and though I
myself was probably as sick as the Lieutenant, and
felt positive that the troops would have started in
retreat before I could get back, yet it was my duty
to obey, and off I went.
1 had no difficulty in finding the path ; and I
reached the road all right. P'ording a stream, the
corduroy bridge of which was all afloat, and walk-
ing rapidly for a half-hour. 1 found the ambulances
all drawn up ready to retreat.
" We have orders to pull out from here at once,
and can send an ambulance for no man. Your
Lieutenant must take his chance."
It was getting dark fast, as I started back with
this message. I was soaked to the skin, and the
rain was pouring down in torrents. To make bad
worse, in the darkness I turned off from the road
at the wrong point, missed the path and quite lost
my way ! What was to be done ? If 1 should
spend much time where 1 was, I was certain to be
left behind, for I felt sure that the troops were
moving off; and yet I feared to make for any of
the fires I saw through the woods, for I knew the
lines of the two armies were near each other, and I
might, as like as not, walk over into the lines of
the enemy.
Collecting my poor fevered faculties, I determined
to follow the course of a little stream I heard plash-
ing down among the bushes to the left. By and
by 1 fixed my eye on a certain bright camp-fire, and
determined to make for it at all hazards, be it of
friend or of foe. Judge of my joyful surprise when
1 found it was burning in front of my own tent !
Standing about our fire trying to get warm and
dry, our fellows were discussing the question of the
retreat about to be made. But 1 was tired and
sick, and wet and sleepy, and did not at all relish
the prospect of a night march througli the woods
in a drenching rain. So, putting on the only re-
maining dry shirt I had left (1 had tiuo on already,
and they were soaked through), I lay down under
my shelter, shivering and with chattering teeth,
but soon fell sound asleep.
In the gray light of the morning wc were sud-
denly awakened by a loud " Halloo there, you
chaps! Better be digging out of this! We're
the last line of cavalry pickets, and the Johnnies
are on our heels ! "
It was an easy matter for us to sling on our
knapsacks and rush after the cavalry-man, until
a double-quick of two miles brought us within the
rear line of defenses thrown up to cover the retreat.
Ch.^I'TER VIII.
the first day .\t gettysburg.
" Harry, I 'm getting tired of this thing. It 's
becoming monotonous, this thing of being roused
2.^,6
RECOLLECTIONS OF A D RU M M E R - B O V .
[January,
every morning at four, with orders to pack up and
be ready to march at a moment's notice, and then
lying around here all day in the sun. I don't
believe we are going anywhere, anyhow."
We had been encamped for six weeks, of which
I need give no special account, only saying that in
those " summer quarters," as they might be called,
we went on with our endless drilling, and were
baked and browned, and thoroughly hardened to
the life of a soldier in the field.
The monotony of which Andy complained did
not end that day, nor the next. For six successive
days we were regularly roused at four o'clock in
the morning, with orders to "pack up and be
ready to move immediately ! " — only to unpack as
regularly about the middle of the afternoon. W'e
could hear our batteries pounding away in the
direction of Fredericksburg, but we did not then
know that we were being held well in hand till the
enemy's plan had developed itself into the great
march into Pennsylvania, and we w-ere let off in hot
pursuit.
So at last, on the I2th of June, 1S63, we started,
at five o'clock in the morning, in a north-westerly
direction. My journal says: "Very warm, dust
plenty, water scarce, marching very hard. Halted
at dugk at an excellent spring, and lay down for
the night with aching limbs and blistered feet."
1 pass over the six days' continuous marching that
followed, steadily on toward the north, pausing only
to relate several incidents that happened by the
way.
On the 14th we were racing with the enemy — we
being pushed on to the utmost of human endur-
ance— for the possession of the defenses of Wash-
ington. From five o'clock of that morning till three
the following morning, — that is to say, from day-
light to daylight, — we were hurried along under a
burning June sun, with no halt longer than suffi-
cient to recruit our strength with a hasty cup of
coffee at noon and nightfall. Nine, ten, eleven,
twelve o'clock at night, and still on ! It was almost
more than flesh could endure. Men fell out of line
in the darkness by the score, and tumbled over by
the road-side, asleep almost before they touched the
ground.
1 remember how a great tall fellow in our com-
pany made us laugh along somewhere about one
o'clock that morning — " Pointer," we called him ;
an excellent soldier, who afterivard fell at his post
at Spottsylvania. He had been trudging on in
sullen silence for hours, when all of a sudden,
coming to a halt, he brought his piece to " order
arms " on the hard road with a ring, took off his
cap, and in language far more forcible than ele-
gant, began forthwith to denounce both parties to
the war, "from A to Izzard," in all branches of
the service, civil and military, army and navy,
artillery, infantry, and cavalry, and demanded that
the enemy should come on in full force here and
now, " and I '11 fight them all single-handed and
alone, the whole pack of 'em ! I 'm tired of this
everlasting marching, and I want to fight ! "
"Three cheers for Pointer! " cried some one, and
we laughed heartily as we toiled doggedly on to
Manassas, which we reached at three o'clock A. M.,
June 15th. I can assure you we lost no time in
stretching ourselves at full length in the tall sum-
mer grass.
" James McFadden, report to the Adjutant for
camp guard. James McFadden ! Anybody know
where Jim McFadden is ? "
Now, that was rather hard, was n't it? To march
from daylight to daylight, and lie down for a rest
of probably two hours before starting again, and
then to be called up to stand throughout those
precious two hours, on guard duty !
I knew ver%' well where McFadden was, for was
n't he lying right beside me in the grass ? But
just then 1 was in no humor to tell. The camp
might well go without a guard that night, or the
Orderly might find McFadden in the dark if he
could.
But the rules were strict, and the punishment
was severe, and poor McFadden, bursting into
tears of vexation, answered like a man: "Here
I am. Orderly; I '11 go." It was hard.
Two weeks later, both McFadden and the Or-
derly went where there is neither marching nor
standing guard any more.
Now comes a long rest of a week in the woods
near the Potomac, for we have been marching par-
allel with the enemy, and dare not go too fast, lest
by some sudden and dexterous move in the game
he should sweep past our rear in upon the defenses
of Washington. And after this sweet refreshment,
we cross the Potomac on pontoons, and march, per-
haps with a lighter step, since we are nearing home,
through the smiling fields and pleasant villages of
" Maryland, my Maryland." At Poolesville, a lit-
tle town on the north bank of the Potomac, we
smile as we see a lot of children come trooping out
of the village school, — a merry sight to men who
have seen neither woman nor child these six
months and more, and a touching sight to many
a man in the ranks as he thinks of his little flaxen-
heads in the far-away home. Aye, think of them
now and think of them full tenderly, for many a
man of you shall never have child climb on his
knee any more !
As we enter one of these pleasant little Maryland
villages, we find on the outskirts of the place two
young ladies and two young gentlemen waving the
good old flag as we pass, and singing " Rally round
i88xl
RECOLLECTIONS OF A 1) K U M M K K - HO Y .
the Flag, Boys." The excitement along the line is
intense. Cheer on cheer is given by regiment after
regiment iis we pass along, we drummer-boys beat-
ing, at the Colonel's express orders, the old tune,
"The Girl I left behind me," as a sort of re-
sponse. Soon we are in among the hills again, and
still the cheering goes on in the far distance to the
rear.
Only ten days later we passed through the same
village again, and were met by the same young ladies
and gentlemen, waving the same flag and singing
the same song. But though we tried twice, and tried
hard, we could not cheer at all, for there 's a differ-
ence between five hundred men and one hundred
— ^is there not ? So, that second time, we
drooped our tattered flags, and raised oui
caps in silent and sorrowful salute.
'■ Colonel, close up your men and move
on as rapidly as possible."
It is the morning of July 1st, and we
are crossing a bridge over a stream, as the
Staff-officer, having delivered this order for
us, dashes down the line to hurry up the
regiments in the rear. We get uji on a
high range of hills, from which we have a
magnificent view. The day is bright, the
air is fresh and sweet, and the sun shines
out of an almost cloudless sky, and
as we gaze away off yonder down the
valley to the left — look! Do you
see that ? A puff of smoke in mid- /?-
air ! Very small and miles away, as ^^
the faint and long-coming " boom"
of the exploding shell indicates, but
it means that something is going
on yonder, away down in the valley, in
which, perhaps, we may have a hand
before the day is done. See! Another —
and another ! Faint and far away comes
the long-delayed "boom!" "boom!"
echoing over the hills, ;is the .Staff-ofticer
dashes along the lines with orders to
" double-quick ! double-quick ! "
Four miles of almost constant double-
quicking is no light work at any time,
least of all on such a day as this memorable Ijrst
day of July, for it is hot and dusty. But we are
in our own State now, boys, and the battle is
opening ahead, and it is no time to save breath.
On we go, now up a hill, now over a stream,
now checking our headlong rush for a moment,
for we mils/ breathe a little. But the word comes
along the line again, "double-quick," and we set-
tle down to it with right good-will, while the can-
non ahead seem to be getting nearer and louder.
There 's little said in the ranks, for there is little
breath for talking, though every man is busy
enough thinking. We all feel, somehow, that
our day has come at last — as indeed it has I
We get in through the outskirts of Gettysburg,
tearing down the fences of the town lots and outly-
ing gardens as we go ; we pass a battery of brass
guns drawn up beside the Seminary, some hundred
yards in front of which building, in a strip of
meadow-land, we halt, and rapidly form the line
of battle.
" General,
shall we
unsling /
ON THE MARCH TO
knapsacks ? " shouts some one
down the line to our Division-gen-
eral, as he is dashing by.
" Never mind the knapsacks,
boys ; it 's the State now ! "
And he plunges his spurs up to the rowels in the
flanks of his horse, as he takes the stake-and-ridcr
fence at a leap and is away.
" Unfurl the flags. Color-guard ! "
"Now, forward, double "
" Colonel, we 're not loaded yet ! "
238
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[Janlarv,
A laugh runs along the line as, at the command
"Load at will — load!" the ramrods make their
merry music, and at once the word is given, " For-
ward, double-quick ! " and the line sweeps up that
rismg ground with banners gayly flying, and cheers
that rend the air — a sight, once seen, never to be
forgotten.
I suppose the boy-readers of St. Nicholas won-
der what a drummer-boy does in time of battle.
Perhaps they have the same idea 1 used to have,
namely, that it is the duty of a drummer-boy to
beat his drum all the time the battle rages, to
encourage the men or drown the groans of the
wounded ! But if they will reflect a moment, they
will see that amid the confusion and noise of battle,
there is little chance of martial music being either
heard or heeded. Our Colonel had long ago given
us our orders :
" You drummer-boys, in time of an engagement,
are to lay aside your drums and take stretchers and
help off the wounded. I expect you to do this, and
you arc to remember that, in doing it, you are just
as much helping the battle on as if you were fight-
ing with guns in your hands."
And so we sit down there on our drums, and
watch the line going in with cheers. Forthwith we
get a smart shelling, for there is evidently some-
body else watching that advancing line besides
ourselves ; but they have elevated their guns a little
too much, so that every shell passes quite over the
line and plows up the meadow-sod about us in all
directions.
Laying aside our knapsacks, we go to the Semin-
ary, now rapidly filling with the wounded. This
the enemy surely can not know, or they would n't
shell the building so hard! We get stretchers at
the ambulances, and start out for the line of battle.
We can just see our regimental colors waving in
the orchard, near a log-house about three hundred
yards ahead, and we start out for it — 1 on the lead
and Daney behind.
There is one of our batteries drawn up to our left
a short distance as we run. It is engaged in a
sharp artillery duel with one of the enemy's, which
we can not see, although we can hear it plainly
enough, and straight between the two our road
lies. So, up we go, Daney and I, at a lively trot,
dodging the shells as best we can, till, panting for
breath, we set down our stretcher under an apple-
tree in the orchard, in which, under the brow of
the hill, we find the regiment lying, one or two
companies being out on the skirmish line ahead.
I count six men of Company C lying yonder in
the grass— ^killed, they say, by a single shell. Andy
calls me away for a moment to look after some
poor fellow whose arm is off at the shoulder ; and it
was just time I got away, too, for immediately a
shell plunges into the sod where I had been sitting,
tearing my stretcher to tatters and plowing up a
great furrow under one of the boys who had been
sitting immediately behind me, and who thinks
" That was rather close shaving, was n't it, now?"
The bullets whistling overhead make pretty music
with their ever-varying "z-i-p! z-i-p ! " and we
could imagine them so many bees, only they have
such a terribly sharp sting. They tell me, too, of
a certain cavalry-man (Dennis Buckley, Sixth
Michigan cavalry it was, as I afterward learned —
let history preserve the brave boy's name) who,
having had his horse shot under him, and seeing
that first-named shell explode in Company C with
such disaster, exclaimed, "That is the company
for me ! " He remained with the regiment all day,
doing good service with his carbine, and he escaped
unhurt !
'"Here they come, boys; we '11 have to go in
at them on a charge, I guess ! " Creeping close
around the corner of the log-house, I can see the
long lines of gray sweeping up in fine style over
the fields ; but I feel the Colonel's hand on my
shoulder.
" Keep back, my bo\ : no use exposing yourself
in that way."
As 1 get back behind the house and look around,
an old man is seen approaching our line through
the orchard in the rear. He is dressed in a long,
blue, swallow-tailed coat and high silk hat, and
coming up to the Colonel, he asks :
" Would you let an old chap like me have a
chance to fight in your ranks, Colonel ?"
" Can you shoot ? " inquires the Colonel.
" Oh yes, I can shoot, I reckon," says he.
" But where are your cartridges ? "
" I 've got 'em here, sir," says the old man,
slapping his hand on his pantaloons pocket.
And so "old John Burns," of whom every
school-boy has heard, takes his place in the line
and loads and fires with the best of them, and is
left wounded and insensible on the field when the
day is done.
Reclining there under a tree while the skirmish-
ing is going on in front and the shells are tearing
up the sod around us, I observe how evidendy
hard pressed is that battery yonder in the edge of
the wood, about fifty yards to our right. The
enemy's batteries have excellent range on the poor
fellows ser\'ing it. And when the smoke lifts or
rolls away in great clouds for a moment, we can
see the men running, and ramming, and sighting,
and firing, and swabbing, and changing position
every few minutes to throw the enemy's guns out
of range a little. The men are becoming terribly
few, but nevertheless their gtms, with a rapidity
that seems unabated, belch forth great clouds of
l882.]
RECOLLECTIONS OK A D K U XI M E K - HO V.
^39
smoke and send the shells shrieking over the
plain.
Meanwhile, events occur whicli give us somc-
tliing more to think of than mere skirmishing and
shelling. Our beloved Hrigadier-general, stepping
out a moment to reconnoiter the enemy's position
and mo\'e:nents, is seen b\' some sharp-shooter off
in a tree, and is carried severely wounded into the
barn. Our Colonel assumes command of the
brigade. Our regiment facing westward, while
the line on our right faces to the north, is obser\'ed
to be exposed to an enfilading fire from the enemy's
guns, .is well as from the long line of gray now
appearing in full sight on our right. So our regi-
ment must form in hne and change front forward,
in order to come in line with the other regiments.
Accomplished swiftly, this new movement Ijrings
our line at once face to face with the enemy's,
which advances to within fifty yards, and exchanges
a few volleys, but is soon checked and staggered
by our fire.
Yet now, see ! Away to our left, and conse-
quently on our flank, a new line appears, rapidly
advancing out of the woods a half-mile away, and
there must be some quick and sharp work done
now. Boys, or, between the old foes in front and the
new ones on our flank, we shall be annihilated.
To clear us of these old assailants in front before
the new line can sweep down on our flank, our
brave Colonel, in a ringing command, orders a
charge along the whole line. Then, before the
gleaming and bristling bayonets of our "Buck-
tail " brigade, as it yells and cheers, sweeping
resistlessly o\er the field, the enemy gives way and
flies in confusion. But there is little time to watch
them fly, for that new line on our left is approach-
ing at a rapid pace ; and, with shells falling thick
and fast into our ranks, and men dropping every-
where, our regiment must reverse the former
movement by " changing front to rear," and so
resume its original position facing westward, for the
enemy's new line is approaching from that direc-
tion, and if it takes us in flank, we are done for.
To "change front to rear" is a difficult move-
ment to execute even on drill, much more so under
severe fire ; but it is executed now steadily and
without confusion, yet not a minute too soon !
For the new line of gray is upon us in a mad tem-
pest of lead, supported by a cruel artillery fire,
almost before our line can steady itself to receive
the shock. However, partially protected by a post-
and-rail fence, we answer fiercely, and with effect so
terrific that the enemy's line wavers, and at length
moves off by the right flank, giving us a breathing
space for a time.
During this struggle, there had been many an
exciting scene all along the line as it swayed back-
ward and forward u\xr the field — scenes which we
have had no time to mention yet.
See yonder, where the colors of the regiment on
our right — our sister regiment, the 149th — have
been advanced a little to draw the enemy's fire,
while our line sweeps on to the charge. There
ensues about the flags a wild /«<%r and close hand-
to-hand encounter. Some of the enemy have
seized the colors and are making off with them in
triumph, shouting victory. But a squad of our own
regiment dashes out, and amid yells and cheers
and smoke, you sec the battle-flags rise and fall,
and sway hither and thither upon the surging mass,
as if tossed on the billows of a tempest, until,
wrenched away by strong arms,' they are borne
back in triumph to the line of the 149th.
See yonder, again ! Our Colonel is clapping his
hand to his check, from which a red stream is pour-
ing ; our Lieutenant-colonel is kneeling on the
ground, and is having his handkerchief tied tight
around his arm at the shoulder ; the Major and
Adjutant both lie low, pierced with balls through the
chest ; one Lieutenant is waving his sword to his
men, although his leg is crushed at the knee; three
other officers of the line are lying over there,
motionless now forever. All over the field are
strewn men wounded or dead, and comrades pause
a moment in the mad rush to catch the last words
of the dying. Incidents such as these the reader
must imagine for himself, to fill in these swift
sketches of how the day was won — and lost !
Aye, lost ! For the balls which have so far
come mainly from our front, begin now to sing in
from our left and right, which means that we are
being flanked. Somehow, away off to our right, a
half-mile or so, our line has given way and is
already on retreat through the tow n, while our left
is being driven in, and we ourselves may shortly be
surrounded and crushed — and so the retreat is
sounded.
Back now along the railroad cut we go, or
through the orchard and the narrow strip of woods
behind it, with our dead scattered around on all
sides, and the wounded crying piteously for help.
" Harry ! Harry ! " It is a faint cry of a dying
man yonder in the grass, and I mus/ see who it is.
" Why, Willie ! Tell me where you are hurt ?"
1 ask, kneeling down beside him, and I see the
words come hard, for he is fast dying.
"Here in my side, Harry. Tell — Mother —
Mother "
Poor fellow, he can say no more. His head falls
back, and Willie Black is at rest forever !
On, now, through that strip of woods, at the other
edge of u-hich, with my back against a stout oak,
I stop and look at a beautiful and thrilling sight.
Some reserves are being brought up ; infantry in
240
RECOLLECTIONS OE A D R U M M E R - 11 O Y
[January,
the center, the colors flying and officers shouting ;
cavalry on the right with sabers flashing and
horses on a trot ; artillery on the left, with guns at
full gallop sweeping into position to check the
headlong pursuit — it is a grand sight and a fine
rail}', but a vain one ; for in an hour we are swept off
the field and are in full retreat through the town.
Up through the streets hurries the remnant of our
shattered corps, while the enemy is pouring into
the town only a few squares away from us. There
is a tempest of shrieking shells and whistling balls
toward sunset, and throw ourselves down by the
road in a tumult of excitement and grief, having
lost the day through the overwhelming force of
numbers, and yet somehow having gained it, too
(although as yet we know it not), for the sacrifice
of our corps has saved the position for the rest of
the army, which has been marching all day, and
which comes pouring in over Cemetery Ridge all
night long.
Aye, the position is saved — but where is our
corps ? Well may our Division-general, who early
AT CLOSE QUARTERS, ON THE FIRST DAY AT GETTYSBURG.
about our ears. The guns of that battery by the
woods we have dragged along, all the horses being
disabled. The artillery-men load as we go, dou-
ble-charging with grape and canister.
" Make way there, men ! " is the cr)-, and the
surging mass crowds close up on the sidewalks to
right and left, leaving a long lane down the center
of the street, through which the grape and canis-
ter go rattling into the ranks of the enemy's
advance-guard.
And so, amid scenes which 1 have neither space
nor power to describe, we gain Cemetery Ridge
. (To /v 1
in the day succeeded to the command when our
brave Reynolds had fallen, shed tears of grief as he
sits there on his horse and looks over the shattered
remains of that First Army Corps, for there is but
a handful of it left. Of the five hundred and fifty
men that marched under our regimental, colors in
the morning, but one hundred remain. All our
Field and Staff officers are gone. Of some twenty
captains and lieutenants, but one is left without a
scratch, while of my own company only thirteen
out of fifty-four sleep that night on Cemetery Ridge,
under the open canopy of heaven.
ontbutt'd. )
l883.)
DONAI.D AM) DOROTHY.
241
SECOND THOUGHTS ARK ALWAYS BEST.
By Margaret VANDEORin.
The Panda and the Phalanger, the Gopher and the Yak,
Had all aj,'reed to emigrate, and to carry in a sack
Their extra tails and claws and things — for they were not coming back.
But first they needs must settle who should carry this said sack.
The meeting opened with a grunt — the language of the Yak —
"1 '11 mention it at once," said he, " 1 've a weakness of the back,
" And a dreadful stiffness in one leg and my spinal column, and a "
"You've described my case, sir, to a T," interrupted here the P.nnda,
And he looked as solemn as if he thought he were all of the Propaganda.
The Gopher cleared his throat, and said, " It would be merely sport.
To carr>' such a load as that " The Yak was heard to snort —
•' For any one of you, I mean; my legs are much too short!"
The Phalanger combed out his tail — he always was so neat!
" You know," he said, with a modest smile, and in accents low and sweet,
" That / '«/ disabled, permanently, by this webbing on my feet ! "
They looked at one another long. Said the Yak, " If this be so,
I 've an amendment to propose; suppose we do not go?
Is anv minded othenvise?" The three responded "No!"
DONALD AND DOROTHY.*
By Mary Mapes Dodge.
Chapter V.
supper-time.
" Oh, if gentlemen only
knew the nature of muffins ! "
PoorLiddy! Her trig black
dress and jaunty muslin cap
seemed to mock her perturbed
feelings, as she hovered be-
tween the kitchen and the hall
door. Donald and Dorothy, neatly brushed,— cool
and pink of cheek, and vcr)' crisp in the matter of
neck-ties, — stood at one window of the supper-
room. The flaxen-haired waitress, in a bright blue
calico gown and white apron, watched, tray in
hand, at the other. A small wood-fire, just lighted,
was waking into life on the hearth. Old Nero was
dozing upon the rug, with one eye open. And all
— to say nothing of the muffins — were waiting for
Mr. George, whom the D's had not seen since
their return from the drive, half an hour before.
When that gentleman came in he walked briskly
to his seat, and though he did not speak, his man-
ner seemed to say: "Everything is all right. I
merely came in a little late. Now for supper ! "
But Nero, rising slowly from the warm rug, slipped
under the table, rubbed himself 5ymi)athetically
against his master's legs, and finally settled down
at his feet, quite contented to serve as a foot-stool
for Donald and Dorothy, who soon were seated one
on each side of the table, while Liddy, carefully
settling her gown, took her pl.icc at the large tea-
tray.
Mr. George, as Liddy soon saw to her satisfac-
tion, did appreciate the nature of muffins.
So did Donald and Dorothy.
•Copyright, 1881, by Mar>' M.npes Dodge. AU right* rescncd.
242
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[January,
Chapter VI.
A FAMILY CONFERENCE.
After supper, Uncle George, Donald and Doro-
thy went into the library, and there they found
the soft light of a shaded lamp and another brisk
fire — so brisk that Mr. George let down the win-
dows at the top, and the two D's were glad to go
and sit on the sofa at the cooler end of the spacious
room.
" Liddy is determined that we shall not freeze
before the winter sets in," remarked Mr. George,
hardly knowing how to begin the conversation.
He was not the first good man who has found him-
self embarrassed in the presence of frank young
listeners waiting to hear him speak and sure to
weigh and remember everything he might say.
The children smiled solemnly.
Thus began an interview which, in some respects,
changed the lives of Donald and Dorothy.
" Liddy is a good, faithful soul," said Uncle
George. " She has been with us, you know, ever
since you were babies."
"And before, too," put in Dorry.
" Yes, before, too," assented Mr. George. " Some
years before."
Nero, dreaming by the fire, growled softly, at
which the D's, glad of a chance to partly relieve
themselves, and feeling that the interview was
one of grave importance, indulged in a smothered
laugh.
" And Nero, poor faithful old dog, you knew
us!" continued Mr. George, changing to a more
cheerful tone, while Nero's tail contentedly beat
time to the remark (for the good creature knew well
enough that Mr. George was speaking of him) ;
"he was hardly a year old then, the friskiest,
handsomest fellow you ever saw, and brave as a
lion."
" Did he know Aunt Kate?" asked the audacious
Dorothy.
Donald looked frightened ; Uncle George
coughed; and just as Dorothy, wretchedly uncom-
fortable, made up her mind that it was too cruel for
anything, never to be able to speak of your own
aunty without raising a storm, Mr. George came
out of the bright light and seated himself on the
sofa between the D's, with an arm around each.
Dorry, puzzled but almost happy, drew as close as
she could, but still sat upright ; and Donald, manly
boy that he was, felt a dignified satisfaction in his
uncle's embrace, and met him with a frank, ques-
tioning look. It was the work of an instant.
Dorry's startling inquiry still sounded on the fire-
lit air.
"Donald," said Uncle, without replying to
Dorry's question. " Let me see. You are now four-
teen years old ? "
" Fourteen and ten days, — nearly half a month
over fourteen," said Dorothy promptly. " Are n't
we, Donald ? I 'm so glad ! "
Donald nodded, and Uncle placidly asked why
she was glad.
"Because twins can't boss — I mean domineer
— each other. If Don was the least bit older
than me — I — me, it would n't be half so nice as
starting fair and square."
Here she gave a satisfied little cough, and to her
great surprise felt her uncle's arm immediately
withdrawn.
"Stop your nonsense, Dorothy," said he, almost
sternly; " and don't interrupt us."
" Now Uncle 's afraid again," thought Donald,
but he felt so sorry for his sister that he said, in a
tone of dignified respect : " Dorry did n't mean to
be rude, Uncle."
"No, no. Certainly not," said that very puz-
zling individual, suddenly resuming his former
position, and drawing the little lady toward him.
" Where were we? Oh, yes. Fourteen years and
ten days, is it ? "
" Yes, sir, right to a minute," replied Donald,
laughing.
"Well, there is no hurry, I am glad to say. I
have been thinking of late, Donald, that a little
boarding-school experience is a good thing for a
boy."
Dorothy started ; but she had resolved rather
sullenly that people should wait a long while before
they would hear another word from her.
" Yes, sir," assented Donald, quickly. It would
be glorious to go, he thought, and actually be a
boarding-school boy, belonging to a crack base-ball
club, a debating society, perhaps even a secret
society ; to get boxes of fruit and cake from home,
and share them with his room-mates; may be have
a fight or two, for a fellow must hold his own, you
know; — but then how strange it would be to live
without Dorry ! Oh, if she only were a boy !
"I 'd come home on Thanksgiving and Christ-
mas ?" asked Don, following up this last objection.
" Oh, yes. But you 're not olT yet, my boy.
The fact is, I did think seriously of sending you
this autumn, and I even looked up a few good
places. But there 's no special hurry. This
boarding-school business has its uncomfortable side.
It breaks up a household, and makes little sisters
lonesome. Does n't it, Dorry?"
Dorry could n't speak now, though she tried, and
Mr. George considerately went on : " Besides,
there 's another, a very good reason, why we should
wait awhile. You are needed here just now."
"Needed here?" thought Dorry. "I should
l882.|
DONALD AM) DOROTHY.
243
say so ! " Uncle might as well have remarked that
the sunshine, or the sky, or the air was needed
here as to say that Don was needed. A bijj tear
gathered under her lashes — " Besides, she was no
more his little sister than he was her little brother.
They were just even halves of each other." —
And the tear went back.
Meantime, Uncle's remarks flowed slowly
on, like a deep stream passing
between two banks —
one with
be guarded, thank you." But, for all that, she felt
proud that Uncle should speak of her in this way
to Uonald. Probably he was going to mention
fire, and remind them of the invariable rule that
they must not, on any account, carry matches into
the barn, or light a bonfire anywhere
without express permission.
Meanwhile, Don-
iild watched
DONALD S THOUGHTS.
its sunny leaves and blossoms all astir in the
breeze, the other bending, casting its image in the
stream, and so going on with it in a closer com-
panionship.
" You are needed here, Donald ; but, as I said
before, there is plenty of time. And though 1
shall bear tliis boarding-school matter in mind, 1
can not well spare you just now. I shall require,
perhaps, some vigilance on your part, and cool-
headedness, — not that anything very serious is
likely to occur; in fact, there is no real reason
why it should — but a brother naturally guards his
sister even when no danger threatens."
" Certainly," said Don.
" Humph," thougiit Dorothy, " I don't want to
his
Uncle's
face, fol-
lowing every
word.
'■ TIkto is nothing
really to be appre-
hendctl," continued
Uncle George; "but it is
important that you — that Dor-
othy— I should say — well, my
children, perhaps you have ob-
served— indeed, you spoke to-day,
Dorothy, of having seen something of a person who
has been about here several times of late."
" Oh, yes. Uncle," responded Dorry.
But Donald waited to hear more. He had talked
previously with his uncle about this same person,
whom he had seen more than once lounging about
the grounds.
"Well," said Mr. George, slowly, "this man,
'long and lank,' as Dorry truly described him, is
not really a bad man, — at least, we '11 believe he is
not, — but he is one whom I wish you both to avoid.
His company will do you no good."
"Would n't it be better. Uncle," suggested
Dorry, now eager to help matters, " for Jack to
order him off the place whenever he comes on ?"
244
DONALD A N D D O R O T II Y .
[Jam'ary,
"Well, no," said Uncle George. "After all,
he may not come again. But if he should, I wish
you to have as little to do with him as possible."
"We could set Nero on him. Nero can't bite,
but he 'd scare him pretty well," insisted Dorry,
with animation. " The idea of his calling me 'Sis' !
the great, horrid, long "
" There, there; that will do," said Mr. George.
" All you need is to remember what I say. Do not
fear this man. Above all, do not let him suppose
that you fear him. But avoid him. Keep within
the gates for the present."
" 0-h, Uncle!" exclaimed Dorry, in consterna-
tion, while even Donald broke forth with a plaintive
''Both of us, Uncle.?"
" Yes, both of you, — for a few days at least, or
until I direct to the contrary. And while out-of-
doors, keep together."
"We '11 do that, any way," replied Dorry, half-
saucily.
"The man," continued Mr. George, "probably
will not trouble either of you. He is a ne'er-do-well,
whom I knew as a boy, but we lost sight of him
long ago. I suspect he has been steadily going
down for years."
" I can't see wh ," began the irrepressible
Dorry, but she was checked by a firm : " You need
not see, nor try to see. Only remember what I
have told you, and say nothing to any one about it.
Now we may talk of other things. Oh, by the way.
there was one pretty good reason for thinking of
making a change in schooling. Dr. Lane is going
to leave us."
" Dr. Lane going to leave ! " echoed Donald, in
regretful surprise.
" Good ! No more old algebra ! " exclaimed
Dorry, at the same time clapping her hand to her
mouth. Her vivid imagination had instantly pict-
ured relief and a grand holiday. But a moment's
reflection made her feel quite sorry, especially when
her uncle resumed :
"Yes, the good man told me yesterday that his
cough grows steadily worse, and his physician
has ordered him to go south for the winter. He
says he must start as soon as I can find a tutor to
take his place."
" Oh, don't let him wait a day. Uncle," exclaimed
Dorry, earnestly, — " please don't, if going south will
cure him. We 've noticed his cough, have n't we,
Don ? -We can study our lessons by ourselves, and
say them to each other."
Some bo>s would have smiled knowingh- at this
somewhat suspicious outburst, but Donald knew
Dorothy too well for that. She was thoroughly sin-
cere and full of sympathy for the kind, painstaking
man who, notwithstanding one or two peculiarities
which she and her brother could not help observ-
ing, was really a good teacher. For more than a
year, omitting only July and August, and Saturday
holidays, he had been coming to Lakewood every
week-daj- to instruct the two young Reeds in what he
called the rudiments of learning. There were two
visiting teachers besides Dr. Lane — the music-
master, Mr. Penton, and Mademoiselle Jouvin, the
French teacher. These came only twice a week,
and on different days, but Dr. Lane and they man-
aged to keep the D's very busy. Mr. Reed had
preferred that his niece and nephew should receive
their early education at home, and so Donald and
Dorothy thus far knew nothing of school life.
What could be the matter with Uncle George ?
Again Dorothy's look and tone — especially her
sudden expression of kindliness for her tutor — evi-
dently had given her uncle pain. He looked down
at her for an instant with a piteous and (as Donald
again thought) an almost frightened expression ;
then quickly recovering himself, went on to tell
Donald that Dorry was right. It would be best to
release Dr. Lane at once, and take the chances of
obtaining a new teacher. In fact, he would see
the doctor the very next morning, if they would let
him know when the lesson-hours were over.
" Uncle ! "
" Well, sir, what is it? "
" Did you go to boarding-school, when you
were a boy ? "
" Oh, yes. But 1 was older than you are now."
" Did Aunt Kate? " asked Dorry.
"There, there; that will do," was the reply.
Uncle George frequently had to say, "There,
there ; that will do," to Dorry.
"Well," she insisted timidly, and almost in a
whisper, " I have to ask about her, because you
was n't a girl," — Donald, reaching behind Mr.
George, tried to pull her sleeve to check the care-
less grammar, but her soul had risen above such
things, — " you was n't a girl, — and 1 don't expect
to go to a boy's boarding-school. Oh, L'ncle, I
don't, 1 really don't mean to be naughty, but it 's
so hard, so awfully hard, to be a girl without any
mother; and when I ask about her or Aunt Kate,
you always — yes, Uncle, you really do ! — you
always get mad. Oh, no, 1 don't mean to say
that, but it makes you feel so awful sorry, that you
don't know how it sounds to me. You actually
don't, LTncle. If I only could remember Mamma !
But, of course, I can't ; and then that picture that
came to us from England looks so — so very "
'■ It 's lovely ! " exclaimed Donald, almost indig-
nantly.
" Yes, it 's handsome, but I know Mamma
would n't look that way now. It 's so sort of stiff.
May be it 's the big lace collar — and even Liddy
can't tell me whether it was a good likeness or not.
t8Ss>.|
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
245
But Aunt Kate's picture in the parlor is so different.
I think it 's because it was painted when she was a
little {jirl. Oh, it 's so sweet and natural 1 want to
climl) up and kiss it ! I really do, Uncle. That 's
why I want to talk about her, and why I love her
so very much. You would n't speak cross to her,
Uncle, if she came to life and tried to talk to you
about us. No, I think you 'd — Oh, Uncle!
Uncle! What ;> the matter? What makes you
look so at me ! "
Before Dorry fairly knew what had happened,
Donald was at his uncle's feet, looking up at Iiim
in great distress, and Uncle George was sobbing!
Only for an instant. His face was hidden in his
hands, and when he lifted it, he again had full
control of himself, and Dorry almost felt that she
had been mistaken. She never had seen her uncle
cry, or dreamed that he coiilii cry ; and now, as
she stood with her arms clasped about his neck
crying because he cried, she could only think, with
an awed feeling, of his tenderness, his goodness,
and inwardly blame herself for being " the hate-
fullest, foolishcst girl in all the world." Looking at
Donald for sympathy, she whispered : " I 'm sorry.
Uncle, if I did wrong. 1 '11 try never, never to be
so — so " She was going to say "so wicked
again," but the words would not come. She knew
that she had not been wicked, and yet she could
not at first hit upon the right term. Just as it
flashed upon her to say "impetuous," and not to
care a fig if Donald tiiti secretly laugh at her using
such a grand expression, Mr. George said, gently,
but with much seriousness :
" You need not reproach yourself, my child. 1
can see very clearly just what you wish to say.
Don and I can rough it together, but you, poor
darling," — stroking her hair softly, — "need just
what we can not give you, a woman's^ — a mother's
tenderness."
" Oh, yes, you do : Yes, you do. Uncle ! " cried
Dorothy, in sudden generosity.
" And it is only natural, my little maid, that you
should long — as Donald must, too — to hear more
of the mother whom I scarcely knew, whom, in fact,
I saw only a few times. Wolcott — 1 should say,
your I'apa — and she sailed for Europe soon after
their marriage, and there found "
He checked himself suddenly, and Dorry took
advantage of the pause to say, softly :
" But it was n't so with Aunt Kate. You knew
her. Uncle, all her life. Was n't she sweet, and
lovely, and "
"Yes, yes! Sweet, lovely, everything that was
noble and good, dear. You can not love her too
well."
"And Papa," spoke up Donald, sturdily — "he
was perfect. You 'vc often told us so — a true, up-
right. Christian gentleman." The boy knew this
phrase by heart. He had so often heard his uncle
use it in speaking of the lost brother, that it seemed
almost like a part of his father's name. "And
Mamma we I'liow was good, Dorry. Liddy says
every one liked her ever so much. Uncle George
says so, too. Only, how can he talk to us about
our mother if he hardly knew her? She did n't
ever live in this house. She lived in New York —
and that made a great dift'erence — don't you see ?"
"Yes," admitted Dorry, only half-satisfied;
" but you would have known her, Uncle George, —
yes, known Mamma, and Aunty, and our Uncle
Robertson [they had never learned to call that
uncle by his first name] — we would have known
them all — no, not all, not poor dear Papa, because
he never lived to set sail from England ; but all
the rest, even our dear little cousin, Delia, — ^oh,
would n't she be sweet if we had her now to love
and take care of! We should all ha\e known each
other ever so well — of course we should — if the
ship had landed safe."
" Yes, my darlings, if the ship had not gone
down, all would have been very, very diflerent.
There would have been a happy household indeed.
We should have had more than I dare to think of."
" But we have each other now. Uncle," said
Dorothy, soothingly and yet with spirit. "It
can't be so very miserable and dreadful with you
and Donald and me left ! "
"Bless you, my little comforter! — No. God
be praised, we have still a great deal to be thankful
for."
"Yes, and there arc Liddy and Jack, and dear
old Nero," said Donald, jiartly because he wanted
to add his mite toward the cheerfuUer view of
things, but mainly because he felt choked, and it
would be as well to say something, if only to prove
to himself that he was not giving way to unmanly
emotion.
"Oh, yes — Jack!" added Dorry. "If it were
not for Jack where would we twins be, 1 'd like to
know ! "
Said in an ordinary tone of voice, this would
have sounded rather flippant, but Dorry uttered
the words with real solemnity.
" 1 think of that often," said Donald, in the same
spirit. " It seems so wonderful, too, that we did n't
get drowned, or at least die of exposure, and "
Dorothy interrupted him with an animated
"Yes, indeed! — mercy! Such little, little bits of
babies ! " — and Donald turned to look inquiringly
at Uncle George before proceeding.
" It does seem like a miracle," Uncle George
said.
"But Jack," continued Donald, warmly, "was
such a wonderful swimmer."
246
DONALD AND DOROTH\'.
[January,
" Yes, and wonderful catcher!" said Dorothy.
"Just think how he caught us — Ugh ! It makes
nie shiver to think of being tossed in the air over
those black, raging waves — we must have looked
like little bundles flying from the ship. Was n't
Jack just wonderful to hold on to us as he did, and
work so hard looking for — for the others, too.
Mercy ! if we only get our feet wet now, Liddy
seems to think it 's all over with us — and yet, look
what we stood then ! Little mites of babies, soaked
to the skin, out in an open boat on the ocean all
that terrible time."
" Much we cared for that," was Don's comment.
" Probably we laughed, or played pat-a-cake, or
" Played pat-a-cake ! " interrupted Dorry, with
intense scorn of Donald's ignorance of baby ways
— "babies only six weeks old playing pat-a-cake !
I guess not. It 's most likely we cried and screamed
like everything; is n't it, Uncle?"
Uncle nodded, with a strange mixture of gravity
and amusement, and Donald added, earnestly ;
" Whether we cried or not. Jack was a trump.
Splendid old fellow! A real hero, was n't he.
Uncle ? 1 can see him now — catching us — then,
when the other boat capsized, chucking us into
somebody's arms, and plunging into the sea to
save all he could, but coming back alone." (The
children had talked about the shipwreck so often
that they felt as if they remembered the awful
scene.) "He was nearly dead by that time, you
know."
"Yes, and nearly dead or not, if he had n't
come back," chirped Dorothy, who was growing
tired of the tragic side of Donald's picture, — " if he
had n't come back to take charge of us, and take
us on board the big ship "
- "The 'Cumberland,'" said Don.
"Yes, the 'Cumberland,' or whatever she was
called ; if he had n't climbed on board with us,
and wrapped us in blankets and everything, and
fed us and so on, it would n't have been quite so
gay ! "
I^ow, nothing could have been in worse taste
than the conclusion of this speech, and Dorothy
knew it ; but she had spoken in pure defiance of
solemnity. There had been quite enough of that
for one evening.
Upcle George, dazed, troubled, and yet in some
vague way inexpressibly comforted, was quietly
looking first at one speaker, then at the other,
when Liddy opened the door with a significant :
" Mr. Reed, sir, did you ring ? "
Oh, that artful Liddy! Uncle read "bed-time"
in her countenance. It was his edict that half-
past nine should be the hour ; and the D's knew
that their fate was sealed.
"Good-night, Uncle ! " said Donald, kissing his
uncle in good, hearty fashion.
"Good-night, Uncle! "said Dorothy, clinging to
his neck just an instant longer than usual.
" Good-night, my blessings ! "said Uncle George,
reluctantly, as he closed the library door behind
them.
Nero, shut up in Liddy's room, was barking
furiously.
Two more orderly, well-behaved young persons
never left an apartment, but I must tell the truth.
When they were fairly in the hall, Donald started
to go upstairs on the outside, holding on to the
balusters, and Dorry ran to the front door, in
spite of Liddy's remonstrances, with a frisky :
" Oh, do let me have just one breath of fresh
air ! "
She came back ins'tantly, rushed past Liddy,
who was slowly puffing her way up the stairs, met
Donald at the first landing (he had condescended
by this time to leap over to the stair side of the
balusters), and whispered :
" Upon my sacred word, I saw him ! He's out
there, standing at the front steps ! "
" Uncle ought to know it ! " exclaimed Donald,
turning to run down again.
But he stopped on the next step, for Mr. George
had come from the library, opened the front door,
and disappeared.
The two D's stole from their rooms, after Liddy
"oade them good-night, and sat on the top stair,
whispering.
"Why did you open your window, just now,
Donald?"
'• Why, because I wanted to look out, of course."
" Now Don, I know better. You. coughed, just
to let Uncle know that you were around, if there
should be any trouble. You know you did. "
" Well, what if 1 did?" admitted Donald, reluc-
tantly. "Hark!" and he sprang up, ready for
action. "No, he's come back. It's Uncle. I
say, Dorry, it will come hard on us to stay on this
side of the hedge, like chickens. I wonder how
long it will last."
"Goodness knows! But he did n't say we
could n't go to the Danbys'. I suppose that 's
because we can get there by going around the back
way."
" I suppose so," assented Donald. " So long as
we keep off the public road, it 's all right."
" How queer ! "
"Yes, it is queer," said Donald. "However,
Uncle knows best."
" Dear me, how good we are, all of a sudden ! "
laughed Dorry, but she kissed Donald soberly for
«2.)
I) O N A L U A N n U O K O T 1 1 \
247
good-night, and after going to bed lay awake for at
least fifteen minutes, — a great while for her, —
thinking over the events of the day and evening.
Chapter VII.
THE DANBYS.
Who were the Danbys?
They were the Reeds' nearest neighbors, and no
two households could be more different. In the
first place, the Reeds were a small family of three,
with four servants ; the Danbys were a large family
of twelve, with no servants. The Reeds had a spa-
cious country mansion, rich old furniture, pretty
row-boats, fine horses, carriages, and abundant
wealth ; the Danbys had a little house, poor old
furniture, one cow, five pigs, one home-made scow,
one wheelbarrow, and no money, excepting the
very moderate income earned by the father of the
family and his eldest boy. There the great contrast
ended. The Danbys were thoroughly respectable,
worthy, and cleanly ; the parents, kind and loving
souls, could read and write, and the children were
happy, obedient, and respectful. To be sure, it
would have been very hard for the best school-
master of the county to parse some of Mrs. Danby's
fluent sentences, or to read at a glance Mr. Danby's
remarkable penmanship. But that same learned
individual would have delighted in the brightness
of the sons and daughters, had he been so fortu-
nate as to be their teacher. Alas ! the poor little
Danbys had enjoyed but a scant and broken
schooling ; but they were sharp little things, and
native wit served them whenever reading, writing,
and arithmetic failed. Indeed, the very fact of
their intercourse with Donald and Dorothy had
done wonders for their language and deportment.
Yet each individual, from the big brother Ben
down to the latest baby, had his or her own pecul-
iar character and style, which not twenty Dons
and Dorothys could alter.
It was not very difficult, after all, to remember
the names of the young Danbys, for Mr. Danby,
being a methodical man, had insisted on their
being named in alphabetical order and that they
each should have two names, so as to give them
their choice in after life. Therefore, the first was
called Amanda Arabella, who, at the present stage
of our story, was a girl of seventeen, with poetical
gifts of her own ; the second was Benjamin Buster,
aged fifteen ; the third. Charity Cora, dark-eyed,
thoughtful, nearly thirteen, and, the neighbors de-
clared, never seen without a baby in her arms; the
fourth, Daniel David, a robust young person of
eleven ; the fifth, Ella Elizabeth, red-haired, and
just half-past nine, as she said. Next came Francis
Ferdinand, or " Fandy," as he was called for short,
who, though only eight, was a very important mem-
ber of the family; next, Gregory George, who was
six, — and here the stock of double names seems
to have given out, for after Master Gregory came
plain little Helen, aged four, — Isabella, a wee tod-
dler "going on three," — and, last of all, little
Jamie, " the sweetest, tunningest little baby that
ever lived." So now you have them all : Amanda
Arabella, Benjamin Buster, Charity Cora, Daniel
David, Ella Elizabeth, Francis Ferdinand, (Gregory
George, Helen, Isabella, and roly-poly Jamie. If
you can not quite remember all the children, who
can blame you ? Even Mrs. Danby herself, with
her knowledge of the alphabet to help her, always
had to name them upon her hands, allowing a child
to each finger, and giving Elizabeth and Fandy
the thumbs.
The stars of the family in Donald's and Doro-
thy's estimation were Benjamin Buster, who had
seen the world, and had enjoyed adventures and
hair-breadth escapes already, and was now home
for the first time in four years. Charity Cora,
whose big dark eyes told their own story, and little
Fandy. Mr. Danby was proud of all his children,
though perhaps proudest of Baby Jamie, because
there was no knowing what the child might come
to ; but Mrs. Danby looked with absolute rever-
ence upon her eldest — Amanda Arabella. " Such
a mind as that girl has, Mr. Danby," she would
say to her husband, "it is n't for us to compre-
hend. She might have come just so out of a
book, Amanda might." And Mr. Danby would
nod a pleased and puzzled assent, vaguely wonder-
ing how long he could manage to hold his high
parental state over so gifted a creature.
Amanda Arabella's strong points were poetry
and sentiment. To be sure, she scrubbed the
floor and washed the dishes, but she did these
menial duties " with her head in the clouds," as
she herself had confessed to her mother. Her soul
was above it, and as soon as she could, she intended
to "go somewhere and perfect herself" This idea
of going somewhere to jjerfect herself, was one
which she had entertained in secret for some time,
though she had not the slightest idea of where she
could go, and in just what way she was to be per-
fected. She only knew that, at present, house-
work and the nine brothers and sisters were quite
as much as she could attend to, excepting at odd
moments when "the poetry fit was on her," as her
mother expressed it— "and then wild horses
could n't stop her! "
" I can't deny, Mr. Reed," said that proud mother
to her kind neighbor — who, on the morning after
his interview with Donald and Dorothy in his study,
had halted at Mrs. Danby's whitewashed gate to
248
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[January^
wish her a stately "Good-morning, madam!" and
to ask after her family — "I can't deny, and be
honest, that 1 'm uncommon blest in my children,
though the Lord has seen fit to give us more than
a extra lot of 'em. They 're peart and sound as
heart could wish, and so knowin' ! Why," she
continued, lowering her voice and drawing closer
to the gate — " there's my Fandy now, only eight
years old, can preach 'most like a parson ! It 'ud
rise your hair with surprise to hear him. An' Ben,
my oldest boy, has had such adventures, an' haps
an' mishaps, as ought to be wTit out in a birogrophy.
An' there 's Amanda Arabella, my daughter — well,
if I only could set down the workin's o' my brain
as that girl can, I 'd do ! She has got a most
uncommon lively brain. Why, the other day —
But all this time you 're standin', Mr. Reed. Wont
you walk in, sir? Well, certainly, sir — it aint to
be '.xpected you could take time goin' by so, as you
are — Well, my 'Mandy, sir, only the other day was
a-comin' out into the shed with a pan o' dish-water,
and she sees a rainbow. ' Ma ! ' says she, a-call-
in' me, ' take this 'ere dish-water ! ' and before 't
I knowed it, she was a writin' down with her
lead-pencil the beautifullest thoughts that ever
was — all about that rainbow. In the evening,
when her pa come, I just up and showed it to him,
an' he says, says he : ' Them 's the grandest
thoughts I ever see put to paper ! ' "
" Ah ! " said Mr. Reed, with an expression of
MRS. DANBV S DREAM.
hearty interest and amusement on his honest face,
yet evidently ready to take advantage of the first
opportunity to go on his way.
"Yes, indeed," promptly assented Mrs. Danby,
"and she aint all. Our children, if I do say it,
seem to have more brains than they 've a fair right
to — bein' poor folk's children, as you may say. It
don't tire 'em one bit to learn — their pa says every
study they tackle gets the worst of it — they use it
up, so to speak. 1 dreamed th' other night I see the
four English branches, 'rithmetic, writin', readin',
and hist'ry, standin' exhausted waiting for them
children to get through with them — But 1 see
you 're shifting yourself, sir, for going, and I ought
to be ashamed to detain you this way clacking
about my own flesh and blood. I 've been poorly
lately, I did n't tell you, Mr. Reed" (looking at
him plaintively).
" No, indeed, I 'm very sorry to hear it," said
Mr. Reed, sympathetically. " Nothing serious,
1 hope."
"Oh, no. One o' my billerous attacks; the
spine o' my back seemed to give out somehow, and
I was dreadful bad for a couple o' days. But my
Thomas an' the children — bless their hearts! —
got me up again. You 'n' looking well, Mr. Reed.
Good-morning, sir — good-morning! Sakes !
He went off so sudden 1 forgot. "
And thus exclaiming to herself, the dear old
talker went back into the house.
" Forgot what, Ma ? " asked .'\manda, who stood
in the door-way trying to think of a rhyme for olives.
"Why, to tell Mr. Reed about that queer kind of
a man, who 's just engaged to lodge with us. I
don't feel like trustin' him somehow, and yet it
is n't for plain folks to be refusing a real boarder
who wants a plain family table, and don't put on
any airs. I told him," she continued, raising her
voice as she went farther into the house, "that if
ours was n't a family table (with ten children set-
ting 'round it, includin' the baby, and Mr. Danby
at the head), 1 did n't know what was. But he 's
to come back in an hour or two. Where in the
world to tuck him is the question. Anyhow, you
'd better go up, dear, and ready brother's room for
him. Ben 's got two rabbit-skins tacked outside
the window which '11 have to come down. Ben '11
have to go in with Dan and Fandy to
/■ "1 sleep. — Mercy ! Here come the twins,
— --£ 'cross-lots! — an' Fandy a preachin' there
^ — . in the pump-shed ! "
"^ True enough, the twins were coming
around by the back way. They approached
softly, and made a motion of warning to
Mrs. Danby, as they "drew nearer, for they
could hear Fandy Danby's voice, and
wished to enjoy the fun. Mrs. Danby,
smiling and nodding, pointed to a place where
they could stand unobserA'ed and hear the sermon.
It was the hour for the afternoon " cleaning-up."
Eight of the little Danbys, including Charity- with
1883.]
DONALD AM) I ) O R O T H V
249
Baby Jamie in her arms, had assembled then to
wash their hands and faces at the battered green
pump under the shed, where, on a long bench, were
two iron basins
and a saucer
containing a
few fraginents
of br, ,
r\NDV "PREACHES A SERMON
TO HIS BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
soap, while
on the wall \ \"^
hung a roll-
er-towel that al-
ready was on very
familiar terms with
Danby faces and
hands. The gcn-
er?l toilet had been
rather a noisy one,
owing partly to the baby objecting to having soap
in its eyes, and partly to the fact that too many
required the services of the Danby roller at the
same instant, to say nothing of Miss Helen insist-
ing upon slapping the water in a most unlady-like
way, and so splashing Master Gregory.
This combination having brought matters to a
crisis, had caused Fandy to mount a small step-
ladder, and, with many original gestures, address
the crowd in the following fashion :
"Chil'Ren! I 'm ashamed of you! I don't
know when I 've been so — so umprcssed with the
badness of this family. How often, my hearers,
do you 'spect me to stop my dressing to extort you ?
I did n't mean to preach no more sermons this
week, but you do behave so awful bad, I must.
" Now, first, don't you know speakin' saucy is a
sin? Don't you know it? It makes us hateful,
an' it makes us cross, an' it makes people tell Ma.
It aint right for Chrisshen chil'rcn to do such
things. It don't never say in our Bible-lesson thai
Vol. IX. — 17.
folks can call peoples 'mean uglies' just for want-
in' the roller. An' it don't say that a good Chris-
shen child can say ' Pshaw for you ! ' for havin'
__^^ not to make quite so much
noise, which you, my beloved
'(iory, said just now to Charity.
" Now, we must be good an'
perlite, if we want to do right
and have things Chrissmas, an'
if we want to be loved
on earth and in heaven.
(No, sir, that aint talk-
in' big, and 1 ilo know
what I mean, too.) I
say, we must be perlite.
1 1 's natural for big folks
to rub noses the wrong
way when they wash
faces, an' to comb hair
funny — they 're born
so. An' all we can do
is to be patient an' wait
till we get big, an' have
chil'rcn of our own.
"But what I say — what I mean, what 1 — what
1 — (Now you, Gregory, give Helen batk her dolly
right away, or I '11 come down to you!) — what I
mean is, that we all ought to be good and perlite.
It 's wicked to be saucy. We ought to stand one
another. An' nudgin' is wicked, an' scroogin' is
wicked, an' makin' faces aint the way to do. No
more aint buUyin', nor mockin', nor any of those
things. I go in for bein' pleasant and kind, an'
havin' fun fair — only, my beloved hearers, 1 can't
do it all alone. If we 'd all be good Chrisshen chil'-
rcn, things would go better, an' there would n't be
such a racket.
" Can't you cleanse your sinful hearts, my hear-
ers ? Cleanse 'em, anyhow, enough to behave ?
Can't you? — (Stop your answerin', David ; it puts
me out, and, besides, you ought n't to say that.
You ought to say 'I '11 try.') I notice you aint
none of you real quiet and peaceful, unless 1 'm
preachin', or you 're eatin' something good. 1 also
can see two people lookin' through the crack,
which I think they'd better come in, as I would n't
mind it. Now I can't extort you no more this
time."
To Tandy's great disgust, the audience applauded
the conclusion of his sermon, and were about to
become more uproarious than ever, when the sud-
den appearance of Donald and Dorothy put them
upon their good behavior.
" Is Ben here?" asked Donald, after the usual
"How-d'ye-do's" were over, and as Fandy was
taking a hasty turn at the roller-towel.
250
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[January,
"Don't know," said Fandy; "he 's mendin' a
trap ovci there" — pointing to an inclosed corner
close by the house, that had been roughly boarded
over and fitted up with bench and table by Master
Ben, so as to make a sort of workshop.
They all went over there, accompanied by Charity
Cora, and were received in Ben's usual style, which
consisted in simply ceasing to whistle aloud, though
he still held his lips in whistling position while he
proceeded with his work.
They watched him in silence for a moment (the
young Danbys, at least, knowing that they would
be sternly, but not unkindly, ordered off, if they
interfered with the business in hand), and then, to
their relief, saw Ben drive in the last nail and lay
down the hammer.
"What 's that for? — to catch yab-bits?" asked
Gregory George, nicknamed 'Gory by his brothers
for the fun of the thing, he was so fair-haired and
gentle.
"No; it's to catch little boys," answered Ben,
whereat 'Gory grinned, and looked at Don and
Dorry to see if they were foolish enough to be-
lieve it.
"Hollo, Donald."
Dorry was softly talking to Cora, and at the
same time coaxing the baby from its sister's arms.
" Hollo yourself! " was Donald's quick response.
"Did you have any luck, Ben, last night?"
"Yes, two! Got the skins out drying. Beauties!
I say, Donald, can you spare me your gun again if
you 're not going to use it Thanksgiving Day ? "
" Certainly," answered Don ; " you can have it,
and welcome. Tyler and I are going to fire at a
mark in the afternoon, with Uncle and the girls.
But we '11 use the rifle."
"What girls?" asked Charity Cora, eagerly,
hoping from Donald's plural way of putting it that
she and Ella Elizabeth possibly were to have a
share in the sport ; whereat Daniel David, guessing
her thoughts, answered for Donald, with a cutting:
"Why, Queen Victoria and the royal princesses,
to be sure. Who did you think ? "
Cora made no reply, but, feeling rather ashamed,
rubbed her arms (a habit of hers whenever the
baby for the moment happened to be out of them),
and looked at Donald.
" Josie Manning and Ed Tyler are coming over
after dinner," said Donald.
" I should think they'd rather come to dinner,"
spoke up Ella Elizabeth, with hungry eyes. "Tur-
keys and things — Oh, my I Punkin pie !"
This called forth two exclamations in a breath ;
Dan David: " ' Punkin pie ! Oh, my ! ' We 're
getting poetical. Call 'Mandy, quick. Punkin pie
— sky high."
Fandy : " Don't be so unproper. It 's pumpkun
pie. Dorothy said so. And, besides, we ought to
let the company do the talking."
" Humph, I guess they forget what they were
talkin' about."
" Not I, Charity," laughed Donald, turning to
the latest speaker. " In the first place, Josie and
Ed did n't feel like leaving home on Thanksgiving
Day till after dinner, and we two fellows are going
to teach her and Dorry to shoot straight — and"
(now addressing Ben, who by this time was wedg-
ing the handle of a hammer) " as for the gun, Ben,
you 're always welcome to it, so long as you return
it in as good order as you did last time. You
cleaned it better than I do."
"I found the rags," said Helen, slyly, — "ever so
many. Did n't I, Ben?"
Ben nodded at her, and Helen, made happy for
the whole day, ran off hugging a broken dolly in
exact imitation of Charity and Jamie ; meanwhile,
her big brother, pleased at Don's compliment,
remarked : " It 's a prime gun, and never fails."
" Never fails yoi/, Ben, you 'd better say. It
often fails me, never mind how carefully I aim."
" That 's just it, Donald," said Ben. " There 's
no good in aiming so particular."
" Well, what 's a fellow to do?" replied Donald.
"You must take aim, and by the time you get a
bird well sighted, he 's gone."
" Sight? I never sight," said Ben. " I just fire
ahead."
" You don't mean to say you shoot a bird with-
out aiming at him?"
"Oh, well, I aim, of course; but I don't look
through the sight, or any such nonsense."
" I don't understand," said Donald, doubtingly.
" Don't you ? Why, it 's just this : if the bird 's
flying he '11 go ahead, wont he ? Well, you fire
ahead and meet him — that 's the whole of it. You
know how an Indian shoots an arrow. He does n't
look along the line of the arrow for ten minutes,
like a city archer ; he decides, in a flash, what he 's
going to do, and lets fly. Practice is the thing.
Now, when you 're after a wild duck, you can aim
exactly at him and he 's safe as a turnip ; but see a
strip of water betwixt the nozzle of your gun and
him, and he 's a gone bird if you fire straight.
You have to allow for diving — but practice is the
thing. Learn by missing."
"Oh, that's good!" shouted Daniel David;
" ' learn by missing.' I 'm going to try that plan
in school after this. Don't you say so, Fandy ? "
" No, I don't," said the inflexible Fandy, while
he gazed in great admiration at the two big boys.
At this point the mother appeared at the door
with an empty pail in each hand, and before she
had time to call, David and Fandy rushed toward
her, seized the pails, and would have been off to-
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
251
gether for the well, if Mrs. Danby had not said:
"Let David get the water, Fandy, and you bring
me some light wood for boiling the kettle."
" You can't boil the kettle. Ma," called out one
of the children. " You boil the water."
" No more you can't," assented Mrs. Danby,
with an admiring laugh.
All this time, Dorry had been tossing the strug-
gling baby, and finally winning it to smiles, though
every fiber in its plump little body was squirming
in the direction of Charity Cora. Meanwhile, that
much-enduring sister had made several pungent
remarks, in a low tone, to her visitor, concerning
babies in general and Jamie in particular.
" Now you see how nice it is ! He keeps up that
wriggling all day : now it 's to come to me ; but
when I have him, it's wriggling for the chickens,
and for Mother, and for everything. And if you
set him down out-of-doors he sneezes, and if you
set him down in the house he screams, and Ma
calls out to know ' if I can't amuse that baby ! ' 1
tote him round from morning to night — so I do ! "
— Here the baby's struggles became so violent
and noisy that Charity Cora savagely took him
from Dorry, whereat he threw his plump little arms
about his sister's neck with such a satisfied baby-
sigh that she kissed him over and over, and looked
in placid triumph at Dorothy, apparently forgetting
that she ever had made the slightest complaint
against him.
" Have you begun with your new teacher yet ?"
she asked, hugging Jamie, and looking radiantly
at Dorothy.
"Oh, no!" answered Dorry. "How did you
know Dr. Lane was going ? "
" Ma heard it somewhere ! My, don't I wish 1
had a teacher to come every day and put me
through ! I 'm just dying to learn things. Do
you know, I have n't "
And here the girls sauntered off together to sit
down on a tree-stump, and have a good long talk,
if the babv would allow it.
(To be continuid.)
252
A DREAM OF LITTLE WOMEN.
[January,
A DREAM OF LITTLE WOMEN,
AND SOME OTHERS.
By Margaret Vandegrift.
I SAT one winter night beside the hearth;
Without, the north-wind 'round the chimney
screamed,
Within, the fire hummed forth its drowsy mirth,
And — I suppose I dreamed !
A Uttle face peeped at me through the gloom —
A smutty little face, all wet with tears;
A timid figure crept across the room,
Crouching with
sudden fears, —
And murmuring, "Oh!
^--;'' 5/ was ever such bad
X ii/f^-^i luck?
"" I <^ '.^^-f 1 Ve broken my dear
•>i -'^'Js:/ sister's best um-
^.^%^ brella,
- .. . '^•' And yesterday I killed
the little duck —
Unlucky Cinderella!"
A voice cried, "Cinderella ! Are
you there?"
( It was the sister's voice, full
', well I knew it !
The culprit murmured, crouching
'neath a chair,
1 did n't go to do it ! "
And the voice said, retreating as it spake,
" She knows that if 1 find her 1 shall shake her.
There is no telling what she next will break —
Was never such a breaker ! "
I saw a little maid whose locks of gold
Strayed from a scarlet hood.
She bore a basket on her
.^^S'.'CJ chubby arm.
^,r " Look ! " she exclaimed,
"the butter is so
good.
It has not melted, though
the day is warm —
I am Red Riding-hood ! "
"Oh, no!" 1 said. "The wolf "
She pointed back
To where within the swamp
the marsh-grass grew.
" The wolf is ///^r6',"she said.
"He kept my track —
I knew not what to do.
1883. J
A DREAM OK LITTLE WOMEN.
253
"When all at once I thought about the fen;
'T was dangerous, but. then, I am so light
That I could walk in safety on it, when
The mud would hold him tight.
'■ I skipped across; he followed after me,
But the black swamp has spoiled his wicked
fun —
It holds him fast. Yonder is coming, see.
The hunter with his gun."
She tripped awa)-, and in the flickering light
A shadowy procession followed fast,
Ta-xing at once my memory and my sight
To know them as they passed.
There was the Fair One with the Golden Locks,
Leading the white cat. who was purring
loudly ;
Sweet Beauty followed, meekly darning socks ;
Her sisters stepping proudly.
The bright Scheherazade, who, as she walked.
Poured forth a wondrous tale with an.\ious
hurry ;
The Red Queen, frowning crossly as she talked,
The White Queen in a flurry.
And then, more slowly, with a piteous look.
Driving, with anxious care, some bleating
sheep,
A little maiden came, — she bore a crook.
I should have known Bo-Peep.
And she was crying softly as she said :
" I mended them as best I could, but oh !
Although I did it with the finest thread.
The join will always show.
" And everywhere the cruel world will say,
Whenever it shall hear the name Bo-Peep:
' Ah, yes ! She left the sheep to go astray.
The while she fell asleep ! ' "
A dismal quawk drowned the sad, faltering
words,
And after her, half-flying and half-waddling,
Went past the most forlorn of wTCtched birds.
With web-feet feebly paddling.
And it was quawking, " Ah ! I have no use —
Me miserable ! — for either wings or legs,
For I am dead, alas! I was the Goose
That laid the Golden Eggs!"
"And who, poor bird, has killed you?" mur-
mured 1.
The goose, with dismal look and hopeless
tone,
Quacked forth her answer as she strove to fly :
"Who?" said she. "Every one!"
"I 'm sure," I said, "I 've never — " With a
quack
Full of disdain, she waddled on her way,
Hissing out angrily, as she looked back,
" That 's just what they all say ! "
Her hissing woke me. Starting up, 1 said:
" I 'm glad it was a dream — and where 's the use
Of questioning who killed her, now she 's dead?
But— Aj.v 1 killed that goose?"
^<^!!N
■' I
K'
2 54
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[JanuarYi
JACK
THE-PULPIT.
Heigh-ho ! Another New Year's Day is almost
here. Great times the big and httle folk have upon
that day, I 'm told. According to all accounts,
there 's a vast deal of smiling and friendliness and
happy good-will crowded into a few hours then, —
so your Jack approves of it. I 'm not much of a
visitor, myself, but I '11 send from my pulpit a
hearty welcome, in your name, to 1882. May it
prove a happy New Year to you, my beloved, one
and all !
And now let us consider
BEES AS FAMILIAR PETS.
A SCIENTIFIC friend of mine sends an account
of a curious performance with bees, which I should
like you to read. It is copied, he says, from a life
of one Mr. Thoreau, and runs as follows :
" Mr. Cotton, a clergyman, the son of a late governor of the
Bank of England, took bees, in the first place, out to Australia, and
afterward to the islands of the South Pacific. His behavior to his
bees was the wonder of all who were in the ships with him. He
would call them by certain sounds, and they came to him clustering
so thickly that they almost covered him, and he would actually
handle and fondle them in such a fashion as would have been to
another very dangerous. Then, when he wished to relieve himself
of them, he gathered them together as one would a mass of loose
worsted into a ball, took the mass near to the hive, and at a given
sound or signal, they flew apart and retired to their proper home."
Rather extraordinary, eh, my dears ? But doubt-
less bees have more than one peculiarity, and,
according to my friend, the Mr. Thoreau who is
told about in the book was on very intimate terms
himself with bees and birds and blossoms. Per-
haps you 've heard of him before.
If so, I must add a message from my friend's
postscript, which says that most people who see the
name in print call it "Tho-ro," but that the gen-
tleman himself and his personal friends pronounced
it almost exactly like the word " thorough."
No matter which way you prefer, I 'm confident.
from all I hear, that you '11 find pleasure and profit,
one of these days, in reading some of Mr. Tho-
reau's own e.\periences.
NO HICKORY LAND.
Dear Jack : That October talk about hickory-nuts is tantalizing.
What do you think of a country that has no *' hickories" at all?
They have none up here in Quebec, and the children from *' the
States" keep wondering why : can you tell? There are no walnuts
here, either, and what shall American boys do without them ? We
have butternuts and beech-nuts, but what are they compared to
shell.barks ? Can it be that the big, strong hickory-trees are afraid
of the climate? i'oit don't fear it, and surely they need not be so
cowardly. _ Please ask your children to tell us why this happens to
be " No-hickory land. " Agn^s Gr^goire.
THE HISTORICAL PI.
A WORD FROM DEACON GREEN.
Thank you, thank you, my young friends !
much obliged. Very glad to hear from you. Such
attention is really overwhelming. The pile of
"solutions" of the Historical Pi given you last
month, is going to be delightfully large ; even while
I WTite they are coming in ! Good ! This is as it
should be. There can not be too many. The
next thing is to see how many of these answers are
correct. Ah, there 's the rub !
Depend on it, every one shall be carefully exam-
ined by the committee, and then ho ! for the hun-
dred prizes ! Remember, competitors may send in
solutions until the tenth of January. So all new
readers who see these words are advised to refer at
once to St. Nicholas for December — the Christ-
mas number — page iSo.
With hearty good wishes, yours to command,
Silas Green.
fish that talk.
Dear Jack: Last summer we were all at Watch Hill, and
Charlie and I were out fishing three times. The first fish which 1
caught was a strange one. His head looked and felt like a box,
nearly square, with sharp comers, and on the top and sides were
spines sticking out, almost like nails: they pricked my fingers badly
in taking him off the hook. And he had a fin on each side, half
as long as his body: these fins he spread out like wings.
But his head and his wings were not the strangest part of him.
Before I could lay him down he began to " talk," as Charlie called
it, though it sounded to me more like grunting: it was the same
noise that a little pig makes. Pretty soon the old fisherman who
rowed our boat, caught another, and when he threw him down, he^
too, began to "talk," and mine seemed to answer him.
Charlie said they were trying to decide which was the greater
fool for biting at the hook and being caughL But they did not
speak English, and I think he was mistaken. The fisherman said
they were Sea Robins : when we came ashore I asked paoa, and he
said that they belonged to the genus Prionotus, and in works on
Ichthyology were called Gurnards. J. H. T.
What next ? I suppose we shall soon hear that
the little Sea-Urchins are learning to read, and
these Sea Robins to sing ! Great things going on
down there in the dampness !
AN IMPORTANT QUESTION.
What becomes of all the old moons?
BOATS OF STONE.
Dear Jack: Do you believe it? Did you ever see a stone float-
ing about? Probably not: but I have, and many of them, too. On
the shore of Clear Lake, north of San Francisco, in California, is a
small bluff of rocks. Often, in passing it, I have picked up pieces-
as large as my head, and tossed them out on the lake, and away they
iSSi.J
J A C K - I X - T 1 1 E - P U L P 1 T .
255
would go, bobbing about as lively as so many corks, and fullv as gvor he Can find to Cat. While thus darting about,
light. .And 1 am well xssurcd that before any saw-mills were built »i 1 • 1 »» i i 1 1^ -r 1
■ - ■ ■ be obtained, the '""i l^"'" uttcrs loud and exultant cries, as if proud
there, and when, of course, boards were not to
Indians sometimes Lashed together a number of these stones, and
thus made rafLs with which they paddled themselves across the lake,
— here, one or two miles wide, i have no doubt it could be done.
Now, what kind of stone can that be, you ask t Well, dear Jack,
it is pumice-stone, which is as full of holes and spaces as a sponge,
and the air which it contains causes it to be so kght as to float on
the water. Pumice-stone always comes from volcanoes, and the
volcano from which this at Clear Lake came is in plain sight about
five miles away, but it is a long time since it sent out any flames or
smoke. The Indians call it Conoktoi, which means the Cnief mount-
ain : it is 4,300 feet high, and 1 found its summit covered everywhere
with pumice-stone. B. H. P.
ANOTHER "MOTHERLY ROOSTER."
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: In your .August number, a cone-
spondent ^ives an account of a rooster that took care of chickens ;
and he wishes to be informed if anything of that kind had ever
occurred elsewhere. 1 answer yes. and in my bam, at Quincy,
Ma-ss., in 1S67. I had a dozen "Shanghais," one of which was a
rooster, and he was a gawky, huge crc'Uure, that often picked his
com from the head of a barrel. It so happened that one of the
hens left her chickens a few days after they were hatched, at night:
and ascended to the roost with the other fowls, when her chickens
huddled together in a comer of the bam. And the second night I
found the rooster brooding over them ! And so he continued to do,
each night, till the chickens went to most with the hens: while by
day they followed their mother. And for a number of days, after
the chickens left that comer, and ascended upon the pales to roost,
the rooster still squatted there without the chickens ! L. R. S.
A BIRD THAT HELPS HIMSELF TO OYSTERS.
This wonderful fellow, I 'm told, opens oysters
with his bill. The longer mandible is thrust be-
ef its skill.
tween the valves, and then turned so as to wedge
open the shell ; in fact, it is used as an oysterman
uses his knife. The oyster is then cut away with
the upper blade and swallowed. Sometimes the
oyster closes upon the whole beak, in which case
the bird bangs the shell against a stone so as to
break the hinge and expose the inhabitant, which
is immediately scooped out. He also skims along
just over the surface of the sea, picking up what-
SIDE-VIEW AND TOP-VIEW OK THE BEAK OF
IHE SCISSOR-BILI..
WHY IT IS CALLED A "JACKKNIFE."
Only the, other day, a Scottish acquaintance wa* enlightening me
upon this very subject of the "jackknifc." My trouserless fnend
went on to tell me that for centuries past, in Scotland, the article in
question has been known as a *'jock-le-leg," which barbarism is
neither more nor less than a corruption of *' Jacques de Liege," the
name of a FlemLsh cutler whose knives were once highly esteemed in
North linLain, and always bore their maker's name. No doubt
Jacques de Liege sent cutlery to England as well as to Scodand, and
from Jacques' knife to "jackknife " is a very short step.
The Little School-ma'am sends the above, which
she clipped from a newspaper, and she says that,
in the "regulation full fig" Highland costume,
according to good authority, a knife is carried, stuck
part way in, between the stocking and the leg.
Sometimes the knife is sheathed, but generally it
is not, being placed in
the stocking for ready
use, when hunting deer.
Begging the Scotchman's
pardon, why may not this
queer place for a knife —
next to the leg — have
been a foundation for the
term " Jock-te-leg " .' or
is "leg" old Scotch for
something else.'
A SHOEBLACK PLANT.
The "shoe-black plant"
is the name popularly
given to a species of hi-
biscus growing in New
South Wales, and re-
markable for the showy
appearance of its scarlet
flowers, which, when dry,
are used as a substitute
for shoe-blacking.
The flowers contain
sticky juice, which, when
evenly applied, gives a
glossy, varnish-like ap-
pearance ; and it perfectly replaces ordinary black-
ing, with the advantage that it is cleanly in use,
and can be applied in a few moments. Four or
five flowers, with the anthers and pollen removed,
are required for each boot, and a polishing brush
may be applied afterward if desired.
A few blossoms of this hibiscus might be wel-
come just now to those of you, my boys, who
intend to make calls on New Year's Day.
256
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[Janl'aky,
CHANGING BABIES.
0
By Sydney Dayre.
N a bright, warm day, Su-sy car-ried her ba-by
broth-er out to the great farm-yard. It was a ver-y
pleas-ant place. A large barn stood at one side of it,
and near this was a poul-try-house. The chick-ens, ducks,
and geese used to come out of it to stray a-bout the large
grass-y lot. And in one cor-ner was a nice clear pond.
Su-sy knew she should fthd ma-ny pret-ty things out
here, and that Ba-by would like to see them too. She
walked a-round till the lit-tle pet got sleep-y, and laid
his head on her shoul-der. Then she car-ried him to a
long, low shed, where the sheep and cat-tie were fed in
win-ter. There was some hay in a man-ger; she laid him
on it, and, sit-ting be-side him, sang soft-ly. This is what
she sang :
" Whatwill you give,
What will )'Ou give.
For my lit-tle ba-by fair?
Noth-ing is bright as his
bon-ny blue eyes,
Or soft as his curl-ing hair,
"What will you bring,
What will you
bring,
To trade for my
treas-ure here ?
No one can show
me a thing so
sweet,
A-ny-where, far or
near."
" Moo, moo-oo
some-thing not far from Su-
sy. " You think that 's so,
do you?" And Mad-am Jer-sey Cow looked ver-y doubt- ful-ly at Ba-by.
Said she : " Can he kick up his heels, and frol-ic all o-ver the yard ?"
i883.]
FOR VERY LITTLE KOLK.
257
" Why, no," saitl Su-sy ; " he can't walk yet."
" Ah ; how old is he ? " — " Near-ly a year old," said Su-sy.
" Near-ly a year! My child walked be-fore she was two days old!"
The cow gave a scorn-ful sniff, and walked off with-out an-oth-er look.
" Baa-aa," said an old sheep, walk-ing up with a snow-white, down-y
lamb. " Let me see. He is a nice lit-tle thing, sure e-nough. But has
he only two legs?" — "That 's all," said Su-sy.
" Then mine is worth twice as much, of course. If you had Iwo ba-bies,
now, we might make a
bar-gain. But he seems
to have no wool ? "
" No, ma'am," said
Su-sy, " but see what
pret-ty curl-y hair he has." — " I don't think I would wish to trade,
thank you," and she and her lamb trot- ted a- way and went to eat grass.
" Quack ! quack ! quack ! Let me take a look," and Mrs. Duck flew up
on the edge of the man-ger.
" His feet don't look as if he 'd make a good swim-mer," she said, look-
ing at Ba-by's pink dim-pled toes.
" Oh, he can't swim at all," said .Su-sy.
" Good-bye," said Mrs. Duck. " All my dar-lings can swim."
" Chip ! chip ! chip ! " was the ne.xt sound Su-sy heard. From its nest in
an old elm-tree which stood near, a rob-in flew down, and perched on the
end of a pitch-fork. She turned her head from side to side, gaz-ing at
Ba-by in a ver-y wise way. '' What can he sing?" said she.
" Oh, he can't sing at all yet," said Su-sy; "he 's too lit-tle."
258
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[January,
"Too lit-tle ! " ex-claimed Mrs. Red-
breast. " Why, he 's tre-men-dous! Can't
he sing, ' Fee
— fee — hl-ly
— fil-ly — weet
— weet ? "
" No, no, "said
Su-sy.
"All my chil-
dren sang well
atfourmonths.
Has he lit-tle
red feath - ers
on his breast?'^
" No," said
Su-sy.
" I should n't like to hurt your feel-ings, but you see how much I should
lose on an ex-change, and I 'm sure you would not wish that."
" No, I should n't," said Su-sy. And Mrs. R. Red-breast flew a-way.
"Cluck! cluck! cluck!" "Peep! peep!" Mrs. White Leg-horn Hen
came a-long with her down-y chicks. No won-der she fussed and fumed
and cack-led at such a rate, Su-sy thought, with twelve ba-bies to look af-ter!
" I have n't much time to look," said the hen, "and I should hard-ly be
will-ing to trade. Can your ba-by say 'peep — peep' when he 's hun-gry?"^
"When he 's hun-gry he cries — but not 'peep — peep,'" said Su-sy.
" I see his legs are not yel-low, ei-ther, so I '11 bid you a ver-y good
af-ter-noon." Off she went, ruf-fling- her feath-ers, and cluck-ino- and
scratch-ing till Su-sy laughed a-loud.
"I don't won-der you laugh," purred some-thing near her. Su-sy
turned in great sur-prise. There, at the oth-er end of the man-ger, in a
co-zy cor-ner, was her old gray cat. That was n't all. There were three
iSSi.)
KOK VERY LITTLE FOLK.
259
lit-tlc kits ; a white one, a black one, and a gray one. Su-s)- had not
seen them be-fore, and she fond-led them lov-ing-ly.
"She's so proud be-cause she has twelve !" said Mrs. Puss, look-ing
af-ter Mrs. \V. L. Hen. " Now / think a small fam-i-Iy is much bet-ter
— three, for in-stance. Don't you think three e-nough ? "
" In-deed," said Su-sy, " I think one 's e-nough ; if it 's teeth-ing."
" Mine nev-er have trou-blc with their teeth. And per-haps I can
nev-er teach your l)a-by to purr, or to catch mice. Still, I be-lieve I '11
take him, and let you have one kit-ten, as I ha\e three."
"Oh, no; )ou don't un-der-stand me," cried .Su-sy. "I don't want to
change at all. I 'd rath-er have my Ht-tle broth-er than a-ny-thing else
in the world." But Mrs. Puss took hold of him as if to car-ry him off.
Ba-by gave a scream, and then Su-sy a-woke! Then she looked
a-round with a laugh, as she thought of all she had seen and heard ia
her dream, since she had sung her-self to sleep be-side the ba-by.
Mad-am Puss sat by a hole
watch-ing for rats. There was n't
a kit-ten a-ny-where. Mrs. Hen
was fum-ing and cack-ling and
scratch-ing hard-er than ev-er, but
Puss did not seem to care wheth-er she had twelve chick-ens or a hun-dred.
The calf was feed-ing qui-et-ly by its mam-ma, and the sheep and her
26o
THE LETTEK-BOX.
[January,
lamb lay un-der the old elm. And up in the branch-es Su-sy could hear
Mrs. Red-breast teach-ing her bird-ies to sing.
So then Su-sy ran up to the house and found sup-per wait-ing.
Ba-by held out his arms and was soon on his moth-er's lap, as hap-py as
could be. Su-sy looked at him and said : " God has made ev-er-y-bod-y
and ev-er-y-thing love their own ba-bies best, has n't he, Mam-ma ? "
" Yes. We would rath-er take care of our ba-by than a-ny oth-er, would
n't we?" "Yes, in-deed," said Su-sy. And as she rocked the ba-by's cra-
dle that night, she fin-ished her lit-tle song in this way :
" Noth-ing will do, noth-ing will do ; — you may trav-el the world a-round.
And nev-er, in earth, or sea, or air, will a ba-by like him be found."
THE LETTER-BOX.
Dear Old and New Readers: We ask, in this beautiful holiday
season, to call your attention afresh to Willie Herrick's proposition
for founding a Garfield Country Home for Sick Children. You will
find his letter on page 84 of the November number of St. Nicholas
(which opens the present volume), and from the same page you will
learn what St. Nicholas and The Century Co. propose, with
your help, to do toward carrying out Willie's suggestion. Mean-
time, it is enough to say that this movement has no connection with
our late President or his family, beyond the adoption of his beloved
name, in the belief that the boys and girls of America will be glad to
honor his memory by helping to do a great practical good. This
magazine circulates mainly among what are called the well-to-do
classes. Its young readers have comfortable homes and loving
friends to make life bright for them : the children of the poor have
almost no pleasures and much suffering. Yet, in God's sight, they
are own brothers and sisters to you all !
As stated in our November number, The Century Co,, publishers
of St. Nicholas, have volunteered to receive and credit all subscrip-
tions for the Garfield Home that may be sent them — \vith the under-
standing that if the total amount subscribed should prove insufficient
to found a home, it shall be applied as a " Children's Garfield Fund "
to the benefit of "The Poor Children's Summer Home," or some
kindred charity of New York City. Letters and subscriptions may
be addressed to The Century Co., Union Square, New York.
The subscriptions up to this date amount to more than three hun-
dred dollars. But why should they not amount to more than three
thousand ? Children's pennies can do wonders. Dimes and quarter-
dollars soon grow into a big sum when earnest young heads and
hands set to work. The smallest single subscriptions will be wel-
come and duly recorded; but we would suggest that it is an excel-
lent plan for young folks in any locality to band together and send in
their united subscriptions. One little group already has sent in fifty
dollars in this way. The present and back volumes of St. Nicholas
contain many home or school plays and entertainments, such as
" The Acting Ballad of Mary Jane," " Puppet and Shadow Plays,"
"Johnny Spooner's Menagerie," "The Land of Nod," etc., etc.,
by which little folks can earn money for charitable purposes, and give
their friends a good time besides.
We shall be glad to see the boys' and girls' contributions amount
to a great deal of money this winter, all to be turned in time into
comfort and joy for poor and suffering little ones.
The replies to the September " Invitation to our Readers" are as
gratifying to us as they are creditable to the senders. A large num-
ber of boys and girls, of all ages, have sent in letters, telling us, in
frank, hearty, boy-and-girl fashion, just the stories and pictures
they liked best, and of what special things they wished to have more.
On this latter point, there were almost as many requests as there
were senders, but this result is precisely the one we had hoped for,
and were most glad to see. For it proves that, of the vast army of
children who read St. Nicholas, each reader finds a considerable
part of every number exactly suited to his or her tastes. This is as
it should be, and all our readers must remember that St. Nicholas
is the servant and friend of young folk of all classes and ages from
seven to seventeen. If it undertook to please only the little ones
under ten, not only would older girls and boys who are still young
enough to need and enjoy a magazine of their own, find it too young
and simple for their tastes, but the wee folk themselves would soon
outgrow it. Nor is this all. You will find that, in this hurrying,
busy, nineteenth-century life of ours, your present tastes will change
or new tastes develop more rapidly than you can now imagine, and
St. Nicholas, if it is to be truly your magazine, must keep pace
with, and even anticipate, your growth. Thus, Master A. B. writes
that he " wants more adventure-stories. He likes them more than
everything else." He and all the rest shall have these, but in a
year or two. Master A. B. will find that there is much more in good
literature, and in the daily needs of his own life, than the finest and
longest adventure-stories that ever were written ; and then, though
he will still, we hope, keep the natural and proper liking for such
stories that we all possess, and that it would be a misfortune for any
boy of spirit to lose, yet he will begin to cast about for stories of
another kind as well — tales like the "Stories of Art and Artists," or
"Talks with Boys" — stories that will feed the new taste which has
been bom within him, for information and advice to help him forward
and prepare him for an active share in the work of the world. And
then he will understand clearly that the papers we have named and
the others like them — though good for all who read them — are meant
for boys a^d girls who are already in the mood we have described.
And that there are many young folk in that mood, he would believe
soon enough if he saw in how many of these letters special practical
and descriptive papers are requested.
Nevertheless, young friends, we do not mean by all this that the
requests which you have made will not be acceded to, or receive due
attention. They have already been helpful to us in many ways, and
many of the suggestions heartily commend themselves to our judg-
ment And we hope that, sooner or later, each one will find his or
her request answered, as far as possible, in the pages of the maga-
zine,— not only the big boys and girls, but the little ones also. Mean-
while, we send our hearty thanks to the young writers, one and all,
for the frankness, clearness, and uniform courtesy of their replies.
So nearly all of our young friends have closed their letters with the
l882.]
THE LETTER- BOX.
261
sentence, "We do not sec how St. Nichoi^s could be improved,"
that we can not help quoting it, because of the satisfaction it gives
us. But wc shall not be content ourselves until it is better than it
has ever been, or than the boys and girts now conceive.
Many thanks, young friends and old, for the very liberal response
to our request for games. It is impossible at present to make a
detailed report concerning the different games described. Let it
suffice to say that those meeting our needs shall appear in St. Nich-
oi-AS, and that all matter printed shall be duly paid for, beyond the
hearty thanks that wc again extend
to one and all who have endeav-
ored to help the good cause of
home-amusement. In cases where
several descriptions of the same
game have been received, we shall,
of course, select the best.
as young England, is fitly called "At Home." Entering at the open
door-way on its bright title-page, you tread your happy way through
a wealth of appropriate colored pictures and lively rhymes of home
life, stopping often to specially admire some exquisite bit of decora-
tion or rich effect of color, until, at the very last page, you leave a
closed door behind you, still rejoicing in the "come again " tone of
its mellow "good-bye." To describe filly this charming "At
Home " would require more space than can be afforded. Suffice it
to say, it is illustrated by J. G. Sciwerhy, beautifully decorated by
Thomas Crane, elder brother of Walter Crane, and that all little
boys and girls cverj-whcre arc cordially invited to be present.
Thk picture of "A Future Doge,"
on page 207 of this number, is cop-
ied from a painting by M. Carolus
Duran, one of the most popular of
living F"rcnch port rait -painters.
As many of you know, " Doge"
was the title of the chief magistrate
of the Republic of Venice, and for
centuries the Doges ruled the fa-
mous city with great magnificence
and nearly absolute power. Wc
have already given you an account
in St. Nicholas (sec "The Queen
of the Sea," September, 1880) of the
imposing ceremony with which the
Doge married the city to the sea
by dropping a ring into the waves
of the Adriatic.
The little fellow shown in the
picture — though interesting, in-
deed, when we think of the great
future that is in store for him —
does not differ much in face and
expression from many little fellows
of our own day. Hut the rich cos-
tume and the heavy roses are fit
emblems of the magnificence to
which he is to attain when he be-
comes a Doge.
Bv the courtesy of Messrs. Mar-
cus Ward & Co., of Christmas-card
fame, wc show you on this page a
reduced drawing of one of the very
prettiest pictures in their new holi-
day-book, now coming from the
press. This dainty volume, which
will delight young America as well
IHK AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION — TENTH REPORT.
The correspondence of the past month shows a deeper interest in
our work and in the progress of the society than that of any pre-
vious month for a long lime. The reports from the various chapters
have been more carefully prepared, the work done by members has
been more satisfactory, and the number of letters has been greater.
Between thirty and forty letters arc lying before me as I write, and
all of these have been laid aside from day to day, as containing some-
tliing of special interest for our January report. They have been
answered by mail, but they each contain something which may
prove of value to other members of the society.
Since the ninth report, the following new chapters have been
added to our roll :
»^3-
114.
115.
116.
117.
Name.
Milford, Mass. (A)
So. Boston, Mass. (A) .
Camden, N. J. (A)
Auburn, N. Y. (A)
Washington, D. C. (C).
New York, N. Y. (D). . .
Minneapolis, Minn. (A) .
118. Brisiow, Iowa (A).
Members. Secretary's Address.
5 . .Chas. F. Hicks, Box 643.
.W. O. Hersey, 20 Mercer st.
6. .Mabel Adams.
4. .Sadie E. Robb.
/..Emily Newcomb, 1336 iiih
street, N. W.
6. .Gustav Guska, 223 E. i8th st.
20.. Jennie Hughes, 1816 FourtK
Ave. N.
4.. John B. Playter.
Reports from Chapters.
The secretary of Chapter 113 writes : Wc consist of four girls
and two boys. We have our own collections instead of a commoa
262
THE LETTER -BOX.
[January,
cabinet. We had our first meeting April 30, but I did not send word
then, as I wanted to accomplish something before writing to you.
Do you think anything can be learned frum a globe of fish? I get
caterpillars and keep them in litde wooden boxes, with glass on top
and in front. I send some drawings of the scales on the wings of
some moths and butterflies. I examined them through a compound
microscope. Will you tell me what you think of them ?
[I think they are very well done, and if all our members who can
think of "nothing to do in winter" would do Hkewise, and send me
the results for comparison and study, would n't it be "splendid" ?]
We have several beetles, green, black, and various other colors.
They were all picked up on the beach after the tide had washed
them up. I think this shows that they were flying over the sea and
became tired and were drowned.
John R. Blake, N. Y. (C), 26 W. 19th street.
Under date of September 23, Chapter 112 says, " per secretary " :
We have adopted the general constitution and the following
by-laws :
F/rs^. We shall meet once a week at the houses of members.
Second. Persons wishing to join shall pay an initiation fee of five
cents.
Third. The term of office is six weeks.
Fourih. A fee of five cents a month shall be paid by members.
We wish to exchange eggs. W. Hersev.
Lowell, Mass., Sept. 29.
I have the pleasure of informing you that the Lowell Chapter has
"begun its work. I noticed in St. Nicholas for August that you
have given our president's name instead of the secretary's, which is
Frank A. Hutchinson, 25 Nesmlth street.
Chapter 106 writes : Our Chapter is doing quite well. We have
some quartz, limestone, granite, slate, and gypsum. We have a
number of butterflies, an Ad7?iiral, mud-butterfly, etc. Just now
we are collecting nuts. Robert M. Rovce.
[Robert is one of the youngest but most enthusiastic of our mem-
"bers.]
New York, Sept. 28th, 1881.
Our Chapter is progressing admirably. We organized last May
with five members, and have since increased to sixteen. We have a
large and very fine collection of curiosities. All our members take
an eager interest, and our meetings are always well attended and
very interesting. Several elderly gentlemen have taken great inter-
est in us, and we have induced one of them to join. We wish to
know how to keep a number of painted tortoises {Ckrysemys pkta)
and speckled tortoises (Nannemys guttata) through the winter.
Edward B. Miller, 244 Madison street.
[It is gratifying to hear of the older ones' interest in our work.]
Taunton, Mass., Sept. 29.
We were obliged to adjourn until September, during vacation, but
though there were no meetings, you may be sure that the members
were not idle ; there were sea-mosses, shells, and sponges to be col-
lected, insects to be caught, excursions into the woods and hills after
fungi and minerals ; and the curator had a busy time after our return
in the fall. Some of the papers which have been read were on the
Tollowing subjects: The Red-tailed Hawk, Baltimore Oriole, The
Late Comet, Magnolia Tree, The Family of Herons.
Harrie G. White.
Chicago, Oct. 2, 1881.
We have again come together for winter work after the pleasant-
est summer, according to the unanimous expression, ever spent;
simply because we have had our eyes open to the beauties of Nature.
We have numerous specimens and notes, so that we can do good
work when the weather grows too cold for outdoor meetings. Will
you please reprint the name of our chapter, " Chicago B," with my
address as secretary? C. S. Brown, 117 Park Avenue.
Castle Bank, Stroud, England.
Our Chapter is getting on pretty well, but we really are in want of
some questions to answer. We are all inclined to continue our
meetings through the winter. We have had a badge from the first,
made of crimson cloth, with the letters "A. A." embroidered in
white silk for the members, and in golden silk for the officers.
Gertrude Ruegg.
Frankford, Philadelphia, Pa.
We are heartily in favor of a general meeting, and if it were
arranged, we should send delegates to it. At our last meeting, James
Johnson read a paper on " Instruments used in taking and prepar-
ing Lepidoptera." The substance of it I send to you. * ' * .
He says that cyanide of potassium should not be used in killing bees
and other Hymenoptera, as it changes their yellow to crimson.
R. T. Taylor, 131 Adams street.
No. Cambridge, Mass., Oct. 3.
We hold meetings once in two weeks. We assign for each meet-
ing a topic, to be looked up in advance by the members. We have
already had : First. What is an insect? Second. Classes of Insects.
Third. Lepidoptera. Fourth. Coleoptera : and so on with the differ-
ent classes. After this we are to have a separate topic given to each
member for the sake of variety. We have not thought much of a
badge, but a plain one is the best.
On August i4lh we found several tomato-worms, perfectly healthy
in appearance. In a week they had totally changed color. They
were then black, the stripes being whitish yellow. Some are covered
with dots. The latter have a greenish head with brown stripes, the
others black heads with green stripes. They ate as usual, but when
they died they collapsed, there being nothing in them. There were
no ichneumons in the box. Who will explain the change of color?
Fred. E. Keav.
Utopia, N. Y., Allegheny Co.
We have decided to take daily notes of what we find of interest
Robert Kenvon.
[A most excellent plan.]
Chicago, Oct. 3, 1881.^
We are going to take a note of all the incidents in natural his-
tory, as you recommended in your seventh report. We have
stuffed a red squirrel. We meet every Saturday, at half past nine.
The meeting usually lasts about three hours. We hope before long
to buy a good microscope and a small library. We are very much
interested in the badge question, and think that a white silk badge,
with a monogram and some object in natural history worked in
colored silk upon it, would be pretty. We are none over fourteen
years. Nelson Bennett, 65 Cicero street.
Minneapolis, Minn., Oct. 14.
About twenty boys and girls of MinneapoHs have formed a chap-
ter of the Agassiz Association. They all show a great deal of
interest in it, and I think that other chapters will be formed here
before long.
Jennie Hughes, Secretary, 1816 Fourth Avenue, North.
All the reports from which the above short extracts are made are
excellent. They are carefully composed, and for the most part
handsomely written. They show that our society has a firm hold on
the hearts of its members. But we wish that every member of the
"A. A." could see the beautiful report that we have just received
from the Berwyn (Penn.) Chapter, dated October 7. It is the most
elegant in appearance of any yet sent. I give a few quotations:
The Chapter now numbers fifteen active and two honorary mem-
bers. Weekly meetings have been held since our organization, with
two exceptions — one on the night when the body of President Gar-
field was being moved to Cleveland for burial, and the other on the
night of July 22d, the day of our annual picnic. [Here follows a
list of fifty-four species of minerals collected, of seventeen varieties
of wood, and of about fifty miscellaneous specimens.] Microscopic
examinations were made of moss, humblebees' wings and legs,
human hair, small red spiders, scales of mica, clear crystals, and
spiders' eggs. At each meeting questions are asked and answered.
A scrap-book has been procured, in which are entered the reports
from the parent society as they are published, and scraps from
papers and periodicals bearing on natural history. On July 22d the
Chapter held a picnic. Fifteen members and ten invited guests were
taken in carriages, buggies, and one hay-wagon (here is where the
most fun was, dear Parent!) to Diamond Rocks, five miles from
Berwyn. A full and delightfid day was spent. The rocks, rising to
a height of fifty feet or more, furnished many fine specimens of
quartz crystals. J. F. Glosser, Secretary.
Exchanges Desired.
Birds' eggs — D. S. Wing, 1221 Rock Island st., Davenport, Iowa.
Correspondents on insects — Alex. C. Bates, St. Paul's School,
Concord, N. H.
Minerals — T. C. Thomas, Birchville, Nevada Co., California.
Correspondents on ornithology — Daniel E. Moran, 85 State street,
Brooklyn, N. Y.
Skates' eggs and marine objects — Harrie G. White, Taunton,
Mass.
Eggs — T. Mills Clark, Southampton, Mass,
Shells, minerals, etc. — Robert Kenyon, Utopia, N. Y.
Correspondents and general exchanges — North Cambridge Chap-
ter, F, E. Keay, Sec.
Questions.
1. How many eyes has a fly ?
2. Name the smallest bird, and tell where it lives.
3. How many teeth has the whale ?
4. How many movable eyelids has a lizard ?
iSSi.)
TIIK
15UX.
263
5. Why arc some animals called qiiadnimana 1
6. Why arc some animals called zoophytes ?
7. Of what is granite composed T
8. What IS a diamond ?
9. What is the botanical name of the edelweiss, what is the literd
meaning of its common name, and to what family does it belong ?
10. Derivation of the name "cloves " ?
We shall next month present for the consideration of our one
hundred and twenty presidents a systematic plan of wuric for the
rcinaii:'(n|p months of the year. Meantime, extend your ranks as
widely a^ may be, get ihc dvist off your microscopes, and send me as
many drtf^+vings of snow-cry st;»Is as possible. A prize for the best set
of -six cards ^r more sent before April 1, in accordance with direc-
tii>ns given ill our report for February, 1881. All members should
re-read that Tt:p'Wt preparatory to the winter's work. The plan
adopted by the Berwyn Chapter of keeping all these reports in a
scrap-bouW is excellent. Address all communications to
Harlan H. Ba4xa>>>^, Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.
5 Syncopate a series of things linked together, and leave a part of
the face. 6. Syncopate pertaining to the morning, and leave prin-
cipal. 7. Syncopate religion and leave compassion. 8. Syncopate
a fragrant, aromatic plant, and leave to free from water.
M. C. D.
DOUBLE ZIGZAG.
7 - - 17
• 8 18 •
Zigzags, from i to 10 and from 11 to 30, each name a holiday
personage.
Cross-words: i. Undermines. 2. To satisfy. 3. A girl's name.
4. An abbreviation for " the present month." 5. To examine
iloscly. 6. Continued pain, 7. Four-fifths of a sour firuit. 8.
Without hair. 9. To praise. 10. Transgressions.
DYKE CLEMENTS.
FRACTIONS.
II.L.i;?STKATi:i> 1>L'ZZI..E.S IX IIEAD-PIECK.
A LETTER PUZZLE.
Cut out these sections eight for me.
And fiLshion them in letters three :
In them a sentence you may find
Descriptive of the three combined.
AN ANAGRAM.
What city is literally made by //me and Lzborf G. F.
SY*?:COPATTONS.
The syncopated letters, read in the order here given, spell the
name of one who is callcti "the noblest of the ancients," and
who was bom 468 n. c.
I. Syncopate sprinkled with fine sand, and leave loyal perform-
ance of obligation. 2. Syncopate a vehement and sudden outcry,
and leave to close. 3. Syncopate a kind of nut, and leave a song of
praise and triumph. 4. Syncopate an insect in the first stage after
leaving the egg, and leave the substance ejected by a volcano.
Take one-third of the letters in the month named after the Roman
emperor who boasted that he found Rome made of brick and left
it of marble ; one-fifth of the letters in the month which was first in
the early Roman calendar; one-fifth of the letters in the month
which, in Nero's time, was called Ncronius; one-fourth of the letters
in the month which the Romans assigned to young men ; and one-
half <»f the letters in the month originally called Quintilis. The
letters represented by these fractions, when rightly selected and
arranged, will spell the name of a month introduced by Numa Pom-
piliuS. J- S. TENNANT.
EA.SY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of twenty-eight letters, and am a quotation from
" Paradise Lost."
My 8-3-21-9 is to pursue. My 22-7-17-11-27 is to direct. My
19-10-20-5 is an exhibition. My 28-26-1 is the fruit of certain trees.
^Iy 4-25-14-6-23 is one step of a serics._ My 12-24-16 is an
affirmation. My 2-13-18-15 is to give audience to.
EASY norm..E acrostic.
The primals n.amc a division of the ycir; the finals pertain to
the commencement of the year.
Cross-words : i. K long spear. 2. Stem. 3. Of little breadth.
4. A school for all the branches of learning. 5. A gladiator.
6. Ensigns of royally. 7. A lad f. A. w.
264
THE RIDpfLE-BOX.
-/
[January.
MAZE,
Trace a way through this maze, without crossing a, line, reai-h-
ing at last the flags in the center.
HOUR-GI4ASS.
Centrals: A winter sport. Across: i. The highest militan-
officer in France. 2. Roused from sleep. 3. To cause to tremblc
4. In winter. 5. To pinch, 6. A dignitary of the church of Kii;^-
land. 7. A species of drama originated by the Greeks. dycie.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER.
*' Scott" Double Acrostic. Primals, Betrothed. Finals,
Monastery. Cross-words; i. BertraM. 2. ElchO. 3. TresilliaN.
4. RebeccA. 5. OateS. 6. TalboT. 7. HermionE. 8. EdgaR. 9.
DudleY. Double Cross-word Enigma, i. Knecht Rupert.
2. Christmas-Day.
Central Syncopations and Remainders. Sir Isaac Newton.
I. Be-S-et. 2. Po-I-se. 3. St-R-op. 4. Lo-I-re. 5. Ha~S-te.
6. Gr-A-in. 7. Sp-A-in. 8. Lu-C-re. 9. Mi-N-ce. 10. Ch-E-at.
II. Se-W-er. 12. Me-T-re. 13. Fl-O-at. 14. La-N-ce.
Numerical Enigma. God reigns, and the government at Wash-
ington still lives. Riddle. Pearl.
Pictorial Acrostic. Christmas Bells, i. C-oronation. 2.
H-allucination. 3. R-elation. 4. I-nvitation. 5. S-alutation. 6.
T-ribulation. 7. M-utilation. 8. A-ltercation. 9. S-aturation.
10. B-otheration, 11. E-levation. 12. L.-amentation. 13. L-ibera-
tion. 14. S-eparation.
Holiday Anagrams, i. Heart — marl. 2. Chess. 3. Harm-
charm. 4. Time — dime. 5. Maid — aid. 6. Dress. 7. Dim —
I'im. 8. Smart — tart. 9. Hide — aside. 10. Matter — chatter.
II. Me. 12. Share. 13. Hearts — tarts. 14, Christmas Tide.
The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that
in which the puzzles appear.
Answers to all the puzzles in the November number were
received, before November 20, from " Wallace of Uhlen " — Grace
R. Ingraham — Charlie and Josie Treat — Grace E. Hopkins —
" Uncle Dick"— Olive M. Potts — Herbert Barry — S. H.Wheeler
— Two Subscribers — -Bessie and her Cousin -^ Chuck — Queen
Bess — Firefly — Alcibiades — F. C. McDonald — Martha and Eva
de la Guerra.
Answers to puzzles in the November number were received,
before November 20, from G. H. Fisher, i — Fancy Bright. 3 —
Mignon, 4 — Weston Stickney, 7 — Katie L. Robertson, 2—" Profes-
sor and Co.," 9 — Belle Wyman, i — E. U. Gene, 5— Rory O'More,
4_Jeanneite Edith E., i — Clara L. Northway, 5— Effie K. Tal-
boys. 8 — Eddie North Burdick, i — Gracie Smith, 2 — John W.
Blanchard, 10 — Eleanor and Daisy Martin, 5 — Frank Scott Bun-
nell, 2— Lyda P. Bostwick, 9— Minnie Blake, 6— Autumn, 2 —
Charlie W. Power, 11— J. Ollie Gayley, 3— J. S. Tennani, 12 —
" Olives and Pickles," 3 — "Warren," 3— "Hazel," 4 — P- S.
Clarkson, 12 — Bessie Taylor, 4— Caro, Emma, and Spencer, 4 —
Freddie Thwaits, 11 — Florence Leslie Kyte, 11 — Daisy M^, iz
— Will and Lyde McKinney, 5 — "Mama an'1 Ba," 12 — Henry
C. Brown. 12— Herbert J. Tily, 9 — G. J. an i F. L. Fiske, 11 —
Alice Maud Kyte, 12 — Harriet L. Pruyn, 2 — Si»llie Viles, 11 —
Anibella Ward, 2. The numerals denote the number of solutions.
'THE PRINCE GLANCED BACK AT HIS ENEMIES, THROUGH THE
WAVERING CLOUDS OF INCENSE "
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX.
FEBRUARY, 1S82.
No. 4.
[Copyright, 1882, by The CENTURY CO.]
ADVICNTURKS 01' I'RINCK X ]■ Z .\ II U .\ Lt(J V( )TL.
Uv S.\RAH C. Very.
Ever so many years ago, — long before white
people came to America, — there lived, down in
what we now call Mexico, a little Aztec prince
named Nezahualcoyotl. A long, funny name, is it
not? What do you suppose they called him "for
short " ?
But, in spite of such a long n.anie, he proved him-
self, as he grew older, to be one of the bravest
princes and brightest boys of whom history tells, —
as an American prince should be.
Great kings, although they have beautiful palaces
to live in, and everything to make them happy,
endure heavy cares of government which at times
make them gloomy and sad ; yet one would imag-
ine that a boy prince, too young to assume respon-
sibilities, would have no other care than to do
right, and be happy. But poor Nezahualcoyotl
had more cares than you imagine.
A few years before this story opens, his father
had been killed in a terrible battle, and, soon after,
a wicked uncle named Moxtla was crowned king,
although he knew that Nezahualcoyotl was right-
fully the ruler. And when the boy's friends advised
him to hide from Mo.\tla, who, of course, jealously
watched his movements, the lad said: "Why,
surely, he will not be unkind to me ! "
So, on the coronation day, when everybody was
gayly dressed, and a great banquet was to be held
at the palace, Nezahualcoyotl dressed himself in
his best and went bravely to the new king's dwell-
ing to offer his congratulations.
But when the crowd stepped aside to let him
approach his uncle, and when he knelt down and
Vol. IX.— 18.
said,"Uncle, I hope you will behappy," and handed
him a bouquet of flowers, his uncle turned rudely
away and began talking with his officers. By
this, Nezahualcoyotl knew that his uncle was un-
friendly to him, and he hurried, as friends advised
him, to a palace in a distant part of the country.
One bright morning, soon after, the prince was
playing ball in the palace court-yard, and as he
was laughing and tossing the plaything against
the wall, an attendant came running up, and said:
"Oh, sir, there are some armed men coming from
the king ! " And after pausing to catch his breath,
he said, "Oh, hide, or they will kill you ! — quick!"
The prince turned very pale at this, but, quieting
his friends and attendants, he showed them how
foolish it would be to show his fright at this time,
and urged them to stand by him.
In a few ininutes up came the armed men, with
the feathers on their heads nodding in the wind, and
they were all ready to kill the prince, although he
had done no harm.
But he stepped forward to greet them, and wel-
comed them to his palace, and invited them to
dine with him. Being treated so courteously, they
walked in, and soon were seated at the table.
Now, among the Mexicans (or Aztecs) of those
days, it was a mark of respect to burn incense
when great men were visiting at a house; so, be-
fore long, the incense began to send up its curling
wreaths of smoke in the door-way leading to the
next room, while Nezahualcoyotl politely enter-
tained his cruel guests.
As he talked pleasantly with them, and they
266
SENDING A VALENTINE.
[February,
were enjoying the meal, he quietly rose, and saying
"Excuse me a moment," passed into the next
room. The doors were wide open, so that his
enemies did not suspect anything at his departure.
But, as the servants fed the fire of the incense,
the clouds of smoke became denser and denser,
and completely hid Nezahualcoyotl from the
feasters. Glancing back through the wavering
clouds of incense at his enemies, he saw them
dreamily watching the curling smoke, and evidently
not thinking of his movements. So he quietly
opened a door, and there close by it lay a long
pipe, through which water formerly had been
brought to the palace, but which had been for
some time unused. Softly closing the door behind
him, he quickly dropped into the long dark pipe,
and lay there safely hidden until night-fall, when
he came out, and with some faithful followers
hurried far away from his persecutors.
Now just think how angry Moxtla must have
been when he heard of this — and how severely he
would punish the men he had sent to kill the
Prince Nezahualcoyotl. He immediately pro-
claimed that an enormous prize would be given to
any one who would bring the prince to him, dead
or alive.
Therefore poor Nezahualcoyotl was compelled,
with a small band of friends, to wander about in
the night over high mountains, and across lonely
plains ; and seldom in day-time could he safely
venture out, for, as he knew, many persons in all
parts of the country were vigilantly watching to
capture him. Poor boy ! He continually urged
his faithful followers to leave him, lest they should
endanger their own lives. But they refused, for
they loved him ; and, indeed, even the cruel sol-
diers of his uncle thought of the little prince with
tenderness.
And this was a fortunate thing for him. For,
one day, as he lay concealed in some bushes, he
heard the tramp of many feet, and saw the soldiers
in the distance.
Nearer and nearer they came, until about sunset
they pitched their tents close to the hidden prince,
and ended the day by a lively dance. The keen
glance of one of the soldiers spied the poor prince
trying to hide among the bushes near by. Quick
as a flash the kind-hearted fellow picked him
up and put him into the great drum, and while the
other soldiers in a ring around the camp-fire were
noisily singing, they little knew how snugly the
long-desired prize, for which they had traveled so
far, lay concealed at their very feet.
And at last a change came for both the wicked
uncle and the young prince. Men tired of Mox-
tla's severity and cruelty, and lamented the alter-
ation since the peaceful rule of Nezahualcoyotl's
father. Then they thought of the prince, and
resolved to fight for him.
Gladly he received this good news, and return-
ing with his faithful followers, he fought a great
battle ; and being so fortunate as to gain the vic-
tory, he was crowned king, and reigned over
Mexico for years afterward, a wise and good ruler.
SENDING A VALENTINE.
I MIGHT begin, "The rose is red"
(Though that is not so very new),
Or this the boys all think is good:
"If you love me as 1 love you."
But, — seems to me, — a valentine
Is nicer, when you do not say
The same old things that every one
Keeps saying, in the same old way.
And I asked Jane, the other night.
What grown-up [leople write about.
She would not answer me at first.
But laughed till 1 began to pout.
That stopped her, for she saw I meant
The question (and she will not tease).
Why — love," she said, "and shining eyes,
A kiss, soft hair — just what they please.'
It can't be hard, if that is all.
So I '11 begin by saying this :
To my dear lady beautiful,
I send a 7'alentine and kiss.
The valentine, because she has
The loveliest hair and gentlest eyes.
The kiss, because I love her more
Than any one beneath the skies;
Because she is the kindest, best.
The sweetest lady ever knoivn;
And every year I 'II say the same.
The very same, to her alone/
There! Now it 's finished. Who will do?
I 've thought of one and then another.
Who is there like it? Why, of course,
I '11 send it right awav to Mother !
I882.J
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
267
THE MAX IN THE MOON.
Hv Sophie Swett.
" He might have come from the moon, for all I
know," said Deborah, rather crossly. She was
sprinkling and folding the clothes for to-morrow's
ironing, and she wanted to get them done before
her "beau" should come, to take her to drive,
and the tramp had hindered her; and now Jack
was asking questions.
Deborah often declared that if ever she "hired
out " again, it would be "with folks that did n't
allow their children to ask so many questions as the
little Mudgetts asked. She was all wore to skin
and bone with them."
As Deborah w;is very buxom and rosy, she
evidently intended that remark to be taken in a
figurative sense ; but the children Wftv trying,
with their endless questions, — especially Jack, the
oldest boy, who never believed anything.
Stella, the youngest girl, believed everything.
She never had the slightest doubt that all the won-
derful things related in the Arabian Nights, Grimm's
Goblins, and Mother Goose, actually happened.
Stella was Deborah's favorite. She was her uncle
John's favorite, too, and Uncle John was of great
consequence, because he was the captain of a ves-
sel, and had been all around the world. He was
expected home in a few days from a long voyage,
and all the children lay awake nights storing up
c|UCstions to ask him. He always would tell Stella
stories, when he would not tell them to anybody
else, because she never asketl him if they were
true. She asked him everything she could think
of, but she never thought of that.
Jack had only asked Deborah « ho it was that
had knocked at the door; what he wanted; of
what country he had seemed to be a native ; if he
was well dressed ; what he had on ; if he had been
drinking ; if he had a bundle with him ; if he
wanted to stay all night ; if he wanted anything to
eat; if he got anything; if she asked him in; what
she thought his name was; if he had a red nose ;
if his hair was curly ; and where she thought he
came from. And he did n't think that Deborah
ought to be so cross, as if he had asked many ques-
tions !
Jack coiiM ask questions when be tried, but he
had not got fairly under way then.
Stella came into the kitchen with her doll, Cin-
derella, under her arm, Just as Deborah said that.
The little girl was going to sprinkle and fold Cin-
derella's clothes, which were always washed on
Monday, and ironed on Tuesday, just like any-
body's. But she forgot all about the clothes when
she heard Deborah say there was a possibility
that the man came from the moon. Stella was
268
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
[February,
very much interested in the moon. As she firmly
believed it to be made of green cheese, and also
that one man lived in it, her interest is scarcely to
be wondered at.
"Oh, Deborah, was it really the Man in the
Moon ? " she cried.
"Well, I should n't wonder," said Deborah, and
she laughed a little, though shea^rt.? cross. "Come
to think of it, he did inquire the way to Norwich.
And he seemed terrible hungr)', as if he had come
a long journey. "
"Did you give him anything to eat?" asked
Jack.
" I gave him a piece of bread that he could eat
if he was hungry. I aint a-goin' to pamper up
tramps with my best victuals that I 've wore my
fingers to the bone a-cookin' of," said Deborah.
"No cheese? Oh, Deborah!" said Stella, re-
proachfully.
Of course the Man in the Moon was accustomed
to eating cheese, since his dwelling-place was made
of it, — and he might miss it very much. It was
Stella's opinion that Deborah ought to have thought
of that.
And why, oh, why, did n't Deborah ask him to
come in ! To think of coming so near to seeing
the Man in the Moon, and missing it ! It was very
cruel of Deborah.
" Did he look much like ordinar\- people,
Deborah ? " asked Stella.
"Come to think of it, he favored a pirate, as
much as anything," said Deborah. " Though that
might 'a' ben owin' to his havin' but one eye, and
that one kind of squinty."
" Do you think he was a cross man, Deborah ? "
asked Stella, after a moment of deep meditation.
" I don't know nothin' about the dispositions of
folks in the moon. I 've got all I can do to con-
tend against the tryin' dispositions of them here
below," said Deborah.
"There aint any folks in the moon ! " said Jack,
diving his head into the clothes-basket, and turn-
ing a somersault. " If there was, they 'd all be like
busted balloons; there is n't any air there. Stella
believes everything."
" It 's boys that don't believe nothin' that comes
to the gallows," said Deborah, severely.
Meantime, Stella had slipped into the wood-
shed, to see if she could catch a glimpse of the
man's retreating figure, from the door.
Oh joy ! there he sat at the end of the wood-
pile, only a few rods away.
Stella went into the pantr>-, and got a huge
piece of cheese ; then she ran out, and sat down on
a log, opposite him. She was at quite a distance
from the house, it was growing dark, and the man
did look rather cross, but Stella was never afraid
of anything — excepting thunder and curly dogs.
Everybody has his weak points, and those were
Stella's. She did not once think of being afraid of
the Man from the Moon, though she did hope that
he was n't cross, because cross people would never
answer all the questions that one wanted to ask.
She sat and stared at him for a minute or two,
the big piece of cheese in one hand, and Cinder-
ella, held by the heels, in the other. She was
casting about in her mind for some suitable way of
addressing him ; being entirely ignorant of the
etiquette of the moon, she was afraid of seeming
impolite. But at length, nothing better occurring
to her, she said, blandly :
"How do you do, man?"
The man responded, civilly, but rather gruffly,
that he was " as well as poor folks could expect to
be."
" I suppose you don't have bread at home,"
remarked Stella.
" Not much, that 's a fact," said the man.
" But if you live on cheese entirely, wont you
eat the moon all up some day, and tumble down to
the ground ? " That was a problem that had been
troubling Stella ever since she had first heard that
the moon was made of cheese.
The man gave her a rather puzzled look, and
laughed a little. "Eat the moon up ? Well, I be
hunger-bitten enough to do it, sometimes, that 's
a fact. And I 'm pesky fond of cheese. I like the
looks of that 'ere piece in your hand."
" I brought it on purpose for you," said Stella,
presenting it, and making a low bow, to show her
respect for so e.xalted a personage as the Man from
the Moon.
The man devoured the cheese, with such great
hungry bites that she was more than ever con-
vinced that it was his natural food.
"How did you come down?" was her next
question.
"Well, I come down on a broomstick, but I 'm
going home around by the way of Norwich," he
answered.
On a broomstick ! Stella wanted to ask him
whether he was any relation to the old woman who
went up on one to sweep the cobwebs from the sky,
but she was afraid it would not be quite polite.
She might be only a poor relation, of whom such a
great man would not wish to be reminded. But,
surely, there could not be many people who could
ride on broomsticks ! She and Percy, her young-
est brother, had tried it, and they had n't gone up
a bit.
She was anxious to ask no questions that were
not strictly polite, so she was very slow and
deliberate.
" Have you any children?"
issi.i
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
269
" Four on 'em," answered the man. between his
bites.
" Four ! Th.-it is very few; there are nine of us.
But perhaps it is just as well ; they might fall off."
"Fall off?" repeated the man, with a start.
" Fall off of what? How come you to know "
"Why, off the moon, of course ; you live in the
moon, don't you?"
The man gave her a long, puzzled look ; then he
tapped his forehead, significantly, with his fore-
finger. " Tctched, as sure as you 're born!" he
said to himself " Though I never did see sich a
little one tctched. Mcbbc the big one, th.it give
me the dry bread, was loony, too ; that might be
from the man all the infonnation possible, and to
use it to convince Jack.
" What kind of cheese is green cheese ? " she in-
quired.
" Well, it is sage cheese," answered the man,
after some deliberation. " Cheese with so much
sage into it that it is kind of greenish complected,
so to speak."
" That is what Percy and I thought !" cried
Stella. " But Uncle John thought it was new
cheese."
" There 's nobody knows much about the moon,
but them as lives there," said the man, in a tone
and manner full of mystery.
'WF. *RE coin' home TO THE MOON AS SOON AS WE CAN FIN'D A CONVEYANCE," HE SAID. [sEE PAGE 271.]
what made her sich a spitfire. It might be a lu-
natic hospital ; " and he arose and looked back at
the house, reflectively.
" Oh yes, I live in the moon," he said, seating
himself again. " Sartingly, I live in the moon."
A shadow of painful doubt h.id been creeping
into Stella's mind; he w.is so very much like other
people : his manners were not elegant, and he was
very badly dressed ; but his own assertion was satis-
factory. She heaved a great sigh of relief. Only
the fear that he would vanish before she could
return prevented her from going in search of Jack,
the unbelieving, who certainly would have to be-
lieve now, she thought. She resolved to extract
"It must be very funny. Hut you h.ivc n 't burst,
have you? You don't look very limpsy. Jack
says people there must be just like my balloon
after he stuck a pin into it, because there is n't
any air in the moon."
"Air? bless you, there 's air enough ! Air and
water — that 's about all there is that 's plenty where
I live !" and the man laughed harshly.
Stella resolved to enlighten Jack on that point,
the very first thing.
Presently, she asked: "Did you see the cow
when she jumped over?"
That was another important point on which Stella
wished to obtain testimony, for Jack boldly declared
2 70
THE M A X IX THE M O O N .
[February,
his opinion that Mother Goose was not a faithful
historian.
"The cow? Cows bein' such a plentiful ani-
mal, I can't rightly tell which one you mean."
Stella opened her eyes wide with astonishment.
" Don't you know
'* ' Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle.
The cow jumped over the moon ' ? "
" Oh, to be sure ! That ere event occurred
some time ago, and it had kind of slipped my mind.
Yes, I see her. She gin the moon a clip with her
heels when she went over, and knocked it kind of
slantwise. Mebbe you 've noticed, sometimes, that
it looks kind of slantwise."
" Yes, I have !" cried Stella, eagerly. Surely
such proof as this would convince even Jack, she-
thought.
"Oh, I wish 1 could go to the moon! You
could n't possibly take me, could you ? and bring
me back again," she added, with a sudden thought
of home.
" I e.xpect they think a good deal of you to home,
and mebbe they would n't want to spare you," said
the man.
" Yes, they do. 1 am the youngest. Papa says
he would n't take a million dollars for me. But,
of course. 1 could come back again."
"Of course. 1 might take you along with me
now, if you was a good girl and did n't make no
noise, and 1 could bring you back again before
they missed you," said the man.
" Oh, will you ? " cried Stella, hopping on one
foot. That was the way in which all the little
Mudgetts expressed their greatest joy. "And
Cinderella, too ! It will be such a thing for Cin-
derella ! "
Stella had heard her mother say that about
Polly, their eldest, when she was invited to go on a
trip to Europe. " And perhaps they don't have
dolls in the moon, and will like to see her."
The man examined Cinderella critically. She
was large and heavy, but she was made of wax
and had "truly hair," and he said Stella might
take her.
He looked cautiously around to see if anybody
saw them, as he slung his worn old leather bag
across his shoulder by means of a walking-stick,
and, taking Stella's hand in his, started off.
Stella wondered whether they were to go up on
broomsticks, but her new friend was not as talkative
as he had been at first. He seemed to have got
tired of answering questions, like Deborah. She
could only discover that they were going "by the
way of Norwich," which was a sea-port town about
ten miles away. Stella had been there, often, with
her uncle John : it was from there that his vessel
sailed. But she had never heard that there was
any conveyance from Norwich to the moon. Jack
would be very much surprised to know it. He
would be very likely to say, " 1 don't believe it."
That was almost the last distinct thought that Stella
had. She grew so sleepy that she stumbled along,
half-dragged by her companion. It was long past
her bed-time, and sleep conquered even the delight
that she felt that she was on the way to the moon.
At length the man, grumblingly, lifted her in his
arms, sound asleep. Her hold upon Cinderella had
relaxed, and the man stuck Her Dollship, head-
first, into his grimy pocket, the legs waving wildly
in the air. And so this strangely assorted company
traveled on in the darkness.
Stella opened her eyes upon the very queerest
place they had ever seen. It was a ship's cabin, —
she knew that, at a glance, having often been on
board her uncle John's ship, — but the darkest,
dingiest, most forlorn one imaginable. She rolled
quickly out of the dirty and stifling bunk in which
she was lying, and took a survey of her surround-
ings. One side of the cabin seemed to be a mass
of broken timbers, through which came little gleams
of daylight and a glimpse of waving grass. The
ship was evidently not on the water, and would
ne\er be likely to be again. It was very queer,
but it might be the fashion in the moon to live in
a ship, Stella thought.
Three or four of the raggedest and dirtiest chil-
dren Stella had ever seen were quarreling over
some object. As Stella drew near them, she saw
that it was — oh, horror! — the headless body of
Cinderella. And the man — her acquaintance of the
night before — was holding up, by its golden locks,
poor Cinderella's head, for the inspection of a dirt)'
and dejected-looking woman.
Stella screamed at that sight ; it was too much
even for her stout little heart to bear.
The man shook her roughly and told her to keep
still. The children forgot the doll, and gathered
about her, staring at her, with mouths and eyes
wide open.
" If you arc the Man in the Moon, you have n't
any right to cut off my Cinderella's head ! " said
Stella, boldly. " If there are any policemen in
the moon, I shall have you arrested. hxA I want to
go home. 1 don't think I shall like the moon at
all."
The man and woman both laughed. The man •
said something that sounded like " reg'lar little
Bedlamite." The woman complained that they
should find her in the way, and the man replied
that he would " keep her till there was a reward
offered," and that they "might as well humor her
notions." They offered her some fried fish for
breakfast, but, brave as she was, she was too home-
i8S3.
IIIK M A N 1 N r II K MOO N .
271
sick and frightened to cat. The children were
very social, and invited her to accompany them to
the deck. There was a rickety ladder, up whicli
they scampered like squirrels, and Stella climbed
after them. She looked around her with great
curiosity ; out-of-doors in the moon might be pleas-
ant if the dwellings were not, she thought.
"Why, it isn't the moon, at all! It is Nor-
wich ! " she cried. "If we have n't got there, 1
don't think I '11 go. I would rather go home ! "
They were on the wreck of a fishing-schooner,
which was half-imbedded in the mud, in a little
retired cove just outside the harbor of Norwich.
Less than a mile away lay the town.
Stella was disappointed, but a feeling of relief
that she was so near home mingled with her disap-
pointment. For the Man in the Moon had cer-
tainly not improved upon acquaintance. He was
no longer agreeable ; he had become very un-
willing to answer questions, and he had cruelly
murdered Cinderella.
" How do you get to the moon ? " asked Stella.
The children looked puzzled, and giggled, and
said nothing. An expression came into Stella's
face that made her look like Jack.
" Do you live here all the time ? " she said, sol-
emnly.
" Oh, no ! We 've only been here a week. \\'e
don't live nowhere. We tramp," said the oldest
boy.
This was not very intelligible to Stella. At that
moment, the man came up the ladder, and at once
sent his children below. Then he said :
"We 've just put in here for repairs — clothes
and victuals, and sich. We 're a-goin' home to
the moon just as soon as we can find a convey-
ance," he said.
It was true, then ; and it was very disappointing.
It occurred to Stella that Mother Goose was right
in saying that he came down "too soon." He
might just as well never come at all !
" I think I will go home. May be you wont
get a conveyance for a good while, and they 'II be
worried about me at home." Stella tried to be
polite, but she spoke very decidedly.
"Oh, we could n't think ofgivin' up the pleasure
of a visit from you at our beautiful home in the
moon ! " said the man. " Here you don't see us
at our best ; our ship has run aground, so to speak.
My wife and I are goin' out now, to see if we can't
hire a balloon to take us up to-night, and you had
better wait and go with us."
It did sound inviting — to go in a balloon up
to the moon ! But Stella was thoroughly home-
sick. " I 'm very much obliged to you, but I think
I 'd rather go home. Perhaps, the next time you
come down, I '11 go home with you," she said.
" Well, if you ha' n't changed your mind before
night, when we come back with the balloon, I 'II
take you home," said the man.
And all Stella's pleading and tears were unavail-
ing. The children were sent away, with empty
baskets on their arms, in the direction of Norwich ;
then the man and his wife went off in another
direction, and they took down the ladder which led
up the vessel's side, so that Stella could not get
down to the ground.
And as they went, Stella saw Cinderella's beau-
tiful golden ringlets hanging out of the man's
pocket, and she heard the man say to his wife that
as the head was wax, and the hair real, they might
perhaps sell them for a few cents !
Left alone, poor little Stella sobbed and screamed
until she was exhausted. But only the echoes an-
swered. There were woods on one side, the ocean
on the other; not a living being was within reach
of her voice. Now and then a vessel sailed by,
but always too far off to hear her.
Before noon she was hungry enough to eat the
few dry crusts which had been left for her dinner,
and then she felt a little more hopeful, and, curling
herself up in a corner, she forgot all her woes in
sleep.
The crashing of thunder awoke her. Her greatest
terror had come in the train of her other troubles.
Thunder and lightning were even worse to Stella
than curly dogs. Cozily cuddled in her mother's
arms a thunder-storm was bad enough, but to be
all alone in this strange and solitary place, the sky
black, excepting when tongues of flame splintered
the clouds, and awful crashes came at intervals,
was too much for the bravest little girl to endure
calmly. If it had been Jack it would have been
different, for he was so queer that he actually liked
thunder-showers. He said the banging made it
seem like the Fourth of July.
Stella was tempted to go below, where she would
be out of sight of the lightning, but the cabin was
so dark and close that she felt a horror of it, and it
was lonelier, too. Up on deck she could see an
occasional vessel, and there was a chance that one
might come near enough to see her. So she
staid there, and screamed as loud as she could,
and waved Cinderella's headless boily wildly over
her head.
And a vessel did come near enough to see her.
She could see a man looking at her through a glass.
.Stella's screaming was no small matter. She was
renowned at home for her ability in that direction.
Jack sometimes impolitely called her the " Great
American Screecher." And Stella screamed now
as she never had screamed before.
And a boat was lowered from the vessel ; it was
rowed rapidly ashore ; a half-dozen sailors climbed
272
SCHOOL-BOY TROUBLES.
[February,
to the deck where she was. And then they asked
her questions. Stella wished that Deborah could
hear them, she would neversay again there " never
was nobody like our young ones for asking ques-
tions."
And the sailors seemed astonishingly ignorant
ofhistory, Stella thought; they had not even heard
that there was a Man in the Moon !
But they took her into the boat and carried her
over to the vessel, lifted her on board, and put her
into her uncle John's arms.
It sounds too good to be true, yet things do
happen just right sometimes in the world.
Uncle John hugged her, and kissed her, and
laughed over her, and cried over her a little bit,
too, big man as he was, for he seemed to think it
was a dreadful thing to be carried off by a tramp
in that way, and that it was wonderful that he had
found her, all safe and sound. He called it just
what Deborah called it when she wore her old bon-
net and it rained, — "providential."
And Uncle John would not believe, — any more
than if he had been Jack, — that the man lived in
the moon.
When they reached home, they found Stella's
mother and father, her eight brothers and sisters,
and even Deborah, almost distracted with grief and
anxiety.
The whole town was searching for Stella.
The eight brothers and sisters stood around her
in a circle, while she related her adventures, and
the questions they asked would fill a volume.
Jack said: '' I think she dreamed it. It sounds
just like a story. I don't beUeve it."
An officer was sent to arrest the tramp early the
next morning, but the old fishing-schooner was
deserted ; there were scarcely any signs that any-
body had ever lived there, excepting poor Cin-
derella's body, which he brought home.
Stella's father and Uncle John thought that the
man had been frightened by Stella's escape, and
had traveled off as fast as possible to avoid arrest.
But Stella's private opinion is that they got the
balloon and went up to the moon that night.
SCHOOL-BOY TROUBLES.
By One of Them.
HE witches get in ni)- books, I know,
Or else it 's fairy elves;
For when I study, they plague me so
1 feel like one of themselves.
Often they whisper: "Come and play.
The sun is shining bright ! "
And when I fling the book away
They flutter with delight.
They dance among the stupid words.
And twist the "rules" awry;
And fly across the page like birds,
Though 1 can't see them fly.
They twitch my feet, they blur my eyes,
They make me drowsy, too ;
In fact, the more a fellow tries
To study, the worse they do.
They can't be heard, they can't be seen-
I know not how they look —
And yet they always lurk between
The leaves of a lesson-book.
Whatever they are I can not tell,
But this is plain as day;
I never '11 be able to study well.
As long as the book-elves stay.
THE ROUND STONK.
273
1111; ROL'Xl) STONE.
(^ Hungarian Foikstory.)
Bv J Ion. Jeremiah Curtin.
upon a time a
poor fisherman
and his wife, who
had as many chil-
dren as there are
stars in the sky, or grass-
blades in a meadow. The
poor man fished and
earned his bread by the
sweat of his brow. He
was as poor as a church-
mouse, or even poorer,
for the mouse has, from
time to time, a nibble at
a cheese, or a crumb of
bread, but he had only
his soul and body and a
fish-net.
The poor man had a
very rich brother, who
had as many children as
there are knots on a water-
reed, but if the poor man
sent to his brother for a
dish of flour, once in a
while when he had noth-
ing in the house to eat,
the wicked man answered
thus: "I will give you a
dish of flour if you give
me one of your children ;
if you don't, jou may
claw the air, eat ice, drink
water, and for vegetables
have tears and weeping."
So the poor man who
had many children, had
nothing to give them, not
even a morsel as large as
my little finger.
One time, the poor man
had had no bread in the
cupboard for a whole
week, and the family lived
on roots and stewed earth-
Ijerries. The weather was
rainy and windy, so he
could not fish. When it grew calm, on the seventh
day, he went out with his net, and fished all day
and well into the night. The clock had already
struck two in the morning, and the east began to
grow gray and glimmer, but the poor man had not
caught a single fish. Two hundred times he threw
his net, and two hundred times he drew out nothing.
" I will throw it for the last time," said he to
himself. " If there will be something in it, very
274
THE ROUND STONE.
[February,
good ; if not, 't will also be well. God's will be
done ! — Oh, there is something ! my hand feels it ! "
He drew out the net carefully, hauled it on shore,
and behold ! he took out a round stone from the
water.
"If 't is only a stone, what good is it to me?
My children can't eat it. A poor man has poor
luck." With this, he threw the stone into the
middle of the water.
Then the poor man cast in his net once more.
As soon as the net moved, he drew it out very
cautiously. Again he found the stone.
" What good are stones to me ? I catch nothing
else. I should not say a word if God had given
me a stomach to digest stones." With that he
threw the stone again into the middle of the
water.
A third time he threw his net into the water,
and a third time he drew out the stone.
" Either all the fish are turned to stone, ur the
witches are playing me a trick ! This must be
the work of an evil spirit, and not a good one.
What can I do with it ? If it would only turn to
bread ! " Then he threw in the stone a third time.
but near the edge of the water.
Since the poor man had not caught a single fish,
and now was very tired, he gathered up his net
at last, and set out for home, sorrowful and dis-
couraged. But he kept thinking of the round
stone, as if God had whispered it to him.
Presently he turned back and fished up the stone,
saying: " It will do for the children to play with,
for they have no bread."
When he came near the house, his children ran
out to meet him, asking: "What have you
brought ? Is it a present ? "
"I have brought nothing but a round stone.
Here it is ; play with it." And he rolled it on the
floor.
On the night of the seventh day the poor man's
family were hungry and thirsty, but, as the children
had something to play with, they played.
The poor man lay down by the chimney, and his
wife on a cot-bed with the smaller children. The
older ones played and played, rolling the stone
about. After a while the stone began to shine,
and to grow brighter and brighter, until it filled
the whole cabin with light, just as if the sun were
shining, although it was but three o'clock in the
morning.
The great light shone straight into the eyes of
the fisherman, and he cried out:
"What is this? There is neither a candle, a
taper, nor a torch, but the house is all lighted.
Come, Mother, get up. Just see the stone ; it
shines like decaying wood in the dark, like a fire-
fly, like a star, and even brighter ! "
" Father," said the fisherman's wife, " I have
heard all my life that there is in the world a kind
of stone so beautiful and bright that you can buy
an ox for a piece as large as a poppy-seed ; may be
this is the kind."
" Oh, you simpleton ! Where could we get such
a stone ? Stones like that are not found in every
fool's cabin. But a word is a word. There must
be something in this stone, for it shines so that it
blinds me ; and sparks come from it."
Now the poor man got up, took the round stone
from the children, went to work at it, rubbed it on
grass, on wood, on the wall, on the ground, on the
ashes, — in a word, on whatever came under his
hand, until, at last, it was altogether bright. Then
he covered it with an old foot-cloth, so that it
might not light up the house and keep them from
sleeping.
When they rose in the morning, the poor man
said to his wife :
"Well, wife, put on your best clothes, that you
stitched together for a holiday, so that you might
have something in which to go to worship God.
Take this stone to the king as a present, and say
that I sent it; and take a dish with you, — may be
he '11 give you a little flour. At least, you may get
something to make an ash-cake for the children."
The poor man's wife put on her best dress and
went to the king. When she came, she greeted
him becomingly :
" God give a good day to Your Majesty ! "
" God keep you, poor woman ! What journey
are \-ou on ? "
" My husband sends you a little present. He is
the man who lives by the stream on the hill, and
earns his bread by fishing. But just now neither
we nor our children have aught to eat."
" Well, my good woman, what could you bring
me when you have nothing yourself? But, what-
ever it may be, on that account it is agreeable to
me, for I see that you give it with a good heart ;
come in, then, to my palace."
The poor woman went into the king's palace,
untied her handkerchief, and placed the round
stone on the golden table.
The king was scarcely able to speak from won-
der, for the round stone was a diamond, and such
a one, too, as neither the king's father, his grand-
father, nor his great-grandfather had ever seen.
"Where did you get that, poor woman?" he
asked, at last.
" My husband went fishing and caught it.
Three times he threw it back into the water, and
three times he drew it out. I thought in my simple
mind that God gave it to him," said the poor
woman, dropping a courtesy.
"Well, poor woman," said the king, "Iwillkeep
THK ROUND STONE.
275
the diamond for myself, but I will give you a thou-
sand florins for it."
•' H'm ! A thousand florins!" exclaimed she,
astonished at the greatness of the sum.
But the king thought she was surprised at his
oflcring so little money for a stone that he knew
must be very v.iluablc ; so he said : " If that 's not
enough, 1 '11 give you two thousand."
"H'm! Two thousand ?"
"Well, 1 '11 give three."
" H'm ! Three thousand ? "
" Look here, poor woman, (lo home and bring
Now the poor man was so rich that you would
ha\e had to search far to find his match.
"Well, my dear wife," said the poor man, "we
must me;isure this money so as to know how many
l>ushels of it we have."
" All right ; but we have no measure."
"We may borrow one from our stingy brother.
Perhaps he will lend us a measure. We '11 see if
he has soul enough for that. Run, my little boy,
Pishka, and ask a measure from my good brother."
Pishka ran to the stingy brother, to see if he
would lend an empty measure.
^|llf f S I l^lt.l ft
#■
THE Hl'NT.RV CATS WERE RELEASED — THE KINC". CRIED OUT — THE QrREN SCREAMED — THE I.ITTI.E I'RINCES KOARED !
three. bags, and 1 '11 fill the first one for you with "An empty measure!" cried out the stingy
gold, the second with silver, and the third witli brother. "An empty measure? Who has ever
copper." heard of such a thing? What good would it be
The poor woman brought three bags, and the to you, unless your father should measure you
king filled them, — the first with gold, the second all, beginning with your mother? Do you hear
with silver, and the third with copper; and, be- me?"
sides, he did her the kindness of having a pair of " Of course I do," said the little boy. "They
oxen yoked to a wagon in which he sent the money to told me an empty measure."
her home, .^nd when the money was safely housed, " I wont lend an empty measure, without know-
one of her sons drove back the wagon and oxen. ing why. But pack off home and ask whether an
276
THE ROUND STONE.
[Februarv.
empty measure is wanted or a full one." Thus
spoke the rich brother, in a harsh voice.
The poor little fellow went home crying and
sobbing, and told his parents what his uncle had
said.
"That's nothing," said his father, pacifying him.
" The good God will reward every man according
to his works. I believe that. But, Martsi, my
boy, go you, and if he asks you what it is we are
measuring, tell him it is money."
Martsi, taking a pig-whip, which he had made
from hemp, having braided it in three strands, ran
off straightway to his uncle, and said to him:
" My father has sent me to borrow an empty
measure, for we are measuring money."
" Mo-mo-mo-money ! You shall have it, my
boy How many measures does he want ? 1 can't
tell how "
" Only one."
"But hurry back, for, if the Jew comes to buy
ashes, I shall need it."
Martsi ran home with the measure, and they
measured their money. They had just ten bushels
of it. When the poor man had finished, he sent
the measure home by his son Getsi, but first he
stuck pieces of gold all around it.
Getsi had scarcely returned the measure and got
back home when the stingy brother strolled in
after him, and cried:
"God give you a good day, my dear l^rother ! "
(This time he was "dear," but, before, never so
much as "brother.")
'" God keep you, Brother ! We have great news
in the hqusc. Sit down here on the bench, by the
fire near the hearth. What good news do you
bring ? "
" Oh, I have only called because I heard from
your boy that you have come by a lot of money."
The poor man listened, but said nothing. He
looked his brother fairly in the eyes, and knowing
how deceitful and designing he was, he said,
sadly, to himself: "Oh, you wicked fellow! I'll
see if I can ser\'e you a little trick that may teach
you a good lesson."
"You know," said the rich brother, " 1 have no
family. After my death all ni)' property will be
yours, for I can not take it with me to the grave,
you know; so, if you tell me how you got the
money, it will be all for your own good."
"Where did I get it? Well, this is how it was :
Yesterday, my old cat had kittens, and at the
king's palace there are so many mice, and such an
army of rats, that it is impossible to take a meal's
victuals in peace, for the rats run about the walls so
that they are ready to eat up the king. Soldiers
are obliged to guard him with pikes and swords,
and it 's as much as the soldiers can do to hold
their own. I had an idea. So I took the old gray
cat on my shoulder and put the two little kittens
on a plate, and presented them to the king. He
was delighted, and in his joy could not find a place
good enough for me. The queen wiped the dust
from the golden bench with her apron, seated me
l)y her side, and asked how my wife was. After
that, the king measured out three bags of money
for me. If you don't believe it. Brother, why I
have the money up here in the loft. You can
see it with )our own eyes."
"We need not go to that trouble. Brother; I
believe what you say. What 's the need of looking?
God's blessing be with you, I must go home."
"Why so soon? We have scarcely had time
yet to bid you welcome."
" I have work to do at home. I forgot some-
thing, and am in a great hurry," said the cunning
brother, telling a fib.
As soon as the rich man reached home, he
shouted to his wife at the top of his voice. When
she came he told her the whole story from begin-
ning to end, how his brother, the fisherman, had
come by the tremendous lot of money. Then
they sat down, and, putting their heads together,
worked out a great plan, and resolved that if their
brother had taken three cats to the king they
would take three bags full, and then would n't he
give them a pile of money ? So they collected cats
from three villages. But people brought them
from seven, hearing that the rich man gave a
good price for cats. No wonder they heard so,
for no matter what any one asked for a cat, that
he got. Either a bushel of wheat, a bag of pota-
toes, a side of bacon, a cake of cheese, a keg of
wine, or a jug of strong waters went out of the
house in pay for each cat. So, when the three bags
were full, the house was emptied clear and clean
of provisions from cellar to garret ; but, upon my
life, it was well stocked with cats.
The rich brother set out on the journey with his
man. He took four good horses, and packed the
three bags of cats into a wagon. It is easy to
imagine what a wailing and screaming the cats
raised. Whcre\er he went, the whole world
shouted at the wonder; the boys ran after the
wagon from one village to another; the dogs
barked; and there was such a head-splitting din
that the rich man's hair turned gray.
At last, he arrived at the palace.
" Now," said the rich man to his servant, " you
remain here by the wagon, so that nothing may be
carried off, and I '11 go in. But give me the whip,
so that if those stupid rats should fall on me, I can
drive them away." Then he appeared before the
king.
" God give a good day to Your Majesty ! "
THE ROUXl) STONE.
" God guard you, rich man ! What business are
you on ? "
" I have brought a present to Your Majesty.
I have n't brought it in, because I did n't know
where Your Majesty would hke to have it, here or
somcwliere else. "
■' Well, what have you brought, my good man ? "
" What have I brought? That which is dearest
to Your Majesty, and which \ou pay gold and sil-
ver for."
" Well, what may it be ? "
" What may it be ? Your .Majesty will sec
directly ; and, although I say it, I know Your
Majesty will cover me with gold for it."
" Well, but what can it be .> "
" To satisfy Your Majesty's curiosity, I will say
that I have brought the same as my brother
brought. You are pleased to know him personally."
" I know — the man who lives by the stream on
the hill, and earns his living by fishing."
" Yes, yes, he is the man ; but 1 have brought
still more than he."
" Oh, in that case, bring it in, this minute, and
I will call the queen, her ladies, and the pages."
The rich man went to the wagon, and, with his
serving-man, brought the three bags of cats into
the White Palace, to the king's chamber. But
could he find the way? Why shouldn't he? The
chambers arc twelve in a row.
When the rich brother came to the chamber, he
opened the bags quickly and let out all the cats.
As they had eaten nothing for a whole week, and
had been in the bags all the time, the cats had
grown wild and had their fur torn off. They made
such confusion as man had never seen ; one
smashed a window, another broke a looking-glass, a
third overturned a glass case. They broke every-
thing— glasses, vessels, cups, and goodness knows
what.
The king cried out from amazement. The
queen screamed, for a cat had torn its way up
her snow-white arm ; and the king's little sons
began to cry and roar as if to split their throats.
As the doors were open from one chamber to
another, the cats raced through the whole palace
and smashed into bits everything that could be
broken. There was scarcely a window, a looking-
glass, or a vase left whole in the building.
At last, the soldiers, hearing the unearthly noise,
the smasliing, screaming, and '" sptissing," rushed
in, some with clubs, others with spears and swords,
and killed the legion of cats, excepting those that
had jumped out through the windows. Master
Yantchi, for thus they called the rich brother, was
neither dead nor ali\e ; he stood there like a boy
who knows he has put the wrong stick on the fire
and will suffer for it. But as the boy runs from a
sound thrashing if he can, so Master Yantchi was
up and away. He packed himself off in hot haste,
taking no leave of the company, and ran out into
the wide world like a stray horse. He never had
the courage to come back again to his own village,
for every one laughed at his adventure and made
sport of him as " the cat-huckster."
At last, news was brought that the cat-huckster
had been frozen to death near the robbers' ditch,
and, not long aftenvard, his wife journeyed forth
from this world of shadows. Since God had not
blessed them with children, the poor brother who
had been a fisherman inherited everything, and
became so enormously rich that only the king has
more money, and he has only a sixpence more.
A HIT OF ADVICE.
2/8
WINTER.
[February,
VIVTER
■'Prithee, my laddie, where go you to-day?
The strong wind is blowing, the heavens are
gray."
"1 go to the Northland, far, far away."
" And wherefore, my laddie, if this we may know,
So far on this cold winter morn do you go ? "
"To find out the land where there 's nothing
but snow —
■' Where icicles hang like the leaves on the tree.
And one may skate merrily over the sea.
And pray,
me?
lu go, my fair lasses, with
■■ My sleigh is beyond, with its rapid reindeer.
Then — ho for the land where there 's snow
all the year ! "
" Nay, thanks, it is quite cold enough for us here !
" Now, prithee, my laddie, go you on your way;
Good fortune attend you wherever you stray ;
But we '11 stay at home, if you please, sir !
Good-day ! "
i883.|
DONALD AND D O R U T 1 1 \'
279
HIS BARQl'U IS WORSE THAN HIS IJlTii.
DONALD AND DOROTHY.*
Hv M.\KV Mapes Dnrx;!-;.
ClIAI'TKR \'III.
TOD MICH OF A coon THINO.
Just as Donald and Dorothy were about to
end their outdoor visit to the Danbys, described
in our hist chapter, Coachman Jack was seen in
a neighboring field, trying to catch Mr. Reed's
spirited mare, "' Lady," that had been let out to
have a run. He already had approached her with-
out difficulty and slipped a bridle over her head,
but she had started away from him, and he, feeling
that she had had playtime enough, was now bent
on recapturing her.
Instantly a dozen Danby eyes were following
their every motion. Then Donald and Ben, not
being able to resist the impulse, scampered over
to join in the race, closely followed by Dan and
Fandy. Gregory, too, would have gone, but Charity
called him back.
It was a superb sight to see the spirited animal,
one moment standing motionless at a safe distance
from Jack, and the next, leaping about the field,
mane and tail flying, and every action telling of a
defiant enjoyment of freedom. Soon, two grazing
horses in the same field caught her spirit ; even
Don's pony, at first looking soberly over a hedge
in the adjoining lot, began frisking and capering
■ibout on his own account, dashing past an opening
in the hedge as though it were as solid a barrier
:is the rest. Nor were Jack and the boys less
frisky. Coaxing and shouting had failed, and now
it was an open chase, in which, for a time, the
mare certainly had the advantage. But what horse
is proof against its appetite ? Clever little Fandy
had rushed to Mr. Reed's barn, and brought back
in his hat a light lunch of oats for the marc, which
he .It once bore into her presence, shaking it
temptingly, at the same time slowly backing away
from her. The little midget and his hatful suc-
ceeded, where big man and boys had failed. The
mare came cautiously up and was about to put her
nose into the cap, when Jack's sudden but stealthy
effort to seize the bridle made her start sidewise
* Copyright, 1881, by Mary M.ipes Dodge. All rights resen'ed.
28o
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
(February,
away from him. But here Donald leaped forward
at the other side and caught her.
Jack was too proud of Don's quickness to appear
surprised ; so, disregarding the hilarious shout of
the Danby boys, he took the bridle from the young
master with an off-hand air, and led the now gen-
tle animal quietly toward the stable.
But Dorothy was there before him. Out of
breath after her brisk run, she was panting and
tugging at a dusty side-saddle hanging in the har-
ness-room, when Jack and the mare drew near.
"Oh, Jack!" she cried, "help me get this
down ! I mean to have some fun. I 'm going to
ride that mare back to the field !"
" Not you, Miss Dorry ! " exclaimed Jack. "Take
your own pony, an' your own saddle, an' it 's a go ;
but this 'ere mare 'd be on her beam ends with
you in no time."
" Oh, no she would n't, Jack ! She knows me
perfectly. (Don't you. Lady?) Oh, do. Jack!
That 's a good Jack. Please let me ! Don 's there,
you know ''
Dorry said this as if Don were a regiment. By
this time the side-saddle clattered down from its
peg, with a peculiar buckle-and-leathery noise of
its own.
" Wont you, Jack ? Ah, wont you ! "
" No, miss, I wont !" said Jack, resolutely.
"Why, Jack, 1 've been on her before. Don't
you know ? There is n't a horse on the place that
could thro«- me. Uncle said so. Don't you re-
member ?"
" So he did ! " said Jack, his eyes sparkling
proudly. "The Cap'n said them very words.
An'," glancing weakly at the mare, " she 's standin'
now like a skiff in a calm. Not a breath in her
sails "
"Oh, do — do, Jack!" coaxed Dorry, seizing
her advantage, "quick! They 're all in the lot
yet. Here, put it on her ! "
" 1 'm an old fool," muttered Jack to himself, as,
hindered by Dorry's busy touches, he proceeded to
saddle the subdued animal; "but I can't never
refuse her nothin' — that 's where it is. Easy now,
miss ! " as Doriy, climbing up on the feed-box in
laughing excitement, begged him to hurry and let
her mount. "Easy now. There! You 're on,
high and dry. Here" (tugging at the girth),
" let me tauten up a bit ! Steady now ! Don't
try no capers with her, Miss Dorry, and come back
in a minute. Get up, Lady ! — ^get up ! "
The mare left the stable so slowly and unwilling-
ly, that Jack slapped her flank gentlv as she moved
off.
Jog, jog went Lady out through the wide stable
door-way, across the yard into the open field.
Dorry. hastily arranging her skirts and settling her-
self comfortably upon the grand but dingy saddle
(it had been Aunt Kate's in the days gone by),
laughed to herself, thinking how astonished they
all must be to see her riding Lady back to them.
For a moment she playfully pretended to be un-
conscious of their gaze. Then she looked up.
Poor Dorry ! Xot a boy, not even Donald, had
remained in the field ! He and the little Danbys
were listening to one of Ben's stories of adventure.
Even the two horses and Don's pony were quietly
nosing the dry grass in search of green tufts.
"1 don't care," she murmured, gayly, overcom-
ing her disappointment. " I mean to have a ride,
any way. Get up. Lady ! "
Lady did get up. She shook her head, pricked
up her ears, and started off at a beautiful canter
across the fields.
" How lovely ! " thought Dorry, especially pleased
at that moment to see several figures coming to-
ward her from the Danby yard; "it's just like
flying ! "
Whether Lady missed her master's firm grip
upon the rein, or whether she guessed her rider's
thought, and was inspired by the sudden shouts
and hurrahs of the approaching boys, can never be
known. Certain it is that by the next moment
Dorr)-, on Lady's back, was flymg in earnest. — ^ fly-
ing at great speed round and round the field, but
with never an idea of falling off. Her first feeling
was that her uncle and Jack would n't be pleased
if they knew the exact character of the ride. Next
came a sense of triumph, because she felt that
Don and the rest were seeing it all, and then a
wild consciousness that her hat was off, her hair
streaming to the wind, and that she was keeping
her seat for dear life.
Lady's canter had become a run, and the run
soon grew into a series of leaps. Still Dorry kept
her seat. Young as she was, she was a fearless
rider, and at first, as we have seen, rather enjoyed
the prospect of a tussle with Lady. But as the
speed increased, Dorry found herself growing deaf,
dumb and blind in the breathless race. Still, if
she could only hold on, all would be well ; she cer-
tainly could not consent to be conquered before
" those boys."
Lady seemed to go twenty feet in the air at every
leap. There was no merr)' shouting now. The
little boys stood pale and breathless. Ben, trying
to hold Don back, was wondering what was to be
done, and Charity was wringing her hands.
'' Oh, oh ! She '11 be thrown ! " cried the girls.
"Not a bit of it!" insisted Donald. "1 've
seen Dot on a horse before." (But his looks be-
trayed his anxiety.) "See! The mare 's trying
to throw her now ! But she can't do it — she can't
do it ! Dot understands herself, I tell you, —
i883.]
DON A I. U A N D DOROTHY.
281
Whoa-o! — Let me go!" and, breaking from Ben,
he tore across the field, through the opening in the
hedge, and was on his pony's back in a twinkling.
How he did it, he never knew. He had heard
Dorr)' scream, and somehow that scream made him
and his pony one. Together, they flew over the
tield ; with a steady, calm purpose they cut across
Lady's course, and soon were at her side. Donald's
" Hold on, Dot ! " was followed by his quick plunge
toward the mare. It seemed that she certainly
superb grace, almost as if with a bow, and the
pony was rubbing its nose against her steaming
side.
" Good for you. Dot ! " was Donald's first word.
'• You held on magnificently."
Dorothy stroked Lady's hot neck, and for a mo-
ment could not trust herself to look up. But when
Jack half pulled, half lifted her from the saddle, and
she felt tlie firm earth benentli her, she tottered
and would have fallen, had not Donald, frightened
DONALD TO THE RESCUE 1
would ride over him, but he never faltered. Grasp-
ing his pony's mane with one hand, he clutched
Lady's bridle with the other. The marc plunged,
but the boy's grip was as firm as iron. Though
almost dragged from his seat, he held on, and the
more she struggled, the harder he tugged, — the
pony bearing itself nobly, and quivering in eager
sympathy with Donald's every movement. Jack
and Hen were now tearing across the field, bent on
rescue ; but they were not needed. Don was mas-
ter of the situation. The mare had yielded with
Vol. IX.— 19.
at her white face, sprung to the ground Just in time
to support her.
"Shiver my timbers ! " growled Jack, " if ever
1 let youngsters have their way again ! " But his
eyes shone with a strange mixture of self-reproach
and satisfaction as he looked at Dorry.
"Oh, is she hurt?" cried Charity, who, liaving
stumbled with the baby in her rush across the field,
was gathering up the screaming little fellow, catch-
ing her balance, and scrambling onward at the
same time — " Is she hurt?"
282
D O N A L D A X D DOROTHY
[February,
" Is she hurt ? " echoed the others, pressing for-
ward in breathless excitement.
" Not hurt at all," spoke up Donald, stoutly, as,
still supporting his sister, he saw the color coming
back to her cheek — "not hurt one bit ! It 's only
been a splendid ride for her, and a jolly scare for
us ; but it is high time we were in the house. All 's
right, Jack. Good-bye, everybody! We '11 skip
along home, now."
Chapter IX.
IN WHICH SOME WELL-MEANING GROWN
FOLK APPEAR.
MR. MCSWIVER —
better known as
Michael by the
Manning fami-
ly, or, more de-
scriptively, as
"Mr. Manning's
Mike," at the
village store, but
always as old
Mr.McSwiverto
our Liddy — was
about to enjoy
an evening out.
This was a rare
occurrence ; for
Mr. McSwiver,
though he had
advertised him-
self as having
"no incum-
brance," was by no means an ease-taking man.
He united in his august person the duties of coach-
man, butler, waiter, useful man, and body-servant
to Mr. Manning. Seeing him at early dawn black-
ing his employer's boots, or, later, attending to the
lighter duties of the coach-house (he had a stable-
boy to help him), one could never imagine the
grandeur of that same useful individual when
dressed in his best.
"■ A hall-donr and waitin' suit brings out a man's
fine points if he has any, so it does ; and it 's
nowise surprisin' that parties callin' after night-fall
should be secretly mistakin' me for the boss him-
self," thought Mr. McSwiver, as he took a final,
anxious look at his well-scrubbed countenance
before starting to make a formal call on Liddy.
Half an hour afterward he was stalking toward
the village store, talking to himself as usual, for
lack of better company :
"Humph ! Queen Victorior herself could n't be
more high and might)' ! and all because her young
lady 's gone an' had a runaway on horseback ! ' Is
she kilt ? ' says I. ' Mercy, no ! ' says she ; ' but I
shall be special engaged all the ev'nin', Mr. Mc-
Swiver,' says she; and with that she fastens her
eyes on me (mighty pooty ones they are, too!)
a-noddin' good-bye, till 1 was forced, like, to take
meself off. Miss Josephine herself could-n't 'a'
been grander to one of them young city swells at
the 'cademy ! Och ! "
Meantime, Lydia had quite forgotten his sudden,
nipped-in-the-bud visit. Old Mr. McSwiver was well
enough in his own way, and at a fitting time, for he
knew her cousins the Crumps; but she could not
think of society matters so soon after her darling
Miss Dorry had been in danger.
" Did you ever know it to turn out any other
way?" said she confidentially to Donald, on that
same evening, — after Dorothy, somewhat subdued
by dreadful remarks on the subject of nervous
shocks and internal injuries, had retired earlier than
usual, — "now, did you, Master Donald? There
Mr. G. had been taking extra precautions to keep
her safe, and, under a merciful Providence, it was
only b\- the skin of that dear child's teeth that she
was n't sent to a better world ! And, do you know,
Master Donald ? there 's been serious goings on
here, too."
" Goings on ? What tfi> you mean, Liddy? "
"Why, the horrid man came — the very same
that looked in at my sitting-room window — and
Mr. George opened the door his own self, and
spoke very severe to him, and ' 1 can not see you
to-night,' says he. ' Come on next Monday even-
ing, at half-past nine, and not before.' I heard
him say those ver)- words."
Donald looked at her anxiously, but made no
repl)-.
"There's no harm in my telling you," contin-
ued Liddy, softly, " because you and Mr. G. and
me know about him."
"No, I don't, Liddy. I have n't heard half,
and you know it ! " was Donald's puzzled and
indignant rejoinder. " This being let half-way
into a secret does n't suit me. If Lhicle were not
busy this evening, I 'd go in and straighten matters
at once."
" Oh, hush ! please do," whispered Liddy, hur-
riedly. "Miss Dorry '11 hear you. I only meant
that you and I botli know that he 's been hanging
about these parts for a week or more, and that his
presence does n't bode any good. Why, you no-
ticed it first of anybody. Besides, I want her to
sleep. The darling child ! She 's feeling worse than
she lets on, I 'm afraid, though I rubbed her back
with liniment to make sure. Please don't talk
any more about things to-night, my dear. To-mor-
row I '11 ask your uncle to "
i883.]
DON A I.I) AND DOROTHY
283
"No, you need n't, thank you, Liddy," inter-
rupted Don. "1 '11 speak to him myself."
"Oh, my! When?"
'■ I don't know. When I get ready," he re-
plied, laughing in spite of himself at Lydia's hope-
less way of putting the question. "It is sure to
come soon. 1 've had tries at this tangle from time
to time without getting a fair pull at it. But I
intend to straighten it out soon, or know the reason
why."
"Sakes! What an air he has, to be sure!"
thought Liddy, as Donald moved away. " The
fact is, that boy 's getting big. W'e older folks '11
think of them as children to the end of our days;
but it 's true as sky and water. And it 's even
more so with Miss Dorry. Those twins are getting
older, as sure as I live ! "
Monday evening came, and with it the " long,
lank man." He did not come before half-past
nine ; and then, to Lydia's great disappointment
(for she had rather enjoyed the luxury of dreading
this mysterious visit), he rang the donr-bell like
any other visitor, and asked, familiarly, for Mr.
Reed.
" .Mr. Reed is at home, sir," responded Liddy, in
a tone of cold disapprobation.
" All right. You 're the housekeeper, I
s'pose ? "
Trembling within, but outwardly calm, silent,
and majestic, Liddy threw open the study-door, and
saw Mr. Reed rise to receive his guest.
The good woman's sitting-room was directly
under the study. Consequently, the rumble of
voices overhead soon became somewhat ex;isperat-
ing. But she calmed herself with the thought that
Mr. George knew his own business. It was evident
that he had something very important to talk over
with " that person " ; and if a wild thought of car-
rying in glasses and a pitcher of water did enter her
head, it met with such a chilling reception from
Liddy's better self that it was glad to creep away
again.
This, then, was why Lydia, busily engaged at her
little sewing-table, was right glad, late as it was, to
see Mr. Jack's shining face and newly combed
locks appear at the sittmg-room door.
"Hullo, messmate! My service to you," was
that worthy's salutation.
" Good-evening, sir," said Lydia, severely. " My
name is Blum — Miss Lydia Blum, though you 'vc
known it these twelve years, and been told of it
twenty times as often."
"Miss Blum, then, at your scr\'ice," growled
Jack, bowing very low, and still remaining near the
door. " It struck me, Miss Blum, that a chap
from the forecastle might drop into your pretty
cabin for a friendly chat this fine evening, Mrs.
Blum."
" Yes, indeed, and welcome," was the laughing
reply. " Take a seat, Mr. Jack."
He always was " Mr. Jack," evenings, and she.
Miss Blum, each enjoying the other's society all the
more because of the mutual conviction that he was
no ordinary coachman, and she was far from being
an every-day servant. Nora, the red-cheeked house
maid, and Kassy, the cook, felt this ; and though
treated kindly, c\en cordially, by both these mighty
powers, they understood their distance well enough,
and that they were not a part of the family, as
Jack and Lydia Blum were.
" Mr. Jack," spoke Lydia, suddenly, " do you
know who is upstairs ? "
" Aye, aye."
" Did you come on that account?"
Here Jack looked knowing, and said she must
not question the man on the lookout.
" Not that I 've had even a hint of such a thing
from the Captain," added Jack, as his companion
nodded approvingly; "but your good sailor looks
to the scupper before the ship fills — which does n't
apply in partickular, but it has its meaning, never-
theless. Young parties turned in, yet ? "
" Master Donald and Miss Dorothy have retired.
Mr. Jack," corrected Miss Blum, loftily. "That
is, I presume so. At any rate, they are in their
rooms, bless them ! "
" Bless 'em again ! " echoed Mr. Jack, heartily,
ignoring the reproof. " A smarter, smilinger pair
of beauties never came in my range on sea or land.
There 's Master Donald, now, with the spirit of a
man-o'-war in his boy's hull. My, but he 's a fine
one ! And yet so civil and biddable ! Always full
set when there 's fun in the air. Can't tell you,
Mistress Blum, how 1 dote on that 'ere boy. Then
there's Miss Dorothy, — the trimmest, neatest little
craft I ever see. It seemed, t' other day, that the
deck was slipping from under me when 1 see that
child scudding around the lot on Lady's back. You
could n't 'a' told, at first, whether she was a-runnin'
away with Lady, or Lady a-runnin' away with her.
But did n't the skeer follow mighty quick on us?
I tell you the wind blew four quarters to once fur a
spell, but before one could get there Master Don-
ald had her. Whew ! It was mirac'l'us ! Never see
such a boy — no, nor girl either — as them two
twins ! "
" Nor I," said Liddy, fer\-ently.
".And what babbies they were!" proceeded
Jack. " I can see 'em, now, as I first saw 'em after
the wreck, — poor, thin, pinched mites, sneezin'
their little heads off, 'most. And then, when you
took hold on 'em, Mistress Blum, with your tender
care, night an' day, day an' night, always studyin'
284
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[February,
their babby naturs so particular and insistin' upon
their havin' their grog from one tap "
" Mr. Jack, I 'm ashamed of you ! How often
I Ve requested you not to put it that way ! Milk
from one cow is a common-sense rule. Every one
knows that babies brought up by hand must be
treated just so particular. Well, they throve on it,
did n't they?" — her eyes kindhng.
" Throve ! Shiver my timbers, I — ahem ! Beg
parding ! Throve ! Why, they just bounded ! I
never see anything like it ! The brightest, liveliest
little pair o' sea-gulls I ever set eyes on ; an' grow?
Grow, Miss Blum ? Well, throw me to the sharks
if ever I see anything grow like them babbies ! "
" Did n't they ! " exclaimed Miss Blum, so happy
" I USED TO STAND AND WONDER AT ' f
THEM, WHEN 1 SHOULD HAVE
BEEN WORKIN'."
in recalling her success with the precious, darling
little D's that she quite forgot to check Mr. Jack's
inelegance. "Ah, many a time I used to stand
and wonder at them when I should have been
workin' ! Why, do you know, Mr. Jack "
A bell rang violently.
"It's the master!" cried Liddy, and as she
sprang up the stairs. Jack followed her rapidly and
lightly on tiptoe.
But it was not Mr. George at all. When Liddy
hastily opened the library door with a " Did you
ring, sir?" and Mr. Reed responded with a sur-
prised " No, thank you ! " the good woman ran up
the next flight of stairs, and Jack went down again,
whistling softly to himself
Lydia found Donald in tribulation. He had
remained up to write a letter to a friend at board-
ing-school, and somehow had managed to upset his
inkstand. His attempts to prevent serious damage
had only increased the mischief A pale but very
large ink-stain stared up at him from the wet carpet.
" De-struction ! " exclaimed Lydia, as, standing
at the open door, she took in the situation at a
glance. "If you 'd only rubbed it with blotting-
paper the instant it happened," she continued,
kneeling upon the floor, and rubbing vigorously
with a piece that she had snatched from the table,
" there would n't have been a trace of it by this time.
Sakes ! " glancing at the fine towel which Donald
had recklessly used, " if you have n't ruined that,
too! Well," she sighed, slowly rising, "nothing
but sour milk can help the carpet now, and 1 have
n't a drop in the house!"
"Never mind," said Donald ; "what's a little
ink-stain ? You can't expect a bachelor's apart-
ment to look like a parlor. I '11 fling the rug over
the place — so ! "
" Not now, Master Donald. Do wait till it.
dries ! " cried Lydia, checking him in the act, and
laughing at his bewildered look. She ran down-
stairs with a half- reproachful " My, what a boy ! "
— while Donald, carefully putting a little water into
the inkstand, to make up for recent waste, went on
with his letter, which, it happened, was all about
matters not immediately connected with this story.
Chapter X.
WHICH PRESENTS A FAITHFUL REPORT OF THE
INTERVIEW BETWEEN MR. REED AND HIS
MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.
" Hope the young folks are at home," remarked
the " long, lank man," with an off-hand air of
familiarity, comfortably settling himself in an arm-
chair before the smoldering fire, and thrusting out
his ungainly feet as far as possible. " Would be
glad to make their acquaintance."
" My nephew and niece have retired for the
night, sir," was the stiff reply.
" Ah ? Hardly past nine, too. You hold to old-
fashioned customs here, I perceive. Early to bed,
etcetera, etcetera. And yet they 're no chickens.
Let me sec ; I 'm thirty-nine. According to my
reckoning, they must carry about fourteen years
apiece by this time. Dorothy looks it ; but the boy
seems younger, in spite of his big ways. Why
not sit down, George?"
"Dorothy! — George!" echoed Mr. Reed's
thought, indignantly. But with a stern resolve to
be patient, he seated himself.
"Look here, George, as this is likely to be a
I883.J
Uo.NAI.I) AND DOROTHY
285
long session, let 's have a little more of a blaze here.
I got cliillcd through waiting for that door to open.
Ah, that 's something like ! "
Meanwhile this cordial person, carefully selecting
suitablo pieces from the wood-basket on the hearth,
and re-arranging the fire, had seized the bellows
and begun to blow vigorously, nearly shutting up
his long figure, like a big clasp-knife, in the act.
" Excuse my making myself to home," he con-
tinued, jauntily poking a small log into place with
the bellows, and then brushing his seedy trousers
with his hand; "it was always my style. Most
men that's been knocked about all their lives get
shy and war>'. But that aint Eben Slade. Well,
when are you going to begin ?"
" I am ready now, Mr. Slade."
" Pshaw ! Don't Mr. Slade me. Call me Eben,
plain Eben. Just as Kate did."
Mr. Reed's face flushed angrily.
"See here, George," the visitor went on, sud-
denly changing his sportive style to a manner that
was designed to appear quite confidential and
friendly, — " see here, 1 don't want to quarrel with
you nor any other man. This here is just a chat
between two almost relatives — sort of left-handed
brothers, you know, and for my "
" Slade ! " exclaimed Mr. Reed, savagely, rising
from his chair, but at once seating himself again,
and speaking with forced calmness: "While I
have allowed you this interview, I must request you
to understand now and for all time, as you have
understood very plainly heretofore, that there can
be no connection or implied relationship between
us. We arc strangers, and from this night must
remain so ! "
"Ex — actly ! " mterruptcd Slade, cheerily —
" the kind of strangers two chaps naturally would
be, having the same sister — my sister by blood,
yours by adoption."
Certainly this was a strong point with Mr. Slade,
for he leaned forward and looked boldly into the
other's face, as he finished the sentence.
" Yes," said Mr. Reed, with a solemn dignity,
"precisely such strangers as the scape-grace
brother of a noble girl must be to those who res-
cued this girl in her earliest childhood, sheltered
her, taught her, honored and loved her as true
brothers should, and to whom she clung with all
a sister's fondness and loyalty."
"Pre — ciscly ! " observed Mr. Slade, with a
mocking air of being deeply impressed. " Go on."
" You know the conditions under which you
were adopted by Squire Hinslcy, and Kate was
adopted by my father, when you were left orphans,
homeless, destitute "
" Thank you. You are right. Quite destitute;
— I may say, desperately destitute ; though as 1 was
six years of age at the time, and Kate but two, I
have forgotten the painful particulars. Proceed."
" You know well," continued Mr. Reed, with
quiet precision, "the agreement, signed, sealed,
and delivered, in the presence of witnesses, between
my parents and John Hinsley on the one side, and
your uncle and lawful guardian, Samuel Slade, on
the other. The adoption was absolute. Kate was
to have no legal claim on John Hinsley or his
family, and you were to have none upon my father
and his family. She was to be to my father, in all
respects but birth, his own child, — his, Henry
Reed's, to support and educate, sharing the fortune
of his own children during his life, and receiving
an equal share of his estate at his death ; all of
which was literally and faithfully fulfilled. And
you were adopted by John Hinsley under similar
conditions, excepting that they were, in fact, more
favorable. He and his wife were childless, and
rich in worldly goods ; and they agreed to shelter
and educate you — in fact, so long as you continued
to obey and honor them, to treat you in all respects
as their son and heir. You know the sequel. You
had a pleasant home, tender care, and conscien-
tious training, but, in spite of all, you were lazy,
worthless, treacherous — a source of constant grief
and anxiety to the good pair who had hoped to find
in you a son to comfort their old age."
"Thank you, again!" exclaimed Eben Slade.
" 1 always liked frankness."
" In time, and with good cause, they discarded
you," continued Mr. Reed, without noticing the
interruption, " and my father, for Kate's sake, did
all in his power to win you to a good life, but in
vain. Later, in dire want and trouble, when even
your worthless companions threw you off, you
appealed to me, and I induced Mr. and Mrs. Hins-
ley to give you one more trial. But you fell into
bad company again and ran away, deserting your
adopted parents just when they were beginning to
trust you. Your subsequent course I do not know,
nor where )ou have been from that day to this. I
only know that, although during your boyhood
you were free to visit your sister, you never showed
the slightest interest in her, nor seemed to care
whether she were living or dead. Even when we
brought you together, you were cold and selfish in
your treatment of her, moved by a jealous bitter-
ness which even her trustful love for you could not
dispel. These are disagreeable truths, but I intend
that we shall understand each other."
" So I see," muttered Eben.
" Meantime," continued Mr. Reed, in a different
tone, and almost as if he were talking to himself and
had forgotten the presence of his visitor, " Kate
grew in sweetness, in truth, and nobility of nature,
into a strong, beautiful girlhood, honored by all,
286
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[February,
and idolized by her new parents and by her two
brothers, Wolcott and myself. Bearing our name
from her babyhood, and coming with us, soon
after, into this new neighborhood as our only sister,
her relationship never was questioned "
Eben Slade had been listening in sullen patience,
but now he asked, quickly :
" Do they, do the youngsters "
" My brother's children?" asked Mr. Reed.
" Well, vour brother's children, if you wish ; do
they know that she was adopted by their grandpar-
ents, that she was not their own flesh-and-blood
aunt ? "
"They think of her always as the beloved sister
of their father and myself, as she was," replied Mr.
Reed. " From the first, it was the custom of our
household to consider her purely as one of the
family. Kate, herself, would have resented any
other view of the case — therefore "
" Therefore the children have been kept .n the
dark about it," exclaimed Eben Slade, exultingly,
as though it were his turn now to utter plain truths.
" The question has never been raised by them.
They were but six weeks old when they \\ere
brought to this house — and as they grew older,
they learned to know of her and love her as their
Aunt Kate. If ever they ask me the question
direct, I shall answer it. Till then I shall consider
Kate Reed — I should say Mrs. Kate Robertson —
as my sister and their aunt."
" And 1 likewise shall continue to consider her
as my sister, with your permission," remarked
Eben, with a disagreeable laugh.
" Yes, and a true sister she would have been.
The letters which she wrote you during yjur boy-
hood, and which you never answered, showed her
interest in your welfare."
" If she had known enough to put money in
them, now," sneered Eben Slade. " I was kept
down in the closest way, and a little offering of
that kind might — but that's neither here nor there,
and I don't see the drift of all this talk. What /
want to know — what in fact I came for, and what I
intend to keep coming for, is to see her will."
" Her will ? " asked Mr. Reed with surprise, and
in an unconscious tone of relief
'• Yes, now you 've hit it ! Her adopted parents
were dead. She had inherited one-third of their
estate. With such a fortune as that, she must have
left a will. Where is it ? I want to know what
became of that money, and why you kept "
"Silence!" commanded Mr. Reed, sorely
tempted to lay hands on the fellow, and thrust
him from the house. " No insolence, sir ! "
Just then Lydia opened the door, and, as we
already know, vanished as soon as she learned her
presence had not been called for.
" What 1 \\ant to know" — began Eben again, in
a high key.
" Not so loud," said Mr. Reed, quietly.
His visitor's voice dropped, as, crooking his
elbows, and resting a hand on each arm of his
chair, he started afresh : "So Miss Kate Reed, as
she called herself, and as you called her, never
wrote me again after that, eh ? "
This was uttered so significantly that his listener
responded with a quick :
" Well ! what do you mean ? "
" What do/(W mean?" echoed Mr. Slade, with
a darkening face. " Why didn't she ever \mte to
me afterward? "
This was a bit of acting designed to mis-
lead; for at that moment a yellow, worn letter,
written nearly fourteen years before, was tucked
snugly away in the visitor's pocket. And it was
on the strength of this same letter that he hoped
yet to obtain heavy favors from George Reed.
Eben knew well enough what had become of the
money, but, for some cunning reason of his own,
chose to plead ignorance.
" I will ask you a question in return," said Mr.
Reed. "Why, if you took so keen an interest in
your sister's fortune, did you not apply to me long
ago for information ? "
" Because," replied Eben Slade, boldly, " 1 had
my reasons. 1 knew the money was safe ; and 1
could bide my time."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Reed, "do you pre-
tend to be ignorant of the fact that, two years after
my sister Kate's marriage, she started with her
husband and baby to return to America, absolutely
penniless ?"
" Who paid their passage, then?" asked Eben ;
— but meeting Mr. Reed's eyes, he went on in an
injured tone, "I know nothing but what you choose
to tell me. True, you forgot to advertise for me
to come and hear of something to my advantage, '
but I supposed, very naturally, that coming here I
should find Kate had left me a share of her fort-
une as a matter of course, and that 1 could go
back and settle myself respectably in the far-West.
1 may as well tell you I have a wife somewhere
out there, and if 1 had means to buy up a splendid
mining property which can be had now for a mere
song, I 'd just buy it clean and settle down to a
steady life."
During this speech, Eben Slade's expression of
face had become so very frank and innocent that Mr.
Reed's conviction began to waver. He had felt sure
that Slade remembered well enough having long
ago written him t%vo letters — one asking for infor-
mation concerning Kate's property, the other
bemoaning the fact that all was lost, and appealing
for help. But now it seemed evident that these
i333.]
DONAI.D AMI DOROTHY
287
documents, still in Mr. Reed's good keeping, had
quite escaped his visitor's memor)'.
" 1 don't want to go to law about this thing,"
continued Slade, slowly, as if to demand closer
attention, "especially as it would stir up your home
affairs for the public benefit, and so, as 1 say, I
hoped to settle things quietly. If I only had
what ought to be coming to me, I would n't be
here at all. It would be lonesome for my many
friends in this favored spot, but I should be far
away, making a man of myself, as they say in the
books."
"What is all this to me?" said Mr. Reed,
coldly. "You have had your answer concerning
Mrs. Robertson's property. It is getting late.
Have you any more questions to ask ? "
"Well, yes, a few. What about the wreck?
No, let 's hear from the date of the marriage."
And Mr. Slade, inwardly surprised at Mr. Reed's
patience, yet unable to forego the luxury of being
as familiar and pert as possible, settled himself to
listen to the story which Mr. Reed had permitted
, him to come and hear.
"They sailed," began that gentleman, "early
in "
Slade, leaning back in his easy-chair, waved his
hand with a sprightly : " Beg pardon ! Go back
a little. This Robertson "
" This Robertson," said Mr. Reed, as though it
quite suited him to go back, " was a stranger to me ;
a friend of the lady whom my brother Wolcott after-
ward married — indeed, Kate formed his acquaint-
ance while visiting at this lady's home in New
York. He was a fascinating, handsome man, of a
romantic turn, and without a grain of business
capacity."
" Like myself," interrupted the listener, with an
ugly attempt at a smile.
"From the first, I opposed the marriage," con-
tinued Mr. Reed — "but the poor girl, reasonable
in everything else, would listen neither to argument
nor to appeal. She was sure that in time we all
should know him and love him as she did. I would
not even attend the wedding, which took place at
her friend's house. Though, by the terms of my
father's will, and very much against our judgment,
my brother Wolcott and myself, who were her
guardians up to the date of her marriage, gave up
to her unconditionally one-third of the familv
estate on her wedding-day. The result was as we
had feared. They sailed immediately for England,
and once there, he entered into various wild specu-
lations, and in less than two years the little fortune
was utterly gone."
"Can you prove it?" interrupted Mr. Slade,
suspiciously.
" Meantime," said Mr. Reed, looking at him as
though he were a vicious spaniel, " my brother
had married, and had gone with his bride to Europe
to remain two years. In a twelvemonth his wife
became the mother of twins, a boy and a girl, and
before two weeks had passed their father was
stricken with fever, and died. News then came to
me, not only of this grief, but telling how my sister
Kate had become destitute, and had been too proud
to let us know of her misfortunes, and finally how,
at the moment the letter was written, she and her
husband, Robertson, with their baby daughter, then
only three weeks old, were living solely on the
bounty of Wolcott's widow.
" There was but one thing to be done. The
widow was broken-hearted, totally unable to attend
to her affairs, and Mr. Robertson was the last man
whom I could trust to look after them all. But he
at least could come with them to -America, and I
sent word for them all to come — and bring the
three babies — leaving nothing undone which could
tend to their comfort and safety on the voyage.
They sailed " Here Mr. Reed paused, bracing
himself for the remainder of the recital, which he
had resolved should be complete and full. He had
at hand legal papers proving that his adopted sis-
ter Kate, at the time of her marriage, had received
her rightful third of his father's estate; but he did
not feel in any way compelled to show these to his
unpleasant visitor.
Eben Slade for an instant respected the silence.
But he had a point to gain.
" Yes," said he, " but this is sudden news as to
the loss of her property. 1 don't understand it.
She must at some time have made a w'ill. Show
me documents ! "
" There was no will," said Mr. Reed. " As for
documents," — here he arose, walked to a high,
old-fashioned secretary, unlocked a drawer, and
produced two letters, — " you may recognize these ! "
and he unfolded the yellow, time-worn sheets before
Mr. Slade's astonished eyes — astonished, not that
they were his own letters, betraying his full knowl-
edge of his sister's loss of property, but that Mr.
Reed should be able to produce them after all these
fourteen years.
" You see ? " said that gentleman, pointing to
these heartless words in Slade's own handwriting :
" It 's terrible news, for notu that Kate's jiioncy is
all gone, as well as herself, I know there 's 7iothing
more to look for in that quarter. "
Slade peered at the words with well-feigned curi-
osity. But he had his revenge ready.
" Seeing as you 've a fancy for old letters,
George, may be this 'ere will interest you ? "
Was it magic ? Another yellow letter, very much
soiled and worn, appeared to jump from Slade's
pocket and open itself before Mr. Reed's eyes. He
288
HOW A LITTLE GIRL SUGGKSTED
[February,
recognized Kate's clear, bright penmanship at a
glance.
"Read it," said Eben, still holding the letter:
"/k my extremity, Ebcii, I tm-n to yon. By this
ti)iic you may t>c yourself again, turned from all
evil ways. I married against my brother George's
consent — and he has as good as cast me off. We
are penniless; my husband seems completely broken
down. My brother Wolcott has just died. I am
too proud to go to his widow, or to my brother
George. Oh, Eben, if I starve, if I die, will you
take my baby-girl? Will you care for her for our
dead mother's sake '? "
" I 'd have done my duty by that baby," said
Eben Slade, slowly folding the letter, and looking
with hatefid triumph into Mr. Reed's pale face.
"I 'd have had my rights, too, and you never
should have seen hide nor hair of the child if it
had lived. I wish it had ; she 'd 'a' been handy
about the house by this time, and my wife, whose
temper is none of the best, would have had some
one to help her with the chores and keep her in
(To be c
- good humor. What have you got belonging to
her .' What 's her's is mine. Where 's the baby-
clothes .•' The things that must have been sent on
afterward from England? "
" There was nothing sent," almost whispered
Mr. Reed, with a stunned look ; but in an instant,
he turned his eyes full upon Slade, causing the
miserable creature to cringe before him:
" If you had the soul of a man, I could wish for
your sake that something had been saved, but there
was nothing. My sister was not herself when she
wrote that letter. She was frantic with grief and
trouble, else she would have known that I would
forgive and cherish her. And now, sir, if you are
satisfied, I bid you good-evening ! "
■' I am not satisfied," said Eben, doggedly.
" Where is the man who saw the shipwreck ? "
Mr. Reed opened the window. Seizing some-
thing that hung there, he blew a shrill whistle,
then lowered the sash and sat down.
Neither spoke a word. Quick steps sounded
upon the stairs. The door opened.
"Aye, aye, Captain!" said Jack. Nero stood
beside him, growling.
:ontinued, )
HOW A LITTLE GIRL SUGGESTED THE
OF THE TELESCOPE.
INVENTION
Some of the most important discoveries have
been made accidentally ; and it has happened to
more than one inventor, who had long been search-
ing after some new combination or material for car-
rying out a pet idea, to hit upon the right thing at
last by mere chance. A lucky instance of this kind
was the discovery of the principle of the telescope.
Nearly three hundred years ago, there was living
in the town of Middelburg, on the island of Wal-
cheren, in the Netherlands, a poor optician named
Hans Lippersheim. One day, in the year 1608,
he was working in his shop, his children helping
him in various small ways, or romping about and
amusing themselves with the tools and objects lying
on his work-bench, when suddenly his little girl
exclaimed :
" Oh, Papa ! Sec how near the steeple comes ! "
Half-startled by this announcement, the honest
Hans looked up from his work, curious to know
the cause of the child's amazement. Turning
toward her, he saw that she was looking through
two lenses, one held close to her eye, and the other
at arm's length ; and, calling his daughter to his
side, he noticed that the eye-lens was plano-con-
cave (or flat on one side and hollowed out on the
other), while the one held at a distance was plano-
convex (or flat on one side and bulging on the
other). Then, taking the, two glasses, he repeated
his daughter's experiment, and soon discovered that
she had chanced to hold the lenses apart at their
exact focus, and this had produced the wonderful
effect that she had observed. His quick wit and
skilled invention saw in this accident a wonderful
discovery. He immediately set about making use
of his new knowledge of lenses, and ere long he
had fashioned a tube of pasteboard, in which he set
the glasses firmly at their exact focus.
This rough tube was the germ of that great
instrument the telescope, to which modern science
owes so much. And it was on October 22, 1608,
that Lippersheim sent to his government three
telescopes made by himself, calling them " in-
struments by means of which to see at a distance."
Not long afterward another man, Jacob Adriansz,
or Melius, of Alkmaar, a town about twenty miles
from Amsterdam, claimed to have discovered the
I882.J
THE INVENTION OF THE TELESCOPE.
289
principle of the telescope two years earlier than nor heard of the discovery made by Adriansz, and
Hans Lippersheim ; and it is generally acknowl- so, if Adriansz had not lived we still sliould owe
OH, papa! see how near thr sterplf. comes!"
edged that to one of these two men belongs the to Hans Lippersheim's quick wit, and his little
honor of inventing the instrument. But it seems daughter's lucky meddling, one of the most valu-
certain that Hans Lippersheim had never known able and wonderful of human inventions.
290
HOW TO RUN.
[Februarv,
" UP IN THE MORNING EARLY !
HOW TO RUN.
By T h e o . 15 . W I L L s 0 N .
Very few boys know how to run.
"Ho, ho!" say a dozen boys. "Just bring on
the boy that can run faster than I can ! "
But, stop a moment. I don't mean that most
boys can't run fast — I mean they can't run far. I
don't beheve there is one boy in fifty, of those who
may read this, who can run a quarter of a mile at
a good smart pace without having to blow hke a
porpoise by the time he has made his distance.
And how many boys are there who can run, fast or
slow, a full mile without stopping?
It hardly speaks well for our race, does it, that
almost any animal in creation that pretends to run
at all can outrun anv of us ?
Take the smallest terrier-dog you can find, that
is sound and not a puppy, and try a race with
him. He '11 beat you badly. He '11 run a third
faster than you can, and ten times as far, and this
with legs not more thaii six inches long. I have a
hound so active that he always runs at least seventy-
five miles when 1 stay a day in the woods with him ;
for he certainly runs more than seven miles an
hour, and if 1 am gone ten hours, you see he must
travel about seventy-five miles of distance. And
then, a good hound will sometimes follow a fox for
two days and nights without stopping, going more
than three hundred and fifty miles, and he will do
it without eating or sleeping.
8i.|
LITTLE BIKI) WITH BOSOM RKD.
291
Then, you may have heard how some of the run-
ners in the South African tribes will run for long
distances — hundreds of miles — carrying dis-
patches, and making very few stops.
I make these comparisons to show that our boys
who can not run a mile without being badly winded
are very poor runners.
Hut 1 believe I can tell the boys something that
will help them to run better. I was a pretty old
boy when I first found it out, but the first time I
tried it I ran a mile and a quarter at one dash, and
1 was not weary nor blown. And now I 'm going
to give you the secret :
Breatlu- //iroiig/i your nose .'
I had been thinking w-hat poor runners we are,
and wondering why the animals can run so far,
and it came to me that perhaps this might account
for the difTerencc, that they always take air through
the nose, while we usually begin to puff through our
mouths before we have gone many rods. Some
animals, such as the dog and the fox, do open their
mouths and pant while running, but they do this
to cool themselves, and not because they can not
get air enough through their noses.
I found once, through a sad experience with a
pet dog, that dogs must die if their nostrils become
stopped. They will breathe through the mouth
only while it is forcibly held open ; if left to
themselves they always breathe through the nose.
So, possibly, we are intended to take all our
breath through the nose, unless necessity drives us
to breathe through the mouth.
There are many other reasons why we ought to
make our noses furnish all the air to our lungs.
One is, the nose is filled with a little forest of hair,
which is always kept moist, like all the inner sur-
faces of the nose, and particles of dust that would
otherwise rush into the lungs and make trouble,
are caught and kept out by this little hairy net-
work. Then the passages of the nose are longer,
and smaller, and more crooked than that of the
mouth, so that as it passes through them the air
becomes warm. But these are only a few reasons
why the nose ought not to be switched off and left
idle, as so many noses are, while their owners go
puffing through their inouths.
All trainers of men for racing and rowing, and
all other athletic contests, understand this, and
teach their pupils accordingly. If the boys will try
this plan, they will soon see what a difference it
will make in their endurance. After you have run
a few rods holding your mouth tightly closed,
there will come a time \v4icn it will seem as though
you could not get air enough through the nose
alone ; but don't give up ; keep right on, and in
a few moments )ou will overcome this. A little
practice of this method will go fiir to make you the
best runner in the neighborhood.
"LITTLF. BIRD WITH BOSOM RED."
By Makv E. Bradley.
When the winds of winter blow,
And the air is thick with snow.
Drifting over hill and hollow,
Whitening all the naked trees, —
Then the bluebird and the jay
And the oriole fly away.
Where the bobolink and swallow
Flew before them at their ease.
You may look, and look in vain.
For you will not see again
.•\ny flash of blue or yellow
Flitting door and window by ;
They have spread their dainty wings,
All the sunshine-loving things.
Gone to pipe away their mellow
Tunes beneath a Southern sky.
But we are not left alone.
Though the summer birds have flown,
Though the honey-bees have vanished.
And the katydids are dead ;
Still a cheery ringing note
From a dear melodious throat.
Tells that winter has not banished
" Little bird with bosom red."
Pipe away, you bonny bird !
Sweeter song I never heard.
For it seems to say. Remember!
God, our Father, sits above ;
Though the world is full of wrong,
Though the winter days are long,
He can fill the bleak December
With the sunshine of His love.
292
GOING TO SEA.
[Februarv,
GOING TO SEA — A TALK WITH BOYS.
By Frank H. Converse.
First: Whether
TO Go TO Sea.
This is a far more
serious question, dear
boys, than many of you
imagine. For perhaps you
have looked at it only
through the rose-colored
spectacles of Mr. Cooper or Mr. Marryatt, and it
may be that some have even used the more glaring
ones furnished giatis by the sensational-story writ-
er of to-day. And thus fancying that a sailor
must be a sort of combined Jack Easy and Ralph
Rackstraw, I know from experience how eager
becomes the desire for " a life on the ocean wave. "
But both Cooper and Marryatt wrote of sea life as
it was connected with the naval service of their
day, giving only the very brightest side of the pict-
ure at that. And the naval service of then or
now is as unlike the merchant service as can pos-
sibly be imagined.
The time has been when a boy with a natural
aptitude for sea life could ship on board some of
our American vessels, and the discipline be good
for him, whether he ultimately followed the sea or
not. This was when crews were made up of some,
from our own sea-board towns, whose purpose in
going to sea was to fit themselves for the quarter-
deck, as rapidly as good
habits, energy, and appli-
cation would do it. They
were, as a rule, intelligent,
clean-lived youngmen, re-
specting themselves, and
respected by their officers,
who were too wise and
too upright to use toward
them the language and
abuse so common at the
present day. From such
as these sprang many of
our best American cap-
tams , but whtre those of the next generation are
coming from I can not imagine, unless more of
our large cities follow the example of New York in
instituting nautical school-ships like " St. Mary's,"
where boys can be thoroughly trained for the mer-
chant ser\'ice.
For, alas ! our ships' forecastles are filled with a
constantly increasing throng of vicious and grossly
ignorant foreigners, of many nationalities, while a
purely American crew is very seldom seen at the
present day.
The truth is, Boys, that sea-going is terril:)ly mis-
represented by most nautical writers. For one
book like Dana's " Two Years before the Mast,"
or Jewell's " Among our Sailors," there are a
thousand of the " Brave Bill, the Boy Buccaneer"
order, — books which represent sea-going as an
adventurous, romantic, jolly sort of life, abound-
ing in mai-velous incidents by sea and land. Noth-
ing is said of the wearying round of unpleasant
tasks, of hardships most terrible, sufferings almost
incredible, dangers without number, shipwreck —
death. I do not wonder that boys who read these
books get false views of sea life, as well as false
views of life in general.
" Ah," I hear you say, "we know that there are
hardships and dangers to be met with in a sailor's
life; we expect them."
But bless you. Boys, while I don't mean to be
impolite, I must flatly contradict you, and say that
you don't know anything about it, excepting in the
vaguest sort of way — excepting as you imagine
yourself, on your return, saying to some of your
admiring school-mates : " I tell you, fellows, it was
lively times the night wc lost our to'gallant-masts,
and I had four fingers frost-bitten reefing topsails
off Cape Horn, last December," or, "I say, my
i88z.]
GOING TU SKA.
293
lads, how would you like to have been in my shoes
a year ago to-day, when the old ' Susan ' went
ashore in a living gale, and only three of us were
saved out of the whole ship's company ? " You may
fancy such incidents interesting to recount, but
their actual suffering and terror you can not begin
to realize in advance.
However, my object in writing this paper is not
to throw cold water on any projected sea-going,
if it is honestly, knowingly, and properly entered
into. But it is always a good plan to look squarely
at both sides of so important a question as whether
to go to sea or not.
If a boy has not some natural aptitude for a sea
life, he would better by far stay at home. He may
be strong, active, and courageous, and yet be
entirely unfit for a sailor. And one trouble is, that
boys who are attacked with " ship-fever " often mis-
take for aptitude what is merely inclination. Out
of one hundred and forty-eight boys admitted to
the •' St. Mary's" nautical school, seventy-eight were
discharged before the end of the year, — cured.
Yet in the code of regulations for admittance to
membership, it is specially stated that boys who
make application " must evince some aptitude or
inclination for a sea life." And I can not help
thinking that if such boys could not accustom
themselves to the gentle discipline and admirable
routine of that most excellent nautical school, what
would they have done on board the average mer-
chant-vessel, where they certainly could not leave
at tlie first, nor the twentieth, touch of hardship?
But beyond all this, the would-be sailor must be
strong and resolute, for the system of "four hours
off that you 're never sure of, and four hours on,
that you 're always sure of" (to use Jack Tar's
expression), is a most exhausting one in itself
Through day and night, storm or calm, heat
or cold, at the end of the alternate four hours'
sleep which the sailor may be lucky enough to
get in the foul atmosphere of a dirty forecastle,
a vigorous pounding on the door summons him
from his slumbers. And on shipboard one can
not say in answer, " 1 don't feel very well — I
guess 1 wont get up yet awhile." No, indeed.
Then follow two hours at the wheel, or on the
lookout, where he must attend strictly to busi-
ness, though drenched, it may be, to the skin, or
shivering in the most piercing of midwinter blasts.
.And, leaving this task, he may be sent immediately
aloft, where for an hour or two longer he balances
himself on a slippery foot-rope, and, clinging by
his elbows to a swaying yard, battles with the stiff-
ened, slatting canvas, his fingers benumbed, and his
ears and nose almost freezing.
Through it all, or while about his ordinary
duties on deck, he must accustom himself to hear
his name coupled with harsh words or reproach-
es, according to the fancy of those in authority
over him. And I do not mean by this the extraor-
dinary personal abuse which has been, and is
occasionally at the present day, carried to such ter-
rible lengths. On shore, one may at least defend
himself from word or blow. But remember that,
on shipboard, to even look your resentment is
almost to take your life in your hand.
A boy may be better born and better educated
than the officers over him, but the great social gulf
between forecastle and quarter-deck will seldom be
bridged by kindly, never by familiar, words. And
however liungry he may become for congenial com-
panionship, he must not expect to find it in the fore-
castle. Many of the sailors whom he will meet
there at the present day are worse than ignorant;
they are foul-mouthed and profane.
Associated with a boy's dreams of sea life is
almost always the dcliglitful hope of sight-seeing
in foreign lands. But if he stays by his ship in port
— the only safe thing for him to do — he is kept
continually at work, from early dawn till dark.
And sight-seeing in a foreign city after dark has
numberless disadvantages. If he is foolish enough
to leave his ship when she arrives in port, he not
only loses the chance of joining her again, but
the thousand allurements on every hand are
almost sure to lead a boy, thus separated from all
restraint, into the downward path.
Such is a very small part of the unvarnished side
of merchant-service sea life, of which more espe-
cially I have written because so few boys can take
the navy as a medium for sea-going. And having
thus shown you some of its actualities, and finding
that, after all, you have elected for yourself to go
to sea, let us now look at the other question :
How ro (;o TO Sea.
H.WING made up your mind that you are of the
right sort of sailor-material, both physically and
morally, and that in fact Nature has designed you
for a sailor, what are your actual plans as to your
proposed sea life ; or, in other words, why and how
are you going ?
Is it "to have a good time generally," as the
expression is ? You will be terribly disappointed if
that is all ; as, also, you will be, if you are going " to
see the world," in the sense of "seeing life," as
some phrase it. For such generally see only the
worst of life, no matter what part of the world they
may be in.
Of course, I expect better things of you than
would justify my asking whether you only propose
to learn seamanship enough to qualify you as an
294
GOING TO SEA.
[February,
able seaman, at eighteen or twenty dollars a month.
Yet I ha\e known boys of good parentage and
education to stop right there, and remain stranded
-i^^
in a ship's forecastle the rest of their days, without
energy or ambition to be anything higher than a
common sailor.
But, proceeding now to the other extreme, I hope
you do not go on board ship with the expectation
of springing at one bound from the forecastle to the
quarter-deck, or think that, once there, nothing
remains but to walk around with a spy-glass
under one arm, giving orders. For, if so, again
you are doomed to disappointment. The gradual
advancement from foremast-hand to second mate,
first mate, and finally captain, is only attained by
the most laborious and painful exertion, while the
life of the ship-master himself is one from which
great care and responsibility are never absent.
Well, I hear you say that none of these guesses
of mine is correct — that, purposing to make the
sea your profession, you mean to shun its evils, as
far as you can — God helping you — and learn its
duties step by step, until you have reached a cap-
taincy. Very good. Since you have this praise-
worthy end in view, I will try to tell \ou. in part
at least, how to go to sea.
And first, no sensible boy will go without his
parents' consent — that is a matter of course. I
will suppose, then, your father and mother have said
that, when you are sixteen or seventeen, as the case
may be, you may make your trial voyage. Now,
if I were you, I should fill up all my spare time
with such studies and profitable reading as 1 could
well manage. In addition to the study of naviga-
tion, I should perfect myself in mathematics and
physical geography, and get a fair knowledge
of French and Spanish. 1 should read carefully
"Maury's Sailing Directions," and also see how
much general information I could get as to the
laws of commerce. Not that all these are abso-
lutely essential, but if you are really to be a sailor,
you will find them wonderfully helpful.
When the time for leaving home draws near, and
the question of "outfit" comes up, by all means
consult some sailor friend as to clothing, etc. You
will find a difference of opinion between what you
think advisable to take and what he thinks neces-
sary, but you will be wise to abide by his decision.
Mother and father will give you much tender
counsel. Treasure up just as much of it as possi-
ble. The most pithy advice I ever heard came
from the father of a shipmate of mine, as he and
I started away from home together, on our first
voyage.
" Harr)'," he said, " remember your earthly
mother and your Heavenly Father. Try to live so
that you 'II not be ashamed at any moment to meet
either of them. Good-bye, and God bless you ! "
I might add that Harry not only heard the
advice, but took it with him into the " Rochester's"
forecastle. And by sobriety, energy, hard study,
and harder work, he rose in five years to be the
smartest young ship-master sailing out of a " down
East" port.
1 presume that all boys who read this have an
average share of common sense, and it is not to be
supposed that any such would start off at hap-hazard
to look up a ship for themselves. They will, of
course, have had some friend who is interested in
shipping matters, and acquainted with captains, to
do this for them. Through his influence, the cap-
tain will probably promise to " keep an eye on
them." But this must be taken in its most literal
sense. Don't fancy for a moment — if you are one
of these boys — that it suggests the remotest shadow
of any favor to be shown to you. In one ship, my
berth-mate, Joe, was the captain's only brother.
.And yet. Captain R addressed a remark to Joe
only once during an eighty days' passage; and then
he told him that, if he could n't steer any straighter,
he 'd send another man to take his place at the
wheel. We two boys thought, then, that this was
pretty hard. I see now, though, that it is only a
part of the wholesome discipline which helps to
make the thorough seaman.
If you are fortunate in getting a good ship — and
you '11 know at the end of your first voyage what I
mean by this — stick to her. Staying in one ship,
with one captain, is the surest possible step toward
advancement, if there 's anything in you to advance.
1882.]
GOING TO SEA.
295
But remember, besides ability you must have good,
steady habits.
It may seem a small thing to run out of an even-
ing in Liverpool or London for a glass of ale, or in
Ha\Te or Cadiz for a tumbler of red wine, but in
this matter, if in no other, the captain will keep
his eye on you. For no one knows better than he
that the one rock on which sailor and officer alike
too often make shipwreck is intemperance. And
no one knows better than a captain how to appre-
ciate the services of a thoroughly sober second or
first mate — especially in port, when he himself is
absent from the ship.
The boy, at his fir;st going on board, looks with
dismay at the maze of cordage above and around
him. Each of the ropes, having its particular name
and office, must be readily found in the darkest
night. Hut spars, sails and rigging, braces, hal-
yards, and running-gear, as well as learning "to
knot, splice, hand, reef, and steer," are — so to
speak — "object lessons," and, as such, are far
more readily acquired by patient perseverance than
you now imagine. 1 have no fear that the boy
intended for a sailor will not readily learn these
matters, — I am far more anxious about the things
he ought not to learn.
For a ship's forecastle will try a boy's moral
worth to the very utmost. If one can carry what
Mr. Hughes calls "the manliness of Christ" un-
tarnished through his forecastle life, I will trust
him any^vhcre in the world. For I am sorry to say
that, in almost every crew, there are some who
seem to take a wicked delight in trying to make
others as bad as themselves.
The only way to do is to show your colors at the
very outset, and then nail them to the mast. Make
up your mind that, come what will. Mother's
teaching and Father's advice shall be your safe-
guard. When it is found that you can not be
shaken in your stand against wrong doing and
wrong saying, you will not only be let severely
alone, but you will secretly be respected. I remem-
ber a striking example of this in the case of a little
Boston boy, who, though wholly unfitted by birth
and natural tastes for a sailor's life, took it into his
head that it would be a delightful thing to go to
sea, and happened to ship in the same crew with
myself. He was a delicate, pale-faced lad, with
rather effeminate tastes, and as pure-minded a boy
as I ever knew. But, although effeminate in some
things, he was manly enough to stand out against
the evil which beset him on every hand, and no
coaxing, persuasion, or threats could shake his
good resolutions.
" Why," said old Bolan,— a packet-sailor of
thirty years, — as he spoke to me afterward on the
subject, " blowed if that there little thread-paper
cove 'ad n't more pluck in 'is little finger than I 've
got in the 'olc of this battered ol' 'ulk o' mine." It
was roughly expressed, but true enough.
Don't try to ape the manners of the old sailor,
especially as to his vices. It is not necessary even
to learn to use tobacco in order to be a thorough
seaman. But be respectful and obliging to all,
so far as it is possible. And if in the crew you
find some one — as is sometimes the case — who
has much of good underlying his rough nature,
cultivate his friendship. It will be of great value
to yourself, while you may, without doubt, do him
good — who shall say?
You will sec, even from this imperfect showing,
that not only should a sea life not be entered into
lightly, but that it is well to know the wrong and
the right way of entering. It is a noble profes-
sion for those who are fitted for it, and there is a
strange fascination for such in its very hardships and
dangers. But, truth to tell, unless I should be per-
fectly satisfied that a boy was well qualified for
this profession, my advice to him would be that
of Mr. Punch to those about to marry : " Don't."
29t>
C O R N W A 1. L I S S BUCKLES.
f February,
CORNWALLIS'S BUCKLES.
By a. J. C.
-i-~^^4^'Aji
J!#^.:-s
.ni
«f '::^ .
^1^''^*
"^iii.r.:
iSIB^**
I AM not quite sure of dates, but it was late in
the fall, I think, of 1777, that a foraging party from
the British camp in Philadelphia made a descent
upon the farm of Major Rudolph, south of that
city, at Darby. Having supplied themselves well
with provender, they were about to begin
their return march, when one of the soldiers hap-
pened to espy a valuable cow, which at that
moment unfortunately made her appearance in the
lane leading to the barn-yard ; and poor Sukey
was immediately confiscated for the use of the
company.
Now, this unfortunate cow happened to be the
pride of the farm, and was claimed as the exclu-
sive property of Miss Anne Rudolph — the daughter
of the house — aged twelve years. Of course, no
other animal on the estate was so important as this
particular cow, and her confiscation by the soldiers
could not be tolerated for a moment. So, Miss
Anne made an impetuous dash for her recovery,
but finding the men deaf to her entreaties and the
sergeant proof against the storms of her indigna-
tion, the high-spirited child rushed over to the
stables, saddled her pony, and was soon galloping
off toward the city, determined to appeal to the
commander-in-chief of the British army, if nothing
less would save the life of her favorite.
Meanwhile, poor Sukey trudged along, her
reluctant steps quickened now and then by a gentle
prick with the point of a bayonet in her well-
rounded side.
To reach the city before the foraging party, was
the one thought of the child, as her pony went
pounding along the old Chester road at a pace that
soon brought her within the British lines. She was
halted at the first outpost by the guard, and the
occasion of her hot haste was demanded. The
child replied :
" 1 must see the general immediately ! "
" But the general can not be disturbed for every
trifle. Tell me your business, and if important, it
will be reported to him ! "
" It is of great importance, and I can not stop to
talk to you. Please let go my pony, and tell me
where to find the general ! "
" But, my little girl, I can not let you pass until
you tell mc whence you come, and what your busi-
ness is within these lines."
" I come from Darby, and my business is to see
the general immediately ! No one else can tell
him what 1 have to say ! "
The excitement of the child, together with her
persistence, had its influence upon the ofificer.
General Washington was in the neighborhood,
iSSiJ
COKNWAl. LIS S BUCKLES.
297
with his ragged regiments, patiently watching his
opportunity to strike another blow for the liberty
of the colonies. The officer well knew that valuable
information of the movements of the rebels fre-
quently reached the British conmiander through
families residing in the country, and still, in secret,
friendly to the Crown. Here might be such a case,
and this consideration determined the soldier to
send the child forward to head-quarters. So, sum-
moning an orderly, he directed him to escort the
^rl to the general.
It was late in the afternoon by this time, and
Cornwallis was at dinner with a number of British
only the power that could save her favorite from
the butcher's knife.
"Well, my little girl, I am General Cornwallis,"
said that gentleman, kindly. " What have you to
say to me?"
" I want my cow ! "
Profound silence reigned for a moment, then
came a simultaneous burst of uproarious laughter
from all the gentlemen around the table. The
girl's face reddened, but she held her ground, and
her set features and flashing eyes convinced the
general that the child before him was one of no
ordinary spirit.
officers, when "A little girl from the country with
a message for the general," was announced.
"Let her come in at once," said the general;
and a few moments later Miss Anne Rudolph en-
tered the great tent.
For a moment the girl hesitated, overcome, per-
haps, by the unexpected brilliancy of the scene.
Then the spirit of her "'Redwolf '' ancestors asserted
itself, and to her, Cornwallis in full dinner costume,
surrounded by his brilliant companions, represented
Vol. IX.— 20.
A few words of encouragement, pleasantly spoken,
quickly restored the equanimity of the girl. Then,
with ready tact, the general soon drew from her a
concise narration of her grievance.
"Why did not your father attend to this for
you ?"
" My father is not at home, now."
" And h.ive you no brothers for such an errand,
instead of coming yourself into a British camp?"
" Both of my brothers are away. But. General
298
CORNWALLIS S BUCKLES.
[Febri'arv,
Cornwallis," cried she, impatiently, "while you keep me here talking they will kill my cow!"
•• So — your brothers also are away from home. Now, tell me, child, where can they be found?"
" My oldest brother, Captain John Rudolph, is with General Gates." ^
"And your other brother, where is he?"
"Captain Michael Rudolph is with Harry Lee." The girl's
eyes fairly blazed as she spoke the name of gallant " Light-
horse Harry Lee." Then she exclaimed : "But, General, my
cow ! "
".A.h, ha
LITTLE MISS
ANNE'S HOME.
said the general,
severely, " where is
your father?"
was with General Wash-
frankly answered the little
' ' but he is a prisoner now. "
so. Father and brothers
all in the Continental anny ! I
think, then, you must be a httle
— " rebel."
"Yes, sir, if you please — I am
a little rebel. But I want my cow ! "
' " Well ! you are a bra\'e, straightfor\\ard little
• girl, and you shall have \our cow and something
more, too." Then, stooping forward, he de-
tached from his garters a pair of brilliant knee-
he laid in the child's hands. " Take these," he
I \ (\^ r \ ) buckles, which
said, "and keep them as a souvenir of this interview, and believe
that Lord Cornwallis can appreciate courage and truth, even in a little rebel." Then, calling an
orderly, he instructed him to go with the child through the camp in search of the cow, and, «hen he
should find the animal, to detail a man to drive her home again. So Miss .-Xnne returned in triumph
with her cow ! And those sparkling knee-buckles are still treasured by her descendants as a memento
of Cornwallis and the Revolution.
In the spring following this event, the same young lady had the pleasure of witnessing the
celebrated " Meschianza," a very brilliant farewell entertainment of the British officers to Philadel-
i882.
CORNWALLIS S BUCKLES.
299
phia, planned and carried out by the unfortunate
Andre. Time sped on, and the little Anne grew
to be a wife, a mother, and at last a widow ; but
many years still remained to her, and she lived to
see a fourth generation of descendants, who loved
to gather in a group about her arm-chair and
listen to her stories of the Revolution. Then, one
winter, a fall on the ice disabled her, and from
that time the dear old grandmother remained on
her couch.
Now, mark the indomitable spirit of this girl of
the Revolution ! Eighty years of age, bedridden
and suffering, she would permit no watcher to
remain with her at hight, not even an attendant
to sleep in the same room ; but with a wax candle
on her table, within reach, and her knitting beside
her, with which to occupy her hours of restless-
ness and quiet her nerves, alone she would fight
through the silent watches of the night. One
morning, when the attendant early entered her
room, the candle was burning low in the socket,
the venerable form was sitting up in the bed, knit-
ting in hand, with the needles crossed in the act of
forming a stitch, — but the heart that once beat so
high and free was now still forever, and the brave
spirit was at rest.
'^ \
//■/u
CRADLE SONG.
By Margaret Johnson.
To and fro.
So soft and slow,
Swingeth the baby's cradle O !
Still he lies
With laughing eyes,
And will not into Dreamland go.
Lullaby !
The crickets cry.
The twinkling stars are in the sky.
Soft dews fall,
While robins call,
And homeward swift the swallows flv.
Sleep, oh, sleep !
In slumber deep.
Sweet dreams across thine eyes shall creep.
And all night
The soft moonlight
\\ ithin thy curtained cradle peep.
Hush I he sighs —
The laughter flies
All swifth- from his drowsy eyes.
To and fro,
More soft — more slow —
And fast asleep the baby lies.
300
A CURIOUS DRAMA.
[February,
PARTNERSHIP.
By Margaret Vandegrift.
You know very well that, the day she was
found.
If I had n't cried, she 'd have surely been
drowned,
And you ought to be thankful she 's here
safe and sound !
She is only just crying because she 's a
goose ;
I 'm tiot squeezing her — look, now! — my
hands are quite loose ;
And she may as well hush, for it 's not
any use.
And yoii may as well get right down and
go 'way !
You 're not in the thing we are going to
play.
And, remember, it is n't your half of the day.
You 're forgetting the bargain we made —
and so soon !
In the morning she 's mine, and yours all
afternoon.
And you could n't teach her to eat with a
spoon !
So don't let me hear you give one single mew.
She 's my kitten, as much as your kitten, you Do you know what will happen, right off, if you
know, do ?
.•\nd I '11 take her wherever I wish her to go ! She '11 be my kitten mornings and afternoons too !
You need not be looking around at me so ;
A CURIOUS DRAMA.
By Edward Eggleston.
It is more than four years since I saw that
quaint and touching drama arranged from the
second part of "Pilgrim's Progress," by Mrs.
George MacDonald, and acted by her sons and
daughters, with the assistance of Mr. and Mrs.
MacDonald. A kind invitation for me to see the
play came one day, when I was obliged to answer
that I had another engagement at that hour.
I was disappointed that I could not accept the
invitation, for I had heard very favorable and
enthusiastic accounts of the drama from those who
had seen it. Besides, I was a lover of Dr. George
MacDonald and his stories — such as " Robert
Falconer," "Alec Forbes," and "David Elgin-
brod." I hope the young readers of these lines have
seen his lovely fairy story, " Tfie Princess and the
Goblin." You surely ought to read that, if you
love a story that may be truly called heavenly for
its delightfulness. .-^nd while I am about it, there
is also " Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood," a sweet,
brave, manly story for boys, written by MacDonald,
which I wish to recommend to boys whose taste is
not yet spoiled by reading too much literary pepper-
sauce and spicery.
i
1 883. 1
A CURIOUS DRAM A .
301
It was with sincere regret, as you may believe,
that I got into a cab to keep my engagement in a
remote quarter of London. When 1 reached my
destination, I found that a sudden turn in events
had left me free to pass the afternoon as I pleased.
There was hardly time then to drive to the mansion
in Portman Sciuarc in which the drama was to be
given. Luckily 1 found my cabman yet standing
where I had discharged him, hoping, perhaps, that
I should want him again.
" If you '11 reach Portman Square in an hour,
I '11 make it right with you," 1 said.
.•Vt this hint of extra pay my driver sprang alertly
to his scat, away up behind, seized the reins, and
by the time 1 was fairly in my place in front, he
was whirling his two-wheeled hansom cab away
through the crowded streets of Eastern London.
On we dashed and twisted and turned, in and
out among the vehicles, plunging into the throng
of Fleet street, and thence into the roar of the
Strand, through Charing Cross, past the insignifi-
cant-looking statue of Nelson on the tall column
with four great lions at its base, and then bowling
away, as though for dear life, through the clean,
air)-, aristocratic streets of the West End. The
change was sudden from the poverty-stricken east,
and the crowded streets of the "city," to the lofty
and exclusive-looking region of Portman Square.
When the cabman landed me in front of the
house in which the representation was to take place,
there were carriages with coats-of-arms and liveried
coachmen all about, for the house was that of a
noble earl, and people of the "upper class" (as
they say, frankly, in England) were coming to see
Christiana and her children journey from the City
of Destruction to the Celestial City.
The large dining-room was fitted up with a little
stage, and with seats, and was quite filled, so that
the hostess — a lady better known in London by
her intellectual gifts and her intelligent helpfulness
to the poor than by her high rank — was obliged
to order chairs for the vacant spaces in the room,
and two young gentlemen actually took seats on
the buffet !
The)- say that Americans like to know the cost
of everything, and it may interest you to be told that
the admission fee was ten shillings and sixpence.
Being an American, I was puzzled at first to know
why that odd sixpence was charged. But I remem-
bered that ten shillings and a half was just half a
guinea. There is to-day no such coin as the
guinea in circulation in England ; yet the prices of
certain articles are always counted in guineas.
The guinea is a gentleman ; the pound, or sover-
eign, is nobody in particular. You pay your
domestic ser\-ant in pounds and shillings, but you
buy a work of art in guineas. You purchase your
corn and flour for so many pounds ; but for a fine
horse you must pa\- in guineas. So the odd six-
pence in the price of admission to the "Pilgrim's
Progress" was the most natural thing in the world
to an Englishman. It was a mark of entire respect-
ability.
At last the audience is getting packed away, and
even the young gentlemen who took scats on the
buffet are provided with chairs.
I can not help thinking how time turns round the
wheel and brings changes. Two hundred years
ago, Bunyan, who wrote " Pilgrim's Progress," put
on a wagoner's smock-frock and held a cart-whip
in his hand while preaching, to disguise himself,
and so keep the officers from putting him back
into the wretched Bedford jail, where he had
alread)- passed twelve years. The " upper class "
of that time laughed and railed at him as an igno-
rant tinker, who wrote in rough prose and doggerel
verse. No gentleman of standing, and certainly
no nobleman, ever invited him into wide halls or
elegant dining-rooms. His writings were good
enough rubbish for the uneducated ; ladies and
gentlemen of culture laughed at them. But now
Bunyan's statue stands in Bedford, where he was
once imprisoned, and his "Pilgrim" is reverenced
everywhere ; great critics write about him, and his
little stor)' Is turned into a quaint and beautiful
drama, and acted by the family of a favorite writer,
in the houses of earls and dukes, while persons
of the upper class crowd the room, and wipe the
tears from their eyes as they listen to the tender
words and touching passages written by the rough
but inspired tinker in Bedford jail.
Time turns things round, but I am not sure that
Bunyan, the " Baptist bishop," as they used to
nickname him, would have gone to see Christiana
on the stage. I am afraid that even so good a
play as this would have seemed a little naughty to
- the good tinker. Indeed, Mrs. MacDonalddoes not
call her arrangement a drama. It is announced,
modestly, as "Representations of Passages from the
second part of Pilgrim's Progress."
While I am thinking about this, the curtain has
risen, and we are in the City of Destruction, in the
house of Christiana, wife of Christian, the pilgrim,
who left some time ago to make a pilgrimage.
We are witness to a touching scene between the
sorrowful Christiana and her four boys, who try
to comfort her, and immediately we arc made
to laugh at J/r.f. Bat's-Eycs, in green goggles, and
Mrs. Timorous, who, coming in, seek to dissuade
the family from setting out to follow Christian.
Mercy, another neighbor, joins Christiana and
her boys, and, laughed at by their neighbors, they
set forth together to seek the heavenly city.
One of the most striking scenes and some of the
302
A CURIOUS DRAMA.
[February,
finest acting come when Mercy is left outside, while
the rest are received at the Wicket Gate. In this
scene, Christiana was the realization of motherly
sweetness and heavenly grace, while the part of
Mercy was a perfect picture of maidenly simplicity,
sincerity, and earnestness. Her alternations of hope
and despair moved the audience deeply.
The parts borne by the sons of the family were
also excellent. One whose acting particularly im-
pressed me will assist no more in the drama — the
noble youth has himself been called by the King's
messenger to the other side of the river.
The scenes in the House Beautiful are in Bun-
yan's most poetic vein, and their spirit is charm-
ingly preserved in the dramatic arrangement of
Mrs. MacDonald, who takes the part of Pru-
dence.
Mr. MacDonald did not intend to take a part
himself; but, when he saw the play given, he was
so much pleased with it that he consented to act in
the part of Greatlieart, and thus the family act all
together in the "Pilgrim's Progress." Dr. Mac-
Donald, indeed, has no need to feign. Nature
made him a Greatlieart, and he only acts out him-
self. It adds to the quaintness of the piece to find
Greatlieart speaking with a distinct Scotch burr.
Mr. MacDonald also took the part of Evangelist,
who appears only in the first scene. And 1 am told
that in later representations a strong impression
has been made by his appearance in this part, clad
in a peculiar robe of gold-colored satin cloth. For,
indeed, his looks would become a prophet or
heavenly messenger.
In the fifth part the play reached its clima.x. Old
Mr. Honesty and the good brother Ready-to-Halt
were both amusing and pathetic in their goings-on
and their takings-off. But when Christiana came
to bid adieu to her children, and to her companion,
Mercy, the simple, human feeling, expressed by
strong, restrained, and "natural" acting, brought
tears to all eyes, and 1 heard many sobs. A
gentleman sitting near me, who did not believe
much in the attempting to put a religious subject
into a play, cried like a good fellow along with all
the rest of us, and declared to me that there proba-
bly was not another family in all England whose
members possessed such deep religious feeling
joined with such rare acting ability. 1 met another
gentleman, a few days later, who was a friend of
Mr. MacDonald's family, but who could not bear
to see the drama, because it moved him to tears.
You know that a man does hate to cry !
All good things have an end, and the audience
slowly passed to the street through the wide hall.
With true English hospitality, a table had been
spread in an anteroom, and each person was courte-
ously invited by a sei-vant to stop and take coffee.
I mention these little things because they will
interest many young readers whose life and cir-
cumstances are very different from the life in a
great European capital like London.
Dr. MacDonald's family were living at that time
in a pleasant house overlooking the Thames, near
Hammersmith bridge. The house had a deep
garden behind it, and a pleasant yard full of shrub-
bery in front. It will amuse the young American
readers of St. NICHOLAS to be told that, to enter
this and most other houses of its kind in the
suburbs of London and other European cities, one
must ring at the gate and be admitted through the
high wall or fence by a "wicket gate," or some-
thing corresponding to it. The MacDonalds no
longer live at Hammersmith, but have now a house
in the Riviera, the pleasantest coast in Italy. They
return to England every now and then, and when
they are in England the "Pilgrim's Progress" is in
great request. 1 heard that it was given nine times
there in the early part of last summer.
TOMB OF JOHN BUNVAN, IN BUNHILL FIELDS CEMETERY,
LONDON, ENGLAND.
i88i.]
LADY ANN S VALENTINE.
303
The snow lay heavy upon hill and valley. The
wind had ceased, and in unsheltered places the
sun had turned the snow into little rivulets, that
ran merrily away from their st.irting-points.
"Good-morning, Peedee, and may thy choice
be a happy one," said one little bird to another, as
he flew down upon the glittering snow.
" The same blessing to yourself, Peeree, and
thank God for a pleasant Fourteenth," returned
Peedee.
" I thank God," said Peeree, "although I could
choose my mate to-day, even if there were no sun-
light to help me."
" Well said, friend ; and where do you think of
building ?"
"I am looking about."
" Try an elm near Squire Johnson's backdoor.
I shall build near there, God willing."
" The very spot 1 selected ! " cried Peeree ; " but
the mate I would choose happened to see the new
moon over her left wing as she went the first time
to visit it."
" And wilt thou give it up for that, Peeree?"
" 1 have visited it often by myself, Peedee; the
house-dog talks in his sleep."
" Be frank ! Tell me all, dear friend. I would
not build in an unlucky place."
" 1 had it all from the house-dog that talks in his
sleep."
" Yes, yes. Does he dream of cats, or of boys
who can climb ? "
" Nay, nay ! The old Squire keeps no cats, but
he is a cruel man, I trow. Think you, Peedee, that
a man who will not visit his own folk, but drives
them from his door, would save a crumb for
birds ? "
"If this be true, Peeree, 1 've heard it in good
time. I saw the grand old trees, and did forget the
crumbs ; but more than grub or crumb, I seek .a
peaceful spot."
"Then follow me, Peedee."
And the two birds spread their wings, and flew
away.
When they alighted, it was before the door of a
very humble little house, with blue painted steps.
" What is that round bundle with a red top, on
the steps ? " asked Peedee.
" Round bundle indeed ! " returned Peeree, in-
dignantly. ■' Why, that 's Lady Ann herself! "
Just then the round bundle turned about, and
Peedee saw a plump little girl, with a red hood
of coarse flannel upon her head, and shining rub-
ber boots upon her feet.
The sun had had his own way here, for the
melted snow was trickling rapidly away in many
little streams down the blue steps. Lady Ann tried
to stop it by planting her small, almost round, foot
firmly in its way ; but the melted snow, with a
gurgle of delight, shot around the toe and heel of
the small rubber boot, and sped onward in its
course. Perhaps there was something in its perse-
verance that touched Lady Ann, for, like many
a persecutor before her, she suddenly turned re-
former, and could hardly sweep the melting flakes
fast enough down the steps with her tiny broom
toward the snow below.
As she stopped a moment to rest, a red pung,
with heavy bells, drove up to the gate, and a
merry, boyish voice sang out: "Lady Ann, wilt
thou be mine, and may I call thee Valentine .'"
With a joyful little cry, Lady Ann threw down
her broom: "Oh, Billy, Billy! Mamma has gone
to carry home the sewing, but I can open the door.
Did you bring me anything, Billy ?"
" Ah ! Lady Ann," said Billy, with a pathetic
shake of his stubby old whip, " although I get up
by the light of a lantern, take down shutters, and
sweep out the store, carry sugar and tea, from
morn till dewy eve, to say nothing of slow molasses
on cold mornings, and all for two dollars per week,
and cat off myself, yet would 1 have it known that
on St. Valentine's day no grocery-man in all
Brookfield brings his lady so fine a valentine as I ! "
" What is a waluntinc, Billy ? "
He looked down at her, with a wise, explanatory
expression upon his broad, freckled face. " A wal-
itntine, Lady Ann, is a — a — well, if you love me
as 1 love you, no knife can cut our love in two, and
1 send you a waluntine. No, that is n't quite
right, because I might be violently attached to you.
304
LADY ANNS VALENTINE.
[February^
and you not be able to resipercate my affections, as
some of 'em say, but still I might send you a
waluntine — see? "
"Well, what is it, Billy?"
" It 's a softener," said Billy.
" A softener ! " she repeated. " Let me see it."
He handed her a valentine he could ill afford to
buy.
"Why, it 's a pretty letter, with flowers and
birds on it ! Oh, you good Billy ! "
" 1 hope the 'sentument,' as they call it, is all
right," he said. " I had n't time to read it. I 'm
off now to carry sugar and flour to Squire John-
son's; may the flour make heavy bread, and the
sugar sweeten less than sand. Your grandfather is
a double-dyed villain ; did you know it, Lady
Ann?"
" I — w-i-1-1," said Lady Ann, spelling out the
words on her valentine.
" He is a scoundrel. Lady Ann ! "
" Is he ?" she said, mildly. " A little girl told
me he would chase me away if I went to his house ;
but 1 don't want to go to his house."
"He wouldn't."
"Why not?" she said, indifferently.
" 'Cause he could n't."
" Can't he run ?"
"No."
"Has he broke his foot?" Lady Ann's tone
had a slight touch of sympathy.
" No," said Billy, as he took up the reins, " but
he is sick. When folks lock their doors on their
own children, and then swallow the key, it 'most
generally makes 'em sick."
" Billy !" exclaimed Lady Ann, "has Grandpa
swallowed a key ? "
" Yes, and it lies heavy," said Billy, " and good
enough for him. Rich as he is, no one will send
him a waluntine to-day, Lady Ann."
"Say, Billy "
But the red pung, with its heavy bells, had gone
on its way.
Left alone, Lady .A.nn gave up the spelling and
kept thinking to herself: " Billy says my grandpa
has swallowed a key, and no matter if his pocket is
full of money, nobody will send him a waluntine,
even if he is sick ! "
Looking through the snow-laden trees, she could
see the great house where her grandfather lived.
She opened the valentine, smelt at one of the paint-
ed roses, and kissed the two doves that looked out
at her. Simple little Lady Ann ! At the same
moment there came into her thoughts the few
words her mother had taught her to say every
night in her prayer for her grandfather, whose
hand she had never touched.
" He s/iaU have a wMuntine !" she said, firmly.
and the stubby little boots started up the hill as
fast as her fat baby legs could propel them.
" Dost thou suppose, Peeree, that yonder horrid
boy can call that music ? " said Peedee, as the birds
flew back, after the red pung was well out of
hearing.
" Billy's ears are so big," said Peeree, " that a
fine, bird-like sound might be lost in traveling
through them ; but his heart moves as quickly as a
bird's. There would have been no valentine for
little Lady Ann to-day if Billy had forgotten her."
" See ! " said Peedee. " The Lady Ann is trudg-
ing fast away, and she has not thrown us a crumb."
"And hast thou earned thy crumb, Peedee?
Come, let us fly fast before her and tell the house-
dog she is coming, that he may have a care of her."
" Why need we haste, Peeree ? Short legs travel
but slowly through deep snow."
"Aye; but a warm heart breakcth a path like
the sun, Peedee."
By the time Lady Ann reached the great house,
her breath came very fast, and she was obliged to
sit down on the stone steps to rest. As she sat
there, a huge dog came and rubbed his cold nose
on her red cheek and wagged his tail most politely.
When she was rested, she walked up and down the
wide piazza and looked in through the long win-
dows. There, at last, the housekeeper saw her,
came out, and told her gently to go away. " Are
you not little Ann ?" she said. " The Squire is in
pain to-day. and if he should see you he would be
very angry."
" The key hurts him very much," thought Lady
Ann, but she said: " Here is a waluntine for him;
will you put it in his hand ? "
"I dare not, little Ann," said the woman.
"Why? " said Lady Ann, in wild astonishment.
"Don't you dare give him a waluntine, big though
you are ! Then let me go in."
" Well, then, come in," said the housekeeper,
kindly, adding under her breath, " may be, good
will come of it."
With the house-dog close following at her heels,
and her " waluntine " so tightly clutched that the
doves and flowers within were sadl)- mixed, little
Lady Ann, for the first time, entered her grand-
father's house.
In a great chair before the open fire of his own
room sat the Squire, with his head back and
his eyes closed.
" This is Mary's child," said the old dog, coming
in before Lady Ann, as if he felt called upon to
introduce her. And then he thought within him-
self: "This child's mother fed me when 1 was a pup.
Should a dog remember better than his master? "
i883.
LADY ANN S VALENTINE.
305
It may be the Squire understood him, for he raised his cane high in the air, and cried sternly:
"Begone, sir!" But when he saw the round Httle figure of Lady Ann, he dropped the cane, pulled
down the gold spectacles from the top of his head, and stared at her without a
word. And as she advanced and placed tlic valentine ^^^^|^^^^^ upon the old man's
knee, the house-dog followed close behind her, wagging B > -^^^^^^^^ '^'^ '''■' slowly.
"What is this?" demanded the crusty Squire, knitting H -^V^ V 7/\^n^^. his brows.
"A waluntine," said she, not without a small pang, ■ '^'^-vt ^0 ^^^^. ''^ ^'^"^
thought of the beautiful doves and flowers, now lost to her H ; t- "^C'^^^cJ' /^^^ forever.
"What's a 'waluntine'?" he asked, looking down at | \ \/ f ^^^ her
bright little face.
" A waluntine is a softener," she said instantly, rather
proud that she had not forgotten Billy's definition.
LADY ANN ADVANCED AND PLACED THE VALENTINE
' UPON THE OLD MAN'S KNEE.
"A what?" exclaimed the Squire, frowning fiercely.
'A softener" said Lady Ann, not at all afraid, and sure that the word
must mean something very nice. And then she added, in a coaxing tone: "Read it."
God seldom closes every channel to an old man's heart. Proud, unforgiving, even cruel sometimes,
the old Squire still had a rare sense of the ridiculous, and he read aloud :
" I will not p.irt from thee, 1 will not let thee free,
Till thou dost promise me my V.ilcntine to be."
When he had read these lines, and looked over the top of the valentine, and when he saw the small
Lady Ann sitting before the fire, he wondered if she meant to sit there until he had promised. He
thought he saw a patient determination in every feature, not excepting the stubby rubber boot which
3o6
LADV ANNS VALENTINE.
[February,
persistently pointed at him, on account of its owner
being obliged to hold it up across the other to rest
the little short legs which had trudged so far to
give him pleasure. He never could tell just how
it was — he only knew he laughed as he had not
laughed for years, which opened the one channel
to his heart so wide that, almost before he knew it,
the little Lady Ann went drifting in, coarse red
hood, rubber boots, and all !
" What name do you bear ? " he asked, as he
wiped away the tears that followed the laugh.
" My name?" she said, laughing too.
" Yes, what name does your — what do they call
you ? "
" Ann."
"Just Ann, plain Ann ? " he said. " No i-e's nor
e-y's ? "
" Billy calls me Lady Ann," she answered.
" Aye ! that beggar Billy. I know him — drives
Stone's grocery-wagon. When 1 see him, he shall
feel my cane on his back."
"What, Billy! my Billy! Why he gave me
the waluntine ! "
"Oh, he did, did he? Told you to fetch it to
me, may be."
"No, he didn't, but he told me you wouldn't
have any, and he told me about the key."
"What key, child? Billy seems very well in-
formed about me — knows more than I myself"
" He said you locked all your doors and swal-
lowed the key, and it hurt you — but I guess now
that he just said it for fun — but I b'lieved him —
at first." She shrugged her small shoulders,
laughed, and looked up at the .Squire as if she felt
quite willing that he, as well as herself, should
enjoy her simple confidence in Billy.
"Well, I alrrftsi believe the young scamp was
half-right, Lady Ann ; for when we turn the key
against our own, it rusts in the heart in spite of
ourselves, and that makes pain."
Lady Ann smiled cheerfully, and rubbed her
boots, polishing first one and then the other with
her bright mitten. What had she to do with any-
thing so old as pain in the heart ?
The winter sunshine flooded the room. The old
dog slept by the fire, and did not even talk in his
sleep.
" Go home, little Ann," said the Squire, " and
take this bunch of keys to — to Mary, your mother,
and tell her they unlock every door of her home !
But, Lady Ann — hang your father ! Yet hold,
child, a moment; you need not say that."
" No," said Lady Ann, with the same cheerful
smile ; " I wont say that."
When the merry sun went down. Lady Ann was
sleeping in the great house. Two queer-looking
rubber boots rested, after their day's work, before
the fire. When one fell, as if it missed a little
round foot and stout leg and could not stand with-
out them, the grandfather set it right again, and
laughed in spite of the pain it cost him to move.
The house-dog opened his eye just enough to see
that Lady Ann's crushed "waluntine" still lay in
the old Squire's hand.
" I tell thee, Peedee, 1 had it all from the dog
— all straight from the dog, and not in his sleep."
" Then tell me again, if thou wilt, Peeree, for
if the spot be pure and free from selfish anger, 1
should like naught so well as that thou shouldst
build near me."
"May our children be friends, Peedee."
" You say the Squire forgives all, and peace
dwells in the house ; but will you not tell me, Pee-
ree, what made all the trouble at first ? "
"Ah! Peedee, Peedee! When the sun shines
so bright, is it a bird that would ask the reason of
a storm that is all over ? Why, Peedee ! "
"Thou dost ever chide one so gently, Peeree;
but answer me this : would the Squire have opened
his heart so wide had the child not been called for
his own mother?"
" Dost thou not see fresh crumbs at the kitchen
door, Peeree ? "
" Thank God for this happy Fourteenth, Pee-
dee ! And may Mrs. Peeree, that is to be, never
see the new moon over her left wing any more ! "
■ 882 J
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRU M ME R- BO V.
307
THE WINTKK UK LIFE.
RECOLLF.CTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
Bv Harry M. Kikffer.
Chapter L\.
AFTER THE BATTLE.
I HAD many times seen pictures of battle-fields
and had often read about them, but the most terrible
scenes of carnage my boyish imagination had ever
figured fell far short of the dreadful reality as I be-
held it after the great battle of the war. It was the
evening of Sunday, July 5, 1863, when, at the sug-
gestion of Andy, we took our way across the breast-
works, stone fences, and redoubts to look over the
battle-field. Our shattered brigade had been mainly
on reserve during the last three days ; and as we
made our way through the troops lying in our front,
and over the defenses of stone and earth and ragged
rocks, the scene among our troops was one for the
pencil of a great artist.
Scattered about irregularly were groups of men
discussing the battle and its results, or relating
•Copyright, 1881, by Harrj- M. KiefFer. All righu reserved.
3o8
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[February,
exciting incidents and adventures of the fray ; here,
one fellow pointing out bullet-holes in his coat or
cap, or a great rent in the sleeve of his blouse made
by a flying piece of shell ; there, a man laughing
as he held up his crushed canteen, or showed his
tobacco-box with a hole in the lid and a bullet
among his " fine cut"; yonder, knots of men fry-
ing steaks and cooking coffee about the fire, or
making ready for sleep.
Before we pass beyond our own front line, evi-
dences of the terrible carnage of the battle environ
us on all sides. Fresh, hastily dug graves are there,
with rude head-boards telling the poor fellows'
names and regiments; yonder, a tree on whose
smooth bark the names of three Confederate
generals, who fell here in the gallant charge, have
been carved by some thoughtful hand. The trees
round about are chipped by the balls and stripped
almost bare by the leaden hail, while a log-house
near by in the clearing has been so riddled with
shot and shell that scarcely a whole shingle is left
to its roof.
But sights still more fearful await us as we step
out beyond the front line, pick our way care-
fully among the great rocks, and walk down the
slope to the scene of the fearful charge. The
ground has been soaked with the recent rains, and
the heavy mist which hangs like a pall over the
field, together with the growing darkness, renders
objects but indistinctly visible and all the more
ghastly. As the eye ranges over so much of the
field as the shrouding mist allows us to see, we
behold a scene of destruction terrible indeed, if
ever there was one in all this wide world ! Dis-
mounted gun-carriages, shattered caissons, knap-
sacks, haversacks, muskets, bayonets, accouter-
inents, scattered over the field in wildest confusion,
— horses (poor creatures !) dead and dying, — and,
worst and most awful of all, dead men by the hun-
dreds ! Most of the men in blue have been
buried already, and the pioneers yonder in the
mist are busy digging trenches for the poor fellows
in gray.
As we pass along, we stop to observe how thick-
ly they lie, here and there, like grain before the
scythe in summer-time, — how firmly some have
grasped their guns, with high, defiant looks, — and
how calm are the countenances of others in their
last solemn sleep ; while more than one has clutched
in his stiffened fingers a piece of white paper,
which he waved, poor soul, in his death-agony, as
a plea for quarter, when the great wave of battle
had receded and left him there, mortally wounded,
on the field.
1 sicken of the dreadful scene, — can endure it no
longer, — and beg Andy to " Come away ! Come
away ! It 's too awful to look at any more ! "
And so we get back to our place in the breast-
works with sad, heavy hearts, and wonder how
we ever could have imagined war so grand and
gallant a thing \\-hen, after all, it is so horribly
wicked and cruel. We lie down — the thirteen of
us that are left in the company — on a big flat rock,
sleeping without shelter, and shielding our faces
from the drizzling rain with our caps as best we
may, thinking of the dreadful scene in front there,
and of the sad, heavy hearts there will be all over
the land for weary years, till kindly sleep comes
to us with sweet forgetfulness of all.
Our clothes were damp with the heavy mists and
drizzling rain when we awoke next morning, and
hastily prepared for the march off the field and the
long pursuit of the foe through the waving grain-
fields of Maryland. Having cooked our coffee in
our blackened tin cups, and roasted our slices of
fresh beef, stuck on the end of a ramrod and thrust
into the crackling fires, we were ready in a moment
fof the march, for we had but little to pack up.
Straight over the field we go, through that val-
le>' of death where the heavy charging had been
done, and thousands of men had been swept away,
line after line, in the mad and furious tempest of
the battle. Heavy mists still overhang the field,
even dumb Nature seeming to be in sympathy
with the scene, while all around us, as we march
along, are sights at which the most callous turn
faint. Interesting enough we find the evidences
of Iconflict, save only where human life is concerned.
We stop to wonder at the immense furrow yon-
der which some shell has plowed up in the ground,
we call one another's attention to a caisson shivered
to atoms by an explosion, or to a tree cut clean off
by a solid shot, or bored through and through by.
a shell. With pity we contemplate the poor artil-
lery horses hobbling, wounded and mangled, about
the field, and we think it a mercy to shoot them as
we pass. But the dead men ! Hundreds of torn
and distorted bodies yet on the field, although
thousands already lie buried in the trenches. Even
t'ne roughest and rudest among us marches awed
and silent, as he is forced to think of the terrible
suffering endured in this place, and of the sorrow
and tears there will be among the mountains of the
North, and the rice-fields of the far-off South.
We were quiet, I remember, — very quiet, — as
we marched off that great field ; and not only then,
but for days afterward, as we tramped through the
pleasant fields of Maryland. We had little to say,
and we all were pretty busily thinking. Where
were the boys who, but a week before, had marched
with us through those same fragrant fields, blithe
as a sunshiny morn in May ? And so, as I have
told you, when those young ladies and gentlemen
came out to the end of that Maryland village to
I 883.)
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DKL'MMER-BOV
309
meet and cheer us after the battle, as they had met
and cheered us before it, we did not know how
heavy-hearted we were until, in response to their
song of " Rally round the Flag, Boys," some one
proposed three cheers for them. But the cheers
would not come. Somehow, after the first hurrah,
the other two stuck in our throats or died away
soundless on the air. And so we only said : " God
bless you, young friends: but we can't cheer to-
day, you see ! "
Ch.\pter X.
THROUGH " MARYLAND, MY M.\RVLAND."
Our course now lay through Maryland, and we
performed endless marches and countermarches
over turnpikes, and through field and forest.
After crossing South Mountain, — but stop, I just
must tell you about that — it will take but a para-
graph or two. South Mountain Pass we entered
one July evening, after a drenching rain, on the
Middletown side, and marched along through that
deep mountain gorge, with a high cliflf on either
side and a delightful stream of fresh water flowing
along the road, emerging on the other side at the
close of day. Breaking off the line of march by
the right flank, we suddenly crossed the stream
and were ordered up the mountain-side in the
gathering darkness. We climbed very slowly at
first, and more slowly still as the darkness deepened
and the path grew steeper and more difficult. At
about nine o'clock, orders were given to "sleep on
arms," and then, from sheer fatigue, we all fell
sound asleep, some lying on the rocks, some sitting
bolt upright against the trees, some stretched out
at full length on beds of moss or clumps of bushes.
What a magnificent sight awaited us the next
morning ! Opening our eyes at peep o' day, we
found ourselves high up on top of a mountain-bluff
overlooking the lovely valley about Boonesboro.
The rains were past ; the sun was just beginning
to break through the clouds ; great billows of mist
were rolling up from the hollows below, where we
could catch occasional glimpses of the movements
of troops, — cavalry dashing about in squads, and
infantry marching in solid columns. What may
have been the object of sending us up that mount-
ain, or what the intention in ordering us to fell the
trees from the mountain-top and build breastworks
hundreds of feet above the valley, 1 have never
learned. That one morning amid the mists of the
mountain, and that one grand view of the lovely
valley beneath, were to my mind sufficient reason
for being there.
Refreshed by a day's rest on the mountain-top,
we march down into the valley on the loth,
exhilarated by the sweet, fresh mountain air, as
well as by the prospect, as we suppose, of a speedy
end bi^iii^ jnii to this cruel war. For we know that
the enemy is somewhere crossing the swollen
Potomac back into Virginia, in a crippled con-
dition, and we are sure he will be finally crushed in
the next great battle, which can not now be many
hours distant. And so we march leisurely along,
over turnpikes and through grain-fields, on the edge
of one of which, by and by, we halt in line of battle,
stack arms, and, with three cheers, rush in a line
for a stake-and-rider fence, with the rails of which
wc are to build breastworks. It is wonderful how
rapidly that Maryland farmer's fence disappears !
Each man seizing a rail, the fence literally walks
off, and in less than fifteen minutes it re-appears in
the shape of a compact and well-built line of
breastworks.
But scarcely is the w^ork completed when we are
ordered into the road again, and up this we ad-
vance a half-mile or so, and form in line on the
left of the road and on the skirt of another wheat-
field. We are about to stack arms and build a
second line of works, when —
Z-i-p ! z-i-p ! z-i-p !
Ah ! It is music we know right well by this
time ! Three light puffs of smoke rise yonder in
the wheat-field, a hundred yards or so away, where
tlie enemy's pickets are lying concealed in the tall
grain. Three balls go singing merrily over my
head — intended, no doubt, for the Lieutenant who
is Acting-adjutant, and who rides immediately in
front of me, with a bandage over his forehead, but
who is too busy forming the line to give much heed
to his danger.
"We'll take you out o' that grass a-hopping,
you long-legged rascals ! " shouts Pointer, as the
command is given :
"Deploy to right and left, as skirmishers," —
while a battery of artillery is brought up at a gallop,
and the guns are trained on a certain red barn
away across the field, from which the enemy's
sharp-shooters are picking off our men.
Bang! Hur-r-r! Boom! One, two, three, four
shells go crashing through the red barn, while the
shingles and boards fly like feathers and the sharp-
shooters pour out from it in wild haste. The
pickets are popping away at one another out there
along the field and in the edge of the wood beyond ;
the enemy is driven in and retreats, but we do not
advance, and the expected battle does not come
off after all, as we had hoped it would. For, in the
great war-council held about that time, as wc after-
ward learned, our generals, by a close vote, have
decided not to risk a general engagement, but to
let the enemy get back into Virginia again, crippled
indeed, but not crushed, as every man in the ranks
believes he well might be.
As we step on the swaying pontoons to recross
;io
RECOLLECTIONS OF A D R U M M E R - B O Y .
[February,
the Potomac into old Virginia, there are murmurs
of disappointment all along the line.
" Why did n't they let us fight ? We could have
thrashed them now, if ever we could. We are
tired of this everlasting marching and counter-
marching up and do«n, and we want to fight it out
and be done with it."
But for all our feelings and wishes, we are back
again on the south side of the river, and the column
of blue soon is marching along gayly enough among
the hills and pleasant fields about Waterford.
We did not go very fast nor very far those hot
July days, because we had very little to eat. Some-
how or other our provision trains had lost their reck-
oning, and in consequence we were left to subsist as
best we could. We were a worn, haggard-looking,
hungry, ragged set of men. As for me — out at
knee and elbow, my hair sticking out in tufts through
holes in the top of my hat, my shoes in shreds, and
my haversack empty — I must have presented a
forlorn appearance, indeed. Fortunately, however,
blackberries were ripe and plentiful. All along the
road and all through the fields, as we approached
Warrenton, these delicious berries hung on the
vines in great luscious clusters. Yet, blackberries
for supper and blackberries for breakfast give a
man but little strength for marching under a July
sun all day long. So Corporal Harter and 1
thought, as we sat one morning in a clover-field
where we were resting for the day, bus)' boiling a
chicken at our camp-fire.
"Where did you get that chicken, Corporal?"
said I.
"Well, you see, Harry, I did n't steal her, and I
did n't buy her, neither. Late last night, while we
were crossing that creek, I heard some fellow say
he had carried that old chicken all day since morn-
ing, and she was getting too heavy for him, and he
was going to throw her into the creek ; and so I
said I 'd take her, and I did, and carried her all
night, and here she is now in the pan, sizzling
away, Harry."
" I 'm afraid. Corporal, this is a fowl trick."
"Fair or fowl, we'll have a good dinner, any-
way."
With an appetite ever growing keener as we
caught savory whiffs from the steaming mess-pan,
we piled up the rails on the fire and boiled the
biddy, and boiled, and boiled, and boiled her from
morn till noon and from noon to night, and couldn't
eat her then, she was so tough !
" May the dogs take the old grizzle-gizzard ! I 'm
not going to break my teeth on this old buzzard any
more," shouted the corporal, as he flung the whole
cartilaginous mass into a pile of brush near by. " It
luas a fowl trick, after all, Harr)-, was n't it?"
Thus it chanced that, when we marched out of
Warrenton early one sultry summer morning, we
started with empty stomachs and haversacks, and
marched on till noon with nothing to eat. Halting
then in a wood, we threw ourselves under the trees,
utterly e.xhausted. About three o'clock, as we lay
there, a whole staff of officers came riding down
the line — the Quartermaster-General of the Army
of the Potomac and staff, they said it was. Just
the ver>' man we wanted to see ! Then broke forth
such a yell from hundreds of famished men as
the Quartermaster-General had probabh- never
heard before nor ever wished to hear again:
-Hard-tack!"
"Coffee !"
"Pork!"
"Beef!"
" Sugar ! "
"Salt !"
" Pepper ! "
" Hard-tack ! Hard-tack ! "
The Quartermaster and Staff put their spurs to
their horses and dashed away in a cloud of dust, and
at last, about night-fall, we got something to eat.
By the way, this reminds me of an incident that
occurred on one of our long marches ; and 1 tell it
just to show what sometimes is the effect of short
rations.
We drummer-bo)S were, by the colonel's
orders, put in the care of our regimental surgeon,
— a man far too old, nenous, and peevish for the
service. He established his quarters a short dis-
tance to the rear of the breastworks, on the bank
of a little stream, and here we pitched our tents.
Rations were getting scarce, for we were in an im-
mense forest, — a continuation, indeed, of that great
"Wilderness" in which we saw another fight one
year later. The roads were bad, transportation was
difficult, and we were putting ourselves on short
allowance.
" I wish I had some meat, Harr)'," said Pete
Grove, anxiously inspecting the contents of his
haversack; " I 'm awful hungry for meat."
"Well, Pete," said 1, "I saw some jumping
around here pretty lively a while ago. May be
you could catch it."
" ^/ca/ jumping around here? Why. what do
you mean ? "
"Why, frogs to be sure — frogs, Pete. Did you
never eat frogs ? "
"Bah! 1 think 1 'd be a great deal hungrier
than I am now, ever to eat a frog ! Ugh ! No,
indeed ! But where is he ? I 'd like the fun of
hunting him, anyhow."
So saying, he loaded his revolver and we sallied
forth along the stream, and Pete, who was a good
marksman, in a short time had laid out Mr. Froggy
at the first shot.
RECOI.I.KCTIONS OK A Ii K U M M K R - HO V
;ii
" Now, Pete, we '11 skin him, and you shall have
a feast fit for a king."
So, putting the meat into a tin cup with a little
water, salt, and pepper, boiling it for a few minutes,
and breaking some hard-tack into it when done, I
set it before him, being myself still too feverish to
cat. 1 need hardly say that when he had once tasted
the dish he speedily devoured it, luid when he had
devoured it, he looked up his revolver and hunted
frogs for the rest of that afternoon.
Drum and fife have more to do with the disci-
pline of an army than an inexperienced person
would imagine. The drum is the tongue of the
camp. It wakes the men in the morning, mounts
the guard, announces the dinner-hour, gives a
peculiar charm to dress-parade in the evening, and
calls the men to quarters with its pleasant tattoo at
night. For months, however, we had had no
drums. Ours had been lost, with our knapsacks,
at Gettysburg. [And I will here pause to say that
if any good friend across the border has in his
possession a snare-drum with the name and regi-
ment of the writer clearly marked on the inside of
the body, and will return the same to the owner
thereof, he will confer no small favor, and will be
overwhelmed with an ocean of thanks !]
W'c did not know how really important a thing a
drum is until, one late September day, we were
ordered to prepare for a dress-parade — a species
of regimental luxurj' in which we had not indulged
since the early days of June.
" Major, you don't expect us drummer-boys to
turn out, do you ? "
" Certainly. And why not, my boy ? "
"Why, we have no drums. Major !"
"Well, your fifcrs have fifes, haven't they?
We '11 do without the drums; but you must all turn
out, and the fifers can play."
So, when we stood drawn up in line on the
parade-ground among the woods and the order was
given :
" Parade, rest ! Troop, beat off!" —
Out we drummers and fifcrs wheeled from the head
of the line, with three shrill fifes screaming out the
rolls, and started at a slow march down the line,
ivhile every man in the ranks grinned, and we
drummer-boys laughed and the officers joined us,
until at last the whole line, officers and men alike,
broke out into loud haw-haws at the sight. The
fifcrs could n't whistle for laughing, and the major
ordered us all back to our places when only half
down the line, and never even attempted another
parade until a full supply of brand-new drums
arrived for us from Washington.
Then the major picked out mine for me, I re-
member, and it proved to be the best in the lot.
Chapter XI.
AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.
Wh.^T glorious camp-fires we used to have in
the fall of that year ! It makes one rub his hands
together yet, just to think of them. The nights
were getting cold and frosty, so that it was impossi-
ble to sleep under our little shelters with comfort ;
and so half the night was spent around the blazing
fires at the ends of the company streets.
1 always took care that there should be a blazing^
good fire' for our little company, anyhow. My
duties were light, and left me time which 1 found
I could spend with pleasure in swinging an ax.
Hickory and white-oak saplings were my favorites;
and with these cut into lengths of ten feet and piled
up as high as my head on wooden fire-dogs, what
a glorious crackle we would have by midnight 1 Go
out there what time of night you might please, — and
you were pretty sure to go out to the fire three or
four times a night, for it was too bitterly cold to
sleep in the tent more than an hour at a stretch, —
you would always find a half-dozen of the boys sit-
ting about the fire on logs, smoking their pipes,
telling yarns, or singing odd catches of song. As
1 recall those weird night-scenes of army life, — the
blazing fire, the groups of swarthy men gathered
about, the thick darkness of the forest where the
lights and shadows danced and played all night
long, and the rows of little white tents covered
with frost, — it looks quite poetical in the retro-
spect; but I fear it was sometimes prosy enough
in the reality.
" If you fellows would stop your everlasting
arguing there, and go out and bring in some wood,
it would be a good deal better ; for if we don't have
a big camp-fire to night we '11 freeze in this snow-
siform."
So saying, Pointer threw down the butt-end of a
pine sapling he had been half-dragging, lialf-carry-
ing out of the woods in the edge of which we were
to camp, and, ax in hand, fell to work at it with a
will.
There was, indeed, some need of following Point-
er's good advice, for it was snowing fast and was.
bitterly cold. It was Christmas Eve, 1S63, and
here we were with no protection but our little shel-
ters pitched on the hard, frozen ground.
Why did we not build winter qu.artcrs, do you
ask ? Well, we had already built two sets of winter
quarters, and had been ordered out of them in both
instances to take part in some expedition or other ;
and it was a little hard to be houseless and home-
less at this merry season of the year, when folks up
North were having such happy times, was n't it i"
312
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[February,
But it is wonderful how elastic the spirits of a sol-
dier are, and how jolly he can be under the most
adverse circumstances.
" Well, Pointer, they had n't any business to put
me out of the mess. That was a mean trick, any
way you take it."
" If we had n't put you out of our mess, you 'd
have eaten up our whole box from home in one
night. He 's an awful glutton, Pointer."
" Say, boys, I move we organize ourselves into
a court, and try this case," said Sergeant Cum-
mings. " They 've been arguing and arguing about
this thing the whole day, and it 's time to take it up
the cold charities of the camp; and he, the said
Shell, now lodges a due and formal complaint be-
fore this honorable court, presently sitting on this
pile of pine-brush, and humbly prays and petitions
re-instatement in his just rights and claims, shw
qua iw)i, c piuribiis Jinum pro bono publico .'"
" Silence in the court ! "
To organize ourselves into a court of justice was
a matter of a few moments. Cummings was de-
clared judge. Reed and Slocum his assistants. A
jury of twelve men, good and true, was speedih-
impaneled. Attorneys and tipstaves, sheriff and
clerk were appointed, and in less time than it
takes to narrate it, there we were, seated on piles
of pine-brush around a roaring camp-fire, with
the snow falling fast and getting deeper every
hour, trying the celebrated case of " Shell versus
Sedan and Cromly." And a world of merriment
we had out of it, you may w-ell believe. When
tht juiy, after having retired for a few moments
buhind a pine-tree, brou_'ht in a verdict for the
CHRIbTMAS-E\ H AROl'ND THE CAMF-FIRE.
and put an end to it. The case is — let 's see ;
what '11 we call it? I 'm not a very good hand at
the legal lingo, but 1 suppose if we call it a ' motion
to quash a writ of ejectment,' or something of that
sort, we '11 be within the lines of the law. Let
me now state the case : Shell versus Sedan and
Cromly. These three, all members of Company
D, after having lived, messed, and sojourned
together peaceably for a year or more, have had
fflf late some disagreement, quarrel, squabble,
fracas, or general tearing out, the result of which
said disagreement, quarrel, squabble, et cetcry, et
cetery, has been that the hereinbeforementioned
Shell has been thrown out of the mess and left to
plaintiff, it was full one o'clock on Christmas
morning, and we began to drop off to sleep, some
rolling themselves up in their blankets and over-
coats and lying down, Indian fashion, feet to the
fire ; while others crept off to their cold shelters
under the snow-laden pine-trees for what poor rest
they could find, jocularly wishing one another a
'■ Merry Christmas.''
Time wore away monotonously in the camp we
established there, near Culpepper Court-house.
All the more weary a winter was it for me, because
I was so sick that I could scarcely drag myself
about. So miserable did 1 look that one day a
Company B Boy said, as 1 was passing his tent :
RECOLLECTIONS OF A D R U M M K K - 150 Y .
313
"Young mon, an'
if ye don't be afthcr
pickin' up a bit, it 's
my opinion yc '11 be
gathered home to
your fathers purty
soon. "
I was sick with the
same disease which
slew more men than
fell in actual bat-
tle. We had had a
late fall campaign,
and had suffered
much from exposure,
of which one instance
may suffice :
We had been sent
into Thoroughfare
Gap to hold that
mountain pass.
Breaking camp
there at daylight in
a drenching rain, we
marched all day long,
through mud up to
our knees, and soak-
ed to the skin by
the cold rain ; at
night we forded a
creek waist-deep, and
marched on with clothes frozen almost stiff; at
one o'clock the next morning we lay down utterly
exhausted, shivering helplessly, in wet clothes,
without fire, and exposed to the north-west wind
that swept the vast plain keen and cold as a razor.
Whoever visits the Soldiers' Cemetery near Cul-
pepper will there find a part of the sequel of that
night-march ; the remainder is scattered far and
wide over the hills of Virginia, and in forgotten
places among the pines.
Could we have had home care and home diet,
many would have recovered. But what is to be
done for a sick man whose only choice of diet
must be made from pork, beans, sugar, and hard-
tack ? Home ? Ah, yes, if we only could get
home for a month ! Homesick ? Well, no, not
exactly. Still we were not entire strangers to the
feelings of that poor recruit who was one day found
by his lieutenant sitting on a fallen pine-tree in the
woods, crying as if his heart would break.
" Why," said the Lieutenant, " what are you cry-
ing for, you big baby, you ? "
" I wish I was in my daddy's barn, boo, hoo ! ''
" And what would you do if you were ? "
The poor fellow replied, between his sobs :
"Why, if 1 was in my daddy's barn, I 'd go into
the house mighty quick ! "
(To lie continued. )
Vol. 1.x. —21.
.14
MEN-AND- ANIMAL SHOWS, AND
[February,
'oh, what a cunning little babv-elephan i
MEN-AND-ANIMAL SHOWS, AND HOW THEY
ARE MOVED ABOUT.
By William O. Stoddard.
When a modern " circus-menagerie " is in
motion, there is a good-sized town on wheels.
When one is set up for exhibition, there is a
strange and wonderful city on the ground that was
so open and bare only the day before. It is a well-
peopled city, even if you leave out of sight the
crowds that come to it as paying visitors.
And the object of this article is to explain, very
briefly, some of the ways and customs of this great,
movable, wonderful city of tents and cages.
There probably was never a time when people
were not fond of staring at "shows." Getting
up shows to be stared at is therefore as old as
almost anything else in history. The ancient
Romans understood it perfectly, and sent all over
the world for materials for new and startling sights
in their amphitheaters, at Rome itself and in other
cities. Their shows differed very much from ours.
The great aim of their costliest exhibitions seems
to have been to see, during the show, as many as
possible of the performers killed, both men and
wild beasts. Nowadays we are willing that all the
performers should remain alive, and we are satisfied
if it merely looks as if somebody were quite likely
to be either killed or eaten.
In the Middle Ages, the greatest "shows" were
given by warlike knights in armor, and vast crowds
gathered to see them charge against one another on
horseback, or hack at one another with swords and
battle-axes. Some of them were really splendid
performers, and they were very apt to be hurt badly,
in spite of their armor and their skill.
As the world has grown more civilized, the char-
acter of its shows has changed, and now nearly all
the excitement is among the people outside of the
"ring." It is hard work and regular business to
the people on the sawdust and to all the other
inhabitants of the tent-city.
There are great shows in some countries of
Europe, but it is only within a few years that
they have been transported long distances. They
have settled in great central cities, like London
or Paris. The national boundaries were too nu-
merous for convenience, and the people of each
country were too jealous of foreigners, or unable to
understand the jokes of the clown in a different lan-
guage. Even now, few European shows travel so
far on land as ours do, or carry so much with them.
One reason may be the small number of European
boys and girls with enough pocket-money to buy tick-
ets. America is the country for the show business.
Not a great many years ago, there were several
different kinds of shows, but, as time went on, it
was found profitable to gather all the varied attrac-
S3.)
HOW THEY ARE MOVED A150UT.
315
tions possible into one concern. And now, although
there arc many shows, there is a strong family
resemblance among them, and the show-bills of one
would answer for another, very nearly, if the names
and dates were changed.
The "menagerie," in the last generation, often
was called a "caravan," and, for a while, these
collections held out stoutly for separate existence.
Then the circuses began to have a few cages of
beasts as a sort of " side show," and the days of the
" caravans " were numbered, for their owners dis-
covered that nothing that they could carry around
would gather a paying crowd.
One secret of this was that the wildest beasts had
ceased to be strangers in the eyes of American
young people ; as soon as the country became flooded
with illustrated books, magazines, and papers, and
boys and girls knew as much about giraffes and
boa-constrictors as their grandparents had known
which the books and papers have not told all about
beforehand. Most youngsters who pay their way
into a tent know every animal at sight, and, as
soon as they have nodded recognition at him, are
sure to ask :
" What can he do?"
For this reason, almost every dangerous creature
in the best recent collections has been both wild
and tame. The lions, the tigers, the panthers, are
as large and terrible-looking as ever, and it would
be just as dreadful a thing if they should get loose
among the spectators. It is worth while, therefore,
to see them all playfully submissive to a little
man or woman with a mere whip in hand.
A direct consequence of all this is, that the more
a wild beast can be taught, the more he is worth,
but there is no telling how stupid some lions and
other savages are. The very best of them, even
afler all kinds of good schooling, retain a lurking
about rabbits and rattlesnakes. So, after having
seen them once, living serpents and antelopes ceased
to be regarded as an attraction.
The menagerie managers learned a costly les-
son, and the circus men learned another. The latter
are still compelled to carry along a goodly num-
ber of rare beasts with their other attractions. No
circus-menagerie would be called " great" without
the cages, but these must now contain something
disposition to make a meal of their keeper, or of
anybody else, if a good opportunity is given for it.
" Taming" is a process which has to be constantly
renewed, for the tamest tiger is a tiger still, and
there has been no change in his born conviction
that all other living creatures are "game" for him.
The best lion and tiger "kings" of to-day say that
every time they enter a cage containing these fierce
creatures thcv carr\' their lives in their hands.
3i6
MEN-AND-ANIMAL SHOWS, AND
tFEBRUARY,
" Gentle ?" remarked one of these venturesome
folk the other day. ' ' Those tigers of mine ? —
Why, do you see that whip ? 1 know, as well as 1
TIGERS DRINKING.
know anything, that if I drop that whip when I
am in that cage, they '11 be on me. Their idea of
obedience is connected with the whip, first ; then
with my voice; then with my face. Severity?
Cruelty ? No use at all. 1 never use cruelty in train-
ing them. Only patience. When 1 take on a neu
cage of beasts 1 work to get them used to me ; feed-
ing them ; cleaning the cage ; talking to them ; all
that sort of thing ; before 1 go in among them.
Then I do that. It 's a ticklish piece of business,
going in the first time ; and 1 pick my chance for it
when they 're specially peaceable. 1 go right in,
just as if it were a matter of course, but I keep my
eyes about me. It 's all humbug that a man's eye
has any power over a wild beast. Your eyes are to
watch their motions — that 'sail. They'll find out
quickly enough if you 're getting careless. They 're
sure enough to be watching you all the time. Are
they intelligent ? Well, there 's as much difference
among 'em as there is among men. 1 can train a
really intelligent lion, right from the wild, in about
four weeks, so he will do all that the lion kings
make them do. A lioness always takes a couple of
weeks longer, and so does a leopard or a tiger.
You can't get a hyena well in hand inside of two
months. They 're the meanest of brutes. They
never understand anything but a club. The easiest
to train, because they know the most, are pumas.
I can teach a puma all it needs to know, in four
weeks. Affection ? Teach those fellows to lo\'C
you ? That 's all nonsense. They '11 fawn and
fawn on you, and you '11 think you 've done it,
may be. Then you go into the cage, if you want
to, without your whip, or when they 're in bad
temper, and find out for yourself what they '11 do.
See that dent in the side of my head and those
deep scars on my arm ! There are more down
here," — patting his leg. "Got 'em from the best-
trained lions you ever saw. It 's awful, sometimes,
to have one of those fellows kind o' smell of you
and yawn and shut his jaws, say, close to
one of your knees ! See my wife, there ?
She 's the 'Panther Queen,' just as 1 'm
a ' Tiger King,' and that fellow yonder 's
a 'Lion King.' Her pets are playing with
her now, but they 've scratched her well,
I tell you. There 's great odds among
them, though, and that young puma with
her head up to be kissed is what )ou might
call gentle. Only they 're all treacherous.
Every lion king gets sick of it after a while.
I could name more than a dozen of the
best who have given it up right in the
prime' of life. Once they give it up, nothing
'11 tempt 'em inside of a cage again. You
see, every now and then, some other tamer
gets badly clawed and bitten. They 've
all been clawed and bitten more or less themselves.
The strain on a man's nerves is pretty sharp, —
sure death around him all the while. And the pay
is n't anything like what it was."
It may be true that the strictly predatory animals
of the cat kind are never to be trusted, but the now
three-years-old hippopotamus of the leading Ameri-
can "show" seems to have formed a genuine at-
tachment for his keeper, a young Italian. He is
savage enough to all other men, and when out of
his den for his very limited exercise, it is fun for all
but the person chased to see how clumsily, yet
swiftly, he will make a sudden "charge" after a
luckless bystander. After that, he will crustily and
gruntingly obey his keeper, and permit himself to
be half enticed, half shouldered into his den again.
There should be more room for brains and, conse-
quently, for affection, in the splendid front of a
lion, than between the sullen eyes of even a very
youthful hippopotamus.
The "keeper" question is one of prime impor-
tance in collecting and managing wild aniinals.
Trainers of the right kind are scarce, and although
high pay hardly can be afforded, it will not do to put
rare and costly animals in the care of stupid or
ignorant men. Such qualities as courage, patience,
good temper, and natural aptitude for the occupa-
tion are also needful, and they are not always to
be had for the asking. Unless the right men
are secured, howe\er, the failure of the menagerie
is only a question of time. As for the "specimens"
themselves, it is much easier to obtain them than
it once was, owing to the better facilities for trans-
porting them from the several "wild-beast coun-
tries." Catching them in their native wildernesses
has been a regular trade for ages. There have
been " wild-beast merchants," and their trade has
l8«2.J
HOW TIIi:V \ K K MOVED ABOUT.
been carried on as systematically as any other, since-
the earliest days of coininorcc. The hcad-quarlcrs
of this trade have for a lonjj time been at 1 lamburg,
with branches, agencies, and correspondents wher-
ever in the known world there are "show animals"
to be captured. Some of the leading showmen,
however, having capital as well as enterprise, send
out hunters on their own account, or trusty agents,
who travel in savage lands and purchiiso whatever
the native hunters may bring them that will answer
their purposes.
The market price of a menagerie animal of any
kind varies from time to time, like that of other
merchandise, according to the demand and supply.
A writer stated recently that zebras are sold at a
little over $2,000 a pair, gnus at about $800 a
pair, while rhinoceroses cost some $6,000 per pair,
and tigers about $1,500 each. A short time ago,
however, and perhaps now, a very good " unedu-
cated " tiger could be bought in London for from
$500 to $800. The same beast, the moment he
takes kindly to learning and promises to be sparing
of his keepers, doubles and trebles in value. There
is no telling what he would be worth should he
show further signs of intellect or good morals, but
he is like a human being in this respect — the more
Managers find that a moderate number of first-
class animals, including as many well-trained nota-
bilities as can be had, will "draw" better, and cost
less for keeping and feeding, than a mere mob of
all sorts, however crowded with " rare specimens."
It is, indeed, an easy matter to lose a menagerie,
after all the toil and cost of getting it together. A
lion or tiger will eat fifty pounds of raw beef per
day, if he can get it, but it must be specially pre-
pared for him. All the bones must be taken out,
lest he hurt his mouth upon them, for he will not
grind away at them so patiently in his cage as in
his forest lair.
.'\11 the fat must be cut away for him or any
other great cat of the woods, or, as he has little
exercise, a fatty deposit will form around his lungs
and he will die. His den must be kept clean, and
he himself must be vigorously encouraged in good
personal habits, or various diseases will assail
him, and he will die before his time.
Other animals, such as the hipjiopotamus, polar
bear, and sea lion, accustomed in their wiUI state to
abundant water, must have their bath liberally
supplied, and frequently renewed. If, as is often
the case, they exhibit, like some boys, a froward
and unhealthy dislike for it, they must be shoved
#^
PERSCADING THE BABV HUM'OPOTAMUS TO GET INTO HIS WAGON.
he knows, the more it will pay to give for him. in, even at the risk of brief quarrels witli their
The same rule applies to the entire list, from ele- keepers.
phants to monkeys, so that no precise idea can be All care ot this sort, and much more, must be
given of the probable cost of a menagerie. given to the most ferocious beasts, not only during
;i8
M E N - A N D - A N 1 M A L SHOWS, AND
[February,
M^JMM
A CIRCl'S-WAGON IN THE PROCESSION THROrCH THE STREETS. BEFORE THE SHOW.
the show season, but in the winter retirement.
They must also be carefully attended to while in
process of transportation from place to place, and
there are difficulties enough on land, but it is at
sea that the keeper and trainer meets his most
tr>ing obstacles, and the owner his heaviest losses.
Animals on board ship are very much like
human beings, for while spme of them get seasick
in bad weather, others of the same kind will
endure all the pitching and rolling of the vessel
like " old salts." There is nothingquite so discon-
solate as a bilious elephant in a gale of wind. There
is so very much of him to be seasick.
The worst of it is that the sickness clings to
many of the poor beasts after they reach the
shore, and not a few of them die on land in
consequence of a rough voyage. On the other
hand, large collections have been safely carried
to distant countries, visiting even such far-off
places as Australia.
After his collection is made, the showman's cost
and risk begin before the show is set in motion.
Trained animals, as thev are trained nowadays.
stand for much more than their original cost
They represent time spent in preparation. That
means weeks and often months of care and labor,
when they were earning nothing, and eating well,
and when their keepers were on full pay. Nor do
mere "food and attendance " include all the large
items of a quadruped savage's board bill. Every
menagerie, with enough of capital or success to
keep it out of the sheriff's hands, must be provided
with ample and permanent "winter quarters," or,
in other words, space and buildings for its accom-
modation during that part of the year when no
kind of show would tempt a crowd to spend its
time under the cold shelter of a tent.
That, too, is the time of the year when an
exposure of tropical beasts and birds to the
changes of the weather, the dampness and the
cold, would simply entail upon the manager the
additional expense of funerals for his costliest
curiosities.
Nevertheless, vacation time is by no means idle
time for the showman. Training involves hard and
patient toil, and it receives a sort of compensation
i88i.|
HOW THEY ARE MOVED ABOUT.
319
from the larger and more intelligent animals, in
the dumb earnestness with which many of them
will meet their human friends half-way, and strive
to learn the lessons set them. The anecdotes of
the sagacity of horses, for instance, arc innumer-
able, but there are points at which the elephant
may be said to have fairly beaten all animals
below man. He is even able to offer a good exam-
ple to some men, for it is found that the great
unwieldy brute is himself desirous of obtaining a
liberal education. In the earlier stages of his
instruction, while he is studying, so to speak, the
"primer" of any given "trick" or duty, he will
frequently and loudly express his distress of mind,
and the cause of this is found to be the slowness
he feels in comprehending what is wanted of him.
His will is good enough, and he spares no pains
to excel, after he has once grasped the new idea.
During the winter of 1S81, a number of elephants
were in training at Bridgeport, Conn., for the sum-
mer campaign of Mr. P. T. Barnum. They
submitted, from day to day, with vast grum-
bling and trumpeting, to have one leg or
another tied up and to be driven around on
what they had left. They lay down ; got
up ; obeyed every order of
the teacher as well as ever
they could ; carefully imi-
tated one another ;
but no elephant in
his right mind
could naturally be
expected to imdcr-
stand why any man
in /lis right mind
should wish any
respectable and
heavy quadruped
to stand upon three or two legs, or upon his digni-
fied head. Their great sagacity was shown after
the animals were left a little to themselves. The
keepers observed them on their exercise ground,
with no human teacher near to offer a word of sug-
gestion or explanation, and yet, singly or in pairs,
the huge scholars gravely repeated their lessons
and did their "practicing" on their own account.
This was the secret of the wonderful proficiency
they afterward exhibited in the ring.
Up to this time, it seems, no such intelligent
self-help can be looked for from any other wild
animal. The mon-
key, indeed.
"trainkd horses.'
320
M E N - A N D - A N I M A L SHOWS, AND
fFEBRUARV,
will "practice " all sorts of things, with more or less
understanding, but he is more than likely to select
performances not on the programme, and omit
those he has been taught. In this, and other do-
ings, the monkey is a queer caricature of humanity.
Special attention must be paid to the health of
creatures that have cost so much, and the keeper
is a kind of attending physician, with a sharp eye
for all doubtful symptoms. Two of Mr. Barnum's
wisest elephants, one day last winter, after careless
exposure to wet and cold, were found shivering
with a sudden chill. Nothing could be more dan-
gerous to their valuable lives. Several gallons of
the best whisky were procured as soon as possible,
and the gigantic ''shakers " were forced to take it.
They were then put to bed in their shelter, warmly
covered up, and anxiously watched. It was not long
before the remedy had its effect, and the half-tipsy
patients wanted to get up and stagger around and
trumpet the fact that they felt better. The chill
was broken, and for a while they felt very well in-
deed. Next morning, when their keeper ap-
proached them, they began, with one accord, to
shake all over, as a strong intimation that they
matter how short may be the distance. At the
hour for moving, the manager must be sure that he
is provided with every man, woman, and child re-
quired for ever)- ser\'ice connected with his adver-
tised performances, and that every one of these
knows exactly what to do and when and where to
do it. He also must know that he has supplied
himself with every van, wagon, car, tent, rope,
tool, implement, of whatever kind, which any part
of his huge establishment may need, and that all
THE PANTHER ijUEEN A.NU HER PETS.
needed more of that medicine ; but the doctor was
too sharp for them, and roared at the nearest one :
" No, sir. You can't have a drop ! "
They understood, and the chill disappeared.
The animals themselves, their care and training,
by no means supply all the winter-work of pre-
paring a circus-menagerie for its summer tour.
The tent-city must be complete in all its appliances
before the day comes for its first transportation, no
these are in place, ready for instant use when the
order to start is actually given.
The circus part of the great show is not less in-
teresting than its "better half," and it is in every
way attended with great costs and difficulties. The
circus has also its winter ciuarters, but they are not
like those of the menagerie. No troupe of perform-
ers comprises just the same persons during two suc-
cessive exhibition seasons. Its entire membership.
1 882. J
HOW rilEY ARE MOVED ABOUT.
!2I
excepting perhaps the managers and a few prime
favorites, Ijreaks up and scatters over the country
at the close of a season's engagements. Each
particular wonder or j;r"up of wonders takes care of
itself as best it can during the idle months.
Each season, therefore, the attractions to be
offered must be sought, corresponded for, gathered,
organized anew. All engagements are made early
enough in advance, but not in any case without care-
ful inquiry and inspection by the manager as to the
physical and moral condition of the person or per-
sons he is bargaining with. The special abilities
of all capable performers, such as riders, acrobats,
giants, dwarfs, magicians, clowns, pantomimists, are
well known to the trade, and so arc all their jiartic-
ular failing.s. No manager in his senses will engage
a performer who has permitted himself or herself
to get out of practice or to acquire such bad habits
as will endanger the regularity and attractiveness of
the season's '"appearances."
The human members of the show are scattered,
indeed, but they can not be altogether idle, for they
must be in perfect training when they come to be
inspected by the keen eyes of the man who is to
direct their movements, after deciding whether or
not they will answer his ])urposes. He can not
afford to hire an intemperate man at any wages.
"I'HEW! CIRCUS FEATS AKH WAKM WOKk!"
ing all the while. ("lenerally, he is at least part
owner of the concern he is to manage, or is directly
ELEPHANTS PRACTICING DURING THE TEACHER'S ABSENCE.
The manager may be one man, or two or
three men acting as one, but he is in an.xious train-
interested in its profits and losses, and has there-
fore a sharp and watchful eye upon every question.
322
MEN-AND-ANIMAL SHOWS.
[February,
great or small, which the business under his care
may present.
His first anxiety, as well as outlay, is in getting
his show well together, and right along with the
winning of that victory comes a trial which fully
tests all his capacity for management and good
generalship. All that huge aggregate of animals,
tents, wagons, machinery, and appliances must be
cut down to the smallest possible weight, the "fat
man" and the giant excepted. Then everything,
with or without life, must be packed into the small-
est possible space for transportation. There can
not be employed nor carried one needless man, or
boy, or beast, nor can one that will be needed
be safely left behind. All are picked and disciphned
beforehand. All other requisite things must be pro-
vided, since it will not do, even in a great city, to
trust to luck, nor to waste precious time in finding
the right thing, whether it be a horseshoe-nail or
a breakfast.
Time was when small shows, and even some of
pretty good size, could depend upon hotels for food,
and upon railways and steam-boats for transporta-
tion ; but it will not do to run any such risks with
the monster shows which are brought together
nowadays. Hotels and steamers have no spare
accommodations for the entertainment of a sud-
denly arriving " city." On the railways the case is
similar, and the very sleeping-cars for the perform-
ers are the property of the managers, as also are
the baggage-cars and platform cars for all the
RINGING THE BELl FOR DINNER.
immense store oi material. On these cars, too,
every article has its exact place and space, from
which it comes, and into which it goes again ac-
cording to an established rule, and the men in
charge know, therefore, where it is when it is
•wanted. The first "packing" is done over and
over with patient care, for instruction and drill, and
each department or section is under a sort of fore-
man, that the eyes of the master may be multi-
plied. While a manager is wrestling with his
packing problem, he is also dealing with another
which is hardly less important. A valuable part
of his varied learning is the knowledge he has of
the country through which his show is to be carried
and exhibited, and of the peculiar tastes and de-
mands of its several local populations. If anybody
supposes these requirements to be the same, or
nearly so, North, South, East, and West, he is
very much mistaken.
The show which suits one set of people may fail
to suit another. As soon as a manager has studied
the field of his coming campaign, and decided upon
the best tour for just such a show as the one he has
prepared, his next business is to send ahead expe-
rienced and competent men to prepare the way.
Spaces in which to exhibit have to be contracted
for in advance, and the most suitable sites soon
become known to all the managers. A tent pitched
in some spot difficult of access, or to which the
people were unaccustomed, might fail to have any
audience under it, no matter what else should be
there.
A few energetic men, with due instruction, can
attend to this branch of the business, but there are
so many other duties to be performed before the
arrival of the show, that a great circus has been
known to have more than "seventy men sent on
ahead," the manager knowing exactly
what each man had gone for. For
instance, there were supplies of lum-
ber to be procured, and of such other
materials as the setting up of the show
called for. There is often a good deal
of carpenter work required, in addition
to all that is carried along or that can
be done by the regular carpenters of
the concern. There are fresh meat to
be obtained for the wild animals, and
grain and forage for the tame ones.
All must be ready at the hour of ar-
rival, and among the other necessaries
the heavy " marketing" must be on
hand for the uses of the circus cooks.
Not one article can be waited for
, after the train with the show on board
■^"■^ pulls up on the switch at its stopping-
place. If there were lack of knowl-
edge concerning stock on hand or deficiencies, or
failure to send ahead and provide, the tent-city
would soon fall to pieces.
One great trial is fairly passed when the railway
train with the show on board gets under way for
the first time. (To be comludid next month.)
i88i.]
VKRV HLMANK
■ ' J: Met A LittIe- iJoMAt^ \Jir4 A vIr/ Ul'tHHiHG iool^l,
_ : - : J)(ppf0 IN Tt^F BRooK
MNP s^lE sa\d/'X^ ^^^^ '^^ ^'^^ '
-. foK- X couLo'mt Be 5-o-VH'Uel- as- to- Catch w^ k'itH A Ho^-'X'
P-^
I
r (S Wicked Tc PECEivf Th'eM, «So I TAKE r^'
■'- h. ']-.M -^ , , / ^ Little OiS^
Vlff"~ "Ar^O P^Ac£ ir JMdeR wkTER^s^-^ r '
Thi'FuLL Sii^HTOFTHE FtS^H^ '
if^
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For A/i^rvi^/AVc.HR
324
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL -BOY
[February,
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.*
By Edward Eggleston.
Chapter IX.
PIGEON POT-PIE.
Happy boys and girls that go to school nowa-
days ! You have to study harder than the genera-
tions before you, it is true ; you miss the jolly
spelling-schools, and the good old games that were
not half so scientific as base-ball, lawn tennis, or
lacrosse, but that had ten times more fun and frolic
in them ; but all this is made up to you by the
fact that you escape the tyrannical old master.
Whatever faults the teachers of this day may have,
they do not generally lacerate the backs of their
pupils, as did some of the old teachers.
At the time of which I write, thirty years ago, a
better race of school-masters was crowding out the
old, but many of the latter class, with their terrible
switches and cruel beatings, kept their ground
until they died off one by one, and relieved the
world of their odious ways.
Mr. Ball would n't die to please anybody. He
was a bachelor, had no liking for children, but
taught school five or six months in winter to avoid
having to work on a farm in the summer. He
had taught in Greenbank every winter for a quarter
of a century, and having never learned to win any-
body's affection, had been obliged to teach those
who disliked him. This atmosphere of mutual dis-
like will sour the sweetest temper, and Mr. Ball's
temper had not been honey to begin with. Year
by year he grew more and more severe — he
whipped for poor lessons, he whipped for speaking
in school, he took down his switch for not spenking
loud enough in class, he whipped for coming late
to school, he whipped because a scholar made a
noise with his feet, and he whipped because he
himself had eaten something unwholesome for his
breakfast. The brutality of a master produces like
qualities in scholars. The boys drew caricatures
on the blackboard, put living cats or dead ones
into Mr. Ball's desk, and tried to drive him wild by
their many devices.
He would walk up and down the school-room
seeking a victim, and he had as much pleasure in
beating a girl or a little boy as in punishing an
overgrown fellow.
And yet I can not say that Mr. Ball was impar-
tial. There were some pupils that escaped. Susan
Lanham was not punished, because her father, Dr.
Lanham, was a very influential man in the town ;
and the faults of Henry Weathervane and his sister
were always overlooked after their father became
a school trustee.
Many efforts had been made to put a new mas-
ter into the school. But Mr. Ball's brother-in-law
was one of the principal merchants in the place,
and the old man had had the school so long that it
seemed like robbery to deprive him of it. It had
come, in some sort, to belong to him. People
hated to see him moved. He would die some day,
they said, and nobody could deny that, though it
often seemed to the boys and girls that he would
never die ; he was more likely to dry up and blow
away. And it was a long time to wait for that.
And yet I think Greenbank might have had to
wait for something like that if there had n't come
a great flight of pigeons just at this time. For
whenever Susan Lanham suggested to her father
that he should try to get Mr. Ball removed and a
new teacher appointed. Dr. Lanham smiled and
said " he hated to move against the old man ; he 'd
been there so long, you know, and he probably
would n't live long, anyhow. Something ought to
be done, perhaps, but he could n't meddle with
him." For older people forgot the beatings they
had endured, and remembered the old man only
as one of the venerable landmarks of their child-
hood.
And so, by favor of Henry Weather\'ane's father,
whose children he did not punish, and by favor of
other people's neglect and forgetfulness, the Green-
bank children might have had to face and fear the
old ogre down to this day, or until he dried up and
blew away, if it had n't been, as 1 said, that there
came a great flight of pigeons.
A flight of pigeons is not uncommon in the Ohio
River country. Audubon, the great naturalist, saw
them in his day, and in old colonial times such
flights took place in the settlements on the sea-
board, and sometimes the starving colonists were
able to knock down pigeons with sticks. The math-
ematician is not yet born who can count the num-
ber of pigeons in one of these sky-darkening
flocks, which are often many miles in length, and
which follow one another for a whole day. The
birds, for the most part, fly at a considerable
height from the earth, but when they are crossing
a wide valley, Hke that of the Ohio River, they drop
down to a lower level, and so reach the hills quite
close to the ground, and within easy gunshot.
When the pigeon flight comes on Saturday, it is
* Copyright, 1881, by Edward Eggleston. All rights reserved.
I882.J
THE IIOUSIKR SClIUOl.-liOY
325
very convenient for those boys that have giins. If
these pigeons had only come on Saturday instead
of on Monday, Mr. Hall might have taught the
(ireenbank school until to-day, — that is to say, if
he had n't quite dried up and blown off meanwhile.
For when Riley and lion Berry saw this flight of
pigeons begin on Monday morning, they remem-
bered that the geography lesson was a hard one,
and so they played " hookey," and, taking their
guns with them, hid in the bushes at the top of the
hill. Then, as the birds struck the hill, and beat
their way up over the brow of it, the boys, lying
in ambush, had only to fire into the flock without
taking aim, and the birds would drop all around
them. The discharge of the guns made Bob Hol-
liday so hungry for pigeon pot-pie, that he, too.
ran away from school, at recess, and took his place
among the pigeon-slayers in the paw-paw patch on
the hill-top.
Tuesday morning, Mr. Ball came in with dark-
ened brows, and two extra switches. Riley, Bcrrj',
and Holliday were called up as soon as school
began. They had pigeon pot-pie for dinner, but
they also had sore backs for three days, and Bob
laughingly said that he knew just how a pigeon
felt when it was basted.
The day after the whipping and the pigeon pot-
pie, when the sun shone warm at noon, the fire
was allowed to go down in the stove. All were at
play in the sunshine, excepting Columbus Risdale,
who sat solitary, like a disconsolate screech-owl, in
one corner of the room. Riley and Ben Berry,
still smarting from yesterday, entered, and without
obsening Lummy's presence, proceeded to put
some gunpowder in the stove, taking pains to sur-
round it with cool ashes, so that it should not
explode until the stirring of the fire, as the chill
of the afternoon should come on. When they had
finished this dangerous transaction, they discovered
the presence of Columbus in his corner, looking at
them with largc-cycd wonder and alarm.
" If you ever tell a living soul about that, wc 'U
kill you," said Ben Berry.
Will also threatened the scared little rabbit, .and
both felt safe from detection.
An hour after school had resumed its session.
Columbus, who had sat shivering with terror all
the time, wrote on his slate :
" Will Riley and Ben B. put something in the
stove. Said they would kill me if 1 told on them."
This he passed to Jack, who sat next to him.
Jack rubbed it out as soon as he had read it, and
wrote :
"Don't tell anybody."
Jack could not guess what they had put in. It
might be coffee-nuts, which would explode harm-
lessly; it might be something that would give a bad
smell in burning, such as chicken-feathers. If he
could have believed that it was gunpowder, he
would have plucked up courage enough to give the
master some warning, though he might have got
only a whipping for his pains. While Jack was
debating what he should do, the master called the
Fourth-Reader class. .-Xt the close of the lesson he
noticed that Columbus was shivering, though in-
deed it was more from terror than from cold.
''Go to the stove and stir up the fire, and get
warm," he said, sternly.
" I 'd — I 'd rather not," said Lum, shaking with
fright at the idea.
" Umph ! " said Mr. Ball, looking hard at the
lad, with half a mind to make him go. Then he
changed his purpose and went to the stove himself,
raked forward the coals, and made up the fire.
Just as he was shutting the stove-door, the explo-
sion came — the ashes flew out all over the master,
the stove was thrown down from the bricks on
which its four legs rested, the long pipe fell in
many pieces on the floor, and the children set up
a general howl in all parts of the room.
As soon as Mr. Ball had shaken ofl" the ashes
from his coat, he said; "Be quiet — there 's no
more danger. Columbus Risdale, come here."
" He did not do it," spoke up Susan I.anham.
"Be quiet, Susan. You know all about this,"
continued the master to poor little Columbus, who
was so frightened as hardly to be able to stand.
After looking at Columbus a moment, the master
took down a great beech switch. " Now, I shall
whip you until you tell me w-ho did it. You were
afraid to go to the stove. You knew there was
powder there. Who put it there ? That 's the
question. .Answer, quick, or I shall make you."
The little skin-and-bones trembled between two
terrors, and Jack, seeing his perplexit)', got up and
stood by him.
" He did n't do it, Mr. Ball. I know who did
it. If Columbus should tell you, he would be
beaten for telling. The boy who did it is just
mean enough to let Lummy get the whipping.
Please let him off."
" Von know, do you? I shall whip you both.
You knew there was gunpowder in the fire, and
you gave no warning. I shall whip you both — the
severest whipping you ever had, too."
And the master put up the switch he had taken
down, as not effective enough, and proceeded to
take another.
" If we had know n it was gunpowder," said Jack,
beginning to tremble, "you would have been
warned. But we did n't. We only knew that
something had been put in."
" If you '11 tell all about it, I '11 let you off easier;
if you don't, I shall give you all the whipping I
326
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL- BOY
[February,
know how to give." And by way of giving im-
pressiveness to his threat he took a turn about the
room, while there was an awful stillness among the
terrified scholars.
I do not know what was in Bob HoUiday's head,
but about this time he managed to open the west-
ern door while the master's back was turned. Bob's
desk was near the door.
Poor little Columbus was ready to die, and Jack
was afraid that, if the master should beat him as he
threatened to, the child would die outright. Luck-
ily, at the second cruel blow, the master broke his
switch and turned to get another. Seeing the door
open. Jack whispered to Columbus:
" Run home as fast as you can go."
The little fellow needed no second bidding. He
tottered on his trembling legs to the door, and was
out before Mr. Ball had detected the motion.
When the master saw his prey disappearing out of
the door, he ran after him, but it happened curious-
ly enough, in the excitement, that Bob Holliday,
who sat behind the door, rose up, as if to look out,
and stumbled against the door, thus pushing it
shut, so that by the time Mr. Ball got his stiff legs
outside the door, the frightened child was under
such headway that, fearing to have the whole
school in rebellion, the teacher gave over the pur-
suit, and came back prepared to wreak his ven-
geance on Jack.
While Mr. Ball was outside the door, Bob Holli-
day called to Jack, in a loud whisper, that he had
better run, too, or the old master would "skin
him alive." But Jack had been trained to submit
to authority, and to run awa)' now would lose him
his winter's schooling, on which he had set great
store. He made up his mind to face the punish-
ment as best he could, fleeing only as a last resort
if the beating should be unendurable.
" Now," said the master to Jack, " will you tell
me who put that gunpowder in the stove? If you
don't, 1 '11 take it out of your skin."
Jack could not bear to tell, especially under a
threat. I think that boys are not wholly right in
their notion that it is dishonorable to inform on a
school-mate, especially in the case of so bad an
offense as that of which Will and Ben were guilty.
But, on the other hand, the last thing a master ought
to seek is to turn boys into habitual spies and
informers on one another. In the present instance.
Jack ought, perhaps, to have told, for the offense
was criminal ; but it is hard for a high-spirited lad
to yield to a brutal threat.
Jack caught sight of Susan Lanham telegraph-
ing from behind the master, by spelling with her
fingers :
" Tell or run."
But he could not make up his mind to do either.
though Bob Holliday had again mysteriously
opened the western door.
The master summoned all his strength and
struck him half a dozen blows, that made poor
Jack writhe. Then he walked up and down the
room awhile, to give the victim time to consider
whether he would tell or not.
■' Run," spelled out Susan on her fingers.
" The school-house is on fire ! " called out Bob
Holliday. Some of the coals that had spilled from
the capsized stove were burning the floor — not
dangerously, but Bob wished to make a diversion.
He rushed for a pail of water in the corner, and
all the rest, aching with suppressed excitement,
crowded around the fallen sto\'e, so that it was hard
for the master to tell whether there was any fire or
not. Bob whispered to Jack to "cut sticks," but
Jack only went to his seat.
" Lay hold, boys, and let 's put up the stove,"
said Bob, taking the matter quite out of the mas-
ter's hands. Of course, the stove-pipe would not
fit without a great deal of trouble. Did ever
stove-pipe go together without trouble ? Somehow,
all the joints that Bob joined together flew asunder
over and over again, though he seemed to work
most zealously to get the stove set up. After half
an hour of this confusion, the pipe was fixed, and
the master, having had time, like the stove, to cool
off, and seeing Jack bent over his book, concluded
to let the matter drop. It proved, however, to be
a matter that would not drop.
Ch.\pter X.
JACK AND HIS MOTHER.
J.\CK went home that night very sore on his back
and in his feelings. He felt humiliated to be
beaten like a dog, and even a dog feels degraded
in being beaten. He told his mother about it — the
tall, dignified, sweet-faced mother, ver\- patient in
trouble and very full of a high goodness that did not
talk much about goodness. She did not keep telling
Jack to be good, but she always took it for granted
that her boy would not do anything mean. She
made a healthy atmosphere for a brave boy to grow
in. Jack told her of his whipping, with some heat,
while he sat at supper. She did not say much
then, but after Jack's evening chores were all
finished, she sat down by the lamp where he was
trying to get out some sums, and questioned him
carefully.
"Why did n't you tell who did it?" she asked.
" Because it makes a boy mean to tell, and all the
boys would have thought me a sneak."
" It is a little hard to /ace a general opmion like
that,"' she said.
|883.]
THL HiiOSlKK SCHOOI.-liOV
327
"But," said Jack, "if I had told, the master
would have whipped Columbus all the same, and
the boys would probably have pounded him too. 1
ought to have told beforehand," said Jack, after a
4}ausc. "But I thought it was only some coffee-
nuts that they had put in. The mean fellows, to let
Columbus take a whipping for them ! But the way
Mr. Ball beats us is enough to make a boy mean
and cowardly."
After a long silence, the mother said ; "■ 1 think
we shall have to give it up. Jack."
"What, Mother?"
" The schooling for this winter. I don't want
you to go where boys are beaten in that way. In
the morning, go and get your books and see what
you can do at home."
Then, after a long pause, in wliich neither liked
to speak, Mrs. Dudley said :
" 1 want you to be an educated man. You learn
quickly ; you have a taste for books, and you will
be happier if you get knowledge. If 1 could collect
the money that Gray owes your father's estate, or
even a part of it, I should be able to keep you in
school one winter after this. But there seems to be
no hope for that."
" Hut he is a rich man, is n't he ? "
" Yes, but not in his own name. He persuaded
your father, who was a most kind-hearted man, to
release a mortgage, promising to give him some
other security the ne.xt week. But, meantime, he
put his property in such a shape as to cheat all his
creditors. 1 don't think we shall ever get anything."
" 1 am going to be an educated man, anyhow."
" But you will have to go to work at something
next fall," said the mother.
"That will make it harder, but I mean to study
a little every day. 1 wish 1 could get a chance
to spend next winter in school."
" We '11 see what can be done."
And long after Jack went to bed that night the
mother sat still by the candle with her sewing, try-
ing to think what she could do to help her boy to
get on with his studies.
Jack woke up after eleven o'clock, and saw her
Ught still burning in the sitting-room.
"1 say. Mother," he called out, "don't you sit
there worrying about me. We shall come through
this all right."
Some of Jack's hopefulness got into the mother's
heart, and she took her light and went to bed.
Weary, and sore, and disappointed, Jack did not
easily get to sleep himself after his cheerful speech
to his mother. He lay awake long, making boy's
plans for his future. He would go and collect
money by some hook or crook from the rascally
Gray; he would make a great invention; he would
discover a gold mine ; he would find some rich
cousin who would send him through college ; he
would , but just then he grew more wakeful
and realized that all his plans had no foundation of
probability.
CHAPTliR XI.
COLUMBUS AND HIS FRIENDS.
When he waked up in the morning. Jack remem-
bered that he had not seen Columbus Risdalc go
past the door after his cow the evening before, and
he was afraid that he might be ill. Why had he
not thought to go down and drive up the cow him-
self? It was yet early, and he arose and went down
to the little rusty, brown, unpainted house in which
the Risdalcs, who were poor people, had their home.
Just as he pushed open the gate. Bob Holliday came
out of the door, looking tired and sleepy.
" Hello, Bob!" said Jack. " How 's Columbus?
Is he sick ? "
"Awful sick," said Bob. "Clean out of his
head all night."
" Have you been here all night?"
" Yes, I liccrd he was sick last night, and I come
over and sot up with him."
" You good, big-hearted Bob ! " said Jack.
" You 're the best fellow in the world, I believe."
" What a quare feller you air to talk. Jack, "said
Bob, choking up. "Air you goin' to school to-
day ? "
"No. Mother 'd rather have me not go any
more."
"I'm not going any more. I hate old Ball.
Neither 's Susan Lanham going. She 's in there,"
and Bob made a motion toward the house with his
thumb, and passed out of the gate, while Jack
knocked at the door. He was admitted by Susan.
" Oh, Jack ! I 'm so glad to see you," she whis-
pered. " Columbus has asked for you a good many
times during the night. You 've stood by him
splendidly."
Jack blushed, and asked how Lummy was now.
" Out of his head most of the time. Bob Holli-
day staid with him all night. What a good fellow
Bob Holliday is!"
" 1 almost hugged him, just now," said Jack,
and Susan could n't help laughing at this frank
confession.
When Jack passed into the next room, he saw
Columbus's mother sitting by his bed, and the poor
little fellow with his big head resting on the white
pillow. Columbus turned his large eyes on Jack,
and then reached out both his puny arms.
" Come, Jack, dear old fellow," he said.
Jack bent over him, while the wan-faced Colum-
bus put the poor little reed-like arms about his
neck.
328
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[February,
"Jack," he sobbed, "the old master's right
over there in the corner all the time, straightening
out his ugly long switches. He says he 's going to
beat me again. But I know you wont let him.
Will you, Jack, you dear old fellow?"
" No, he sha' n't touch you."
"Let 's run away. Jack," he said, presently.
And so the poor little fellow went on, his great dis-
ordered brain producing feverish images of terror
from which he continually besought "dear good
old Jack" to deliver him.
When at last he dropped into a troubled sleep.
Jack slipped away and drove up the Risdale cow,
and then went back to his breakfast. He was a
boy whose anger kindled slowly ; but the more he
thought about it, the more angry he became at the
master who had given Columbus such a fright as
to throw him into a brain fever, and at the "mean,
sneaking, contemptible villains," as he hotly called
them, who would n't come forward and confess
their trick, rather than to have the poor little lad
beaten.
"Let us make some allowances," his mother
said, quietly.
" That's what you always say. Mother. You 're
always making allowances."
After breakfast and chores. Jack thought to go
again to see his little friend. On issuing from the
gate, he saw Will Riley and Ben Berry waiting for
him at the corner. Whether they meant to attack
him or not he could not tell, but he felt too angry
to care.
" 1 say, Jack," said Riley, "how did you know
who put the powder in the stove ? Did Columbus
tell you?"
" Mind your own business," said Jack, in a tone
not so polite as it might be. " The less you say
about gunpowder, hereafter, the better for you
both. Why did n't you walk up and tell, and
save that little fellow a beating?"
" Look here. Jack," said Berry, "don't you tell
what you know about it. There 's going to be a
row. They say that Doctor Lanham 's taken
Susan, and all the other children, out of school,
because the master thrashed Lummy, and they say
Bob HoUiday 's quit, and that you 're going to
quit, and Doctor Lanham 's gone to work this morn-
ing to get the master put out at the end of the term.
Mr. Ball did n't know that Columbus was kin to
the Lanhams, or he 'd have let him alone, like he
does the Lanhams and the Weathervanes. There
is going to be a big row, and everybody '11 want to
know who put the powder in the stove. We want
you to be quiet about it."
"You do?" said Jack, with a sneer. " Yon
do?"
"Yes, we do," said Riley, coaxingly.
" You do? Yon come to nie and ask me to keep
it secret, after letting me and that poor little baby
take your whipping ! You want me to hide what
you did, when that poor little Columbus lies over
there sick abed and like to die, all because you.
sneaking scoundrels let him be whipped for what
you did ! "
" Is he sick?" said Riley, in terror.
" Going to die, 1 expect," said Jack, bitterly.
"Well," said Ben Berry, "you be careful what
you say about us, or we '11 get Pewee to get even
with you."
" Oh, that 's your game ! You think you can
scare me, do you ? "
Here Jack grew more and more angr)-. Seeing
a group of school-boys on the other side of the
street, he called them over.
" Look here, boys," said Jack, " 1 took a whip-
ping yesterday to keep from telling on these fellows,
and now they have the face to ask me not to tell
that they put the powder in the stove, and they
promise me a beating from Pewee if 1 do. These
are the two' boys that let a poor sickly baby take
the whipping they ought to have had. They have
just as good as killed him, 1 suppose, and now
they come sneaking around here and trying to scare
me into keeping still about it. I didn't back down
from the master, and I wont from Pewee. Oh, no !
1 wont tell anybody. But if any of you boys should
liappen to guess that Will Riley and Ben Berry
were the cowards who did that mean trick, 1 am
not going to say they were n't. It would n't be of
any use to deny it. There are only two boys in
school mean enough to play such a contemptible
trick as that."
Riley and Berry stood sheepishly silent, but just
here Pewee came in sight, and seeing the squad
of bo)S gathered around Jack, strode over quickly
and pushed his sturdy form into the midst.
" Pewee," said Riley, " I think you ought to
pound Jack. He says you can't back him down."
"I didn't," said Jack. "I said you couldn't
scare me out of telling who tried to blow up the
school-house stove, and let other boys take the
whipping, by promising me a drubbing from Pewee
Rose. If Pewee wants to put himself in as mean
a crowd as yours, and be your puppy dog to fight
for you, let him come on. He 's a fool if he does,
that 's all I have to say. The whole town will want
to ship you two fellows off before night, and Pewee
is n't going to fight your battles. What do you
think, Pewee, of fellows that put powder in a stove
where they might blow up a lot of little children?
What do \-ou think of two fellows that want me to
keep quiet after they let little Lum Risdale take a
whipping for them, and that talk about setting you
on to me if I tell ?"
■88J.J THE IIOOSIER SCHOOI.-BOV. 329
Thus brought face to face with both parties, to his own home, declaring that he was going
King Pewee only looked foolish and said nothing, to tell everybody in town. But when he entered
COUSIN srKF.Y, SAID LITTLE COLUMBUS, COAXINGLY,
Jack had worked himself into such a passion the house and looked into the quiet, self-controllcd
that he could not go to Risdalc's, but returned face of his mother, he began to feel cooler.
Vol. IX.— 22.
330
THE H() OSIER SC 1 1 () O 1. - B O V
[Fkbruary,
" Let us remember that some allowances arc to
be made for such boys," was all that she said.
" That 's what you always say, Mother," said
Jack, impatiently. " I believe you 'd make allow-
ances for Satan himself."
" That would depend on his bringing up," smiled
Mrs. Dudley. " Some boys have bad streaks nat-
urally, and some have been cowed and brutalized
by ill-treatment, and some have been spoiled by
indulgence."
Jack felt more calm after a while. He went
back to the bedside of Columbus, but he could n't
bring himself to make allowances, as his mother
did.
Chapter Xll.
GREENBANK WAKES ITI'.
If the pigeons had not crossed the valley on
Monday, nobody would have played truant, and if
nobody had played truant on Monday, there would
not have been occasion to beat three boys on Tues-
day morning, and if Ben Berry and Riley had
escaped a beating on Tuesday morning, they would
not have thought of putting gunpowder into the
stove on Wednesday at noon, and if they had
omitted that bad joke, Columbus would not have
got into trouble and run away from school, and if
he had escaped the fright and the flight, he might
not have had the fever, and the town would not
have been waked up, and other things would not
have happened.
So then, you see, this world of ours is just like
the House that Jack Built : one thing is tied to an-
other and another to that, and that to this, and this
to something, and something to something else,
and so on to the very end of all things.
So it was that the village was thrown into a great
excitement as the result of a flock of innocent
pigeons going over the heads of some lazy boys.
In the first place, Susan Lanham talked about
things. She talked to her aunts, and she talked to
her uncles, and, above all, she talked to her father.
Now Susan was the brightest girl in the town, and
she had a tongue, as all the world knew, and when
she set out to tell people what a brute the old
master was, how he had beaten two innocent boys,
how bravely Jack had carried himself, how fright-
ened little Columbus was, and how sick it had made
him, and how mean the bo\s were to put the powder
there, and then to let the others take the whip-
ping,— I say, when Susan set out to tell all these
things, in her eloquent way, to everybody she
knew, you might expect a waking up in the sleepy
old town. Some of the people took Susan's side
and removed their children from the school, lest
they, too, should get a whipping and run home
and have brain fever. But many stood u]) for
the old master, mostly because they were people
of the sort that never can bear to see anything
changed. " The boy^ ought to have told who put
the powder in the stove," they said. " It served
them right."
" How could the master know that Jack and
Columbus did not do it themselves?" said others.
" Maybe they did!"
" Don't tell me ! " cried old Mrs. Home. " Don't
tell me ! Boys can't be managed without whipping,
and plenty of it. ' Bring up a child and away he
goes,' as the Bible says. When you hire a master,
you want a master, says 1."
"What a tongue that Sue Lanham has got!"
said Mr. Higbic, Mr. Ball's brother-in-law.
The excitement spread over the whole village.
Doctor Lanham talked about it, and the ministers,
and the lawyers, and the loafers in the stores, and
the people who came to the post-office for their
letters. Of course, it broke out furiously in the
'• Maternal Association," a meeting of mothers
held at the house of one of the ministers.
" Mr. Ball can do every sum in the arithmetic,"
urged Mrs. Weathervane.
"He's a master hand at figures, they do say,"
said Mother Brownson.
"Yes," said Mrs. Dudley, "1 don't doubt it.
Jack's back is covered with figures of Mr. Ball's
making. For my part, 1 should rather have a
master that did his figuring on a slate."
Susan Lanham got hold of this retort, and took
pains that it should be known all over the village.
When (ireenbank once gets waked up on any
question, it never goes to sleep until that particular
question is settled. But it does n't wake up more
than once or twice in twenty years. Most of the
time it is only talking in its sleep. Now that
Greenbank had its eyes open for a little time, it
was surprised to see that while the cities along the
river had all adopted graded schools, — i-Zi'-graded
schools, as they were called by the people opposed
to them, — and while even the little villages in the
hill country had younger and more enlightened
teachers, the county-town of Greenbank had made
no advance. It employed yet, under the rule of
President Fillmore, the same hard old stick of a
master that had beaten the boys in the log school-
house in the days of John Quincy Adams and
Andrew Jackson. But, now it was awake, Green-
bank kept its eyes open on the school t|Ucstion
The boys wrote on the fences, in chalk ;
DOWN WITH OLD BAWL!
and thought the bad spelling of the name a good
joke, while men and women began to talk about
getting a new master.
i88j.1
THE IIOOSIER SCHOOL-BOV
33'
Will Riley and Ben Berry had the hardest time.
For the most part they staid at home during the
excitement, only slinking out in the evening. The
boys nicknamed them "Gunpowder cowards,"
and wrote the words on the fences. Even the loaf-
ers about the street asked them whether Old Ball
had given them that whipping yet, and how they
liked "powder and Ball."
Chapter .\11I.
professor susan.
Mr. Ball did not let go easily. He had been
engaged for the term, and he declared that he
would go on to the end of the term, if there should
be nothing but empty benches. In truth, he and
his partisans hoped that the storm would blow over
and the old man be allowed to go on teaching and
thrashing as heretofore. He had a great advantage
in that he had been trained in all the common
branches better than most masters, and was re-
garded as a miracle of skill in arithmetical calcu-
lations. He even knew how to survey land.
Jack was much disappointed to miss his winter'.s
schooling, and there was no probability that he
would be able to attend school again. He went
on as best he could at home, but he stuck fast in
the middle of the arithmetic. Columbus had by
this time begun to recover his slender health, and
he was even able to walk over to Jack's house
occasionally. Poinding Jack in despair over some
of his "sums," he said:
"Why don't you ask Susan Lanham to show
you ? I believe she would ; and she has been
clean through the arithmetic, and she is 'most as
good as the master himself."
" I don't like to," said Jack. " She would n't
want to take the trouble."
But the next morning Christopher Columbus
managed to creep over to the Lanhams :
"Cousin Sukcy," he said, coaxingly, "1 wish
you 'd do something for me. I want to ask a
favor of you."
"What is it, Columbus ? " said Sue. "Anything
you ask shall be given, to the half of my king-
dom ! " and she struck an attitude, as Isabella of
Castile, addressing the great Coluinbus, with the
dust-brush for a scepter, and the towel, which she
had pinned about her head, for a crown.
" You are so funny," he said, with a faint smile.
" But I wish you 'd be sober a minute."
" Have n't had but one cup of coffee this morn-
ing. But what do you want ? "
"Jack "
" Oh, yes, it 's always Jack with you. But that 's
right — Jack deserves it."
"Jack can't do his sums, and he wont ask you
to help him."
" And so he got you to ask ?"
" No, he did n't. He would n't let me, if he
knew. He thinks a young lady like you would n't
want to take the trouble to help him."
" Do you tell that stupid Jack, that if he does n't
want to offend me so that 1 '11 never, never for-
give him, he is to bring his slate and pencil over
here after supper this evening. And you '11 come,
too, with your geography. Yours truly, Susan
Lanham, Professor of Mathematics and Natural
Science in the Greenbank Independent and Miscel-
laneous .Academy. Do you hear?"
" All right." And Columbus, smiling faintly,
went off to tell Jack the good news. That even-
ing Susan had, besides her own brother and two
sisters, two pupils who learned more arithmetic
than they would have gotten in the same time from
Mr. Ball, though she did keep them laughing at
her drollery. The next evening, little Joanna
Merwin Joined the party, and Professor Susan felt
quite proud of her " academy," as she called it.
Bob HoUiday caught the infection, and went to
studying at home. As he was not so far advanced
;is Jack, he contented himself with asking Jack's
help when he was in trouble. At length, he had a
difficulty that Jack could not solve.
" Why don't you take that to the professor?"
iiskcd Jack. " I '11 ask her to show you."
" I durs n't," said Hob, with a frightened look.
" Nonsense ! " said Jack.
That evening, when the lessons were ended.
Jack said :
" Professor Susan, there was a story in the old
First Reader we had in the first school that I went
to, about a dog who had a lame foot. A doctor
cured his foot, and some time after, the patient
brought another lame dog to the doctor, and
showed by signs that he wanted this other dog
cured, too."
" That 's rather a good dog-story," said Susan.
" But what made you think of it ?"
" Because 1 'm that tirst dog."
" You are ? "
" Yes. You 've helped me, but there 's Bob
Holliday. I 've been helping him, but he 's got
to a place where 1 don't quite understand the
thing myself. Now Bob would n't dare ask you to
help him "
" Bring him along. How the (ireenbank Acade-
my grows ! " laughed Susan, turning to her father.
Bob was afraid of Susan at first — his large fin-
gers trembled so much that he had trouble to use
his slate-pencil. But by the third evening his shy-
ness had worn off, so that he got on well.
One evening, after a week of attendance, he was
332
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOV
[February,
missing. The next morning he came to Jack's
house with his face scratched and his eye bruised.
" What 's the matter ? " asked Jack.
"Well, you see, yesterday I was at the school-
house at noon, and Pewee, egged on by Riley, said
something he ought n't to, about Susan, and 1
could n't stand there and hear that girl made fun
of, and so I up and downed him, and made him
take it back. I can't go till my face looks better,
you know, for I would n't want her to know any-
thing about it. "
But the professor heard all about it from Joanna,
who had it from one of the school-boys. Susan
sent Columbus to tell Bob that she knew all about
it, and that he must come back to school.
" So you 've been fighting, have you ? " she
said, severely, when Bob appeared. The poor
fellow was glad she took that tone — if she had
thanked him he would n't have been able to
reply.
"Yes."
■'Well, don't you do it any more. It's very
wrong to fight. It makes boys brutal. A girl
with ability enough to teach the Greenbank Acad-
emy can take care of herself, and she does n't
want her scholars to fight."
"All right," said Bob. "But I '11 thrash him all
the same, and more than ever, if he ever says any-
thing like that again."
Chapter XIV.
CROWING .^KTER VICTORY.
REENBANK was awake, and
the old master had to go. Mr.
Weathervane stood up for him
as long as he thought that
the excitement was temporary.
But when he found that Green-
bank really was awake, and not just
talking in its sleep, as it did for the
most part, he changed sides, — not all
at once, but by degrees. At first he
softened down a little, "hemmed and
hawed," as folks say. He said he did
not know but that Mr. Ball had been hasty, but
he meant well. The next day he took another
step, and said that the old master meant well,
but he was q/}en too hasty in his temper. The
next week he let himself down another peg in
saying that " may be " the old man meant well,
but he was altogether too hot in his temper for a
school-master. A little w-hile later, he found out
that Mr. Ball's way of teaching was quite out of
date. Before a month had elapsed, he was sure
that the old curmudgeon ought to be put out, and
thus at last Mr. Weathervane found himself where
he liked to be, in the popular party.
And so the old master came to his last day in
the brick school-house. Whatever feelings he
may have had in leaving behind him the scenes of
his twenty-five years of labor, he said nothing.
He only compressed his lips a little more tightly,
scowled as severely as ever, removed his books and
pens from his desk, gave a last look at his long
beech switches on the wall, turned the key in the
door of the brick school-house, carried it to Mr.
Weathervane, received his pay, and walked slowly
home to the house of his brother-in-law, Mr.
Higbie.
The bo>s had determined to have a demonstra-
tion. All their pent-up wrath against the mas-
ter now found vent, since there was no longer any
danger that the old man would have a chance to
retaliate. They would serenade him. Bob Holli-
day was full of it. Harry Weathervane was very
active. He was going to pound on his mother's
bread-pan. Every sort of instrument for making
a noise was brought into requisition. Dinner-bells,
tin-pails, conch-shell dinner-horns, tin-horns, and
even the village bass-drum, were to be used.
Would Jack go ? Bob came over to inquire.
All the boys were going to celebrate the downfall
of a harsh master. He deserved it for beating
Columbus. So Jack resolved to go.
But after the boys had departed. Jack began to
doubt whether he ought to go or not. It did not
seem quite right ; yet his feelings had become so
enlisted in the conflict for the old man's removal,
that he h.ad grown to be a bitter partisan, and the
recollection of all he had suffered, and of all
Columbus had endured during his sickness, recon-
ciled Jack to the appearance of crowing over a
fallen foe, which this burlesque serenade would
have. Nevertheless, his conscience was not clear
on the point, and he concluded to submit the mat-
ter to his mother, when she should come home to
supper.
Unfortunately for Jack, his mother staid away
to tea, sending Jack word that he would have to
get his own supper, and that she would come home
early in the evening. Jack ate his bowl of bread
and milk in solitude, trying to make himself believe
that his mother w-ould approve of his taking part
in the " shiveree " of the old master. But when
he had finished his supper, he concluded that if
his mother did not come home in time for him to
consult her, he would remain at home. He drew
up by the light and tried to study, but he longed
to be out with the boys. After a while, Bob Holli-
day and Harry Weathervane came to the door and
importuned Jack to come with them. It was lone-
some at home ; it would be good fun to celebrate
l883.|
THE IIOOSIKK SlIIOni.-HoV
o ■> 1
J03
the downfall of the old master'* cruel rule, so, tak-
ing down an old dinner-bell, Jack went off to join
the rest. He was a little disgusted when he found
Riley, Pewee, and Ben Berry in the company, but,
once in the crowd, there was little chance to back
out with credit. The boys crept through the back
alleys until they came in front of Mr. Higbie's
house, at half-past eight o'clock. There was but
one light visible, and that was in Mr. Hall's room.
Jack dropped behind, a little faint of heart about
the expedition. He felt sure in himself that his
mother would shake her head if she knew of it.
At length, at a signal from Bob, the tin pans, big
and little, the skillet-lids grinding together, the
horns, both conch-shell and tin, and the big bass-
drum, set up a hideous clattering, banging,
booming, roaring, and racketing. Jack rang his
dinner-bell rather faintly, and stood back behind
all the rest.
" Jack's afraid," said Pewee. " Why don't you
come up to the front, like a man ?"
Jack could not stand a taunt like this, but
came forward into the cluster of half-frightened
peace-breakers. Just then, the door of Mr. Hig-
bie's house was opened, and some one came out.
" It 's Mr. Higbie," said Ben Berry. " He 's
going to shoot."
" It 's Bugbee, the watchman, going to arrest
us," said Pewee.
" It 's Mr. Ball himself." said Riloy, " and he '11
whip us all." And he fled, followed pell-mell by the
whole crowd, excepting Jack, who had a constitu-
tional aversion to running away. He only slunk
up close to the fence and so stood still.
"Hello! Who are you?" The voice was not
that of Mr. Higbie, nor that of the old master, nor
of the watchman, Bugbee. With some difficulty,
Jack recognized the figure of Doctor Lanhani.
"Oh, it's Jack Dudley, is it?" said the doctor,
after examining him in the feeble moonlight.
" Yes," said Jack, sheepishly.
" You 're the one that got that whipping from
the old master. I don't wonder you came out to-
night."
"I do," said Jack, " and I would rather now that
I had taken another such whipping than to find
myself here."
" Well, well," said the doctor, " boys will be
boys."
" And fools \v\l\ be fools, I suppose," said Jack.
" -Mr. Ball is very ill," continued the doctor.
" Find the others and tell them they must n't
come here again to-night, or they '11 kill him. I
would n't have had this happen for anything. The
old man 's just broken down by the strain he has
been under. He has deserved it all, but 1 think
you might let him have a little peace now."
" So do 1," said Jack, more ashamed of himself
than ever.
The doctor went back into the house, and Jack
Dudley and his dinner-bell started off down the
street in search of Harry Wcather\'ane and his tin
pan, and Bobllolliday and his skillct-lids, and Ben
Berry and the bass-drum.
" Hello, Jack ! " called out I5ob from an alley.
" You stood your ground the best of all, did n't
you ? "
•' I wish 1 W stood my ground in the first place
against you and Harry, and staid at home."
•• Why, what 's the matter? Who was it?"
By this time the other boys were creeping out
of their hiding-places and gathering about Jack.
"Well, it was the doctor," said Jack. "Mr.
Ball 's very sick and we 've 'most killed him ; that 's
all. We 're a pack of cowards to go tooting at a
poor old man when he 's already down, and we
ought to be kicked, every one of us. That 's the
way 1 feel about it," and Jack set out for home, not
waiting for any leave-taking with the rest, who, for
their part, slunk away in various directions, anx-
ious to get their instruments of noise and torment
hidden away out of sight.
Jack stuck the dinner-bell under the hay in the
stable-loft, whence he could smuggle it into the
house before his mother should get down-stairs in
the morning. Then he went into the house.
" Where have you been?" ;isked Mrs. Dudley.
"1 came home early so that you need n't be lone-
some."
" Bob Holliday and Harry Weathervane came
for me, and I found it so lonesome here that I went
out with them."
" Have you got your lessons?"
"No, ma'am," said Jack, sheepishly.
lie was evidently not at ease, but his mother said
no more. He went off to bed early, and lay awake
a good p.art of the night. The next morning he
brought the old dinner-bell and set it down in the
very middle of the breakfast-table. Then he told his
mother all about it. And she agreed with him that
he had done a very mean thing.
And so do I, for that matter.
(To be continued.)
334
J A C K - I N -Til K - P I' I, P 1 1-
[Febkuakv,
JACK- IN -THE- PULPIT.
Whew ! How cold it is. Are you all dressed
warmly, my chicks? And do you know of any
little chap who is not ? or of any little shivering
girl ? If you do, don't stay here and listen to mo,
my muflled ones, but run right straight off and
talk to Father or Mother about it. See if something
can not be done ; and when it is settled that the
other httle body shall be warm, then bring your
rosy cheeks and happy eyes here. We 'vc many
subjects before us this time. All sorts of things, 1
may say ; but we '11 make a beginning with :
THE LAUGHING PLANT.
This is not a flower that laughs, but one that
creates laughter, if the printed stories of tra\-elcrs
are to be believed. A bo\-friend writes me that he
has just been reading about it. It grows in Arabia,
and is called the Laughing Plant, because its seeds
produce effects like those produced by laughing-
gas. The flowers, he says, are of a bright yellow,
and the seed-pods are soft and woolly, while the
seeds resemble small black beans, and only two or
three grow in a pod. The natives dry and pulver-
ize them, and the powder, if taken in small doses,
makes the soberest person behave like a circus-
clown or a madman, for he will dance, sing, and
laugh most boisterously, and cut the most fantastic
capers and be in an uproariously ridiculous condi-
tion for about an hour. When the excitement
ceases, the exhausted exhibitor of these antics falls
asleep, and when he awakes he has not the slightest
remembrance of his frisky doings.
GOOD TASTE AMONG THE MIGHTY.
The more I think about elephants the more
wonderful they seem to be. The great, clumsy
creatures are so very knowing, so very lo\ing, and
so like human beings in many of their qualities.
They know their power well, and they also know
just when they must not use it. Deacon Green tells
me that keepers and trainers of elephants often lie
down on the ground and let the huge fellows step
right over them ; and that they feel perfectly safe
in doing so, because they know the elephants viill
pick their way carefully over the prostrate forms,
never so much as touching them, still less treading
on them. Yet the mighty creatures can brush a
man out of existence as easily as a man can brush
away a fly. And what delicate tastes they ha\c —
delighted, I 'm told, with strawberries, gum-drops,
or any little dainty of that kind ! They arc fond of
bright colors, too, and travelers tell wonderful tales
of seeing elephants gather flowers with the greatest
care, and smell them, apparently with the keenest
pleasure.
It is true they cal the same flowers afterward, but
dear mc ! I 'vc seen girls do the same thing !
Many a time I 've watched a little lady pluck a
wild rose, look at it a moment, sigh " hov,' lovely ! "
then open her pretty lips and swallow the petals one
by one.
Why should n't an elephant ?
A LONG WAGON. A LONG TEAM. AND A
VERY LONG WHIP.
The birds have brought me a true letter about
a very wonderful sort of team, the like of which has
never been seen in my meadow. But jou shall
read the letter yourselves, my chicks, and then let
me see who can guess at the length of the entire
thing — train, animals, whip, and all:
Dear Jack : A friend was telling me a few d.iys ago about the
kind of wagon they used in Cape Colony, when he was there twenty-
two years ago. It was six yards long, and but little o\er a yard
in width; about two feel and a half in depth at the front, but deeper
at the back. The canvas tent added five feet to the wagon's height.
The *' fore-clap " and "after-clap " are the curtains which hung in
the front and in the rear of the wagon; they reached to within a
few inches of the ground. The ^ ehiclc was steered by a pole called
the dissel-bootn, at the end of which was a long tow-line.
Now. imagine twelve o.\en yoked to this wagon, or twenty-six,
as my friend often saw when a vehicle was caught in the mire,
with a leader at the tow-line, and a driver on the wagon-seat. But
the picture is not complete till your mind paints in the driver's
whip. The handle of this whip is a bamboo pole more than twenty
feet in length: the thong is at least twenty-five feet; to this last is
fastened the " after-slock," and to the end of this again is sewed the
" fore-slock," which corresponds to the little whip-cord lash of
our carriage-whips, or the "cracker." This is at least a yard in
length, so that from tip to tip the Cape wagon-whip would measure
between fifty and si.\ty feet. ^'et. immense as it is, the dri\er wields
it with dexterity and grace- He establishes, by its reports, as he
" cracks" it — and they are as loud asa gun's — a system of signals
by which he ccmmimicates with the man who is leading at the end of
the tow-line. Even when ibis man is herding the o-\en a mile away,
the driver's whip will tell him to bring up the beasts to be " in-
spanned." — Your friend, ^
VALELLA-SAPHOIDEA.
This pretty Latin name means "a little sail,
like a boat," and it very exactly describes the
tiny, animated boat which spreads its own sail,
and steers itself The small, round, flat sail-boat
is only a little valcUa, or living plate, of a light
but firm material, covered with a coat of perfectly
transparent jelly. From the upper surface of the
plate rises a thin strip of cartilage, which serves as
a mast. On this is spread a sail, delicate and
gossamer-like enough to make a sail for the Fairy
JACK- 1 N-Tll V.-i'l l-l'ir.
335
Queen's own boat. From the lower surface of the
plate extend slender tentacles, or threads, like
tish-lines, ever on the watch for food ; for even a
valella, fairy-like as it looks, must cat to live.
GOLDEN WIRE.
A VERY curious thing, 1 'm told, is a gold wire as
fine as a thread of a spider's web, and interesting to
see men make it. They cover a gold wire with silver,
and then draw it as fine as they can make a wire,
which is smaller than a hair, let me tell you. After
this they put it into an acid which eats off the
silver, and exposes the delicate thread of gold in-
side, which is exquisitely tine.
Deacon Green says that some writers treat fine
ideas in a similar way as
to spinning out, but for-
get to tell you how to
find the orig-
inal golden
thread again.
:!^:s^
AN EEL THAT CURLED NATURALLY.
This eel lived by mistake in a fine river along
with a number of very straight pikes and sword-
fish, who evidently envied him his curl, for they
always were chasing him. I$ut the more they
chased him, the more he curled, until one day,
becoming rather
[Eh.' How? Oh, is that you, my dear? You
beg pardon, but you 'd be glad if I 'd leave off, for
this month, and let you print something that has
just come in?
Oh, certainly, my dear, with pleasure.]
Now, what can it be? 1 never can refuse that
blessed Little School-ma'am anything. So good-
bye, my little men and women, till March. Mean-
time I hope you, one and all, have begun a very
happy New Year.
FOR OUR JACKINTHE PULPIT.
Here's a Valentine, dear Mr. Jack, for you,
From .-Vlice and Will and Jack and Prue.
We count but four, named one by one,
Vet never a crowd beneath tlie sun
Is as larye, a^ gay, and glad as ours,
Or wields a tithe of its wondrous powers.
|.\CK stands for fellows who love the sea;
Will for the land-lubbers merry and free;
.\lice for lassies residing in town ;
I'RIE for the country-girls, ruddy and brown;
.\nd all of these tliousands dicir compliments send
To Jack-in-tlic-1'ulpit iheir brother and friend;
Their brother and friend, their teacher and guide.
Their spokesman and playmate, and poet beside. —
Indeed, dear Jack, it never would do
To tell you half that we think of you ;
For a Jack-in-the-I'uIpit, as every one knows,
Is the very modest-cst thing that grows, l
So we 'U give you what will be better far,
(lur love and thanks, and a liii>, hurrah ! — |
With love to tlic School-ma'am and Deacon, loo,
from your own —
Jack, .Vlick, and Wir.i. and Pruk.
•>s
k
v/
r*,,'-vf <
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[February^
WHAT STRANGE MAN-NERS.
Bv Chari.es Barnard.
r^flWri»j
'"s*.,,.
Once a man wejit in-to a house to make a vis-it, and his Ht-tle dog
Jack went with him. The man took off his hat and coat and laid them
on a chair, and told Jack to wait for him. So the lit-tle dog sat down
to wait while his mas-ter went in-to an-oth-er room.
The lit-tle doe had nev-er been in that house be-fore, and aft-er
.sit-ting ver-y still for a min-ute, he looked a-bout to see what sort of
a place it might be. He had been sit-ting on a foot-stool, for he was
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. ^^"J
rath-er short, and on look-ing around he saw an-oth-er lit-tle dog. As
Jack was a ver-y po-Hte dog, he stood up and said : " Good-morn-ing, sir."
The oth-er o-pened his mouth, but did not say a word.
'• Good-morn-ing, sir," said Jack a-gain, but the oth-er on-Iy o-pened
his mouth a-gain and did not an-swer.
As Jack was a stran-ger in the house, he thought it best to say no
more, so he smiletl and wait-ed for the otli-er to speak.
•He may be deaf," said Jack, aft-er a while, "but, dear me! I wish
he would say some-thing or sit down. I 'm tired of stand-ing." All this
he said to him-self, and then he smiled a-gain in a kind way. At once
the oth-er dog smiled, too, but still he did not speak.
■' h s a beau-ti-ful da)," said Jack.
Ihe oth-er o-pened his mouth, as if he meant to say it was tru-ly a
lovely day, but he nev-er said a word.
" If you '11 e\-cuse me. I '11 sit down," said Jack.
.■\s the oth-er did not speak. Jack sat down on the foot-stool. At
once the oth-er dog sat down, too.
■■ Re-al-ly ! He 's ver-y strange ! I '11 stand up," thought Jack.
But, just as Jack rose, up jumped the oth-er dog !
Jack thought, now, that the oth-er dog was mak-ing fun of him, and
so he frowned. But the oth-er frowned, too.
Jack be-gan to be an-gry and walked to-ward the oth-er dog, who
be-gan at once to walk to-ward him. " I 've a great mind to tell him
how rude-ly he be-havcs," thought. Jack. " He is a ver-y bad dog, and
now he looks ver-y an-gry."
Just then. Jack's mas-ter called him, and, as they left the room. Jack
turned antl made a face at the other dog. But at the same time the
oth-er dog turned a-round and made a face at Jack !
"What strange man-ners ! " said Jack, as the door closed. "1 '11 nev-
er come to this house a-gain ! "
Fred
Has a sled ^^'\^^^^!\ ^^"^^ ^"^' ''"° '
Paint-ed red, — ^\^V^^\ ^^"^^ *^ ^'"^ '
So he said. ^V^S^^v What have you?
338
THE LETTER-BOX.
[February,
THE LETTER-BOX.
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy ten years old, and I want
to know if a set of sails made as described in your January number,
i8«i ronly with a single yard, with a hole in the middle of its
length, instead of the compound one described), could be fastened
to a mast in the middle of a sled, by having a shoulder on the masi
to fit through the hole in the yard. It could be worked more easily,
I think, than when on either side, — Yours, F. K. F.
Mr. Norton, the author of the article on " Skate Sailing,"
answers F. K. F. as follows :
Never make a hole in a spar when it can possibly be avoided.
I have known a mast break at a point where two or three tacks were
driven into it. And a hole large enough for the purpose named in
your letter would weaken it where it should be strongest- Lash a
ring to the spar, or make a lashing with a loop standing out from it,
and slip this over your mast.
The middle of the sled is a good place for the mast, but it is more
in the way than if placed at the side, as recommended in St. Nich-
olas (January number), and, moreover, there is nothing to fasten
it to, unless you put on a cross-piece near the runners (which
would be awkward in case of lumps on the ice), or have a system
of braces "on deck" — so to speak — which would be %ery much in
the way. At the side of the sled the mast can be securely stepped,
with very little trouble.
Here is an interesting little letter sent from Fort Omaha, Ne-
braska, by a little girl of nine years, to her aunt in Connecticut:
Dear Aunt C. : I want to tell you about a place which we visited
before we left Fort McKinney. It is called "Old Fort Phil Kear-
ney," and it is seventeen miles from McKinney. The post was
destroyed by the Indians some time ago. It happened in this way:
The commanding officer ot the post sent a detachment of soldiers up
into the mountains to cut wood. When they had enough, they
were coming home, when the Indians attacked them; so they sent
in one or two of the soldiers to tell that the Indians were upon
them. When General Fetterman (who commanded the post) heard
this, he got all ihe troops together, and went after the Indians; but
when he got there, the Indians had killed the wood-party, and were
pretending to run away, as though they were afraid of them; so
they ran up into ihe mountains, and the troops followed them; but
when the Indians got them up far enough, ihey turned around and
killed every person. The Indians wanted to kill some more, but
Red Cloud said they had enough blood for one day. The soldiers'
graves were in a hollow, and a broken fence around them, and a
monument to tell them; but the Indians destroyed everything they
could lay hands on.
Mamma brought home a horseshoe, and Mammy [the nursej
found a door-latch. We had a very nice ride, and a long one.
Fort Fetterman was named after General Fetterman, who was
killed in the fight.
From your niece, Katy P.
Dear St. Nicholas: I read in the November number of St.
Nicholas how to make a pig-a-graph. I made a book out of writing
paper, with a brown-paper cover, took it to school, and got a great
many girls to draw a pig in it with their eyes shut It was great
fun to see how ridiculous some of the dra\\'ings looked. One little
girl was so enthusiastic over it that she made a pig-a-^raph, a horse-
a-graph, and an elephar.t-a-graph. The elephant did not take as
well as the pig and horse, as it is al.Tiost impossible to draw an
elephant well, even with the eyc:^ open. — Yours truly, B. B.
Dear St. Nicholas: The snow "jack-o'-lantern" I am going
to tell you of may be used as the head of a snow-man. or to light a
snow-house, such as you told us how to build in February, iSSo.
The directions are, first, roll a large snow-ball, and let it freeze so
that it will not break while preparing, then cut out the inside, and
make the features of a face.
Bits of colored paper will cause the eyes to have a singular effect
when the lamp or candle is put in and lighted.
The top should be of wood, because the flame will melt snow.
A hollow snow-pyramid may also serve to light a snnw-house.
The way to make this is to cut squares of snow-crust during a thaw,
each a little smaller than the other, hollow them out, and place one
on the other till you come to the top, then cut small windows on the
front and sides. You may put thin, colored paper at the windows,
and at the back there should be a hole large enough to put your
hand in to light the lamp. The effect is fine; but the pyramid takes
a long while to make, and should be si.vteen inches wide at base and
three feet high.
An empty barrel is better than a snow-ball for the door of a fort or
snow-house, as the snow-ball is apt to break. — Yours truly,
Charles W. Jerome, twelve years.
Dear St. Nicholas: We live in a very lonely place and we
have no brothers, and so we don't sec many boys ; we are both
afraid of boys ; but wc have you, and that is a comfort, and one
aged sister, who is going to be married. We are all very fond of
reading your magazine — it is so interesting. I am stLidying Span-
ish, as I am going to spend nc.\t winter in Spain ; and my sister,
who is writing with me, is studying Russian, as she is going to
stay all next summer with our uncle in Russia. Good-bye. — From
your constant readers,
Cleopatra Dorcas Oshkosk.
Wilhelmina Spidale Oshkosk.
D. J. SENDS some clever drawings, each of which was made in
one minute, during a " Five-dot Game " ; and, as some of our read-
ers may like to try the pastime, wc here give the pictures and an
explanation :
Any number can play. Paper and pencils being ready, each player
marks five dots in any arrangement on the piece of paper before
him, and passes it to his ne.^t neighbor at the left hand. He then
takes the dotted paper which has been handed to him, and tries to
drav/ on it some human figure in such a posture as to bring one of
the five dots at the middle of the top of the forehead, one at the
point of each foot, and one at each
hand. But no one must take longer
than a certain rime, say one minute
or two minutes, in making his pict-
ure. The results sometimes are
very laughable, and the game
calls for a good deal of
invention and skill.
Dear St. Nicholas : Yon seem like a bunch of Christmas to
me ever>' month, and 1 hope all the good people you meet have had
a great, white, rich Christmas. 1 am glad you think of the Garfield
home. The President loved children, I guess. Last fall, about a
week before the election. I sent him a funny card. It was a picture
of a black man holding up a can of beef, and saying : " De candidate
1 882. 1
TMK I.ETTKR- HOX.
339
dat eats dis yah beef ia dc man to be 'lected," and I wrote )>im a letter
to tell him I hoped he 'd cat the beef and get elected : that I 'd like-
to vote for him, but I was n't ten years utd. He mailed me froii)
Mentor a fmc picture nf himscir, with his fresh-written name under
it. 1 suppose he ate the beef.
I went with Mamma to visit Mr. Whiitier and Mr. Longfellow.
They both like hoys. Mr, Longfellow said: "Now, Vickers, I
want you to sit in this chair, which the Cambridge children gave
me." You know it "s a great big ch.iir, made out of an old chestnut-
tree, but it has a green spring scat, and is ver>' pretty. The people
must have thought Mr. Longfellow large and stout, but he is n't at
all Mr. Whitiicr is more of a long fellow; he i; very kind, and 1
love him more than any man, 'most, but Papa. I never saw a fat poet.
(Jood-bye. I hope you 'II all have Christmas all the year.
Vickers Obekholtzer.
Dear St. Nicholas: As some of the boys who read you may
be in the same fix that I was in, I want to tell them in the " Letter-
box " how I got out of iL
I am nine years old. Papa bought mc a beautiful pair of skates,
but Mamma would rot let me use them, because we have no skating-
rink in this town, and she was afraid I should pet drowned if 1 should
go on the nver. I felt awfully bad, but Papa said he would try to fix
It some way. So one morning he went on the lawn that was covered
with snow, and marked oat a big circle. Then he had Joe heap up
the snow all around the circle, and just before dark, when it was
freezing hard, he had Joe put the hose on the pump and fill the ring
with two or three inches of water. The nc.\t morning I had a beau-
tiful sheet of ice. And now when it gets cut up we only have to
lluud it again, and let it freeze, to have the best kind of skating.
Will Sterling and the rest of the boys come over every day, and
we have lots of fi:n. — Vour friend, Hokace T, Conant.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have seen so many letters from your
readers telling of their wonderful pet animals of nearly every kind,
that I thought 1 should like to tell you about our pets. My brother
Harry and 1 have two dogs, more than a hundred thickens of differ-
ent kmds, a cat, a canarj-, and a lamb called " Billy." One of the
dogs is an Irish setter, the other a Cordon setter; their names are
respectively '" Shot " and "Beau."
Beau is all t lat his name expre^iscs — beautiful, glossy, black. He
is very intelligent and very wonderful, we think. Last spring, in the
back of his Icennel, a hen hatched out a large brood of chicks.
Whenever the hen went off the nest. Beau would lie patiently out-
side the kennel until Motlicr Hen came back. He was careful of
the eggs, and never injured them. Don't you think that was nice
of our doggie ? He is very uneasy if the roosters fight, and he tries
to separate them. Although a bird-dog, he never chases the fowls,
but. indeed, tries to watch over them.
Shot is a splendid watch-dog, and Papa has good sport shooting
prairie chickens over him each year; for he points lM:autifully. In
winter we harness him to our sled and he drags us (one at a time) all
around.
Billy, the lamb, is our next favorite. Alhough not "as white as
snow " he is very pretty, and has a bell tied around his neck. We
got him very young. He runs aftcrllarry like a dog, and will follow
him everywhere, no rope nor cord on him at all.
It would take too long to tell of the doings of our other pets,
excepting to say my canary is seven or eight years old, and i.; still
lively and nimble, and sings swecdy. How Jong do they usually
live? I should Hke to know. — Your loving admirer,
Helen McIlvaine, thirteen years.
In St. Nichoi^s for February, 1877, there is "A Talk about
Canaries," in which Helen will f nd an answer to her question, be-
sides many pictures, and usefid suggestions about caring for these
cheerful singing-birds.
Dear St. Nicholas: I made from holly wood, with my fret-saw,
a puzzle square like the one pictured in the October " Riddle-box,"
and after cutting the pieces apart, I mixed them up and handed
them to my little brother to put together again, He was ever so
long about it, — for which Ma thanked me afterward privately, — and
when he had succeeded, he felt as proud and looked as happy as
Htde Jack Horner when he had picked out the plum and cried,
" What a brave boy am I ! " — Yours truly, J. R, W.
Dear St.Nicholas : I can match the incident of a cat being
fond of music, which Harry MacCord relates in the August St.
Nicholas, for 1S81. 1 live in the South, where there are n great
many negroes. I once had a cat that was so fond of music that
when she was a little kitten she would lie under the piano when I
practiced. One day there was no one at home excepting our old
negro servant. When I came home she said : " Law. Honey ! I
was in your mamma's room and I hecr'd, bless your soul, sotnelhin'
playin' on tht piano. And, law, Honey! 1 thought it must be a
ghosL So 1 jes" gcther up all my courage, and I jes' bolt in dc par-
lor, and if that little black cat wasn't a runnin' up an' down dc
piano keys, my name aint Aunt Sarah." C. P.
Dear St. Nicholas: I have read with much interest the first
two installments of " Recollections of a Drummer-boy," and an
intimate acquaintance with the author prompts me to relate to you a
most interesting fact, which I know Harry M. Kieffer himself would
never mention.
He is one of four brothers, who rac/i graduatid at tfw hrad of hh
clasSy and all are clergymen. These circumstances appear to me so
unusual, perhaps without a parallel in the counirj', that it may prove
interesting to the readers of St. Nicholas to know them.
We were college mates, though not classmates — he of the class of
*70,Iof '68 — at Franklin and Slarshall College, Ltncaster, Pa., and
a friendship, bom of distant relationship and membership in the same
literary society, frequently brought us together at Sunnyside, a
delightful place, where he boarded, immediately opposite Wheat-
land, the residence of President J.amcs Buchanan.
Many :i pleasant hour we spent together, and many a tale of his
army experience he rehearsed as we s:it round the fire .'.t Sunnyside,
and when I say that no one knows better how to tell a story, I leave
your readers to imagine what i* in store for them from Harry
Kieffer's pen : and though no longer a boy, I alw.iys await with
impatience the appearance of St. Nicholas to see what Harry has
to say. — Hoping the Oicts mentioned may be of interest, I remain,
Very truly yours, Kdw. P. Kkemer.
Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please ask if any of your readers
can tell us any recipe for marshmallow candy ? We should like
recipes for any other kinds of confectionery ; but particularly for
that one. — Yours truly, Two Western Girls.
Deak St. Nicholas: Here is a slip which I cut from a news-
paper, and I think it will interest you :
" Taken as a whole. Vienna speaks highly of the courtesy of the
royal guests from Italy. Our own countiy certainly can find no
fault in the attention paid by them to its representative. The Min-
isters Depretisand Mancini called at the American Legation. Dur-
ing their short stay at the royal reception of the diplomatic corps,
King Humbert expressed to Mr. Phelps his personal regret for Presi-
dent Garfield's death, as well as his hearty admiration for America.
A ])leasing incident of the occision was when Queen Margherita
told Mr. Phelps that he might speak English to her, — the conversa-
tion with the King had been in French, — and laughingly told how
she had learned it by reading American books i > her children. * I
read your Sr. Nicholas to them,' said she, ' and I like the stories
;is well as they do.' I wonder how many American boys who pore
over their St. Nicholas would have believed that its pictures and
puzzles and tales brought delight to the nursery of the Roman
Court." M. A.
Dear St. Nicholas :_ Are you sure Mr. Hebard, in his complaint
of the abuse of Mr. Up in Septembtr number, has not misused Mr.
Passed and slighted Mr. Adopted in t!ie last sentence of his article ?
— Your friend and reader, Lester Alvswortil
the story of "Master Hyrax," in your September number; and I
was deputed to write to you some more curious facts about that
funny no-tailed creature. Although it is so small, it is related to the
gigantic hippopotamus and rhinoceros. Its teeth resemble very
closely those of the hippopotamus, and besides, it has no claws;
but each of its toes ends in a tiny black hoof, the exact shape of the
hoof of a rhinoceros. Vet the little rabbit-like animal can climb a
ragged tree-trunk without the least difficulty. It is an interesting
creature to naturalists, who mention it as the ' missing link," unit-
ing the families of its two great relatives; and it is very interesting
also to unscientific persons, on account of its being a dainty article
of food. — Yours truly, T. G. W.
Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you about the way Christ-
mas Eve is celebnited in some parts of northern Germany. They
have no Santa Clans there, but n reverend personage whom they
name Knccht Rupert. If the village is not large, all the parents in it
send the presents they intend for their children to some one man ;
and on the evening belorc Christmas Knecht Rupert knocks at the
cottage door. The parents go to let him in, and the children peep
around doors and corners to catch a glimpse of him.
He is a big, stout person, with a false face that wears a serious
look. On his feet are great boots, and he wears a long white robe
and long, thick flaxen hair. He is received with great ceremony,
and presently he calls for the children, who all stand before him.
340
THE LETTER- liOX.
Then he asks the parents about the conduct of their little ones during
the year, and when handing a present to a child he adds a few words
of praise or blame, as the case may be ; but the having to give so
many nice presents must be such a pleasant task that I suppose he
finds it goes against the grain to say anything very severe, even t" a
really naughty boy or girl, if he should chance to find one. — Yours
truly, A. A. C.
Utrecht, Holland.
Dear St. Nicholas: 1 wish to tell you a litUe about the peculiar
way the lower classes of our country celebrate the St. Nicholas
feast. It is on the sixth of December. The children all believe in
the good saint; and in very many families a friend or relative
dresses up, and comes in, followed by his black servant, who always
accompanies the saint. The good children get a great many sweeis
and presents, which St. Nicholas strews out of a large bag that his
servant carries. The naughty children only receive a rod, and are
threatened that the black servant will carry them off; at this they
are very frightened. This is one way of celebrating the sixth of
December ; but the following way is still more general :
On the evening of the fifth, each of the children takes his or her
"klomp," or wooden shoe, and fills it with fresh, sweet hay. The
hay is intended for the saint's horse, which is supposed to be very
tired by going around to so many children, and by having traveled
so far. (St. Nicholas is supposed to live in Spain.) The parenl-S
take out the hay when the little ones are asleep, and they all think
that it has been eaten by the horse. The parents then fill the
"klomp" with sweets and little presents. Some people, however,
content themselves with sending each other numerous anonymous
presents, packed up in the strangest manner; they also arrange
funny surprises; for instance, a large basket of potatoes is brought
in, and in one of the potatoes a diamond ear-ring is hidden. Of
course, then ii is a great trouble to find it, as one must cut open
every potato to find the present. Good-bye, dear St. Nicholas. —
I remain, your constant reader, Clara Twiss, thirteen years.
A I'KIENDLV correspondent, who is a great admirer of Daniel
Defoe's famous story, "Robinson Crusoe,"sends us the map given
below. He made it up, he says, by comparing forty-eight passages
in the narrative. Besides showing what seems to have been Defoe's
idea of the general shape of the island, the map indicates the follow-
ing interesting landmarks:
I. Where he first came on shore. 2. Where the boat was washed
up. 3. The little creek. 4 The cove where he landed his raft. 5.
The hill used for an outlook. 6. His house, facing north by west.
7. The brook. 8. The stream, flowing north, g. The bower and
goat-pen. 10. The pole set up for a landmark. 11. The valley
where he was lost, with the goat-pen and cave. 12. The point of
rocks partly under water. 13. The hill overlooking the sea, 14.
The rock out at sea, where the Spanish vessel was wrecked. 15.
The cave where he slept all night in his boat. 16. The bay and
harbor where he kept his boat. 17. The two grain-fields. 18. The
hill where he watched for savages. 19, Where the two English-
men settled. 20. The cove where he hid his boat from the sav-
ages. 21. Where the three Englishmen settled. 22. The point
In which the thirty-seven savages were confined.
AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION.— ELEVENTH REPORT.
In response to repeated and urgent requests, and according to our
promise of last month, we will briefly outline a somewhat systematic
course of work for the members of the several Chapters. We have
hesitated seriously about doing this, fearing lest our study should in
some way slip into a routine of text-book reading.
Nature must be studied out-of-doors. Natural objects must be
studied from the specimens themselves. The rocks must be broken
open, the flowers must be studied as they grow, and animals must
be watched as they live freely in their own strange homes. Listen
to quaint old Bernardin deSt. Pierre, author of " Paul and Virginia":
"Botanists mislead us. They must have magnifying glasses and
scales in order to class the trees of a forest! To show me the charac-
ter of a flower, it is presented to me dry, discolored, and spread out
on the leaf of an herbary. Who can discover the queen of the flowers
in a dried rose ? In order to its being an object at once nf love and
of philosophy, it must be viewed when, issuing from the cleft of a
humid rock, it shines on its native verdure, when the zephyr sways
it, on a stem armed with thorns,"
Nothing can take the place of personal contact with Nature. No
great naturalist has learned his lessons from books.
Agassiz had learned more about fishes before he ever saw a fish-
book, than he found in the book after he got it.
Audubon lived in the woods and learned the voices nf all the birds,
and could tell them also by their flight
Thomas Edward, the Scottish naturalist, used to lie in caves all
night, watching the habits of each prowling beast.
Gilbert White wrote charming letters about the swallows under his
eaves, the cricket on his hearth, and the old tortoise that lived in
iiis kitchen-garden.
W. W. Bailey braves the frosts of winter, and rambles by the icy
brooks, or through the snow-carpeted aisles of the naked forest, to
see what Nature does when summer is ended. Hear him :
"The pretty little stream is bordered by a fringe of white ice,
under which we can see great bubbles press, squeezing themselves
into very curious forms The stream murmurs some pleasant story
»if the summer violets On its still pools float leaf-gondolas of
curious patterns. Great fern-feathers, unwithered by the frost, droop
over the brook, and velvety mosses cushion the shores."
These men have the right notions about Nature. They enter into
the spirit of her mighty, throbbing life, and interpret the secrets of
her wondrous lore.
But if you have ever known what it is to feel a great love for the
l883.)
THE LETTER-BOX.
341
very earth, so ihaton some sunny day you have wandered ofT alone,
and under the fragrant shade of nii ancient pine have thrown your-
self upon licr broad bosom, like a tired child : ur if, when the wind
was bendiiit; the long grass, you have lain among the daisieji, like
Robert Falconer, watched your kite floating far up in the blue sky,
and wondered what there was beyond the kite, and beyond the
sky : or if, on some dark day in December, when the gray clouds
were skurrying across the sky, you have climbed alone a hill,
and from a swaying perch in a leaflets beech watched the driv-
ing and drifting snow as it wrapj-ed the cold world in a robe of
kingly ermine, — then you may believe that a portion of the spirit
which animated Agassiz, and Edward, and Audubon, and White,
and Wordsworth has tiUen upon you. A naturalist must be a poet.
Vou will understand that by and by, if not yet
Remember, then, that our Constitution makes the prime abject of
our Association the study of natural objects, and not of books. With
this warning, I yield reluctantly to a many-voiced request for a
"systematic plan."
The Presidents of those Chapters which desire to study the scien-
tific classification of the objects of Nature will do well to follow some
such method as this : Consider, first, the three great kingdoms —
Animal, Vegcuible, and Mineral. Ixl one meeting be devoted to
the study of each as a kingdom. Let all the objects in your collec-
tion be classified so far a^ to determine regarding each whether it
belongs to the first, second, or third of these kingdoms. Determine
the same regarding a multitude of substances — as air, water, milk,
sugar, amber, alcohol, ink, paper, steel, paint, silk, flannel, steam,
smoke, coal, kerosene, vinegar, etc.
Next take up the branches into which the several kingdoms arc
subdivided. These arc for Animals :
I. Protozoa.
II. Ccelenterata.
III. Echinodemtata.
IV. Vermes.
V'. Arthropoda.
VI. Molluscoidca.
VII. MoUusca.
VIII. Tunicala.
IX. Vertebmta.
Let these be carefully studied one by one, and thoroughly dis-
cussed, and illustrated by specimens, until any animal can readily be
referred to its proper branch. If the books which contain this later
classification are not at your command, you will do very well with
the older divisions after Cuvier, viz.: 1. Vertebrates; 2. ."Xrticulates;
3. Molluscs ; 4. Radiates ; 5. Protozoans.
These you will find in ordinary text-books, and I may mention as
peculiarly adapted to young people, Tcnney's "Zoology."
The subdivisions of the Vegetable kingdom are given in Bcssey's
" Botany," which is one of the best and latest authorities on this sub-
ject; and in Gray's various botanical works — the best of which for
the general student is his *' Lessons and Manual," or for younger
ones, "School and Field Botany." These divisions are : Series I.,
PHyENOGAMoi:s, or Flowering Plants. Series II., Ckvptogamous,
or Flowerless Plants. These and their further subdivisions should
be studied, as in the case of the animals, carefiilly and patiently.
The mineral kingdom is divided into metallic and non-metallic sub-
stances, and tliese again comprise objects which exhibit different
degrees of hardness, of fusibility, of specific gravity, etc., regard being
had also to their chemical composition and their peculiar forms of
crystalization. This is the most difficult kingdom for an imaided
student. Dana's "Mineralogy" is a good popular guide, and Brush's
" Determinative Mineralogy and iilow-plpe Analysis" is an excel-
lent manurl for more advanced students.
The object of this division and subdivision in the several king-
doms is so to classify all natural objects that we may afterward
determine the precise name of any specimen we may find. The
more minute the subdivision, as a rule, the more difficult becomes
the analysis made with a view to classification. Thus, it is usually
an ea-iy matter to distinguish between an animal and a vegetable.
It is not difficult to determine whether we arc e.\amininy .in insect.
If we find an insect, we may presently refer it t<i the lepidoptcra,
and then to the butterflies ; but when it comes to distinguishing
between the various t'rtwr«(W, with their curious punctuation marks,
the matter grows more serious, and we arc at least compelled to
obtain a book more restricted in scope than any zoology, and, indeed,
than most entomologies.
As a result of this, it becomes necessary for him who would
accurately study any department of Nature to limit himself early
to a small field, (^ne will choose, for instance, dragott-flitSi and
by devoting years to them will become a specialist and an author-
ity in that department. It is the tendency of the times to produce
specialists. Fur one, 1 confess that I should be unwilling to spend
my life in a micmscopical investigation of the minute characteristics
which cause one spring beetle to differ from another. I had rather
range freely over mountain and along stream, and having acquired
the power to analyze a flower or determine a mineral, if need be,
I had rather leave the one \*^ nod and smile on its dewy stem in
undissected beauty, and the other to sparkle in the sunlight, in-
stead of crackling in the reducing flame of a compound blow-pipe.
Vet we must have strict scientists, and must honor the men who,
for the sake of expanding the world's knowledge, arc found witling
to confine their researches to a narrow field.
Fortho.se, then, who are old enough to pursue a systematic course,
we have briefly outlined a plan which may be followed in any
department of Natural Science. It consists in first obtaining a gen-
eral view of the whole field, and then in learning its successive
subdivisions, until analysis is complete.
For the rest of you, and especially for you, my little folk of ten
years old and under, lc:ive the I-atin names unsaid and the big books
imopcned. Watch the minnows dan about in the crystal water;
count the daisy flowers to find whether "he loves you or loves
you not" ; blow off the dandelion's feathers to see if Mother wants
you ; test your love for butter by the yellow glimmer of the
buttercup beneath your chin ; find pretty pebbles by the brook and
keep them bright in glasses of water ; gather brilliant autumn leaves
and press them for the days when their colors will be in the sky;
study the beautiful crystals of the snow lightly falling on your sleeve
as you plod to school ; learn to love the music of the rain, and the
singing of the wind, and the moaning of the sea, and remember that
"... the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all."
But, ah me ! here is the end of my pajicr ! This will never do. I
must give you a chance to be heard. Next month I promise to be as
still as a mouse, and let you all chatter away to your hearts' content.
Vou shall tell what you 've been doing, and what exchanges you
wish, and what you think of the badge, and what you think of hav-
ing over 1,600 members already, and anything else you wish.
Harlan H. Ballard,
Principal of Lenox Academy, I-^nox, Mass.
CHAPTERS KKCHNTLV OKOANIZtD.
119. Oskaloosa, Iowa (A|.
120. Detroit, Mich. (B)
121.
122.
123.
124.
125.
127.
128.
129.
130.
»3'-
132.
St. Paul, Minn. (A).
Orono, Maine (A)..
Waierbury, Ct. (A).
Jamaica Plain, Mass
Nashua, N.H. (C)
Philadelphia (F)
Beverly, Mass. (A) .
Eaton, O. (A)
Zanesville, O. (A). .
ChampaiKnc, lU. (A). . .
Nevada C-tty, Cal. (A) .
Buffalo, N. Y. (B),,..
133. Greenwood Lake, Ky. (A).
134. LePere, Wis. (A).,.
135. Jackson, Mich. (.V)..
Members. Secretaty's Address.
10.. Miss R. Anna Morris.
8 . Miss Ella M. Leggctt, 62
Miami ave.
15.. Frank Ramaley.
.. . 8.. A. P. StarretL
7 . H. N. Johnson.
- 4.. George W. Wheelwright.
4. .Charles Howard.
5 . Raymond Kaighn, 214 Ridge
ave.
II.. Geo. O, Swasey.
, . 9. .William E. Loy (Preble Co.).
, . 6. .Miss Lulu Lillibridge.
11.. Miss Anna Shattuck.
II , . Watson Charles.
8.. Herbert N. Williams, 163
Delaware st.
7.. Miss L. M. Bedinger.
17. .George Marston (Brown Co.).
i3...Chas. C. Ames, 321 Main st.
Notes bv Members.
Neufchatel, Switzerland, Oct. i, 1881.
Professor Agassiz was bom just opposite here, on the other side
of the lake (Geneva), and we are within half a mile of the college
where he taught for twelve years. The upper part of this building
is a museum which he started. When .Agassiz was young he was
very poor. He had a collection of fishes, and wanted to get some
book relating to them. .At last he managed to get one, when what
was his disgust to find that he had more kinds and knew more about
fishes than the book did ! I send you some Alpine flowers arranged
on a card, and if you know of any one who would like to trade
342
THE LETTER-BOX.
[Februarv,
A^"^Al
AGASSIZ
VlAtl"^
VIEW
something for cards like it, please give him my address, and ask
him to wnte, idling whether he wants black or white cards, and
what he will give m exchange, before he sends me anything. I
prefer pressed flowers and
small aiilumn-leaves. Ferns
and mosses also desired.
My sister and my mother
and I made up this badge.
The Swiss cross is appro-
priate, as Agassiz was a
Swiss.
Kenneth Brown,
7 Rue Scribe, Paris, France.
[Kenneth's design for a
badge commends itself to us
as exceedingly appropriate.
On the lower arm of the
cross is to be engraved the
name of the chapter: on the
others, either the word?;
"Animal," "Vegetable," and "Mineral," or, perhaps bet-
ter, a picture of a representative of each kingdom — f. ^.. a but-
terfly, a fern-leaf, and a crystal of quartz. The adoption of this as
our badge will not at all interfere with the ribbon badge described
already, for the Swiss cross can be worn upon the ribbon by those
who can afford something a little expensive, while for the rest of us
the ribbon ser\es an excellent purpose. If some artist among us
will elaborate this idea, and send us a finished design based upon
these hints, we will show it to some good jeweler and obtain his
price for manufacturing these crosses in gold and silver.]
Edward Moran writes: The Bat makes an excellent subject in
comparative anatomy. The five fingers of each hand are nicely
shown in the wing, and there are just five claws at the ends of the
legs. For birds 1 use"(Joues's Key to N. A. Birds," and I have
never known it to fail.
I find patent porous paper a great success for pressing flowers.
F. M. PoLHAMu;s, Hot Springs, Ark.
My little sister and I keep caterpillars in boxes, and give them
leaves to cat. Their feet are very queer when you look at them
throuo;h a microscope. They are light yellow, and they have six-
teen httle red toes that they hook around things when they walk.
Our cat catches fish, but she wont eat them. She brings them to
the house ahve sometimes, and we put them into the fountain with
the gold-fish. One day, Mamma saw a fly on the window that had
something hanging to its side. The fly was very weak. The thing
was a homd-looking tick. It looked like a crab. It had six claws,
and was fastened to the fly. My "Packard's Common Insects'"
gave a picture of some ticks that looked nearly Uke it, but there
was none that looked exactly like it.
Irene Putnam, Bennington, Vt.
One of my birthday books was about catching and mounting
insects, by W. P. Manton. It told how lo rout the cabinet in-
sect if he gains possession. Gfz'e the hoj:, insects and all, a good
baking in an oven. Annie L. Bosworth, Woonsocket, R. I.
Williams College Observatory, \
WiLLiAMSTOWN, Mass., October 3, 1881. 5
As my report for September I send you the results in barometric
hypsometry obtained by me in August, 1S81. I send only final re-
sults, but I will forward a copy of the observations and reductions if
you desire. The altitude of Greylock {the highest mountain in
Massachusetts) is the mean of six obsen-aiions, with a probable error
of 3.1a feet : other determinations from single observaoons.
Station. Above $ea level.
fireylock 3539-6 feet.
Bald Mountain 2596.9 "
Vista Mountain 2380. 6 "
Very tnily yours, John Tatlock, Jr.
HiLLSBORo, III, Oct. 1, 1881.
I noticed a green worm at the foot of a tree. The worm was
about an inch long. Soon I saw a wasp circle around and get
nearer and nearer to it. At last it stung the worm, and straddling it,
dragged it along the ground very swiftly. It soon came to a small
hole in the ground. The wasp entered and began to drag the worm
in. It then ran out and pushed the worm in the rest of the way.
The worm fitted the hole exactly. The wasp then filled the top of
the hole with dirt. Did the wasp dig the hole to fit the worm ? Will
the wasp return to eat the worm V Was it a Digger-wasp or not ?
Warwick R. Edwards.
Who will answer Warrick ?
Here is a report from D. M. Ferine, aged twelve:
The cat-bird is one of the commonest birds of North America. Its
coloring is not very striking, its back being light slate, crown dark
slate, beak black, wings dark slate, tail dark slate, and feet the same.
This bird measures nine inches in length. Its nest is built of dead
leaves, sticks, pieces of paper, and rags. "I'hc inside is lined with
dried grass. The nest is generally posed in a btiar-bush or a sap-
ling, and sometimes in a \ine. The cat-bird lays four or five eggs
of a bluish green. [The writer forgot to inclose his address.]
The American woodbine, with which our piazzas are covered, is
somewhat infested with a large, handsome g^reen worm. We have
found ever so many of them covered with little white things, about
the size of kernels of rice. On examining them, we found them to
be perfect little cocoons. Will you give some explanation of this ?
Delia M. L. Shekill, Sandy Hill, N. Y.
St. Louis (B) has a very neat card printed, as follows ;
^\t %^s^\i Jssodatioii,
Sf.l'onis ^ranili |.
Mcttin{iB)ieldat
1S23 Carr st. Fndnu rvcnings.
Address coTnmunications to
B. J. Vr-UckatU. 1233 JV.21«r.
A brave girl writes from a plantation near Baton Rouge:
I can not get up a chapter, as the nearest town is across the
river : but will try to do the best I can by myself
ra. 111., says she is studying botany out of
Pan:«y Smith, of Atiro
school, and adds:
Before the flowers come, I count the birds'-nests on my way to
school. _ There is an oriole's nest that I want dreadfully, for I am
sure it is not occupied, though I understand it is for rent.
Here is the way a Massachusetts girl goes to work :
I have a small sand-dollar, a sea-urchin, and several kinds of
shells. They are all from Cape Ann. In the sea-urchin, the mouth
is situated in the hole on the under side, and it has five sharp teeth,
all pointing toward the center. It is covered with spines, with litde
ball-and-socket joints. Besides the spines, long, transparent stems,
with knobs at the end. branch out from all parts of the body. 1
have found all of these in the summer; have made aquaria for them,
and watched them all, Marion E. Crocker.
WHAT BECAME OF THE LITTLE BOY WHO ATE TOO MUCH JAM. {DRAWN BV A YOUNG CONTRIBUTOR.)
i882.]
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
343
n^H^STRATED PIZZl.E I^' THE HEAD-PIKCE,
TitE answer to the above puzzle is a word of ten letters. To solve
this puzzle, first read the picture as a rebus. The result will be a
four-line stanza, which is the text of the charade. c. r.
DOL'BLE AC'ROSTTC.
PkimaI-s, a daughter of Sol, celebrated for her skill in magic.
FiNAi^, a daughter of Tantalus, whom grief turned to stone.
CROSS-woHtis: I. The ferry-man of the river Styx. 2. The
people over whom Boadicca reigned. 3. A kind of florid orna-
mentation. 4. A subterraneous place of burial. 5. The Muse that
presides over wind in.struments. N. b. s.
CIIAUAOE.
HoKN in the North, where winter rages,
My^rj/ the Summer's heat assuages.
If my secomi you be,
For the doctor you send ;
And my third you remain
Till the trouble shall end.
When Summer 's near gone.
Of my second and third
The sound, in the grain-field.
Is frequently heard.
My tvholt\ while growing, day by day,
Forever downward takes its way. w. h. a.
the past participle of a ver/ useful verb. 4. Syncopate a step for
ascending, and leave a ron.motion. 5. Syncopate a Scottish name,
and leave a piece of money. 6 Syncopate an article of food, and
leave a small nail. 7. Sycopate a giver, and leave an entrance. 8.
Syncopate the leaf of a flower, and leave a loud and repeated
sound, g. Syncopate to color, and leave to gasp. 10. Syncopate
the name of an Italian poet, and leave a tropical fruit. 11. Syn-
copate precipitous, and leave a pace. v. a. w.
In the first sentence is concealed a word of seven letters ; in the
second, a word of six letters ; and so on to the last sentence, from
which only one letter is to be taken. When these words have been
rightly .selected, place them under one another, the initial letters
forming a jicrpendicular line. The result will be a half-s(iuarc, read-
ing the same across and downward.
I. Hide, base deceiver! 2. You will find your books near Ned
Little's house. 3. Rob ran to the store to-day. 4. Is this pan
Nancy's? 5. How early did you rise to-day? 6. About nine
o'clock. I was too tired to rise earlier. 7. Indeed ! that was decid-
edly late. GILBERT F.
LETTEK-CHAKADE.
Mv./?n/, at seeing, hints, you '11 find,
If you to solve me are inclined.
My second, railway lines has started,
Rcahns begun, and great worlds parted.
My third, 'mid joys of home and love,
Forever in a round doth move.
My last, though head of nations, fain
Alust come to naught and end in vain.
Through vte more men have lost their lives —
Though who partakes of me revives —
Than ever died the wide world o'er,
By other cause, cm any shore.
Industry is advanced by mc
More than by aught on land or sea ;
On land, on water, imder-ground,
IJy all who seek I can be found. k. m. Jt.
CHANGED HEADS.
For each sentence, find a suitable word to fill the first blank, chang-
ing only its initial letter for each succeeding blank.
T. Harr>''s bore more flowers than any of the others, a.
was the son of Ham. 3. They Mood upon the embankment to see the
water out. 4. The mother laid aside her work, that she mtghl
the baby. 5. The meadow-grass was and green. 6. Annie was
naught>-, and would not cat her— — . 7. A little will sometimes
move a great weight 8. The sheriff started off with a . in hope
nf overtaking the man. 9. *' ! " exclaimed the farmer, *'T never
will believe it." m. c. u.
QUINCUNX.
CENTRAI.. SVNCOPATIONS AND REMAINDERS.
F.ACH of the words described contains five letters, and the synco-
pated letters, placed in the order here given, spell the name of a
saint, who was executed by order of the Kmperor Claudius, and
who is especially brought to mind in February.
I . Syncopate dispatch, and leave aversion. 2. Syncopate a name,
and leave a plate of baked clay. 3. Syncopate a number, and leave
Across: i. I^^zy. 2. To touch gently. 3. Armonal ensigns.
4. Chance. 5. Short sleeps. Diagonals, reading downward from
left to right, beginning at the lower left-hand letter: i. In winter.
=. An exclamation. 3. A narrow piece of leather. 4. Lights.
5. The goddess of plenty. 6. In witftcr. dvcie.
344
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
[February.
CHAKADE.
Tommy was eating my first, when his sister, whose name was my
second, called him and sent him to a neighbor's to borrow my whole,
which she used to season her apple-pie. M.
PI.
"Tel teh derilos eb darabo ft eh Hhv% eh nca od golhnin ni thsi gea,
heeTr si tonhear ronpegsea, a nagpeeros Ises pignmosi ni het syee fv
seom, heqjsap gnifctisinani. Teh chosol-starme si dabaro, nad I
strut ot mhi, merad itwh hsi miprer, stainag het ridelos ni flul
timilyar ayrar." lord brougham.
ST. AXDREWrS CROSS OF DIAMONDS.
This cross is formed of five
the outer letters of the central
adjacent diamonds, which
would be incomplete with-
out them. Each of the four
points of the central dia-
mond is used three times;
once as a point of its own
block of stars, and once as
a point of each of the two
neighboring diamonds. The
words of each diamond read
the same across as up and
down.
I. Upper Left-hand Dia-
mond. I. In cheap. 2. To
tap- 3. A city of Europe.
4. To bind. 5. In brisk.
II. Upper Right-hand
Diamond, i. In ask. 2.
Ready. 3. A country of
Europe. 4. The extremity.
S- In ending.
III. Central Diamond.
1- In ponds. 2. To con-
sume. 3. A glossy silk cloth.
4. A metal. 5. In riding.
IV. Lower Left-hand Dia-
mond. I . In satyr. 2. A
rodent- 3. A kind of ante-
lope that is found in India.
4. A twitching of the mus-
cles of the face. 5. In un-
certain.
V. Lower Right-hand
Diamond, 1. In pruning.
2. A small horse. 3. Un-
covered. 4. A precious
stone. 5. In end.
"will o. tree."
diamonds, as indicated by the diagram,
diamond being used also in forming the
LMONS,
Example: Unite, by a vowel, a quick blow and a large town,
and make seizure by force. Answer: Rap-a-city,
I. Unite, by a vowel, a part of a wheel and a piece of land, and
make the town where King Arthur is supposed to have held his
court. 2. Unite, by a vowel, musical instruments and a combina-
tion of tones, and make an old-fashioned musical instrument. 3.
Unite, by a vowel, a domestic animal and a high hill, and make a
wild animal. 4. Unite, by a vowel, closely confined and expense,
and make a solemn festival of the Jews. 5. Unite, by a vowel, a
person and a sheep-pen, and make numerous. 6. Unite, by a vowel,
to write, and a portable lodge, and make a person who repents of
his sins. 7. Unite, by a vowel, equal value and a darling, and make
a wall or rampart. 8. Unite, by a vowel, a word or expression and
a people, and make an end. q. Unite, by a vowel, quick breath-
ing and a mimic, and make a play without words. 10. Unite, by a
vowel, a conjunction and a human being, and make the name of
some East Indian islands. mabel.
TWO EASY WOKD-SQl'ARES.
I. I. One hundred and twenty-eight cubic feet. 2. The name of a
famous mosque. 3. To contend in running. 4. Caused to follow.
II. I. Cold to look at, but a warm covering 2. A river of Eu-
rope. 3. A warm spot when dinner is cooking 4. A slender rod.
J. AND J.
TRANSPOSITIONS.
When the right word Ls
set in one of the blanks in
each sentence, the letters of
that word may be transposed
to fill each of the remaining
blanks, and make sense.
I. The wore a dark
brown , and his wife
had on a dress which for
and might have
vied with a princess's robe.
2. On account of a dispute
which arose, every was
obliged to his place:
and at present peace
in the choir. 3. In crossing
a field, Charles saw an
near an old, stone wall ; but,
having a great of
such venomous creatures, he
not go near enough
to kill iL 4 has a
crow, and is anxious
to get a for it, that
she may harness them in a
and teach them tricks.
5. A terrific of thunder
sounded through the court-
room : the lawyer stopped
short in his , the ac-
cused turned , and
there were few present whose
hearts did not with
sudden fear. d. c. m.
ilLfTION TO JXNl'ARY MAZE.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER.
Illustrated Puzzles. A Letter Puzzle : Ice (see illustrated
head-piece, page 343)- An Anagram; Baltimore.
Syncopations. Socrates, i. Du-S-ty. 2. Sh-O-ut. 3. Pe-C-an.
4. La-R-va. 5. Ch-A-in. 6. Ma-T-in. 7. Pi-E-t>-. 8. Ba-S-il.
Double Zig-zag. Santa Claus — St. Nicholas. Cruss-words: 1.
SapS. 2. SATe. 3. AXNa. 4. JusT. 5. SCAn. 6. ACHe.
7. LemO. 8. BALd. 9. LANd. 10. SinS.
Fractions. January, i. Au (August) ; 2. R (March) ; 3. A
(April): 4- N (June); 5- Jy (July).
Easy Numerical Enigma. "Thus with the year seasons
return." Paradise Lost. Book III. Line 40.
Easy Double Acrostic. Primals, January- : finals. New Year.
Cross-words: i. JaveliN. 2. AusterE. 3. NarroW. 4. UniversitY.
5. AthletE. 6. RegaliA. 7. YoungsteR.
HouR-GL-\ss. Centrals : Skating. Across : i. MarShal. 2.
WaKed. 3. JAr. 4. T. 5. Nip. 6. CaNon. 7. TraGedy.
Answers to November Puzzles were received, too late fo.
acknowledgment in the January number, from "Two Dromios,"
8 — Hester M. Frere Powell, Gloucestershire, England, 4 —
" Dycie," Glasgow, Scotland, all — E. R. Payne, England, 3.
The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second
number after that in which the puzzles appear.
Answers to Puzzles in the December Number were re-
ceived, before December 20, from Morris D. Sample, i — Tiny
Rhodes. 1— J. M. R., 1— G. H. and W. H., 2— Bessy Guyton,
I— Ruth, I— Harry S. Eowen, i— Hattie H. D., i— J. M. R., i
— Lilian T. Edwards, 1 — Alice J. Bliss, 2 — Harry and Walter
Whitman, 5 — Effie K. Talboys, 5 — Flossie De Piatt, ::— Ray
Thurber, 3 — Sallie Viles, 5 — Grace E. Hopkins, 7 — C. K. and H.
W,, 6 — Annie Rayhouser, i — Marion Browne, i — Two Sub-
scribers, 7 — Ruby and Tom Twist, 2 — "Punch," 2 — " Mustard,"
I — Louie B. Chesebrough and Woolsey A. Moran. 1 — Nellie Cald-
well, 4 — Lester W. Pease, 2 — M. J. and N. G-, 3 — Robert A.
BarT>-, Jr., 4 — Geordie T. Anderson, i — Em and Name Gordon, 4 —
Gracie L. Dwinnell, 5 — Marguerite J. G. S., 6 — J. C. Shields, 4 —
Professor & Co., 7 — Belle Wyman, i — Bessie P. McColUn, 5 — Onin
C. Painter and James R. Taylor, 4 — J. S. Tennant, 7— Madge and
Katie Robertson, 4 — Paul England, 2 — Mystic Trio, i — Charlie and
Josie Treat, Sr- Mamie Mensch, 2 — " Queen Bess," 6 — Ralph Hill-
man, I — " Ejiginecr," 7 — Weston Stickney, 6 — Rory O'More. 1 —
G. E. T., 2 — Alcibiades, c — Chickie Chalmers, i — Marna and Ba,
7— Eddie P. Tobie, Jr., 3 — Arabella Ward, 2— J. Ollie Gayley, 4—
Firefly, t— Matiie G. Colt, i — The Peterkins, 5 — Florence Leslie
Kyte, 6^ Lucy V. Holt. 3 — Herbert Barr\', 7 — Gertrude Van Loan,
I — Daisy May, 5 — An^e Tassin, 5 — Florence E. Pratt, 5— C. H.
Reeves, i — Lyde McKinney, 5 — M. L. Poor, 2.
TITIAN'S PORTRAIT OF HIMSELF.
[See " Stories of Art and Artists," page 406.]
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX. MARCH, 1882. No. 5.
(Copyright, 1882, by The CENTURY CO.]
THE SNOW-FILLED NEST.
By Rose Terry Cooke.
It swings upon the leafless tree,
By stormy winds blown to and fro ;
Deserted, lonely, sad to see,
And full of cruel snow.
In summer's noon the leaves above
Made dewy shelter from the heat;
The nest was full of life and love; —
Ah, life and love arc sweet !
•The tender brooding of the day,
•The' silent, peaceful dreams of night,
The joys that patience overpay.
The cry of young delight.
The song that . through the branches rings.
The nestling crowd with eager eyes,
The flutter soft of untried wings.
The flight of glad surprise : —
All, all are gone ! I know not where ;
.•Xnd still upon the cold gray tree.
Lonely, and tossed by every air,
That snow-filled nest. I see.-
' " : ■' ~ :-;?;; '.3
I, too,- had once a place of rest,
Where life, and love, arid peace were mine —
Even as the wild-birds build their nest,
When skies and summer shine.
But winter came, the leaves were dead ;
The mother-bird was first to go,
The nestlings from my sight have fled;
The nest is full of snow.
Vol. IX.— 23.
346
'HARD TO HITT'
[March,
HARD TO HIT!"
By Ernest Ingersoll.
V{ HE spring weather we some-
times have in March reminds
me, especially in the evening,
of some days passed so high
up in the Rocky Mountains that
the summer was left down in
the valleys. One such spring-
like evening we camped close
to the timber-limit, and I made my first trip into the
region above, in which no trees grow. Having left
the spruce-woods quickly behind, there came some
stiff chmbing up ledges of broken rocks, standing,
clifif-like, to bar the way to the summit. These sur-
mounted, the way was clear, for from the north-
east— the side I was on — this mountain presents a
smooth, grassy slope to the very top ; but the
western side of the range is a series of rocky
precipices, seamed and shattered. This is true of
many mountains in Colorado.
Just above the cliffs grew a number of dwarfed
spruces, some of them with trunks six inches in
diameter, yet lying flat along the ground, so
that the gnarled and wind-pressed boughs were
scarcely knee-high. They stood so closely together,
and were so stiff, that 1 could not pass between
them ; but, on the other hand, they were strong
enough to bear my weight, so that 1 could walk
over their tops when it was inconvenient to go
around.
Some small brown sparrows, of two or three
species, lived there, and they were very talkative.
Sharp, metallic chirps were heard, also, as the
blue snow-bird flitted about, showing the white
feathers on either side of its tail, in scudding from
one sheltering bush to another. Doubtless, care-
ful search would have discovered its home, snugly
built of circularly laid grasses, and tucked deeply
into some cozy hollow beside the root of a spruce.
My pace now became slow, for in the thin air
of a place twelve thousand feet above the sea-level,
climbing is exhausting work. But before long I
came to the top, and stood on the verge of a crag
that showed the crumbling action of water and
frost. Gaping cracks seamed its face, and an
enormous mass of fallen rock covered the broad
slope at its foot.
The very moment I arrived there, I heard a most
lively squeaking going on, apparently just under
the edge of the cliff, or in some of the cracks. It
was an odd noise, something between a bark and
a scream, and I could think of nothing but young
hawks as the authors of it. So I set at work to find
the nest, but my search was vain, while the sharp
squeaking seemed to multiply and to come from a
dozen different quarters. By this time 1 had
crawled down the rough face of the cliff, and had
reached the heaps of fallen rock. There I caught
a glimpse of a little head with two black eyes, like
a prairie-dog's, peering out of a crevice, and I was
just in time to see him open his small jaws and say
^^skink.'" — about as a rusty hinge would pro-
nounce it. I whipped my revolver out of my belt
and fired, but the little fellow dodged the bul-
let and was gone. Echoes rattled about among
the rocks, wandered up and down the canon, and
hammered away at half a dozen stone walls before
ceasing entirely ; but when they had died away,
not another sound was to be heard. Every little
rascal had hid.
So 1 sat down and waited. In about five minutes
a tiny, timid squeak broke the stillness, then a
second a trifle louder, then one away under my
feet in some subterranean passage. Hardly daring
to breathe, I waited and watched. Finally the
chorus became as loud as before, and I caught
sight of one of the singers only about ten yards
away, head and shoulders out of his hole, doubtless
commenting to his neighbor in no complimentary
way upon the strange intruder. Slowly lifting my
pistol, 1 pulled the trigger. I was sure he had not
seen me, yet a chip of rock flying from where he had
stood was my only satisfaction ; he had dodged again.
I had seen enough, however, to know that the
noisy colony was a community of Little Chief hares
(Lagoinys princeps, as they are named in the
text-books), or "conies," as the silver-miners call
them. They are related to the woodchucks as
well as to the hare, and they live wholly at or above
timber-line, burrowing among the fallen and de-
composing rocks which crown the summits of all
the mountains. Not every peak, by any means,
harbors conies ; on the contrary, they are rather
uncommon, and are so difficult to shoot, that their
skins are rare in museums, and their ways are little
known to naturalists.
During the middle of the day they are asleep and
quiet ; but in the evening, and all night when the
moon shines, they leave their rocky retreats and
forage in the neighboring meadows, meeting the
yellow-footed marmot and other neighbors. About
the only enemies they have, I fancy, are the rattle-
snake and weasel, excepting when a wild-cat may
iSSi.J
THE THREE GIFTS.
347
pounce upon one, or an owl swoop down and snatch
up some rambler. In the cold season, of course,
their burrows are deep in snow ; but then the little
fellows arc taking their long winter sleep, and
neither know nor care what the weather may be.
An Indian will eat a cony, — if he can catch it.
He likes to use its fur, also, for braiding his locks
into those long plaits which delight his soul ; but
the lively little rodents are pretty safe from all
human foes, even one with a Colt's revolver !
THE VICTORY.
By Bessie Hill.
Why, here's a blossom! My, how queer!
Is n't it cold, little Flower, out here ?
I sliould think you 'd be 'most frozen, dear!
y\nd yet you look as fresh and gay
As if it were a summer's day.
Let 's run a race with the cold, this way :
We 'II stay as long as we can and rest —
(Though, really, ] should be warmly dressed)-
And see which can stand the cold the best.
The wind is rushing through my hair:
There must be needles in the air; —
They prick me so ! But I don't care.
Somehow my ears begin to ache,
And now my knees begin to shake.
And now, — 1 tremble — for your sake!
Why don't you shiver? Do begin!
You must be cold ! Why, it 's a sin
To keep you here ! — Let 's both go in !
THE THREE GIFTS.
By Thomas Dunn English.
Once upon a time, in the land of Nowhere,
there stood, in the center of a wide plain, a high
and rocky hill, on top of which was an old castle.
In this castle there dwelt a giant named Doubtful.
This giant w.is then poor, although at one time he
had been very rich. He had owned the country
for miles and miles around, with its mansions, vil-
lages, and fertile farms, and had had hundreds of
vassals. But, from time to time, his possessions
had slipped from his hands, and his vassals had
been transferred to other masters, until he was left
with a barren hill, a few sterile acres around it,
the old castle, and one serving-man, who would
not leave him, though he was not always sure of a
meal. The giant might possibly have bettered his
fortune by some exertion, but he was always unde-
cided as to what he should do, and so he suffered
his life to drift on as it might.
Down at the foot of the hill dwelt a dwarf
named Try. He had come a year before, and
348
THE THREE GIFTS.
[March,
asked the giant if he might build himself a hut
there on the barren ground. He was a bright,
lively little fellow, and the giant took pity on him.
By and by, the giant, because he was lonely in
his castle, used to go down and talk with the little
man, who had given up wood-chopping, and
r'^'^%.
' THE DWARF AND THE GIANT PULLED AGAINST EACH OTHER.
" The ground is rocky and poor," said Doubtful,
"but if you think you can make anything out of it,
you are welcome. I give you an acre of ground,
on the edge of my land, to belong to you and
yours forever ; but I warn you that it is of no
value."
Try thanked him, and set to work diligently.
With the larger stones on the land he soon built
a hut, which he covered with boughs brought from
the neighboring forest, and he thatched these with
sedge-grass.
Then he easily found work in the forest, for he
was a skilled wood-chopper ; and, on coming home
at night, he toiled for hours on -his own plot of
ground.
Gradually he cleared the place of loose stones,
and with them built a wall around his acre. He
brought peat from the bogs, and, by permission of
the owners, leaves from the forest, and the giant
gave him the ashes from his fire. With these he
made a large muck-heap, which he then used to
make the land fertile. In the course of time, the
giant looked down upon a blooming garden beneath
him, and at a stone hut on whose rough walls the
blossoming vines clambered ; and he admired the
perseverance and industry of his little neighbor.
depended on his garden for a living. Try had
bought some adjoining acres from the owners, who
were glad to get rid of their poor land at a trifle,
and this land he improved as he had improved the
first, and thus prospered greatly. The giant began
to be very fond of this cheery and busy dwarf, and
the dwarf returned this fondness ; so, the two soon
became fast friends.
Now, the dwarf was a generous fellow, and any
one who came along in need received from him a
da\''s work and a night's lodging, with plenty to eat,
and, at parting, the wages of his labor. But to
those who were very old, or very young, or weak,
or infirm, he gave the food and lodging without
asking for anything in return.
One evening, just at night-fall, there came along
an old woman, who craved charity. Try gave her a
supper, a night's lodging, and breakfast, and, on
her leaving, offered her a small piece of money.
But the old woman said to him : "I always pay
for my food and bed in some way, and as I have
no money, 1 offer you this, which I beg you to
take, and luck go with it." Then she handed him
a necklace of rough stones, strung together.
" But what is this?" asked Try, " and what am
I to do with it ? "
THE THREE GIFTS.
349
The old woman replied: "It is the necklace of
Strength, and whoever wears it can contend with
any one. Travel ! " Then she departed without
further words.
When the giant came down that day to chat
with Try, he saw the stones around tlie neck of
the dwarf, and asked him what they were. Then
Tr)' told him, and also from whom he had obtained
them.
" They can be tested verj- readily," said the
giant. " Suppose you pull against mc, and learn
whether they have made you any stronger than
you were."
The dwarf and the giant pulled against each
other, and, to the astonishment of both. Try
dragged Doubtful all over the place with the
greatest ease.
" There is something in the necklace, after all,"
said Doubtful; "and while you were pulling me
around, I think I must have pulled you out a lit-
tle ; for yesterday and this morning your head was
only as high as my knee, and now, as 1 stand
That evening, an old man, who carried a long
and narrow package, came and begged for food
and a bed, both of which Try ga\'e him. The ne.\t
morning, tlic dwaif bade his guest godspeed, and
gave him some food to take with him.
But the old man said to him: "I am always
able to pay my way, although 1 have no money."
Thus saying, he undid the package, from which he
took a huge two-handed sword, and this he pre-
sented to Try.
"What is this, and what am 1 to do with it?"
asked Try.
The old man replied: "This is the sword of
Courage, and with this you may smite through
steel and brass, and the solid rock, for nothing can
resist it. Travel ! "
Having said this, the old man went away.
When the giant came down that day, he saw the
sword hanging on the wall, and inquired about it
of Try, who told him.
" 1 doubt very much the power of the weapon,"
said Doubtful ; " but it is easy to test it."
ii..,:^^
- *::'w^^-:s^^^ . .'y^'^-r- -^
**TRV BADE FAKEWELL TO THE OLD WOMAN, AND SET OUT ON HIS JOURNEY." [SEE NEXT PACE.]
here, I can easily touch your head with my hand, Try took the sword, and going to the hill, at a
witliout stooping a bit." place where a crag projected, struck the rock with
Try found it to be as the giant said. the sword. It did not seem to be much of a blow,
350
THE THREE GIFTS.
[March,
but the weapon went through as though the stone
had been turf, and it shaved off about a half-ton
fragment, which fell and rolled over, and half-
buried itself in the ground.
" A potent weapon, truly," remarked the giant ;
" but it seems to me you are growing, or I am get-
ting smaller. Yesterday, I could just touch your
head with my hand as I stood erect, and to-day
you arc nearly up to my waist."
And it was just as he said.
That evening, there came along a small boy,
bearing a package, and he asked for something to
eat, and for shelter for the night. These Try gave
him, and the next morning, seeing that the boy
was weak and puny. Try offered him some small
coins, and wished him speed.
But the boy replied: " Poor as I am, I intend to
always pay for what I get, and get what I pay for.
Here in this bundle are the shoes of Ambition,
which are of no service to me, and I give them to
you in return for what I have had."
"But of what use are they, and what am I to
do with them?"
" With these you may go as fast as you will, and
not be tired. Wear them, and you can make your
way over any road, and even climb up the side of
walls, or trees, or steep rocks. Travel ! "
And the boy ran off Try looked after him, and
he saw only an old man moving on slowly. Then
he looked again, and merely saw an old woman,
who at length disappeared.
When the giant came down that day, he soon
saw that Try wore a pair of new shoes.
" Those are very handsome, and look to be
strong," he said. "What did you pay for them?"
Try told him all about them.
"Have you tried what they can do?" asked
Doubtful.
" Not yet, but I will," replied Try.
So he ran along the ground for some distance.
and, coming to a huge tree, ran up the trunk, and
seated himself among the branches. Then he
ran down, and returned.
"They are very convenient," said Doubtful,
"and I think I should like a pair from the same
shop. But, how you do grow ! Yesterday, you
were nearly up to my waist, and now you are three
inches above it. In fact, you are no longer a
dwarf, but a tall, stout young man. But what do
you intend to do with the three gifts ? "
"To-morrow," said Try, "I intend to set out
upon long travels in search of adventures and a
fortune."
" I shall miss you very much," said the giant,
" but I think I shall go with you, if you will have
me for a companion."
And Try agreed to this.
The next da\-. Try put his garden, and the giant
put his castle, in charge of the serving-man. Try
girt on his sword, and with his necklace around his
throat, and his shoes on his feet, he started out
with the giant, who was armed with a huge club,
in search of adventures.
After they had traveled for three months, and
had found nothing remarkable. Doubtful grew
tired, and went back to his castle, despite the per-
suasion of his comrade ; but Try kept right on, and
that very night came to a hut in a valley, where he
sought shelter. The inmate of this hut was an
old woman, who made him welcome. Looking at
her closely, he saw she was the same who had
given him the necklace of Strength.
" Ah ! my good mother," said he, " I have
traveled as you told me, and thus far have gained
nothing thereby."
" Your journey is not over," said she. "Two
days from this you will come to a wide plain, on
which stands a high rock, known as Mount Inac-
cessible. On that rock is a castle of steel, and in
that castle lives an Ogre. He has carried off the
Princess Graceful, the daughter of King Mikron,
and because she will not consent to marry him, he
keeps her locked up in a tall tower that overhangs
the moat, and feeds her on bread and water.
Many knights have tried to rescue her, since her
father has promised her hand and the succession
to his throne to her deliverer ; but the Ogre either
has come out and slain them, or, if he thought
them too powerful, has shut himself up in his cas-
tle, and defied them. The hill is a perpendicular
rock, with polished sides, and the Ogre leaves and
returns to it by a huge set of brazen stairs, that
rise or fall at his pleasure. No one, therefore, has
been able to scale the hill, nor would they have
gained thereby, since the castle is built of the
hardest steel. It is this castle that you must gain,
and slay the Ogre, and deliver the Princess of
Wonderland."
" How shall I find this castle ?"
"To-morrow, when you have gone a mile on
your journey, my brother will overtake you, and
be your companion for a day. You will lodge with
him at night-fall, and he will instruct you further.
Eat now, and refresh yourself, and then go to sleep,
for you have a long journey before you to-morrow."
Try did as he was told, and early the next morn-
ing bade farew-ell to the old woman, who flung
her shoe after him as he set out on his journey.
After he had gone a mile, he was overtaken by an
old man, whom he recognized as the one who had
given him the sword. The old man merely nodded
his head, but said nothing, and thus the two
tra\-eled together. At night-fall, they reached the
old man's hut, where they rested.
i883.)
THE THREE GIFTS.
351
In the morning, the old man said: " The Ogre
will not come down to you, for it has been foretold
to him that he can be overcome only by a man
without armor, as you now are. Entice him out
of his stronghold. Scale the rock, and enter his
stronghold, or wait until he comes out ; but let him
not see you. When you have gone on from here,
and have come within a mile of the edge of the
plain wherein the hill of the Ogre stands, my son,
who is in the forest, will join you, and instruct you
further."
Try thanked his host, and resumed his journey.
At a mile beyond the hut, a boy came from the
wood, and joined him ; and Try knew him to be
the same who had given him the shoes of Ambition.
The boy, who said his name was Helper, told him
all about the princess, of whom he said that she
was as good as she was beautiful, and that her
father, who loved her tenderly, had laid siege to
the castle for a whole year, and finding it impos-
sible to take, had at last raised the siege, and had
gone home to wait for the champion who was to
deliver her from the Ogre's power.
" But," continued the boy, " now that we have
arrived at the plain, I must leave you. Here, in
this scrip, is food and drink that you may need.
Stay here until night-fall, and then go forward in
the darkness to the rock which you see yonder.
Find some spot where you can mount. The rock
is polished, and the shoes of Ambition are useless
unless there is some roughness over which they
may travel. But there is no armor without a flaw,
and some part of the rock, if you look well, may
serve your turn."
So the boy left, and Try waited, concealed in the
wood, until night-fall, when he made his way to the
rock, which he reached at midnight, and finding
a hiding-place amid the low growth at the base
of the rock, he lay down, and slept until dawn.
As soon as it was light, Try arose and examined
the rock, and found it to be polished everywhere.
But after having gone nearly around it, he came to
a small crevice that extended to the top irregularly,
and in this crevice a huge ivy had clambered and
fixed itself Up this, Try readily made his way,
and so gained the top. .Arrived there, he seemed
to be no better off than before, for the walls had
apparently no opening but the great gate, and
there was a deep moat around the castle, and the
draw-bridge was up. So Try sat down under a pro-
jecting rock on the surface to consider.
As he sat there, he could sec the plain before
him, and over it there came a horseman. As he
rode nearer. Try could see that it was the old man,
mounted on a powerful charger, and bearing a staff
in his hand. This he brandished in the air, while
loudly defying the Ogre to single combat. But
the Ogre did not hear him, or was not disposed to
heed, for he did not come out, and after an hour
the old man rode away as he had come.
At high noon, there came a palfrey on which
the old woman sat. She rode up to the rock and
berated the Ogre soundly, calling him coward, and
a number of other offensive names, and daring
him to come and talk to her. But the Ogre did
not hear, or, hearing, only felt contempt, and so did
not leave his stronghold. The old woman, having
apparently exhausted her stock of words, and find-
ing no good to come of it all, went her way and
was seen no more.
Two hours later, there came some one on a
pony, and Try knew him for the boy he had left
in the forest. This new-comer had no weapons, but
he bore a small horn, and he kept sounding this in
a very contemptuous and insulting manner. It
appeared as if this excited the anger of the Ogre,
for the draw-bridge fell, the gates opened, and
the Ogre sallied out, and, as the draw-bridge rose
and the gate closed, he made his way to where
the brazen stairs lay coiled up and waiting for his
will to unroll them.
Try sprang forward, sword in hand, and assailed
the Ogre, who defended himself vigorously. He
was stout and strong, and cunning of fence ; but
the sword of Courage was too potent for him. Try
clove him in twain at a blow, and then turned to
enter the castle.
But here was a new difficulty. The moat was
impassable even to the shoes of Ambition ; the
necklace of Strength was useless where no grip
was to be had ; and the gate was too far off to
receive a blow from the sword of Courage. Try
wandered around, and for a while saw nothing but
the blank steel walls. At length he came to where
a projecting turret overhung the moat, and he saw
that it had one window guarded by steel bars.
Between these there peered a beautiful face, and
so he knew this was the prison of the princess.
As he stood there gazing upward, a ball to which
a cord was attached was thrown from the window,
and fell at his feet. Try pulled the cord, and a
silken ladder followed, the end of which he fast-
ened to the ground, and then he mounted. A few
blows with the sword of Courage, and the grating
was severed and fell inward. Try entered, and
knelt at the feet of the princess, who raised him
graciously.
Try had no more than time to take one glance
at the beautiful face of the lady, when the door of
the chamber was thrown open violently, and the
retainers of the Ogre, eager to avenge their master,
burst in and assailed him. But the sword of Cour-
age did its office. One by one, Try slew all his
antagonists, and then, leading the princess, he
352
THE THREE GIFTS.
[March,
' THE DOOR WAS THROWN OPEN VIOLENTLY, AND THE OGRE S RETAINERS BURST IN.
descended the stairs to the hall of the castle,
opened the gate, and lowered the draw-bridge.
They went out to the brazen stairs, that were rolled
up, but the spell of the dead Ogre still bound
TR\ ^ND THE PRINCESS WATCHED THE F^IR'i LNTL HE FADED FROM SIGHT.
them, and they could not be moved by the utmost
power which Try could exert. The young pair
stood at gaze, five hundred feet above the plain,
and unable to get down. The princess was as
much a prisoner as before, but with a companion
in misfortune. Try forgot about the mode of
scaling the rock, and that he might descend, safely
bearing the princess, by the way he came. The
beauty of Graceful dazed him.
Suddenly the princess remem-
bered, and bade Try go to the
dead body of the Ogre, and
remove the ring of Knowledge
from his finger, for that would
render all parts of the castle
obedient to his will ; had Try
known this earlier, he would
have gained entrance b)' means
of the draw-bridge and gate.
Try put on the ring, and, at his
wish, the great brazen stairs un-
rolled themselves and stretched
to the ground below. These
they descended, and found the
boy and the pony, and with him
were the horse and palfrey that
had been ridden by the old man
and the old woman. Try set
the princess upon the palfrey,
mounted the war-horse, and
turned to speak to the boy ; but
he and the pony were gone. In
their stead was a floating car to which three swans
were harnessed, and in it sat a lady of surpassing
beauty, clad in blue and gold.
"Try," said the lady, " I am the Fairy Friendly,
l883.)
THE THREE GIFTS.
353
who presided at thj- birth, and I have watched
over thee for years. I was tlie boy, and the old
man, and the old woman, and from me came the
three gifts. 1 have summoned hither the King
Mikron to receive his daugliter, and to bestow her
on thee in marriage. Thou hast been successful
because thou hast persevered. Go forth, meet the
king, and be happy."
Saying this, she smiled, the swans rose in air.
After they reached Wonderland, Try and Grace-
ful were married amid great rejoicing. During the
honeymoon, Try bethought him of his friend the
giant, and sent to inquire about him. He learned
that Doubtful had been obliged to sell his castle,
and that he and his serving-man were living upon
Try's few acres. Try at once sent for the giant,
who came at the summons. But Try, who had
been created prince, and was hailed as heir-pre-
TRY WELCOMES THE SHKUNKF.N' GIANT.
and the fairy was borne away in her car. The two
watched her until she faded from their sight, and
then rode forward to meet the king, whose knights
and men-at-arms were debouching into the plain,
while he galloped at great speed far in advance.
He received them both with tears of joy, and,
after the brazen stairs had been made immovable,
he placed a garrison in the castle in the name of
Try, whom he created Count of Castle Inaccessible.
sumptive, scarcely knew his friend. While Try
himself had grown so high that he lowered over
those around him, Doubtful had shrunk so in his
stature as to be little more than a dwarf
However, Try placed Doubtful near his person,
and when, some years after. King Mikron died, and
Try, with his Queen Graceful, ascended the throne,
he made him a great lord of his court, creating
him Baron Uncertain and Count Littlefellow.
354
A QUESTION OF COLOR.
[March,
A QUESTION OF COLOR.
By Nellie L. Tinkham.
■ Dear me ! " said Mrs. Strawberry Jam.
A-grovving very red,
' What a most unfortunate creature I am :
I can scarce hold up my head.
To think that I should live to see
An insult offered, like this, to mc !
That I should be placed on the very same
shelf
(Oh dear ! 1 hardly know myself)
By the side of that odious Blackberry Jam —
That vulgar, common, Blackberry Jam ! "
One morn there stopped at Dame Smither's fence
The parson, — to say that he might,
By the kind permission of Providence,
Take tea with her that night.
And the good old lady, blessing her lot,
Hastened to open her strawberry pot.
Oh, what a horrible mess! Dear — dear!
Not a berry fit to eat is here.
After all," putting it down with a slam,
' Nothing will keep like good Blackberry Jam,
Honest, reliable. Blackberry Jam."
So she fumed and fretted, hour by hour,
Growing less and less contented,
Till her temper became so thoroughly sour
That she at last fermented.
While Mr. Blackberry Jam kept still,
And let her have her say, —
Kept a quiet heart, as blackberries v/ill.
And grew sweeter every day.
Mrs. Strawberry J. went into the pail ;
Oh my — what a dire disgrace !
And the pig ate her up, with a twitch of his tail
And a troubled expression of face.
While Blackberry J., in a lovely glass dish.
Sat along with the bread and honey.
And thought, while happy as heart could wish,
"Well, things turn out very funny!"
'A QUEER BARBER-SHOP.
■8S3.J
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
555
THE HOOSIER SCHGOL-BOV.*
By Edward Eggleston.
Chapter X\'.
AN ATTF.MPr lO COLLECT.
^r^ liREE times ;i week the schol-
•^ arsof ihc "(Irccnbank Acad-
emy" met at the house of
Dr. Lanham to receive instruction from
Professor Susan, for the school trustees
could not agree on a new teacher.
Some of the people wanted one thing,
and some another ; a lady teacher was
advocated and opposed ; a young man,
an old man, a new-fashioned man, an
old-fashioned man, and no teacher at
all for the rest of the present year, so
as to save money, were projects that
found advocates. The division of opinion was so
great that the plan of no school at all was carried
because no other could be. So Susan's class went
on for a month, and grew to be quite a little
society, and then it came to an end.
One evening, when the lessons were finished.
Professor Susan said : "I am sorry to tell )ou that
this is the last lesson I can give."
And then they all said " .Aw-w-w-w-w ! " in a
melancholy way.
" I am going away to school, myself," Susan
went on. " My father thinks 1 ought to go to
Mr. Nilcs's school at Port William."
" I should n't think you 'd need to go any more,"
said Joanna Merwin. " 1 thought you knew
everything."
"Oh, bless me!" cried Susan.
In former days the people of the interior — the
Mississippi Valley — which used then to be called
" the West," were very desirous of education for
their children. But good teachers were scarce.
Ignorant and pretentious men, incompetent wan-
derers from New England, who had grown tired
of clock-peddling, or tin-peddling, and whose whole
stock was assurance, besides impostors of other
sorts, would get places as teachers because teach-
ers were scarce and there were no tests of fitness.
Now and then a retired Presbyterian minister from
Scotland or Pennsylvania, or a college graduate
from New England, would open a school in some
country town. Then people who could afford it
would send their children from long distances to
board near the school, and learn English grammar,
arithmetic, and, in some cases, a little Latin, or,
perhaps, to tit themselves for entrance to some of
the sturdy little country colleges already growing
up in that region. At Port William, in Kentucky,
there was at this time an old minister, Mr.
Niles, who really knew what he professed to teach,
and it was to his school that Dr. Lanham was now
about to send Susan ; Harvey Collins and Henry
Weathervane had already entered the school. But
for poor boys like Jack, and Bob HoUiday, and
Columbus, who had no money with which to pay
board, there seemed no chance.
The evening on which Susan's class broke up,
there was a long and anxious discussion between
Jack Dudley and his inother.
" You see. Mother, if 1 could get even two months
in Mr. Niles's school, I could learn some Latin, and
if I once get my fingers into Latin, it is like pick-
ing bricks out of a pavement ; if I once get a start,
I can dig it out myself. I am going to try to find
some way to attend that school."
But the mother only shook her head.
"Couldn't we move to Port William?" said
Jack.
" How could we.' Here we have a house of our
own, which could n't easily be rented. There we
should have to pay rent, and where is the money
to come from ? "
" Can't we collect something from Gray ?"
Again Mrs. Dudley shook her head.
But Jack resolved to try the hard-hearted debtor,
himself It was now four years since Jack's father
had been persuaded to release a mortgage in order
to relieve Francis Gray from financial distress.
Gray had promised to give other security, but his
promise had proved worthless. Since that time he
had made lucky speculations and was now a man
rather well off, but he kept all his property in
his wife's name, as scoundrels and fraudulent
debtors usually do. All that Jack and his mother
had to show for the one thousand dollars with four
years' interest due them, was a judgment against
Francis Gray, with the sheriff's return of "no
effects" on the back of the writ of execution
against the property "of the aforesaid Francis
Gray." For how could you get money out of a man
who was nothing in law but an agent for his wife ?
But Jack believed in his powers of persuasion,
and in the softness of the human heart. He had
never had to do with a man in whom the greed
for money had turned the heart to granite.
Two or three days later. Jack heard that Francis
* Copyright, i88i, by Edward Eggleston. All rights reserved.
356
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[March»
Gray, who lived in Louisville, had come to Green-
bank. Without consulting with his mother, lest
she should discourage him, Jack went in pursuit
of the slippery debtor. He had left town, however,
to see his fine farm, three miles away, a farm which
belonged in law to Mrs. Gray, but which belonged
of right to Francis Gray's creditors.
Jack found Mr. Gray well-dressed and of plausi-
ble manners. It was hard to speak to so fine a
gentleman on the subject of money. For a min-
ute. Jack felt like backing out. But then he con-
trasted his mother's pinched circumstances with
Francis Gray's abundance, and a little wholesome
anger came to his assistance. He remembered,
too, that his cherished projects for getting an edu-
cation were involved, and he mustered courage to
speak.
" Mr. Gray, my name is John Dudley."
Jack thought that there was a sign of annoy-
ance on Gray's face at this announcement.
" You borrowed a thousand dollars of my father
once, I believe."
" Yes, that is true. Your father was a good
friend of mine."
" He released a mortgage so that you could sell
a piece of property when you were in trouble."
" Yes, your father was a good friend to me.
I acknowledge that. I wish I had money enough
to pay that debt. It shall be the very first debt
paid when I get on my feet again, and I expect
to get on my feet, as sure as I live."
"But, you see, Mr. Gray, while my mother is
pinched for money, you have plenty."
" It's all Mrs. Gray's money. She has plent)'.
I have n't anything."
"But I want to go to school to Port William.
My mother is too poor to help me. If you could
let me have twenty-five dollars "
"But, you see, I can't. I have n't got twenty-
five dollars to my name, that I can control. But
by next New Year's I mean to pay your mother
the whole thousand that I owe her."
This speech impressed Jack a little, but remem-
bering how often Gray had broken such promises,
he said ;
" Don't you think it a little hard that you and
Mrs. Gray are well off, while my mother is so poor,
all because you wont keep your word given to
my father ? "
"But, you see, I have n't any money, excepting
what Mrs. Gray lets me have," said Mr. Gray.
" She seems to let you have what you want.
Don't you think, if you coaxed her, she would
lend you twenty-five dollars till New Year's, to help
me go to school one more term ? "
Francis Gray was a little stunned by this way
of asking it. For a moment, looking at the en-
treating face of the boy, he began to feel a dis-
position to relent a little. This was new and
strange for him. To pay twenty-five dollars that he
was not obliged by any self-interest to pay, would
have been an act contrary to all his habits and
to all the business maxims in which he had schooled
himself Nevertheless, he fingered his papers a
minute in an undecided way, and then he said
that he could n't do it. If he began to pay cred-
itors in that way " it would derange his business."
" But," urged Jack, " think how much my father
deranged his business to oblige you, and now you
rob me of my own money, and of my chance to
get an education."
Mr. Gray was a little ruffled, but he got up
and went out of the room. When Jack looked
out of the window a minute later. Gray was riding
away down the road without so much as bidding
the troublesome Jack good-morning.
There was nothing for Jack to do but to return
to town and make the best of it. But all the way
back, the tired and discouraged boy felt that his
last chance of becoming an educated man had
vanished. He told his mother about his attempt on
Mr. Gray's feelings and of his failure. They dis-
cussed the matter the whole evening, and could
see no chance for Jack to get the education he
wanted.
" 1 mean to die a-tr>'ing," said Jack, doggedly,
as he went off to bed.
Chapter XVI.
.\N EXPLORING EXPEDITION.
SHE next day but one, there came a letter
^ to Mrs. Dudley that increased her per-
plexity.
" Your Aunt Hannah is sick," she
said to Jack, " and I must go to take
care of her. 1 don't know what to do
with you."
" I '11 go to Port William to school,"
said Jack. " See if I don't."
"How? " asked his mother. " We
don't know a soul on that side of the
river. You could n't make any arrangement."
"May be I can," said Jack. "Bob Holliday
used to live on the Indiana side, opposite Port
William. I mean to talk with him."
Bob was setting onions in one of the onion-
patches which abounded about Greenbank, and
which were, from March to July, the principal
sources of pocket-money to the boys. Jack thought
best to wait until the day's work was finished.
Then he sat, where Greenbank boys were fond of
sitting, on the sloping top-board of a broad fence.
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
357
and told his friend Bob of his eager desire to go
to Port William.
" 1 'd like to go, too," said Bob. " This is the
last year's schooling I 'm to have."
" Don't you know any house, or any place,
where we could keep ' bach ' together ? "
" W'y, yes," said Bob, "if you did n't mind
rowing across the river every day, I 've got a skiff,
and there 's the old hewed-log house on the In-
dianny side where we used to live. A body might
stay as long as he pleased in that house, I guess.
Judge Kane owns it, and he 's one of the best-
hearted men in the country."
'•It 's eight miles down there," said Jack.
"Only seven if you go by water," said Bob.
" Let 's put out to-morry morning early. Let's go
in the skiff: we can row and cordellc it up the river
again, though it is a job."
Bright and early, the boys started down the river,
rowing easily with the strong, steady current of the
Ohio, holding their way to Judge Kane's, whose
house was over against Port William. This Judge
Kane was an intelligent and wealthy farmer, liked
by evcrybod)-. He was not a lawyer, but had once
held the office of " associate judge," and hence
the title, which suited his grave demeanor. He
looked at the two boys out of his small, gray, kindly
eyes, hardly ever speaking a word. He did not
immediately answer when they asked permission to
occupy the old, unused log-house, but got them to
talk about their plans, and watched them closely.
Then he took them out to see his bees. He showed
them his ingenious hives and a bcc-house which
he had built to keep out the moths by drawing
chalk-lines about it, for over these lines the wing-
less grub of the moth could not crawl. Then he
showed them a glass hive, in which all the proc-
esses of the bees' housekeeping could be obscr\'ed.
After that, he took the boys to the old log-house, and
pointed out some holes in the roof that would have
to be fixed. And even then he did not give them
any answer to their rct|ucst, but told them to stay
to dinner and he would see about it, all of which
was rather hard on boyish impatience. They had
a good dinner of fried chicken and biscuits and
honey, served in the neatest manner by the motherly
Mrs. Kane. Then the Judge suggested that they
ought to see Mr. Niles about taking them into the
school. So his skiff was launched, and he rowed
with them across the river, which is here about a
mile wide, to Port William. Here he introduced
them to Mr. Niles, an elderly man, a Httle bent,
and a little positive in his tone, as is the habit of
teachers, but with true kindness in his manner.
The boys had much pleasure at recess time in
greeting their old school-mates, Harvey Collins,
Henry Weathervane, and, above all, Susan Lan-
ham, whom they called Professor. These three
took a sincere interest in the plans of Bob and
Jack, and Susan spoke a good word for them to Mr.
Niles, who, on his part, oflfered to give Jack Latin
without charging him anything more than the
rates for scholars in the English branches. Then
they rowed back to Judge Kane's landing, where he
told them they could have the house without rent,
and that they could get slabs and other waste at his
little saw-mill to fix up the cracks. Then he made
kindly suggestions as to the furniture they should
bring — mentioning a lantern, an ax, and various
other articles necessary for a camp life. They
bade him good-bye at last, and started home, now
rowing against the current and now cordelling
along the river shore, when they grew tired of
rowing. In cordelling, one sits in the skiff and
steers, while the other walks on the shore, drawing
the boat by a rope over the shoulders. The work
of rowing and cordelling was hard, but they car-
ried light and hopeful hearts. Jack was sure now
that he should overcome all obstacles and get a
good education. As for Bob, he had no hope higher
than that of worrying through vulgar fractions
before settling down to hard work.
Chapter .XVII.
HOUSEKEEPINO EXPERIENCES.
^^)la^(^K Rs. Dudley having gone to Cin-
\'>JS7^aR M .7" cinnati the next day to attend her
sister who was ill. Jack was left to
make his arrangements for house-
keeping with Bob. Each of the
boys took two cups, two saucers,
two plates, and two knives and forks.
Things were likely to get lost or broken,
and therefore they provided duplicates.
_^ Besides, they might have company to dinner
CS some day, and, moreover, they would need
the extra dishes to "hold things," as Jack expressed
it. They took no tumblers, but each was provided
with a tin cup. I5ob remembered the lantern, and
Jack put in an ax. They did not take much food;
they could buy that, of farmers in Port William.
They got a "gang," or, as they called it, a "trot-
line," to lay down in the river for catfish, perch,
and shovel-nose sturgeon, for there was no game-
law then. Bob provided an iron pot to cook the
fish in, and Jack a frying-pan and tea-kettle. Their
bedding consisted of an empty tick, to be filled
with straw in Judge Kane's barn, some equally
empty pillow-ticks, and a pair of brown sheets and
two blankets. But, with one thing and another,
the skiff was well loaded.
558
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[MARCHr
A good many boys stood on the bank as they
embarked, and among" them was Columbus, who
had a fcchng that his best friends were about
to desert him, and who would gladly have been
one of the party if he could have afforded the
expense.
In the little crowd which watched the embarka-
tion was Hank Rathbone, an old hunter and
pioneer, who made several good suggestions about
their method of loading the boat.
" But where 's your stove ?" he asked.
"Stove?" said Bob. "We can't take a stove
in this thing. There 's a big old fire-place in the
house that '11 do to cook by."
" But hot weather 's comin' soon," said old
Hank, " and then you '11 want to cook out in the
air, I reckon. Besides, it takes a power of wood
for a fire-place. If one of you will come along with
me to the tin-shop, I '11 have a stove made for you,
of the best paytent-right sort, that '11 go into a
skiff, and that wont weigh more 'n three or four
pounds and wont cost but about two bits."
Jack readily agreed to buy as good a thing as a
stove for twenty-five cents, and so he went with
Hank Rathbone to the tin-shop, stopping to get
some iron on the way. Two half-inch round rods
of iron five feet long were cut and sharpened at
each end. Then the ends were turned down so as
to make on each rod two pointed legs of eighteen
inches in length, and thus
leave two feet of the rod
for a horizontal piece.
" Now," said the old
hunter, "you drive about
six inches of each leg into
the ground, and stand them
about a foot apart. Now
for a top."
For this he had a piece
of sheet-iron cut out two
feet long and fourteen
inches wide, with a round
kettle-hole near one end.
The edges of the long sides
of the sheet-iron were bent down to fit over the
rods.
"Lay that over your rods," said Hank, "and
you 've got a stove two foot long, one foot high,
and more than one foot wide, and you can build
your fire of chips, instid of logs. You can put
your tea-kittle, pot, pipkin, griddle, skillet, or grid-
iron on to the hole " — the old man eyed it admir-
ingly. "It 's good for b'ilin', fryin', or brilin',
and all fer two bits. They aint many young couples
gits set up as cheap as that ! "
An hour and a half of rowing down-stream
brought the boys to the old cabin. The life there
OLD HANK S PLAN FOR
A STOVE.
involved more hard work than they had ex-
pected. Notwithstanding Jack's experience in
helping his mother, the baking of corn-bread, and
the frying of bacon or fish, were difficult tasks,
and both the boys had red faces when supper was
on the table. But, as time wore on, they became
skillful, and though the work was hard, it was done
patiently and pretty well. Between cooking, and
cleaning, and fixing, and getting wood, and rowing
to school and back, there was not a great deal of
time left for study out of school, but Jack made a
beginning in Latin, and Bob perspired quite as
freely over the addition of fractions as o\cr the
frying-pan.
They rarely had recreation, excepting that of
taking the fish off their trot-line in the morning,
when there were any on it. Once or twice they
allowed themselves to visit an Indian mound or
burial-place on the summit of a neighboring hill,
where idle boys and other loungers had dug up
many bones and thrown them down the declivity.
Jack, who had thoughts of being a doctor, made
an effort to gather a complete Indian skeleton, but
the dry bones had become too much mixed up.
He could not get any three bones to fit together,
and his man, as he tried to put him together, was
the most miscellaneous creature imaginable, —
neither man, woman, nor child. Bob was a little
afraid to have these human ruins stored under the
house, lest he might some night see a ghost with
war-paint and tomahawk; but Jack, as became a
boy of scientific tastes, pooh-poohed all supersti-
tions or sentimental considerations in the matter.
He told Bob that, if he should ever see the ghost
which that frame-work belonged to, it would be
the ghost of the whole Shawnee tribe, for there
were nearly as many individuals represented as
there were bones in the skeleton.
The one thing that troubled Jack was that he
could n't get rid of the image of Columbus as they
had seen him when they left Greenbank, standing
sorrowfully on the river bank. The boys often
debated between themselves how they could man-
age to have him one of their party, but they were
both too poor to pay the small tuition fees, though
his board would not cost much. They could not
see any way of getting over the difficulty, but they
talked with Susan about it, and Susan took hold
of the matter in her fashion by writing to her
father on the subject.
The result of her energetic effort was that one
afternoon, as they came out of school, when the lit-
tle packet-steamer was landing at the wharf, who
should come ashore but Christopher Columbus, in
his best but threadbare clothes, tugging away at
an old-fashioned carpet-bag, which was too much
for him to carry. Bob seized the carpet-bag and
iSSi.]
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
359
almost lifted the dignified little lad himself off his
feet in his joyful welcome, while Jack, finding
nothing else to do, stood still and hurrahed. They
soon had the dear little spindle-shanks and his
great carpet-bag stowed away in the skiff. As they
rowed to the north bank of the river, Columbus
explained how Dr. Lanham had undertaken to pay
his expenses, if the boys would take him into
partnership, but he said he was 'most afraid to
come, because he could n't chop wood, and he
was n't good for much in doing the work.
" Never mind, honey," said Bob. " Jack and
I don't care whether you work or not. You are
worth your keep, any time."
" Yes," said Jack, "we even tried hard yester-
day to catch a young owl to make a pet of, but we
could n't get it. You see, we're so lonesome."
" I suppose I '11 do for a pet owl, wont 1 ?" said
little Columbus, with a strange and quizzital smile
on his meager face. And as he sat there in the
boat, with his big head and large eyes, the name
seemed so appropriate that Bob and Jack both
laughed outright.
But the Pet Owl made himself useful in some
ways. 1 am sorry to say that the housekeeping
of Bob and Jack had not always been of the
tidiest kind. They were boys, and they were in a
hurry. But Columbus had the tastes of a girl about
a house. He did not do any cooking or chopping
to speak of, but he fixed up. He kept the house
neat, cleaned the candlestick every morning, and
washed the windows now and then, and as spring
advanced he brought in handfuls of wild flowers.
The boys declared that they had never felt at Iiome
in the old house until the Pet Owl came to be its
mistress. He would n't let anything be left around
out of place, but all the pots, pans, dishes, coats,
hats, books, slates, the lantern, the boot-jack, and
other slender furniture were put in order before
school time, so that when they got back in the
afternoon the place was inviting and home-like.
When Judge Kane and his wife stopped during
their Sunday-afternoon stroll, to see how the lads
got on, Mrs. Kane praised their housekeeping.
"That is all the doings of the Pet Owl," said
Bob.
" Pet Owl ? Have you one ?" asked Mrs. Kane.
The boys laughed, and Bob explained that
Columbus was the pet.
That evening, the boys had a box of white honey
for supper, sent over by Mrs. Kane, and the next
Saturday afternoon Jack and Bob helped Judge
Kane finish planting his corn-field.
One unlucky day, Columbus discovered Jack's
box of Indian bones under the house, and he turned
pale and had a fit of shivering for a long time
afterward. It was nccessarv to move the box into
an old stable to quiet his shuddering horror. The
next Sunday afternoon, the Pet Owl came in with
another fit of terror, shivering as before.
" What 'b the matter now. Lummy? " said Jack.
" Have you seen any more Indians?"
" Pcwec and his crowd have gone up to the In-
dian Mound," said Columbus.
" Well, let 'em go," said Bob. " I suppose they
know the way, don't they? I should like to see
them. 1 've been so long away from Greenbank
that even a yellow dog from there would be wel-
come."
Chapter XVIII.
GHOSTS.
•ACK and Bob had to amuse Colum-
bus with stories, to divert his mind
from the notion that Pewee and
his party meant them some harm.
The Indian burying-ground was
not an uncommon place of resort
on Sundays for loafers and idlers, and now and
then parties came from as far as Greenbank, to
have the pleasure of a ride and the amusement
of digging up Indian relics from the cemetery
on the hill. This hill-top commanded a view of
the Ohio River for many miles in both direc-
tions, and of the Kentucky River, which emptied
into the Ohio just opposite. I do not know
whether the people who can find amusement in
digging up bones and throwing them down-hill
enjoy scenery or not, but 1 have heard it urged
that even some dumb animals, as horses, enjoy a
landscape, and I once knew a large dog, in Switz-
erland, who would sit enchanted for a long time
on the brink of a mountain cliff, gazing off
at the lake below. It is only fair to suppose,
therefore, that even these idle diggers in Indian
mounds had some pleasure in looking from a hill-
top ; at any rate, they were fond of frequenting this
one. Pewee, and Riley, and Ben Berry, and two
or three others of the same feather, had come down
on this Sunday to see the Indian Mound and to
find any other sport that might lie in their
reach. When thej had dug up and thrown away
down the steep hill-side enough bones to satisfy
their jackal proclivities, they began to cast about
them for some more exciting diversion. As there
were no water-melon patches nor orchards to be
robbed at this season of the year, they decided to
have an egg-supper, and then to wait for the moon
to rise after midnight before starting to row and
cordcUe their two boats up the river again to Green-
bank. The fun of an egg-supper to Pewee's party
consisted not so much in the eggs as in the man-
.360
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[March,
Tier of getting them. Every nest in Judge Kane's
chicken-house was rummaged that night, and Mrs.
Kane found next day that all the nest-eggs were
gone, and that one of her young hens was missing
also.
About dark, little Allen Mackay, a round-bodied,
plump-faced, jolly fellow who lived near the place
where the skiffs were landed, and who had spent the
afternoon at the Indian Mound, came to the door
of the old log-house.
" I wanted to say that you fellows have always
done the right thing by me. You 've set me acrost
oncet or twicet, and you 've always been 'clever' to
me, and 1 don't want to see no harm done you.
You 'd better look out to-night. They 's some
chaps from Greenbank down here, and they 're in
for a frolic, and somebody's hen-roost '11 suffer, I
guess ; and they don't like you boys, and they
talked about routing you out to-night."
"Thank you," said Jack.
"Let 'em rout," said Bob.
But the poor little Pet Owl was all in a cold
shudder again.
About eleven o'clock. King Pewee's party had
picked the last bone of Mrs. Kane's chicken. It was
yet an hour and a half before the moon would be
up, and there was time for some fun. Two boys
from the neighborhood, who had joined the party,
agreed to furnish dough-faces for them all. Nothing
more ghastly than masks of dough can well be
imagined, and when the boys all put them on, and
had turned their coats wrong-side out, they were
almost afraid of one another.
" Now," said Riley, " Pewee will knock at the
door, and when they come with their lantern or
candle, we '11 all rush in and howl like Indians."
" How do Indians howl?" asked Ben Berry.
" Oh, any way — like a dog or a wolf, you know.
And then they '11 be scared to death, and we '11 just
pitch their beds, and dishes, and everything else
out of the door, and show them how to clean
house."
Riley did n't know that Allen Mackay and Jack
Dudley, hidden in the bushes, heard this speech,
nor that Jack, as soon as he had heard the plan,
crept away to tell Bob at the house what the enemy
proposed to do.
As the crowd neared the log-house, Riley pru-
dently fell to the rear, and pushed Pewee to the
front. There was just the faintest whitening of
the sky from the coming moon, but the large
apple-trees in front of the log-house made it very
dark, and the dough-face crowd were obliged
almost to feel their way as they came into the
shadow of these trees. Just as Riley was exhort-
ing Pewee to knock at the door, and the whole
party was tittering at the prospect of turning Bob,
Jack, and Columbus out of bed and out of doors,
they all stopped short and held their breaths.
" Good gracious ! Julius Cjesar ! sakes alive ! "
whispered Riley. "What — wh — what is that ? "
Nobody ran. All stood as though frozen in their
places. For out from behind the comer of the
house came slowly a skeleton head. It was ablaze
inside, and the light shone out of all the openings.
The thing had no feet, no hands, and no body. It
actually floated through the air, and now and then
joggled and danced a little. It rose and fell, but
still came nearer and nearer to the attacking party
of dough-faces, who for their part could not guess
that Bob Holliday had put a lighted candle into an
Indian's skull, and then tied this ghost's lantern to
a wire attached to the end of a fishing-rod, which
he operated from behind the house.
Pewee's party drew close together, and Riley
whispered hoarsely :
"The house is ha'nted."
Just then the hideous and fiery death's-head
made a circuit, and swung, grinning, into Riley's
face, who could stand no more, but broke into a
full run toward the river. At the same instant.
Jack tooted a dinner-horn, Judge Kane's big dog
ran barking out of the log-house, and the enemy
were routed like the Midianites before Gideon.
Their consternation was greatly increased at find-
ing their boats gone, for Allen Mackay had towed
them into a little creek out of sight, and hidden
the oars in an elder thicket. Riley and one of the
others were so much afraid of the ghost that
' ' ha'nted " the old house, that they set out straight-
way for Greenbank, leaving their boats. Pewee
and the others searched everywhere for their boats,
and at last sat down and waited for daylight.
Just as day was breaking. Bob Holliday came down
to the river with a towel, as though for a morning
bath. Very accidentally, of course, he came upon
Pewee and his party, all tired out, sitting on the
bank in hope that day might throw some light on
the fate of their boats.
" Hello, Pewee! You here? What 's the mat-
ter ? " said Bob, with feigned surprise.
" Some thief took our skiffs. We 've been look-
ing for them all night, and can't find them."
"That's curious," said Bob, sitting down and
leaning his head on his hand. "■ Where did you
get supper last night ?"
"Oh ! we brought some with us."
"Look here, Pewee, I '11 bet I can find your
boats."
"How?"
" You give me money enough among you to pay
for the eggs and the chicken you had for supper,
and I 'II find out who hid your boats and where the
oars are, and it '11 all be square."
iSSi.]
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOV.
?6l
Pcwee was now sure that the boat had been " Why?" asked Jack,
laken as indemnity for the chicken and the eggs. "Because," said Pewee, "I 've heard tell that
He made every one of the party contribute some- it is ha'nted."
thing until he had collected what Bob thought "' C;hosts are n't anything when you get used to
sufficient to pay for the stolen things, and Bob them," said Jack. " We don't mind them at all."
took it and went up and found Judge Kane, who "Don't you?" said Pewee, who w;is now rowing
had just risen, and left the money with him. against the current.
Then he made a circuit to Allen Mackay's, waked "No." said Bob, " nur dough-faces neither."
" THE LANDING Ot
him up, and got the oars, which they put into the
boats ; and pushing these out of their hiding-
place, they rowed them into the river, deli\ering
them to Pewee and compan\-, who took them
gratefully. Jack and Columbus had now made
their appearance, and as Pewee got into his boat,
he thought to repay Bob's kindness with a little
advice.
"I say, if I was you fellers, you know, I would n't
stay in that old cabin a single night."
Vol. IX.— 24.
Even Pewec's dull mind began to guess that Bob
and Jack were well acquainted with ghosts, and
might know where they came from.
ClLMTEK .XIX.
TH1-; UlilUR.V HOME.
.■\.s Mr. Niles'S school-term drew to a close,
the nvo boys began to think of their future.
362
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY
[March,
" I expect to work with my hands, Jack," said
Bob; "I haven't got a head for books, as you
have. But I 'd hke to know a leetle more before
I settle down. I wish I could make enough at
something to be able to go to school next winter."
" If I only had your strength and size, Bob,
I 'd go to work for somebody as a farmer. But
I have more than myself to look after. I must
help Mother after this term is out. 1 must get
something to do, and then learning will be slow
business. They talk about Ben Franklin studying
at night and all that, but it 's a little hard on a
fellow who has n't the constitution of a Franklin.
Still, I 'm going to have an education, by hook or
crook."
At this point in the conversation. Judge Kane
came in. As usual, he said little, but he got the
boys to talk about their own affairs.
" When do you go home? " he asked.
" Next Friday evening, when school is out," said
Jack.
" .'\nd what are you going to do ? " he asked of
Bob.
"Get some work this summer, and then try to
get another winter of schooling next year," was the
answer.
" What kind of work ? "
" Oh, I can farm better than I can do anything
else," said Bob. " And 1 like it, too."
And then Judge Kane drew from Jack a full
account of his affairs, and particularly of the debt
due from Gray, and of his interview with Gray.
"If you could get a few hundred dollars, so as
to make jour mother feel easy for a while, living as
she does in her own house, you could go to school
next winter."
" Yes, and then I could get on after that, some-
how, by myself, 1 suppose," said Jack. " But the
few hundred dollars is as much out of my reach as
a million would be, and my father used to say that
it was a bad thing to get into the way of figuring
on things that we could never reach."
The Judge sat still, and looked at Jack out of his
half-closed gray eyes for a minute in silence.
" Come up to the house with me," he said,
rising.
Jack followed him to the house, where the Judge
opened his desk and took out a red-backed memo-
randum-book, and dictated while Jack copied in
his own handwriting the description of a piece
of land on a slip of paper.
" If you go over to school, to-morrow, an hour
earlier than usual," he said. " call at the county
clerk's office, show him your memorandum, and
find out in whose name that land stands. It is
timber-land five miles back, and worth five hun-
dred dollars. When you get the name of the
owner, you will know what to do; if not, you can
ask me, but you 'd better not mention my name to
anybody in this matter."
Jack thanked Mr. Kane, but left him feeling
puzzled. In fact, the farmer-judge seemed to like
to puzzle people, or at least he never told anything
more than was necessary.
The next morning, the boys were off early to
Port William. Jack wondered if the land might
belong to his father, but then he was sure his
father never had any land in Kentucky. Or, was
it the property of some dead uncle or cousin, and
was he to find a fortune, like the hero of a cheap
story ? But when the county clerk, whose office it
is to register deeds in that county, took the little
piece of paper, and after scanning it, took down
some great deed-books and mortgage-books, and
turned the pages awhile, and then wrote " Francis
Gray, owner, no incumbrance," on the same slip
with the description. Jack had the key to Mr.
Kane's puzzle.
It was now Thursday forenoon, and Jack was
eager on all accounts to get home, especially to see
the lawyer in charge of his father's claim against
Mr. Gray. So the next day at noon, as there was
nothing left but the closing exercises, the three
boys were excused, and bade good-bye to their
teacher and school-mates, and rowed back to their
own side of the river. They soon had the skiff
loaded, for all three were eager to see the folks at
Greenbank. Jack's mother had been at home more
than a week, and he was the most impatient of the
three. But they could not leave without a good-bye
to Judge Kane and his wife, to which good-bye
they .added a profusion of bashful boyish thanks for
kindness received. The Judge walked to the boat-
landing with them. Jack began to tell him about
the land.
" Don't say anything about it to me, nor to any-
body else but your lawyer," said Mr. Kane; "and
do not mention my name. You may say to your
lawjer that the land has just changed hands, and
the matter must be attended to soon. It wont
stand exposed in that way long. "
When the boys were in the boat ready to start,
Mr. Kane said to Bob :
" You w-ould n't mind working for me this sum-
mer at the regular price ? "
"I 'd like to," said Bob.
" How soon can you come? "
" Next Wednesday evening."
"I '11 expect you," said the Judge, and he turned
away up the bank, with a slight nod and a curt
•' Good-bye," while Bob said; "What a curious
man he is ! "
" Yes, and as good as he 's curious," added Jack.
It was a warm day for rowing, but the boys were
iSSl.)
THE HOOSIliR SCHOOL-HOY.
3^3
both a little homesick. Under the shelter of a
point where the current was not too strong the
two rowed and made fair headway, sometimes
encountering an eddy which ga\je them a lift.
But whenever the current set strongly toward their
side of the river, and whenever they found it neces-
sar)' to round a point, one of them would leap out
on the pebbly beach and, throwing the boat-rope
over his shoulder, set his strength against the
stream. The rope, or cordclle, — a word that has
come down from the first French travelers and
traders in the great valley, — was tied to the row-
locks. It was necessary for one to steer in the
stern while the other played tow-horse, so that
e.ich h.ad his turn at rest and at work. After three
hours' toil, the wharf-boat of the village was in
sight, and all sorts of familiar objects gladdened
their hearts. They reached the landing, and then,
laden with things, they hurriedly cut across the
commons to their homes.
As soon as Jack's first greeting with his mother
was over, she told him that she thought she might
afford him one more quarter of school.
"No," said Jack, "you 've pinched yourself
long enough for me; now it 's time I should go to
work. If you tr)' to squeeze out another quarter of
school for me you '11 have to suffer for it. Besides,
1 don't see how you can do it, unless Gray comes
down, and 1 think I have now in my pocket some-
thing that will make him come down." And
Jack's face brightened at the thought of the slip of
paper in the pocket of his roundabout.
Without obscr\'ing the last remark, nor the evident
elation of Jack's feelings, Mrs. Dudley proceeded
to tell him that she had been offered a hundred
and twenty dollars for her claim against Gray.
" Who offered it ? " asked Jack.
" Mr. Tinkham, (Jray's agent. May be Gray
is buying up his own debts, feeling tired of hold-
ing property in somebody else's name."
" A hundred and twenty dollars for a thousand !
The rascal ! I would n't take it," broke out Jack,
impetuously.
" That 's just the way I feel. Jack. I 'd rather
wait forever, if it was n't for your education. I can't
afford to have you lose that. I 'm to give an an-
swer this evening."
" We wont do it," said Jack. " I 've got a mem-
orandum here." and he took the slip of paper from
his pocket and unfolded it, " that 'II bring more
money out of him than that. I 'm going to see
Mr. Beal at once."
Mrs. Dudley looked at the paper without under-
standing just what it was, and, without giving her
any further explanation, but only a warning to
secrecy. Jack made off to the lawyer's office.
" Where did you get this?" asked Mr. Beal.
" I promised not to mention his name — I mean
the name of the one who gave me that. I went to
the clerk's office with tlie description, and the clerk
wrote the words ' Francis Gray, owner, no incum-
brance.' "
" I wish I had had it sooner," said the lawyer.
" It will be best to have our judgment recorded
in that county to-morrow," he continued. " Could
you go down to Port William ?"
"Yes, sir," said Jack, a little reluctant to go
back. "I could if I must."
" I don't think the mail will do," added Mr. Beal.
"This thing came just in time. We should have
sold the claim to-night. This land ought to fetch
five hundred dollars."
Mr. Tinkham, agent for Francis Gray, was much
disappointed that night when Mrs. Dudley refused
to sell her claim against Gray.
" You '11 never get anything any other way," he
said.
" Perhaps not, but wc 've concluded to wait,"
said Mrs. Dudley. " We can't do much worse if
we get nothing at all."
After a moment's reflection, Mr. Tinkham said :
" I '11 do a little better by you, Mrs. Dudley.
I '11 give you a hundred and fifty. That 's the very
best I can do."
" I will not sell the claim at present," said Mrs.
Dudley. " It is of no use to offer."
It would have been better if Mrs. Dudley had
not spoken so positively. Mr. Tinkham was set
a-thinking. Why would n't the widow sell { Why
had she changed her mind since yesterday ? Why
did Mr. Beal, the lawyer, not appear at the consulta-
tion ? AH these questions the shrewd little Tink-
ham asked himself, and all these questions he asked
of Francis Gray that evening.
CHAF'TER .\.\.
FOOT-RACE FOR MONEY.
^J KEY 'VE got wind of something," said
Mr. Tinkham to Mr. Gray, "or else
they are waiting for you to resume
payment, — or else the widow 's got
money from somewhere for her pres-
ent necessities."
" 1 don't know what hope they can have of get-
ting money out of me," said (iray, with a laugh.
" I 've tangled everything up, so that Beal can't
find a thing to levy on. I have but one piece
of property exposed, and that 's not in this State."
■' Where is it ' " asked Tinkham.
" It 's in Kentucky, five miles back of Port Will-
iam. I took it last week in a trade, and I have n't
yet made up my mind what to do with it. "
364
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY
[March,
"That 's the very thing," said Tinkham, with
his little face drawn to a point, — "the very thing.
Mrs. Dudley's son came home from Port Wilham
yesterday, where he has been at school. They 'vc
heard of that land, I 'm afraid ; for Mrs. Dudley is
very positive that she will not sell the claim at any
price."
"1 '11 make a mortgage to my brother on that
land, and send it off from the mail-boat as I go
down to-morrow," said Gray.
"That '11 be too late," said Tinkham. " Beal
will have his judgment recorded as soon as the
packet gets there. You 'd better go by the
packet, get off, and see the mortgage recorded
yourself, and then take the mail-boat."
To this. Gray agreed, and the ne.xt day, when
Jack went on board the packet " Swiftsure," he
found Mr. Francis Gray going aboard also. Mr.
Beal had warned Jack that he must not let anybody
from the packet get to the clerk's office ahead of
him, — that the first paper deposited for record would
take the land. Jack wondered why Mr. Francis
Gray was aboard the packet, which went no far-
ther than Madison, while Mr. Gray's home was in
Louisville. He soon guessed, however, that Gray
meant to land at Port William, and so to head
him off. Jack looked at Mr. Gray's form, made
plump by good feeding, and felt safe. He could n't
be very dangerous in a foot-race. Jack reflected
with much hopefulness that no boy in school could
catch him in a straight-away run when he was fox.
He would certainly leave the somewhat puffy Mr.
Francis Gray behind.
But in the hour's run down the river, including
two landings at Minuit's and Craig's, Jack had
time to remember that Francis Gray was a cunning
man, and might head him off by some trick or
other. A \'ague fear took possession of him, and
he resolved to be first off the boat before any pre-
text could be invented to stop him.
Meantime, Francis Gray had looked at Jack's
lithe legs with apprehension. " I can never beat
that boy," he had reflected. "My running days
are over." Finding among the deck passengers
a young fellow who looked as though he needed
money, Gray approached him with this question:
" Do you belong in Port William, young man ?"
" 1 don't belong nowhere else, I reckon," an-
swered the seedy fellow, with shuffling impudence.
"Do you know where the county clerk's office
is ? " asked Mr. Gray.
"Yes, and the market-house. I can show you
the way to the jail, too, if you want to know, but
I s'pose you 've been there many a time," laughed
the " wharf- rat."
Gray was irritated at this rudeness, but he swal-
lowed his anger.
" Would you like to make five dollars ? "
"Now you're talkin' interestin'. Why did n't
you begin at that eend of the subjick? 1 'd like
to make five dollars as well as the next feller, pro-
vided it is n't to be made by too much awful hard
work."
" Can you run well ? "
" If they 's money at t' other eend of the race
1 can run like sixty fir a spell. 'T aint my com-
mon gait, howsumever."
" If you '11 take this paper," said Gray, "and
get it to the county clerk's office before anybody
else gets there from this boat, 1 '11 give you five
dollars."
" Honor bright ? " asked the chap, taking the
paper, drawing a long breath, and looking as
though he had discovered a gold mine.
" Honor bright," answered Gray. " You must
jump off first of all, for there 's a boy aboard that
will beat you if he can. No pay if you don't win."
" Which is the one that '11 run ag'in' me ? " asked
the long-legged fellow.
Gray described Jack, and told the young man to
go out forward and he would see him. Gray was
not willing to be seen with the " wharf-rat," lest
suspicions should be awakened in Jack Dudley's
mind. But after the shabby young man had gone
forward and looked at Jack, he came back with a
doubtful air.
" That 's Hoosier Jack, as we used to call him,"
said the shabby young man. " He an' two more
used to row a boat acrost the river every day to go
to ole Niles's school. He 's a hard one to beat, —
they say he used to lay the whole school out on
prisoners' base, and that he could leave 'em all
behind on fox."
" You think you can't do it, then?" asked Gray.
" Gimme a little start and I reckon I '11 fetch it.
It 's up-hill part of the way and he may lose his
w-ind, for it 's a good half-mile. You must make a
row with him at the gang-plank, er do somethin' to
kinder hold him back. The wind 's down stream
to-day, and the boat 's shore to swing in a little aft.
I '11 jump for it and you keep him back."
To this. Gray assented.
As the shabby young fellow had predicted, the
boat did swing around in the wind, and have some
trouble in bringing her bow to the wharf-boat.
The captain stood on the hurricane-deck calling to
the pilot to "back her," "stop her," "go ahead
on her," " go ahead on yer labberd," and " back on
yer stabberd." Now, just as the captain was back-
ing the starboard wheel and going ahead on his
larboard, so as to bring the boat around r^ght, Mr.
Gray turned on Jack.
"What are you treading on my toes for, you
impudent young rascal?" he broke out.
1 882. J
THE IIOOSIKR SCHOOL-BOY.
365
Jack colored and was about to reply sharply,
when he caught sight of the shabby young fellow,
who just then leaped from the gunwale of the boat
amidships and barely reached the wharf. Jack
guessed why Gray had tried to irritate him, — he
saw that the well-known "wharf-rat" was to be his
competitor. But what could he do? The wind
held the bow of the boat out, the gang-plank
which had been pushed out ready to reach the
wharf-boat was still firmly grasped by the deck-
hands, and the farther end of it was six feet from
the wharf, and much above it. It would be ten
minutes before any one could leave the boat in the
regular way. There was only one chance to defeat
the rascally Gray. Jack concluded to take it.
He ran out upon the plank amidst the harsh
cries of the deck-hands, who tried to stop him, and
the oaths of the mate, who thundered at him, with
the stern order of the captain from the upper deck,
who called out to him to go back.
Hut, luckily, the steady pulling ahead of the lar-
board engine, and the backing of the starboard,
began just then to bring the boat around, the plank
sank down a little under Jack's weight, and Jack
made the leap to the wharf, hearing the confused
cries, orders, oaths, and shouts from behind him,
as he pushed through the crowd.
"Stop that thief!" cried Francis Gray to the
people on the wharf-boat, but in vain. Jack glided
swiftly through the people, and got on shore before
anybody could check him. He charged up the hill
after the shabby young fellow, who had a decided
lead, while some of the men on the wharf-boat pur-
sued them both, uncertain which was the thief.
Such another pell-mell race Port William had
never seen. Windows flew up and heads went out.
Small boys joined the pursuing crowd, and dogs
barked indiscriminately and uncertainly at the
heels of everybody. There were cries of " Hurrah
for Long Ben !" and "Hurrah for Hoosier Jack! "
Some of Jack's old school-mates essayed to stop
him to find out what it was all about, but he would
not relax a muscle, and he had no time to answer
any questions. He saw the faces of the people
dimly ; he heard the crowd crying after him,
"Stop, thief"; he caught a glimpse of his old
teacher, Mr. Niles, regarding him with curiosity as
he darted by ; he saw an anxious look in Judge
Kane's face as he passed him on a street corner.
But Jack held his eyes on Long Ben, whom he
pursued as a dog docs a fox. He had steadily
gained on the fellow, but Ben had too much the
start, and, unless he should give out, there would
be little chance for Jack to overtake him. One
thinks quickly in such moments. Jack remem-
bered that there were two ways of reaching the
(To be co'i'
county clerk's office. To keep the street around
the block was the natural way, — to take an alley
through the square was neither longer nor shorter.
But by running down the alley he would deprive
Long Ben of the spur of seeing his pursuer,
and he might even make him think that Jack
had given out. Jack had played this trick when
playing hound and fox, and at any rate he
would by this turn shake off the crowd. So into
the alley he darted, and the bewildered pursuers
kept on crying "stop thief" after Long Ben, whose
reputation was none of the best. Somebody
ahead tried to catch the shabby young fellow, and
this forced Ben to make a slight curve, which gave
Jack the advantage, so that just as Ben neared the
office. Jack rounded a corner out of an alley, and
entered ahead of him, dashed up to the clerk's
desk and deposited the judgment.
"For record," he gasped.
The next instant the shabby young fellow pushed
forward the mortgage.
" Mine first ! " cried Long Ben.
" I 'II take yours when I get this entered," said
the clerk, quietly, as became a public officer.
" I got here first," said Long Ben.
But the clerk looked at the clock and entered
the date on the back of Jack's paper, putting "one
o'clock and eighteen minutes" after the date. Then
he wrote " one o'clock and nineteen minutes " on
the paper which Long Ben handed him. The
office was soon crowded with people discussing
the result of the race, and a part of them were
even now in favor of seizing one or the other of
the runners for a theft, which some said had been
committed on the packet, and others declared was
committed on the wharf-boat. Francis Gray came
in, and could not conceal his chagrin.
"I meant to do the fair thing by you," he said
to Jack, severely, "but now you'll never get a
cent out of me."
" I 'd rather have the law on men like you, than
have a thousand of your sort of fair promises,"
said Jack.
" I 've a mind to strike you," said Gray.
"The Kentucky law is hard on a man who
strikes a minor," said Judge Kane, who had en-
tered at that moment.
Mr. Niles came in to learn what was the matter,
and Judge Kane, after listening quietly to the talk
of the people, until the excitement subsided, took
Jack o\'Cr to his house, whence the boy walked
home that evening, full of hopefulness.
Gray's land realized as much .is Mr. Bcal ex-
pected, and Jack studied Latin hard, all summer,
so as to get as far ahead as possible by the time
school should begin in the autumn.
iiftiied. )
366
MEN-AND-ANIMAL SHOWS, AND
[March,
OUT OF BOUNDS.
A FROG leaped his way up a tree.
I can sing," said he, — "listen to me;"
So he uttered a shout,
And an owl found him out.
And no more a musician was he.
Said a tiger, "I '11 walk through the clover,
Yea, verily, yes, and moreover ; "
But the bees who were there
Sadly ruffled his hair,
When they battled this tropical rover.
A baboon once said, "1 can swim;"
So he dived from the end of a limb,
And a crocodile there
Quickly rose from its lair.
And there was n't a surplus of him.
MEN-AND-ANIMAL SHOWS, AND HOW THEY
ARE MOVED ABOUT.— Concluded.
By \Villi.\m O. Stoddard.
PERFORMING ELEPHANTS PLAYING SEE-SAW.
The railway train that carries a modern Ameri-
can show contains all sorts of cars and trucks, and
is well laden. Indeed, it has so many cars that it
is divided into several sections, each section equal
to an ordinary train, and drawn by its own engine.
These trains — including a dozen Pullman "sleep-
ers" and the elephant cars, in each of which five
of the huge beasts are stowed — bear along about
five hundred men and three hundred horses, be-
sides the other show animals and the miscellaneous
freight.
The "trick-horses," of course, are few in num-
ber, and often they are the private property of the
men and women who perform with them. All the
"great artists" prefer to appear in the ring with
the animals with which they have done their own
training, if these are good ones. The horses, too,
are artists in their way, and not a few of them have
world-wide reputations of their own in the business,
won under a long succession of famous riders. The
actual work of a trick-horse is not very severe, but
he requires to be kept up to his full training, in sea-
son and out of season. Upon the perfection of his
performance may depend not only the applause
of the spectators, but even the life of his rider.
Most of the other horses of the circus are mere
i883.]
HOW THEY ARE MOVED ABOUT.
2>^7
draught animals, but they need to be both good
and good-looking. Any lack of horses, or any
misbehavior on their part, might ruin the impres-
sion of the "grand procession" which regularly
convinces the staring multitudes of the unusual
size of each " mammoth show."
As for the men and women, only a few of these
are actual performers in the "ring"; but if the
rank and tile of the circus army is deficient in the
show a heavy loss in the manager's accounts. The
wages of all the human beings employed, and the
eating and drinking done by them and by the ani-
mals, wild and tame, with nearly all other current
expenses, go right along whether or not the big
tent is up and money is coming in for tickets.
The book-keeping, cash taking, and cash paying
of such a business require as perfect training as
almost any other part of it. A separate van is
WASHING THE DISHES.
performance of its share of the work in hand, the
prosperity of the tent-city will come to grief on
its first morning out of winter quarters.
All things are generally so arranged and the
movements so timed that circus traveling and
transportation may be done by night, since any
day wasted without giving an exhibition would
THE COOKINt;-TENTS.
arranged and fitted up as a
business office, with safes and
desks and clerks, and when the "cash is set-
tled " at the close of each day's work, it is well
known in that van how much has been made
or lost. The cashier's van is one of the first
things to be pulled ashore, so to speak, on
any arrival, for the paying out of money be-
gins right away, rain or shine.
When a circus train has arrived in an exhi-
bition town, and has arranged its odd-looking
cars ui)on the side tracks, where they are to be
unloaded, the very first duty to be attended to
is the care of the horses, since all these must be fed
and groomed before the grand procession can start.
Off rolls the first wagon, a large one, loaded with
hay and straw. A team is hitched to it, and it is
hurried away to the spot where the tents are to go
up. Sometimes, indeed, the men who were "sent
ahead " have already delivered sufficient forage
368
MEN-AXD-ANIMAL SHOWS, AND
[March,
upon the ground. Other wagons are rolled off,
hitched up, and driven away, for all their cargoes
are ready-packed upon them. Groups of spare
animals follow, and as many of these as can, be-
and it seems but a few moments before the long,
low-crowned stable-tents are up, the bedding for
the horses is pitched around in place, and the ani-
mals themselves are quietly feeding, with a look
THE TENT FOR THE PONIES.
gin work upon their breakfasts before the canx'as
stables are set up.
The exhibition ground is pretty sure to be an
open space, well situated for the purpose and often
used for circuses, but it rarely is in perfect condi-
tion or clear of rubbish.
Experienced men, with gangs of helpers, are in-
stantly at work with tape-lines and pennoned
marking-pins, laying off the exact places and
dimensions of the areas to be occupied by the
tents, and designating the spots where poles are to
stand and stakes to be driven. Almost as fast as
a spot is marked, a tent-stake is dropped beside
it, for cargoes after cargoes of material, with men
who know what to do with it all, are constantly
arriving from the cars. They start and travel and
come in regular order, and yet hardly anything
reaches the grounds many minutes before it is
wanted. Gangs of strong-armed fellows with
sledge-hammers follow close behind the stake-
droppers, and the stakes are driven in firmly,
while other gangs clear loose rubbish from the
surface. Every one minds his business earnestly.
of quiet contentment, as if they were saying, " Here
we are, gentlemen, all at home at last."
The next tent to these, in point of time, is the
one under which such important people as ele-
phants and camels are to take their morning hay ;
but the '• traveling hotel " for the human beings is
hardly less essential, and it is sure to be read\- a
very short time after the head-cook and his assist-
ants have started their fires. The cooks are "ex-
perts," every one, and they will generally be pre
pared to offer their hungry fellow-travelers hot
coffee and a capital breakfast in from twenty to
thirty minutes after the unloading of their ingen-
ious " portable range" upon the grounds.
The cooking-tents and the canvas dining-roomt
are quite enough to put any old soldier in mind of
his campaigns. But the rations furnished are of
the best. All the work is done by exact rules,
but it is not every man who has genius of the
kind required to set up a hotel in half an hour
and feed five hundred guests the first morning.
They are apt to be a hungry set, indeed, and it may
be noteworthy that P. T. Barnum's present head-
iS83.|
HOW rilKV AUK MOVKIi AliOLT.
369
cook is an cx-Iion-king, and has pjissed much of his
life in hourly peril of being eaten up.
Not all the motley inhabitants of the tent-city will
take their meals in the same room nor at the same
table. There is a strong caste feeling between the
skilled performers of different callings and varied
fame, and the living curiosities have a pride all
their own. For instance, it could not be expected
that a lady weighing half a ton, more or less, should
have a small opinion of herself, nor that a giant
should fail to look down upon almost anybody else.
There is no confusion in the management of the
dining-room, but there is no long lingering at table,
for all the guests have work before them, and as
fast as one swarm flits away another settles in the
places left empty.
With three hundred horses of all sorts to care
for, there is constant need of the services of a
blacksmith, and the smithy, forge and all, must be
promptly in working order. The smith, indeed,
must be ready with his hammer and tire before he
gets his breakfast, for there is much iron-work about
the tools, wagons, tent gear, and housekeeping
apparatus, as well as upon the feet of the horses.
evidence that the washerman is at work. Every-
day in the week is washing-day, and there is no
time to spare, even then.
The minor tents go up rapidly, but the raising
of the " exhibition tent " and its adjoining canvases
is no small affair. That is, there is nothing ap-
parently difficult about it in the hands of the circus
men, but twice their number of untrained workers,
say two full comi)anies of militia, would make
many trials at it before succeeding. Every peg and
stake is driven, and every rope is in its place; the
center-poles grandly rise in the air ; the side-poles
or stretchers are lifted, one by one, and their stays
are hauled upon till all are taut and firm, and then
the great central canvas " skin " of tljc vast fabric
is skillfully slipped on and stretched to unwrinkled
smoothness. The whole operation is an example
of the marvelous results to be obtained by disci-
pline and concert of action ; and it is performed
every few days, often daily, throughout the exhib-
iting season.
If the entire circus-menagerie, when packed for
transportation, should be compared to a chest of
tools, the collection of implements appears, when
isJ
THE ELEPHANT S TOILET.
Neither is it to be supposed that the people of unpacked for use, altogether too large to be again
the tent-city preserve the beauty of their linen reduced to the space it occupied. Applied as are
witliout the aid of a laundry ; and the tub, the those tools, however, to one perpetually recurring
wringer, and the clothes-line speedily offer ample job, and all being numbered and fitted to their
2,70
MEN- AND- ANIMAL SHOWS, AND
[March,
places in the box, or rather boxes, they come out
and return again, time after time, without crowd-
ing. However, they do not all have to be brought
into use upon every exhibition of the show, for no
two days present precisely the same job to the
workmen. No two consecutive exhibition-grounds,
in the first place, present the same features of size,
shape, surface, or character of soil, and all these
points must be taken into consideration. Neither
are any two towns or cities alike, nor are the ex-
pected audiences the same in size or tastes or
character. The performances must be varied with
THE CLOWN MAKING-UP.
some reference to all these things, and even in the
neighborhood of large cities, it is sometimes impos-
sible to obtain a large enough space for the full
presentation of all the show's attractions. Here
comes in a demand upon the manager for good
judgment, promptly used. He must instantly
decide what part of his programme he will cut out
and what he must leave in, and he must succeed
in performing this delicate duty so that all the
crowds of persons who may be gathered shall
leave the tents with a satisfied feeling that they
have had the full worth of their money.
The most important business, after the tents are
up, is the formation of the "ring" and the setting
up of the gymnastic machinery for the perform-
ances of the acrobats.
The " ring" is generally a little more than forty
feet in diameter, and it looks like a rude enough
affair, but its preparation calls for both care and
skill. The ground for it is leveled with nicety.
The barrier, a circular mound of earth of about
one hundred and twenty-five feet inside circum-
ference, is raised to a height of somewhat over
twenty inches on its inner face. It must be thick,
firm, and strong, to bear the hard blows of a horse's
feet or the sudden leaning upon it of an elephant.
It must, therefore, be banked, and pounded with
sledge-hammers, until no strain to which it can be
subjected will break it down, and it must retain no
looseness nor unevenness, to trip a horse or endan-
ger the life of a rider. It is the work of a few
hours only, but there is a man busy upon almost
every square yard of it while it is rising.
As to the machinerj' for the acrobats, simple as
is the appearance of the uprights and cross-bars,
they must be set up with especial care, so as
to leave no possibility of their breaking down.
The performer using them must be able to trust
his appliances absolutely, or he could never have
the nerve and confidence to delight the crowd
at the risk of his neck. All his feats of skill and
daring, moreover, have relation to the exact dis-
tances at which he has practiced them, and there
must be no variation from those precise measure-
ments in the daily adjustment of his machinery.
He, or she, as the case may be, is sure enough
to meet with what are called "accidents." When
a " great show" recently came to the city of Brook-
lyn, a family group of three persons sat down
together in the breakfast-tent. They were acro-
Ijats of unsurpassed agility and skill. A sad-faced
woman, a young man of middle size, a girl just
entering her teens. There had been four of them
prior to a recent performance, but the "star,"
an older girl, the most daring of them all, had
"missed her motion" in a feat of uncommon peril,
and had fallen upon the receiving net. " She
was but slightly injured," all were told who cared
or thought to ask, but the little group at the table
knew that she was dying. They performed their
parts, that day, as skillfully as ever, though with
so much more weight than usual to carry, but
when the evening exhibition was over there were,
indeed, but three of them. The fourth had gone
forever.
Such an "accident" may come to the best-
trained and most experienced performer, and yet it
is a mistake to suppose that acrobats are necessarily
a short-lived race. The constant exercise, the
enforced temperance, the out-of-doors life, amount,
in fact, to a careful observance of well-known
laws of health. If a professional athlete escapes
the more serious disasters which are continually
HOW TIIKY ARK MOVED ABOUT.
171
possible to him, it is his own fault if he does not
remain for many years a man of comfortable body.
REPAIRING DAMAGES.
His worst perils do not come to him in the
" ring," but during the long months when he
is necessarily unemployed, and when he has no
immediate and pressing need for careful training.
For, in this interval, he is in danger of relaxing his
habits of careful living, and a very little over-indul-
gence will put out of order that wonderful machine,
— -his body, — ^on the perfect condition of which de-
pends his power to do the feats required of him.
The actual term of scr^'ice as a practical acrobat
can not, indeed, be a long one. The public is
capricious, and has a rooted prejudice against the
appearance of elderly men and women in exhibi-
tions of physical agility and strength. Even the
star performers must sooner or later drift into other
callings.
When, at the beginning of an exhibition season, '
after passing the manager's inspection, an athlete '
of any kind gets into the ring, he represents a
vast amount of hard and thoughtful labor and
instruction. He has been in " winter quarters," of
some kind, but he has also been at "school," and
the younger he is, the more he has had to eiidurc
from exacting and often severe teachers.
The larger shows and more enterprising show-
men often set up " schools " of their own, con-
nected, it may be, with the est.iblishments wherein
they keep and train their quadruped performers.
In ever)' such school of the circus there is a good
deal of machiner)', as well as an experienced pro-
fessor of the art of doing impossible things. There
are kept on hand every kind of gymnastic appa-
ratus for the development of activity and muscular
strength. These latter vary, of course, with
the nature of the lessons the pupil is learn-
ing, and at last he is confronted with the
very things he is to employ in the presence
of watching crowds.
By the pitiless severity meted out to all
needless failures made in the presence of his
exacting trainer, the "school-master," he is
made to understand at an early day that he
must never make a failure in the presence
of paying spectators.
The trainer represents the keen-eyed pub-
lic, and also the demands of his employer,
the manager, and he must give a good ac-
count of the time and money expended upon
the school. If any boy should be seized
with a "fever" to distinguish himself in the
"ring," nothing would be so likely to cure
him as a week or so under a careful and
faithful teacher in a winter school for the
circus. In ninety-nine cases out of a hun-
dred, the scholar would forever afterward be
contented to remain outside the rope circle.
The "grand procession" is a good adver-
tisement, but it serves other practical purposes. It
keeps the crowds away from the grounds until the
--v^i^-'
THE LAUNDRV.
preparations are completed, and besides it gives the
animals their morning exercise, after their stiffen-
372
M E N - A N D - A N I M A L S H O ■(¥ S , AND
[March,
ing ride on the cars. When it returns, there is comes an hour of excitement and amusement, —
work for all hands. The grooms and riders are to everybody who does not belong to the circus-
busy with the horses. The performers are in the menagerie. The show people are busy with the
'Ai^ f-ii;:;'p'°r"'
THE SNAKE-CHARMER TAKES THE BOA OIT OF ITS CAGE.
"greenroom" tent, looking over their wardrobes,
repairing damages, and generally getting all things
in readiness for the opening. The elephants, re-
turning from their long, hot, dusty promenade,
expect some attention to their own toilet, and it is
something of a task to give one of the thick-skinned
monsters a bath and a broom shampoo.
The setting-up of the seats of the amphitheater,
all around the vast inclosure, employs a number
of men for hours, and must be done with care. A
disaster to any part of the crowd upon those seem-
ingly fragile structures would be all but ruinous to
the show. Hundreds of dollars are often spent in
strengthening them before the weight of the spec-
tators and the fortunes of the manager can be
trusted upon them.
When at last all things are finished, and the
hour has arrived for the band to strike up, and the
guests of the tent-city have gathered to witness
the results of all this outlay and care and toil, there
hard, anxious work of making fun for the visitors.
Quick eyes among them are watching every rope
and wire and stake. The exact condition of every
horse and human being is known, and just what
and how much each can be safely called upon
to do at that day and hour. There must be no
failure, no blunder, no accident, and if one of these
by any means occurs, it must be instantly covered,
hidden, and carried beyond the knowledge of the
public. The perfect smoothness, promptness, clock-
like regularity attained by practice and sharp disci-
pline make an indispensable feature and attraction
of the entire performance.
There is one other attraction, born of an evil
taste in the popular mind, the secret of which is a
sore temptation to all managers. There still lurks
among us, in spite of all our civilization, a relic of
the coarse and morbid appetite which made the
heathenish, savage populace of Rome clamor for
the bloody shows of the arena. We are still un-
i883. 1
1 1 (J W r 1 1 1 , \ A k K M O V K 1 ) A li I > L" T .
t "r 'y
civilized enough, many of us, to be drawn to gaze
upon a performance which seems to be full of dan-
ger. It is a disgraceful appetite, but ever)' manager
caters to it, more or less. The provision for it
begins with the wild animals in their dens. Unfort-
unately, some people love to see a man or woman
in among the ferocious brutes, and in constant,
deadly peril of strong teeth and rending claws.
The fascination, to the crowd, of the snake-charmer's
exhibition is the supposed danger he is in, with
his hideous pets twisted around him. The shud-
tlering folk who stare at the dreadful folds of the
boa constrictor, with the doomed pigeons perched
upon them, do not know how safe the pigeons are.
three months. He is more likely to call for a meal
at the end of six months or a year, and then to be
satisfied with a few doves or chickens — permission
being given him to swallow them alive, or he will
not eat them at all. If an elephant has the reputa-
tion of being "dangerous" and has to be chained
up, he will have knots of people staring .it him who
otherwise would pass him .ilmost contemptuously.
If a grizzly bear or a lion can be said to have eaten
a keeper or two, and to have .a tendency to burst
his prison-bars and eat everybody, an important
chiss of circus-ticket buyers will flock to shiver in
the near presence of the monster. No manager
leaves that class entirclv out of his calculations.
READY TO BE CALLED INTO THE KING.
but they enjoy their shudder all the same. The The danger element of attraction by no means
"big serpent" in captivity, whatever he may do in ceases at the door of the menagerie. The ring
freedom, never eats oftener than once in two or itself is full of it. The ordinary feats of bare-
374
MEN -AND- ANIMAL SHUWS, AND
[March,
back horsemanship answer well enough for the
demands of many, and they are only not peril-
ous because of the great skill of the horses and
THE HfMAN CURIOSITIES AT DINNER.
their riders. The spectators know very well that
every now and then a " champion " or a " queen of
the ring " meets with a terrible fall in one of those
swift circlings and graceful leaps. They will re-
spond with enthusiastic cheering to some specially
sensational spring or plunge.
The perilous and the impossible are especially
demanded of the acrobats, and the only limit set
them may be said to be in the kindlier sensibilities
of another large class of ticket-buyers who "will
not go to look at such dreadful things." There is,
therefore, a constant ctTort made to steer a middle
course and satisfy all comers.
The public will endure a considerable degree of
danger to the performers, but it is ver>' sensitive on
its own account, and it is rare indeed that it is
caUed upon to face any genuine peril. Discom-
forts will sometimes come, such as sudden rain-
storms and cold winds, and the great tent is but an
imperfect shelter after all, even though it requires
a terrible gale to bring it down.
While one set of performers is in the ring, at
work, the next is in the greenroom-tent getting
ready, and that is a part of the "show" which is
not shown, but is very interesting. The very
horses wait and watch for the signal as anxiously as
do their human associates, and the elephants seem
to be eager for the duty before them. The last
touches are given to the performers' finery, the last
instructions are received,
the applause outside tells
of a completed " act"
of the performance, the
band strikes up, the
ring-manager raises his
hand, and the green-
room sends forth the
next installment of the
show.
The telegraph, rail-
way, printing-press, and
even the " weather-bu-
reau " itself, are the reg-
ular and constant serv-
ants of the traveling
show.
Such trades as are not
actually represented on
its weekly pay-roll are
not there only because
their work was done be-
fore it set out upon its travels, or can be
better done elsewhere than under the tents.
As for the weather-bureau and its prophets,
the farmer in wheat har\-est is not more anx-
ious concerning their accuracy than is the circus
manager. There is no law, in spring, summer,
or autumn, which compels bad weather to come at
night or on Sundays. A few days or a week of
storms and rains will sometimes make a doleful
hole in the calculations for an exhibition season,
not only in the mere prevention of specific per-
formances, advertised beforehand, but in the con-
sequent disarrangement of others set for days yet
farther on. There must be postponements and
omissions and disappointments, and a danger that
the show will get a bad name for not being "on
hand." If a hurricane or a broken bridge pre-
vents the setting up of the tents in Bungtown on
Wednesday, and the performance is therefore
given at that place on Thursday, the expectant
people of Scrabbleville can not be gratified on that
same Thursday, nor can Catamount Centre be
delighted on Friday. The weather, therefore, has
much to do with the success of a great show, and
any manager would be glad to have the control of
it, so far as his list of performances is concerned.
The experiences of any great show bring to it
one more great trial, constantly recurring under
all sorts of circumstances of locality, weather, and
weariness. There is one hour which, more than
any other, tests to the uttermost the temper, skill,
and discipline of the force under the command of
I883.J
now THEY ARE MOVED ABOUT
0/ 3
the circus manager. It is the hour when the
tents must be " struck," or taken down, and the
vast cstabhshmcnt packed up for removal to its
next stopping-place.
Slowly the audience has leaked awa)- through
the narrow entrance, though some of its younger
members linger until it is necessary to scare them
out. The preparations for departure began long
ago. Every article of dress taken off was in-
stantly packed for travel. Kverj' animal has been
fed and cared for. Every tool is in its place, for
present use or for transportation, as the case may
be. There are miles and hours of traveling to be
done, and every minute is precious. The least con-
fusion or mismanagement would surely bear bad
fruit on the morrow.
The experts of all sorts — acrobats, animal
trainers, keepers — are caring for their wardrobes
or themselves, or for the precious beasts in their
charge. The horses in their canvas stables know
that their time is up, and meet their grooms as if
prepared to go. The cook and his assistants ha\e
fed their last " boarder," and already have packed
their pots and crockery, and the fire is dead in the
portable range. Every man who has not com-
of orders, but scores of men are taking their posi-
tions by stakes and ropes, knowing exactly what
to do and where and when to do it. There are,
perhaps (to give the exact size of one big tent),
one hundred and sixty-eight thousand square
yards of canvas to come down, with all that held
it up. The huge, hollow interior is empty at last,
with the exception of a few loiterers who hurry out
in great alarm, as they hear a loud shout of "Let
go ! " from the manager. The shout was meant to
scare them out, and not a man looses his hold upon
a rope. It is a plan which always clears away the
loiterers.
The immense space is clear, but vaguely shadowy
and dim, for the lights are out and there is nothing
there to " show."
Another order, another, another, follow in quick
succession ; ropes are hauled upon or let go ; the
canvas steadily pulls away, and the center poles
and stays, all the airy skeleton of the tent, stand
as bare as when they were first lifted there. These,
too, come down in regular order, rapidly and
without a sign of hesitation or confusion. Thus
every peg and pole and board is removed from the
tent-area to its proper place on its own wagon.
BRE.\K1N'G LP AT NIGHT, AND STARTING AWAY.
pleted his task is working at it with all his might,
but the center of interest is the great tent and its
appliances. There is compar.-itivcly little shouting
More than a quarter of a million square yards
of "duck," and every flag, rope, pole, and pen-
non, are neatly folded and packed away in the
376
M E i\ - A N D - A M M A I. S H O W S .
[March,
■wagons. And all this has been done in less than
twenty minutes ! Not a rope is mislaid, nor a tool
lost sight of, and the secret of it is that some one
person has been made personally responsible for
each of all those numberless items of duty. Not
too much has been laid upon any one, but mer-
cilessly strict will be the inquiry concerning the
least short-coming.
The general crowd of spectators hurries home at
once, all the sooner if the night is dark or rainy, or
if it be the last performance and the tents are com-
ing down. The latest to depart are invariably
the boys, to whom the show presents a world of
•weird, strange fascination. It is almost hard upon
them that their attachment is not reciprocated.
Neither the manager nor his corps of trained
workers has any use for boys. The former " does
not want 'em around." He would not have them
at any price, although hundreds are sure to offer,
continually, with their heads full of dime-novel
ideas of circus life, its "adventures," and its
" glories." They know nothing at all of the hard
work, the patient training beforehand, neither do
they think of the experience and thorough knowl-
edge of at least some one trade required by ever\
member of the manager's army of helpers. Even
the "bill-stickers " must know how to do their work,
and work hard in doing it, but boys with the
circus-fever are after something which will enable
them to wear tights and spangles. They seldom if
ever think of the hard work, severe training, weary-
ing repetitions, and terrible risks of injury and
life-long maiming that must be undergone before
a manager will allow a performer to appear in
public. For instance, in learning circus feats of
but one kind — riding on bareback horses — severe
falls are always likely^to happen. To lessen the
danger, however, almost every large circus-school
has a derrick with a long arm. Through a pulley
in the end of this arm is passed a rope which is
fastened to the learner's belt, the other end being
held by a watchful attendant, who secures it when-
ever the rider loses his balance. A second man
keeps the arm revolving just above the pupil as he
rides around the ring, and the instructor leads the
horse by a lariat. Thus, three men are needed in
teaching one to ride bareback, and each new lesson
has to be repeated a great many times in the same
wearisome round.
It is likely that most of the youngsters who so
eagerly volunteer are in a kind of mental fog.
They could hardly say, if they were asked, whether
they prefer to be hired as owner, manager, clown,
" king of the ring," or to train and handle the ele-
phants. A few days of practical experience might
teach them wisdom, or it might, indeed, set them
at a solemn consideration of the whole matter, in
some such doleful attitude as this:
i^^,^^;3S^t rfS: --:ft *-^r.i
>r-jKr^j?r?£iiS':
'.^--^•;'V^;-.■W=^^'::^,;^^:^?:■v-^:;:^^->:/V-y''•-'7^fc^r^^--5^>^^'■^-^-^:^^
i88i.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY
\n
THE I'RHTTV PURITAN
By Celia Thaxtkr.
Light she trips across the snow —
Downcast eyes and cheeks that glo» ,
While her golden hair crapes
O'er the daintiest of capes.
Berries of the holly bright,
Which she holds with clasp so light \
Her red lips have stolen from you
Tint as fresh as morning dew.
Fairer picture ne'er was seen
The bare wintry boughs between !
Like some rich and loveh' flower
Blooming in a frosty hour.
All alight with color sweet.
Beautiful from head to feet.
'Neath her quiet lids demure
Hide her glances shy and pure.
Thoughts like lilies, snow-drops, daisies.
Look forth when those lids she raises.
Happy little maiden she.
Gentle rose of modesty !
DON.ALI) .\ND DOROTHY.*
Bv Mary Mapks Dodge.
Chapter XI. — jack.
The faithful readerwill remember that Jack and
Nero had just entered the library, where Mr. Reed
and Eben Slade sat waiting.
Jack's entrance had a peculiar effect upon Eben
Slade. It gave him a drowsy appearance. Some
men have that look when they are specially on
their guard.
" Did you want me, Capt'n!-"' asked Jack, after
standing a few seconds and receiving no orders.
Vol. IX.— 25.
"No, I want you," spoke up Eben Slade, in an
uneasy yet bold tone. " Let 's see if you can an-
swer a few plain questions."
Jack glanced inquiringly at Mr. Reed; then,
brightening, replied to Slade as to one not at all
worthy of his respect :
"Questions? P'raps. Reel 'em out."
It was plain from the start that, if the sailor-
coachman could have his own way, Eben Slade
would get but little information out of him. He
had despised the fellow as a " skulker," from the
Copyright, 1881, by Marj' M;ipes Dodge. W\ rights resen-ed.
378
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
moment he had seen him sneaking about the
grounds Hke a spy, as he truly suspected him to be.
" So," began the questioner grandly, as if to awe
his man into a becoming deference, " you are the
person who, according to Mr. Reed, rescued the
twins ? How, I mean in what way, by what means,
did you save them ? "
■' Mostly by tryin', your honor," replied Jack,
sullenly.
Eben Slade looked vexed, but he returned
blandly :
" Undoubtedly so. But I want the details of the
saving. Let us hear from the beginning."
"There war n't any beginning," growled Jack.
" The first we knew about it, it was all over."
"Well, but you had some part in the wreck,
had n't you ? What was it ? "
" I did n't have no part in it, bless you," replied
Jack, with grim humor. "It did itself."
"Clever tar!" exclaimed Mr. Slade, in mock
admiration, inwardly resolved to conciliate the man
by letting him have his own way for awhile.
" Well, 1 was on the wrong tack, as you sailors
would say. Now, to start fair, can you tell me
what happened after the first shock of the ship-
wreck was over. Which of the children did you
pick up first ? "
" Sorry I can't oblige you," said Jack, " but you
see it was night, and, besides, I 'd forgot my
specs."
" Have you any recollection whatever on that
point, Jack ? " asked Mr. Reed, as though he well
knew what the answer must be.
"No, sir," replied Jack, respectfully; but in-
stantly throwing a tone of pathetic appeal into his
voice. "Why, Capt'n, look a' here! It 's hard
seein' any diff'rence between young babbies in
broad sunlight and a smooth sea ; but down in the
ragin' waves, an' in the night time, now? It taint
in reason."
Mr. George nodded, and Slade, after thinking a
moment, came out with a mild:
" Did you happen to know any of the passen-
gers. Jack?"
"When a cove hails from the forecastle, your
honor, he aint apt to be over intimate in the
cabins; but I knew one lady aboard, if I do say it."
"Ah," exclaimed Eben Slade, "now we have
it! You knew one lady aboard. W'liich of the
ladies was this ? "
" It w-as the stewardess, sir, and she was
drownded."
" And you knew no other lady, eh ?"
" Can't say, sir. Opinions differ as to knowin' —
what some might call bein' acquainted, another
might call otherwise ; " said Jack, with a scrape,
and a light touch at his forelock.
"Right!" pursued Eben Slade. "Now, did
you happen to be 'acquainted or otherwise' with
either Mrs. Reed or Mrs. Robertson?"
" I was ' otherwise,' your honor, with every lady
on the ship, exceptin' the party I told you was
drownded."
" Then you did n't know Mrs. Reed and Mrs.
Robertson apart, 1 understand?" asked Slade,
sharply.
" Can't say, sir. Never saw 'em apart."
' ' Ah ! They were always together, then ; now
we 're getting it. Could you tell which was the
mother of the twins ? "
Here Jack turned toward Mr. George, with a
doleful :
"Now, Capt'n, hear that! Could I tell which
was the mother of the twins ? Why, man," — turn-
ing angrily toward Slade again, — "boxin' the
compass back'ard would be nothin' compared to
that. All I can tell you is we was 'most all hove
out into the sea, high and low together."
" I 'd have you hove out again if you were my
man, or make you keep a civiler tongue in your
head," was Eben's savage retort. "Now, sir, will
you or will you not tell me how you saved the two
babies, and what became of the other one?"
"I will not," answered Jack, doggedly; then
seeing that Mr. George was about to reprove him,
he added, in an altered tone: "As for the saving,
that 's my business : but the other poor little critter
went down in the boat with its poor mother. I see
that myself"
Eben leaned forward, and asked with some gen-
tleness:
" How did you know it was the mother?"
" Because — well, by the way the poor soul
screamed for it, — when they were letting her and
the rest down into the boat, — and the way she
quieted when she got it again, — that 's how."
" And where was the other mother ?"
Jack turned an imploring glance toward Mr.
Reed. Must he go on humoring the fellow? — but
Mr. Reed's expressive nod compelled him to reply:
" The other mother? I don't know where she
was. One instant we men was all obeyin' orders,
the next everything was wild. It was dark night,
women screamin', men shoutin', the ship sinkin',
some hollerin' she was afire, and every one savin'
himself an' others as best he could. Perhaps you
aint awar' that folks don't gen'rally sit down and
w-rite out their obserwations at such times for
future ref'rence."
"Did you see Mr. Robertson?" asked Slade,
loftily. " Was he with the lady in the boat ? "
"Now, Capt'n, hear that. Was he with the
lady in the boat? Did I see him? Why man,"
turning toward Slade again, "out of all that ship-
DO NAM) AND DdKdTUV
379
load, only a dozen men and wimen ever saw the
sun rise again ; and Mr. Robertson, no nor his
wife, nor the babby, nor t' other poor lady, warnt
amongst them, as the ni;ister lierc can tell you, and
none on 'em could n't make us any the wiser about
the babbies. An' their mothers was n't hardly
ever on deck ; 'most like they was sick in their
state-rooms, for they was born ladies, both of 'em,
and that 's all you '11 learn about it, if I stand here
till daylight. Now, Capt'n, shell I pilot the gentl'-
man out? "
" Yes, you may," cried Eben, rising so suddenly
that Jack's eyes Winked, though, apart from that,
not a muscle stirred. "I '11 have a talk with you
outside."
"Jest my idee!" said Jack, with alacrity, hold-
ing wide the door. " No place like the open sea
for a collision " Again his glance questioned
Mr. Reed. He was in the habit of studying that
face. Just as in times past he had studied the sky,
to learn the weather. But the stern answer he
found there this time disappointed him, and
"saved Eben Slade from bcin' stove- in an' set
beam-end in less than no time," as Jack elegantly
remarked to himself, while Mr. George rose and
bade his visitor a stiff "good evening."
Ch.aptkr XII.
a day in nkav york.
On the next morning, when Donald and Dorothy
were advised by their uncle not to go to the Danbys'
for the present, Dorry exclaimed, tragically :
" Not even to the Danbys', Uncle! Why, what
have they done ? "
His smiling reply was far from satisfactory to
the young lady.
"Done? Nothing at all, my girl. We '11 not
keep you in close confinement very long, so you
must try to bear your captivity with fortitude.
There are worse things. Dot, than being obliged
to stay within one's own domain for a few days."
" I know it, Uncle ! " said Dorry ; then, resolving
to be brave and cheerful, she added, with a mis-
chievous laugh : "Would n't it be a good plan to
tether us in the lot with Don's pony?"
" Excellent ! " replied Uncle. " But, by the way,
we need not tether you quite yet. 1 have business
in town to-morrow, and if you and Donald say
'yes,' it shall be a party of three."
" Oh, indeed, we say yes," cried the now happy
Dorry. " Shall you be there all day, Uncle ? "
"All day."
"Ciood ! good !" and off she ran to tell the glad
news to Liddy. "Only think, Liddy ! Donald and
I are to be all day in New \'ork. Oh, we '11 have
such a nice time ! and I '11 buy you the pretties!
white apron you ever wore in all your life ! "
The new morning, tripping across the sparkling
lake, climbed up to Dorrj's window and wakened
her with its sunny touch.
"CiCt up, Don," she called, tapping briskly on
her wall at the same time. " It 's a glorious day ! "
No answer. She tapped again.
A gruff, muffled sound was the only response.
In a few moments, however, Dorry heard Don's win-
IKINHV CHl'KCH AM) THE HEAD OF UALI. STREET
dow-blinds fly open with spirit, and she knew that
her sisterly efforts had not been in vain.
Uncle George was fond of pleasant surprises,
so when at last they all three were comfortably
settled in the rail-cars, he remarked carelessly to
Dorothy that he thought her idea an excellent
one.
" What idea, please. Uncle?"
"Why, don't you remember expressing a wish
that you and Donald could make Dr. Lane a nice
present before his departure?"
38o
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[March,
" Oh, yes, Uncle ; but I did n't know that you
heard me."
Well, they talked the matter over quite confi-
dentially under the friendly racket of the train, and
finally it was decided to present to their good tutor
a nice watch, with " Donald and Dorothy " engraved
on the inside of the case. Donald had proposed a
seal-ring, but Mr. Reed said heartily that while
they were about it they might as well make it
a watch ; and Dorry, in her delight, longed to
jump up and hug her uncle before all the passen-
gers. It is true, she afterward expressed a wish
that they could give Dr. Lane the price of the watch
instead ; but, finally, they agreed that a gift of
money might hurt his feelings, and that after so
many months of faithful service some sort of sou-
venir would be a more fitting token of respect and
affection. Yes, all things considered, a watch
would be best.
" He has n't any at all, you know," said Dorry.
earnestly, looking from one to the other, "and it
must be an awful — 1 mean, a ^ifn'^/ inconvenience
to him — especially now when he '11 have to be tak-
ing medicines every two hours or so, poor man."
Donald smiled ; the remark was so like Dorry !
But he looked into her grave yet bright young face,
with his heart brimful of love for her.
The day in town passed off pleasantly indeed.
As Uncle George's business took him to a banker's
in Wall street, the D's enjoyed a walk through
that wonderful thoroughfare where fortunes are
said to come and go in an hour, and where every
one, in every crowded room of every crowded
building, and on almost every foot of the crowded
sidewalk, thinks, speaks, and breathes " Money,
money, money ! " from morning till night. But
Uncle's business was soon dispatched ; the anxious
crowds and the "clerks in cages," as Dorry called
the busy workers in the banks, were left behind.
Then there were fresh sights to be seen, purchases
to be made, and, above all, the watch to be se-
lected— to say nothing of a grand luncheon at
Delmonico's, where, under their busy appetites,
things with Italian and French names became
purely American in an incredibly short space of
time.
Uncle George delighted in the pleasure of the
D's. The more questions they asked, the better he
liked it, and the more sure he became that his Don
and Dot were the brightest, most intelligent pair
of young folk under the sun. In fact, he seemed
to enjoy the holiday as heartily as they did, ex-
cepting toward the latter part of the afternoon,
when Dorothy surprised him with a blank refusal
to go nearly three hundred feet above the street.
You shall hear all about it.
They were homeward bound, — that is to say,
they were on their way to the down-town ferry-
boat that would carry them to the railroad station,
— when Donald suddenly proposed that they
should stay over till a later train.
"And suppose we walk on down to Wall street,
Uncle," he continued, " and go into Trinity
Church ? There 's a magnificent view from the
steeple."
" Yes," was his uncle's rather frightened com-
ment. "But the steeple is more than two hundred
and eighty feet high. What are you going to do
about that ? "
" Why, climb up, sir, of course. You know
there 's a good stair-way nearly all the way, per-
haps all the way. Anyhow, we can get to the
top, 1 know, and Ed. Tyler says the view is per-
fectly stupendous."
" So 1 've heard," said Uncle, half-ready to yield ;
" and the climb is stupendous, too."
" Yes, but you can look down and see the city,
and the harbor, and all the shipping, and the East
River, and everything. There 's an hour to spare
yet. We can take it easy. What say you, Uncle? "
"Well, I say, yes," said Uncle, with forced
heartiness, for he dearly loved to oblige the twins.
Then they turned to Dorry, though it seemed
hardly necessary ; she always was ready for an
adventure. To their surprise she came out with
an emphatic :
" And / say, please let me wait somewhere till
Uncle and you come down again. 1 don't care to
go up."
"Why, Dot, are you tired?" asked her uncle,
kindly.
"Oh, no. Uncle, not a bit. But whenever I
stand on a high place I always feel just as if I 7>!!is/
jump off Of course, I would n't jump, you know,
but 1 don't wish to have the feeling. It 's so dis-
agreeable."
"I should think as much," said Donald; but
Mr. Reed walked on toward the ferry, silently,
with compressed lips and a flushed countenance ;
he did not even mention the steeple project again.
Meantime the noble old church on Broadway
stood calmly overlooking the bustle and hurry of
Wall street, where the "money, money, money"
chorus goes on day after day, ceasing only on
Sundays and holidays and when the clustering
stars shed their light upon the spire.
"Uncle thinks 1 'm a goose to have such silly
notions," pondered Dorry, taking very long steps
so as to keep up with her companions, who, by the
way, were taking very short steps to keep pace
with Dorry. " But I can't help my feelings. It
really is true. I hate to stand on high places, like
roofs and precipices." Finally, she spoke:
1 883. 1
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
381
" Uncle, did n't you ever hear of other persons
having that feehng ? "
"What feehng, Dorothy?"
How sternly Mr. Reed said it I Surely he could
not blame the poor girl for asking so natural a
question as that ? No. But the incident had sad-
dened him strangely, and he was unconscious of
the severity of his tone until Dorothy's hesitating
manner changed the current of his thoughts. And
then, awaiting her reply, he cheered her with a
look.
" Why — why the — " she began, adding : " Oh,
it does n't matter. Uncle. I suppose I am foolish
to ;isk such questions. But Don is ever so much
steadier-headed than I am — are n't you, Don ? I
and a firm belief that Uncle George enjoyed it
exceedingly.
And all the while he was thinking :
"Strange ! Every day something new. Now it 's
this dread of st.inding on high places. What will
it be to-morrow ? And yet, as the child herself in-
timates, many other persons have the same feeling.
Now I think upon it, it 's the commonest thing in
he world."
ClIAPIKK .\III.
DONALD AND DOkOTHV F.XTERTAIN FAN'DY.
In a few days aftA- the visit to town, .Mr. Reed
received a letter, very dingy on the outside and
Tliii G.\KKET UEl-'ORE F.\KDy'S AKRIV.\U [sEE NEXT PACE. J
do believe he 'd like to stand on the top of that
telegraph-pole if he could get there."
"There 's no 'if about that," said Donald,
jokingly. " It 's a mere question of time. If a
fellow can climb a pole at all, a little more height
makes no difference. Why, if I had n't on my
crack suit, I 'd ask you and Uncle to wait and let
me have a try at it."
"Oho!" laughed Dorry: ' crack' suit is slang;
so is 'have a try.' Five cents apiece. That 's
ten cents fine for you, sir ! Well, we ought to be
thankful he has n't on his old clothes, Uncle !
Ahem ! The 'crack' would be in the head then,
instead of the suit, I 'm afraid."
" Poor joke ! " retorted Don ; "ten cents fine for
you, young lady."
And so they walked on, the light-hearted D's
bantering each other with many laughing sallies,
very remarkable within. It was brought by one of
the little Danby boys, and read as follows :
'* George Reed Esquik.
" Dear Sir: I take my pen to say that the border left yesterday
without notis owin us fur the hole time. He hadent a portmanter
nor any luggage except paper collars, which enabeled him to go off
without suspition. A tellygram whitch he forgot and my wile
afterward pikt it up said for him to go right to Pcnsivania old Squir
Hinson was dying. It was from a party caling himscf Janson K.
The border as 1 aught to enform you has told my children inclooding
Francis Ferdinand who b-ires this letter a cockanbull story about
bein related to your honcrcd self by witch we know he was an im-
posture. I write iiistcd of calling at the liouse as 1 am laim from
cuttin my foot with an a.v yesterday and it dont apcar quite con-
cistent to send you a vcrblc message.
*' Your rcspec. scrvcnt
" Erasmus Danbv.
"Satf.rdav"
" Good ! " exclaimed Mr. Reed, drawing a deep
sigh of relief as he folded the missive. Then, con-
science-smitten at his indifference to the Danby
382
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[March,
interests, and resolved that, in the end, Mr. Danby
should be no loser by "the border," he looked to-
ward Master Danby. That young gentleman,
dressed in a made-over Sunday suit, still stood hat
in hand in the library door-way.
" Is your father badly cut, my little man?"
"No, sir," replied Fandy rapidly, and with a
solemn countenance. " His thick boot saved him.
The ax fell and cut through down to his skin, and
it bled a sight, and 'Mandy 'most fainted, and Ma
bandaged it up so tight he hollered a bad word."'
"Wh.\t?"
" Yes, sir. He said ' blazes ! ' And Ma said for
him not to forget hisself if he was hurt, and he said
he would n't again. And Ma devised him, as Sun-
day was comin' so soon, to take Saturday, and so
give his foot two days to heal, and he 's doin' it."
"But ' blazes ' is n't a very-, very bad word, is it ?"
" No, sir, not very wicketly bad. But Pa and
Ben mean it instead of swearin' words, and Ma 's
breaking them of it. Ma 's very particular."
"That 's right," said Mr. Reed. "So, Master
Francis Ferdinand," referring to the letter, "the
boarder told you that he was a relation of mine,
did he ? "
" Yes, sir, but we knew better. He was a bad
lot, sir."
"A very bad lot," returned Mr. Reed, mucli
amused.
"Ma said 1 could stay, sir, if 1 was asked."
" Very well," said Mr. Reed, smiling down at
the little midget. " You probably will find Donald
and Dorothy up in the garret."
"Yes, sir!" and off went Fandy with nimble
dignity through the hall ; then soberly, but still
lightly, up the stair-way to the landing at the first
turn ; then rapidly and somewhat noisily across
the great square hall on the second story to the
door of the garret stair-way, and, finally, with a
shrill "whoop! " leaping up two steps at a time,
till he found himself in the open garret, in the
presence of — the family cat !
No Donald or Dorothy was to be seen. Only
the cat ; and she glared at him with green eyes.
Everythirtg up there was as still as death ; grim
shadows lurked in the recesses and far corners; the
window was shaded by some lank garments hanging
near it, and now stirring drearily. Fandy could
chase angry cattle and frighten dogs away from his
little sisters, but lonely garrets were quite another
matter. Almost any dreadful object could stalk
out from behind things in a loriely garret! Fandy
looked about him in an awe-struck way for an
instant, then tore, at a break-neck speed, down the
stairs, into the broad hall, where Donald, armed
like a knight, or so it seemed to the child, met
him with a hearty: " Ho, is that you, Fandy
Danby ? Thought I heard somebody falling.
Come right into my room. Dorry and I are prac-
ticing."
" Praxin' what ? " panted the relieved Fandy, hur-
rying in as he spoke, and looking about him with
a delighted :
" Oh my! "
Dorothy was a pretty girl at any time, but she
certainly looked very pretty indeed as she turned
toward the visitor — her bright hair tumbled, her
face flushed with exercise, her eyes sparkling mer-
rily. She held a fencing-mask in one hand and
a foil, lightly upraised, in the other.
" Oh, Fandy ! " she said, " you are just the one
we want. Don is teaching me to fence, and I
can't half see how he does it, because I have to
wear the mask. Here, let me put it on you — that 's
a good boy," and she suited the action to the
word, laughing at the astonished little face which
Fandy displayed through the wire net-work.
" Here, take the foil now! — No, no. In your
right hand, so." Then, addressing Donald, she
added : " Now he 's ready ! Fall to, young man ! "
"Yes! fall to-o ! " shouted Fandy, striking an
attitude and catching the spirit of the moment, like
the quick little fellow he was. ' ' Fall to-o ! "
Donald laughingly parried the small child's
valiant but unscientific thrusts, while Dorry looked
on in great satisfaction, sure that she now would
catch the idea perfectly.
No knight in full armor ever appeared braver
than Fandy at this moment.
Fortunately, cats can tell no tales.
A very active youngster of eight, with a long foil
in his strong little hand, striking right and left re-
gardless of consequences, and leaping from the
ground when making a thrust at his opponent's
heart, or savagely attempting to rival the hero of
Chevy Chase who struck off his enemy's legs, is no
mean foe. Donald was a capital fencer ; and, well
skilled in the tricks of the art. had a parry for every
known thrust ; but Fandy's thrusts were imknown.
Nothing more original or unexpected could be
conceived, and every time Dorry cried " foul ! " he
redoubled his strokes, taking the word as a sort
of applause. For a while, Donald laughed so much
that he scarcely could defend himself; but, when-
ever he found himself growing short of breath, he
would be in earnest just long enough to astonish
his belligerent foe. At the moment when that
lively young duelist flattered himself that he was
doing wonders, and pressing his enemy hard,
Donald would stop laughing for a second, make
a single sudden pass toward Fandy, with a quick
turn of his wrist, and, presto! the eight-year-
old's foil, much to his amazement, left his hand
iSSi.J
DONALD AND D O R o T in .
38:
as if l)y magic, and went spinning across the floor.
But Fandy, utterly unconscious that this unaccount-
able accident w;is a stroke of art on Donald's part,
was not in the least disconcerted by it.
"Hello!" he would shout, nothing daunted.
•■ I 've dropped my soword ! Wait a minute. Don't
hit me yet ! " And then, picking up his weapon,
he would renew the attack with all his little
might.
At last Donald, wearying of the sport, relieved
hiinself of his mask and consulted his watch, a
massive but trusty silver affair, which had been
worn b\- his father when a boy.
Was Fandy tired ? Not a bit. Practice had
" But this is n't a tiger, nor even a wild-cat.
It 's tame. It 's our Nan ! "
■'Let him go try," spoke up Donald. '• He 'II
get the worst of it."
'■ Indeed I '11 not let him try. either.'" cried
Dorry, still holding her position.
But Fandy already was beginning to cool down.
Second thoughts came to his rescue.
"I don't believe in hurtin' tame animals," said
he. " It taint right," and the foil and mask were
laid carefully upon the table.
"Who taught you to fight with these things?"
he asked Donald in an off-hand way, as though he
and Don were about equal in skill, with the great
FANDV^S FIRST FENCING-MATCH.
fired his soul. "Come on, Dorothy!" he cried.
" Pull to-o ! I mean, fall to-o ! "
But Dorry thanked him and declined, whereat a
thought struck the young champion. His expres-
sion grew fierce and resolute as, seizing the foil
with a sterner grip, he turned to Donald.
"There 's a cat upstairs. I guess it 's a wild-
cat. D' YOU W..\NT IT KILLED ? "
"Oh, you little monster!" cried Dorry, rushing
to the door and standing with her back against it.
" Would you do such a thing as that? "
" I would to d'fend myself," said Fandy, stoutly.
" Don't hunters kill tigers ?"
difference that his own power came to him by
nature, while Donald's undoubtedly was the result
of severe teaching.
"Professor Valerio. "
"Oh, did he? I 've heard 'Manda talk about
hint. She sayS he 's the — the — somethingest man
in the village. I forget now what she called him.
What 's those things?" Here the visitor pointed
to Don's boxing-gloves.
At any other time Don would have taken them
from the wall and explained their use, but it was
nearly three o'clock, and this was his fencing-lesson
day. So he merely said: "They 're boxing-gloves."
3«4
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[March,
" Do you wear 'em ? " asked Fandy, looking in
a puzzled way, first at the huge things, then at
Donald's hands, as if comparing the sizes.
"Yes, when I 'm boxing," returned Donald.
"What will you do about your fencing-lesson,
Don ? " said Dorry. " Do you think Uncle will let
you go? We 're prisoners, you know."
"Of course he will," replied Donald, taking his
hat (he had a mask and foil at the professor's) and
preparing to go down-
stairs. "I 'm to call for
Ed. Tyler at three. We '11
have rare times to-day ;
two fellows from town are
to be there, — prime fen-
cers, both of them, — and
we are to have a regular
match."
"You '11 beat," said
Dorry. " You always do.
Ed. Tyler says you are
the finest fencer he ever
saw, e.xcepting Professor
Valerio, and he says you
beat even the professor
sometimes."
"Nonsense!" said
Donald, severely, though
his face betrayed his pleas-
ure. "Ed. Tyler himself 's
a match for any one."
"What a mutual admir-
ation society you two are ! "
Dorry said this so good-
naturedly that Donald
could not resent it, and
^lis good-nature made her
add:
"Well, I don't care.
You 're bofh splendid, if I
do say it; and, oh, is n't
the professor handsome !
He 's so straight and tall.
Uncle says he 's a standing
argument against round
shoulders."
Dorry had taken a pho-
tograph from the table, and had been talking
partly to it and partly to Donald. As she laid the
picture down again, Fandy stepped up to take a
look.
"Who is it?" he asked.
" It 's Professor Valerio, Don's fencing-master."
"Whew! See his soword ! " exclaimed the
small boy, looking at the picture in great admira-
tion. "My, would n't I like to fight hhn /"
Here Dorry looked out of the window.
" There goes Don," she said. " Uncle must have
consented."
"Consented!" echoed Fandy. "Why, can't
Donald go out 'thout askin'? Ben can, and Dan
David, too ; so can 'Mandy and — Hello, Charity,
1 'm a-comin'."
This last remark was shouted through the open
window, where Dorothy now stood waving her
hand at the baby.
k£-:ncin(..-.masi-
" Can you come up. Charity ?" she called out.
" No, thank you. Mother said I must hurry
back. She wants Fandy."
Chapter XIV.
IN WHICH UNCLE GEORGE PROPOSES SOME-
THING DELIGHTFUL.
Dr. Lane, made proud and happy in the affec-
tion shown him by his bright young pupils, as well
i8S2.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY
385
as by their beautiful gift, bade Mr. Reed and the
D's good-l)ye, with repeated promises to write in
due time and tell them how he hked the sunny
South, and how it fared with him.
" I shall like it, I know," he assured them, " and
the climate will make me strong and well. Good-
bye once more, for you see " (here he made a play-
ful show of consulting his watch as he took it
proudly from his vest-pocket) " it is precisely six
and three-quarter minutes after three, and 1 must
catch the 4.20 train to town. Good-bye."
But there were more good-byes to come, for
Jack had brought the Rockaway to the door, and
Donald and Dorothy insisted upon driving with
him and Dr. Lane to the station.
Upon their return, they found their uncle and
Liddy engaged in consultation.
The evening came on with change of wind and
all the signs of a long storm.
" 1 have been thinking," remarked Mr. Reed,
while he and the D's were waiting lor supper,
" that it would be a good idea to have a little fun
between times. What say you, my dears?"
The dears looked at each other, and Don asked :
" Between what times. Uncle ? "
" Why, between the going of our good friend
Dr. Lane and the coming of that awful, yet at
present unknown personage, the new tutor."
" Oh, yes. Uncle ! " cried Dorothy, clapping her
hands, " I 'm ready for anything. But then," she
added, half-playfuUy, half-dolefully, "you forget
we 're prisoners, like the princes in the tower! "
" Not prisoners at all," he exclaimed, " unless
the storm should prove your jailer. You are free
as air. Let me see," he went on, taking no notice
of the D's surprise at this happy turn of affairs, and
speaking slowly and deliberately — just as if he had
not settled the matter with Liddy some days ago !
— " Let me see. What shall it be? Ah, I have it.
A house-picnic ! "
" What 's that. Uncle?" asked Dorry, Iialf-sus-
piciously.
" You don't know what a house-picnic is ! " was
the surprised rejoinder. " Well, upon my word! "
" Now, Uncle, do — don't ! '" coaxed Dorry, and
Don echoed, laughingly; ''Yes, Uncle, do —
don't ! " But he was as eager as she to hear more.
"Why, my dears, a house-picnic means this:
It means the whole house thrown open from ten in
the morning till ten at night. It means fun in
the garret, music and games in the parlor, story-
telling in odd corners, candy-pulling in the kitchen,
sliding curtains, tinkling bells, and funny perform-
ances in the librarj' ; it means almost any right
thing within bounds that you and about thirty
other youngsters choose to make it, with the house
thrown open to you for the day."
"No out-of-doors at all?" asked Donald, doubt-
fully, but with sparkling eyes.
"Oh, yes, a run or two when you wish, for fresli
air's sake; but there '11 be drizzling days all the
week, 1 suspect, and that will make your house-
picnic all the pleasanter."
" So it will ! How splendid ! " cried Dorry.
"Jack can take the big covered wagon and go for
the company, rain or not, while Don and you and
I plan the fun. We '11 try all sorts of queer out-of-
thc-wa\ things. Good for the house-picnic ! "
"Good for the house-picnic!" shouted Donald,
becoming almost as enthusiastic as Dorry.
" Oh, Uncle," she went on, " you are too
lovely ! How did you happen to think of it ? "
" Well, you see," said Uncle, with the glow-look,
■IS Liddy called it, coming to his face, " 1 thought
my poor princes in the tower had been rather good
and patient under the persecutions of their cruel
Uncle Gloucester, and so Liddy and 1 decided they
should have a little frolic by way of a change."
" Has he gone from the neighborhood, I won-
der?" thought Donald (strange to say, neither he
nor Dorry had known of the Danbys' boarder) ;
but he said aloud : " We 're ever so glad to hear
it. Uncle. Now, whom shall we invite ? "
"Oh, do hear that ' whom ' ! " exclaimed Dorry,
in well-feigned disgust, while Don went on gayly :
" Let 's have plenty of girls this time. Don't
you say so, Dorry ? "
" Oh, yes, 1 say for fifteen girls and fifteen boys.
Let 's invite all the Danbys ; may we. Uncle ? It
would be such a treat to them ; you know they
never have an opportunity to go tb a party."
"Just as you please, my girl ; but will not ten
of them be rather a large proportion out of thirty ? "
" Mercy, no. Uncle dear. They can't rt//come —
not the very littlest ones, any way. At any rate,
if Don 's willing, I 'd like to ask them."
" Agreed ! " assented Don.
"The ayes have it!" said Uncle George.
" Now let 's go to supper."
Dorry ran on ahead so as to have a word with Liddy
on the delightful subject of house-picnics ; but Don,
lingering, startled his uncle with a whispered:
" I say. Uncle, has Jack thrashed that fellow?"
"I have heard nothing to that effect," was the
reply. "He was called away suddenly."
"Oh," said Donald, in a disappointed tone, "I
hoped you had given him his walking papers."
" 1 have, perhaps," returned Mr. Reed, smiling
gravely, "but not in the way you supposed."
Don looked up, eagerly, hoping to hear more, but
his uncle merely led the way into the supper-room.
(To be contintud,)
386
HOW IT HAPPENED.
[March,
He looked up in her charming face —
He uttered loving sighs;
She looked down on his noble head
With tender, peaked eyes.
" He's rare old porcelain," thought she;
" She 's real Japanese," thought he.
Alas for love ! one morn there came
A maiden young and fair.
i883.]
HOW IT HAPPENED.
387
388
HOW IT HAPPENED.
[March,
Was hung so very high,
she looked
A red blotch on the
frieze ;
While her fond lover — O
regret ! —
Adorned a distant cabinet I
My own, my lo\e, what
cruel fate
Has borne you far apart?
No other lady on a fan
Can ever win my heart ! "
He cried, that Chinese gen-
tleman.
When evening brought its
shadows wan.
1 883.]
J 1 () W 11 HAPPENED.
389
390
HOW IT HAPPENED.
[March,
broken by the
vas shattered on
floor.
broke these works of
she cried ;
answer reached her
see the shep-
screen, shed
day she is in
disaster came
1 883.)
PUSSY AND Till-: (IIII'ML'NK.
391
PUSSY AND THE CHIPMUNK.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A D R U M M E R- BO Y.*
Bv Harry M. Kieffer.
Chapter XII.
OUR first day IX
THE WILDERNESS.
At last the long winter, with its deep snows and
intense cold, was gone, and on May 4, 1864, at four
o'clock in the morning, we broke camp. In what
direction we should march, whether north, south,
east, or west, none of us had the remotest idea;
for the pickets reported the Rapidan River so well
fortified by the enemy on the farther bank, that it
was plainly impossible for us to break their lines at
any point there. But in those days we h.id a gen-
eral who had no such word as "impossible" in his
dictionary, and under his leadership we marched
that May morning straight for and straight across
the Rapidan, in solid column. All day we plod-
ded on, the road strewn with blankets and over-
coats, of which the army lightened itself now that
the campaign was opening ; and at night we halted,
and camped in a beautiful green meadow.
Not the slightest suspicion had we, as we slept
quietly there that night, of the great battle, or
rather series of great battles, about to open on the
■Copyright, 1881, by Harry M. Kieffer. All rights reserved.
392
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[March,
following day. Even on that morrow, when we took
up the line of march and moved leisurely along for
an hour or two, we saw so few indications of the
coming struggle that, when we suddenly came
upon a battery of artillerj' in position for action
by the side of the road, some one exclaimed:
"Why, hello, fellows: that looks like busi-
ness ! "
Only a few moments later, a staff-officer rode up
to our regiment and delivered his orders :
"Major, you will throw forward your command
as skirmishers for the brigade."
The regiment at once moved into the thick pine-
woods, and was lost to sight in a moment, although
we could hear the bugle clanging out its orders
"deploy to right and left," as the line forced its
way through the tangled and interminable "Wil-
derness."
Ordered back by the Major into the main line of
battle, we drummer-boys found the troops massed
in columns along a road, and we lay down with
them among the bushes. How many men were
there we could not tell. Wherever we looked,
whether up or down the road, and as far as the
eye could reach, were masses of men in blue.
Among them was a company of Indians, dark,
swarthy, stolid-looking fellows, dressed in our uni-
form and serving with some Iowa regiment, under
the command of one of their chiefs as captain.
But hark !
"Pop! Pop! Pop-pop-pop!" The pickets are
beginning to fire, the "ball is going to open," and
things will soon be getting lively.
A venturesome fellow climbs up a tall tree to see
what he can see, and presently comes scrambling
down, reporting nothing in sight but signal-flags
flying over the tree-tops, and beyond them nothing
but woods and woods for miles.
Orderlies are galloping about and staff-officers
are dashing up and down the line, or forcing their
way through the tangled bushes, while out on the
skirmish line is the ever-increasing rattle of the
musketr)-, —
" Pop-pop ! Pop-pop-pop ! "
" Fall in, men ! Forward, guide right ! "
There is something grand in the promptitude
with which the order is obeyed. Every man is at
his post. Forcing its way as best it can through
the tangled undergrowth of briars and bushes,
across ravines and through swamps, our whole
magnificent line advances, until, after a half-hour's
steady work, we reach the skirmish line, which,
hardly pressed, falls back into the advancing
column of blue as it reaches a little clearing in the
forest. Now we see the lines of gray in the
edge of the woods on the other side of the little
field; first their pickets behind clumps of bushes.
then the solid column appearing behind the fence,
coming on yelling like demons, and firing a volley
that fills the air with smoke and cuts it with
whistling lead. Sheltered behind the trees, our
line reser\'es its fire, for it is likely that the enemy
will come out on a charge, and then we '11 mow
them down !
With bayonets fixed, and yells that make the
woods ring, here they come. Boys, through the
clearing, on a dead run ! And now, as you love
the flag that waves yonder in the breeze, up. Boys,
and let them have it ! Out from our Enfields
flashes a sheet of flame, before which the lines of
gray stagger for a moment ; but they recover and
push on, then reel again and quail, and at length
fly before the second leaden tempest, which sweeps
the field clear to the opposite side.
With cheers and shouts of " Victory I " our line,
now advancing swiftly from behind its covert of the
trees, sweeps into and across the clearing, driving
back the enemy into the woods from which they
had so confidently ventured.
The little clearing over which the lines of blue
are advancing is covered with dead and dying and
wounded men, among whom I find Lieutenant
Stannard, of my acquaintance.
"Harry, help me, quick! I'm bleeding fast.
Tear off my suspender or take my handkerchief,
and tie it as tight as you can draw it around my
thigh, and help me off the field."
Ripping up the leg of his pantaloons with my
knife, I soon check the flow of blood with a hard
knot — and none too soon, for the main artery has
been severed. Calling a comrade to my assistance,
we succeed in reaching the woods, and make our
way slowly to the rear in search of the division
hospital.
Whoever wishes to know something of the terrible
realities of war should visit a field hospital during
some great engagement. No doubt the boys of
St. Nicholas imagine war to be a great and
glorious thing, and so, indeed, in many regards it
is. It would be idle to deny that there is some-
thing stirring in the sound of martial music, some-
thing strangely uplifting and intensely fascinating
in the roll of musketry and the loud thunder of
artillery. Besides, the march and the battle afford
opportunities for the unfolding of manly virtue,
and as things go in this disjointed world, human
progress seems to be almost impossible without
war.
Yet still, war is a terrible, a horrible thing. If
the boys of St. Nichol.'^S could have been with
us as we helped poor Stannard off the field that
first day in "the Wilderness" — if they could have
seen the surgeons of the first division of our corps
as we saw them, when passing by with the Lieuten-
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
393
ant on a stretcher, they would. I think, agree
with me that if war is a necessity, it is a dreadful
necessity. There were the surgeons, busy at work,
while dozens of poor fellows were lying all around
on stretchers, awaiting their turns.
"Hurry on. Boys! Hurr>- on ! Don't stop here.
I can't stand it," groaned our charge.
So, we pushed on with our burden, until we saw
our Division colors over in a clearing among the
pines, and on reaching this we came upon a scene
that I can never adequately describe.
longer any hope for him, — and down yonder,
about a row of tables, each under a fly," stood
groups of thcni, ready for their dreadful and yet
helpful work.
To one of these groups we carried poor Stan-
nard, and I stood by and watched ; the sponge
saturated with chloroform was put to his face, ren-
dering him unconscious while the operation of
tying the severed artery was performed. On a
neighboring table was a man whose leg was being
A PART OF THE HELD-HoSriTAU
There were hundreds of the wounded already
there; other hundreds, perhaps thousands, were yet
to come. On all sides, within and just without the
hastily erected hospital-tents, were the severely
and dangerously wounded, while great numbers of
slightly wounded men, with hands or feet band-
aged or heads tied up, were lying about the sides
of the tents or out among the bushes. The
surgeons were everywhere busy, — here, dressing
wounds, there, alas ! stooping down to tell some
poor fellow, over whose countenance the pallor of
death was already spreading, that there was no
unconsciousness, interested everybody by singing at
the top of his voice, and with a clear articulation,
five verses of a hymn to an old-fashioned Meth-
odist tune, never once losing the melody nor stop-
ping for a word. I remember seeing another poor
fellow with his arm off at the shoulder, lying on
the ground and resting after the operation; he
appeared to be very much amused at himself,
"because " (he said, in answer to my inquiry as to
what he was laughing at) "he had felt a fly on his
right hand, and when he w'cnt to brush it off with
his left there was no right hand there any more ! "
• A piece of canvas stretched over a pole and fastened to tent-pins by long ropes ; having no walls, it admits light on all sides.
Vol. IX.— 26.
394
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOV
[March,
I remember, too, seeing a tall prisoner brought in
and laid on the table, — a magnificent specimen of
physical development, erect, well-built, and strong
looking, and with a countenance full of frank and
sturdy manliness, — and the surgeon said, as the
wounded prisoner was stretched out on the table :
"Well, Johnny, my man; what is the matter
with you, and what can we do for you to-day? "
"Well, doctor, your people have used me rather
rough to-day. In the first place, there 's something
down in here," feeling about his throat, "that
troubles me a good deal."
Opening his shirt-collar, the surgeon found a
deep blue mark an inch or more below the "Ad-
am's apple." On pressing the blue lump a little
with the fingers, out popped a "Minic" ball which
had lodged just beneath the skin.
"Lucky for you that this was a 'spent ball,'
Johnny," said the surgeon, holding the bullet
between his fingers.
"Give me that, doctor — give me that ball; 1
want it," said Johnny, eagerly reaching out his
left hand for the ball ; then he carefully examined
it, and put it away into his jacket-pocket.
"And now, doctor, there 's something else, you
see, the matter with me, and something more seri-
ous, too, I 'ni afraid. You see, I can't use my right
arm. The way was this : we were having a big fight
out there in the woods. In the bayonet-charge I got
hold of one of your flags, and was waving it, when
all on a sudden I got an ugly clip in the arm here,
as you see."
" Never mind, Johnny. We shall treat you just
the same as our own boys, and though you are
dressed in gray, you shall be cared for as faithfully
as if you were dressed in blue, until you are well
and strong again."
We had carried Stannard into a tent, and laid
him on a pile of pine-boughs, where, had he
only been able to keep quiet, he would have done
well enough. But he was not able to keep quiet.
A more restless man I never saw. Although his
wound was not considered necessarily dangerous,
yet he was evidently in great fear of death, and for
death, I grieve to say, he was not at all prepared.
He had been a wild, wayward man, and now that
he thought the end was approaching, he was full
of alarm. As I bent over him, trying my best, but
ni vain, to comfort and quiet him, my attention
vtfas called to a man on the other side of the tent,
whose face I thought I knew, in spite of its un-
earthly pallor.
"Why, Smith," said I, "is this you.'' Where
are you hurt ? "
" Come turn me around and see," he said.
Rolling him over carefully on his side, I saw a
great, cruel wound in his back.
My countenance must have expressed alarm
when I asked him, as quietly as I could, whether
he knew he was very seriously wounded and might
die.
Never shall 1 forget the look that man gave me,
as, with a strange light in his eye, he said :
"I am in God's hands ; I am not afraid to die."
Two or three days after that, while we were
marching on rapidly in column again, we passed
an ambulance-train filled with wounded, on their
way to Fredericksburg. Hearing my name called
by some one, I ran out of line to an ambulance, in
which I found Stannard.
" Harry, for pity's sake, have you any water.'"
" No, Lieutenant. I 'm very sorry, but there 's
not a drop in my canteen, and there 's no time
now to get any."
It was the last time I ever saw him. He was
taken to Fredericksburg, submitted to a second
operation, and died — and I have always believed
that his death was largely owing to want of faith.
Six months, or may be a year, later, Smith
came back to us with a great white scar between
his shoulders, and I doubt not he is alive and well
to this day.
And there was Jimmy Lucas, too. They brought
him in about the middle of that same afternoon,
two men bearing him on their arms. He was so
pale that I knew at a glance he was severely hurt.
"A ball through the lungs," they said, and "he
can't live." Jimmy was of my own company,
from my own village. We had been school-fellows
and playmates from childhood almost, and you
may well believe it was sad work to kneel down
by his side, and watch his slow and labored breath-
ing, looking at his pallid features, and thinking
— ah, yes, that was the saddest of all — of those
at home. He would scarcely let me go from him
a moment, and when the sun was setting he re-
quested every one to go out of the tent, for he
wanted to speak a few words to me in private. As
I bent down over him, he gave me his message
for his father, and -mother, and a tender good-bye
to his sweetheart, begging me not to forget a
single word of it all if ever I should live to see
them ; and then he said :
"And, Harry, tell Father and Mother I thank
them now for all their care and kindness in trying
to bring me up well and in the fear of God. I
know I have been a wa)-ward boy, sometimes, but
1 can trust in the Forgiving Love."
When the sun had set that evening, poor Jimmy
had entered into rest. He was buried somewhere
among the woods that night, and no flowers are
strewn over his grave on "Decoration Day" as the
years go by, for no head-board marks his resting-
place among the moaning pines.
i883.J
RECOLLECTIONS OK A DKUMMER-BOY
395
Chapter XIII.
IN THE FRONT AT PETERSBURG.
"Andy, let 's go a-swimming."
" Well, Harry, I don't know about that. I 'd
like to take a good plunge; but, you see, there 's
no telling how soon we may move."
It was the afternoon of Tuesday, June 14, 1864.
We had been marching and lighting almost con-
tinually for five weeks and more, from the Wilder-
ness to Spottsylvania, over the North Anna, in at
Cold Harbor, across the Pamunky and over the
We had not gone far when we discovered a mule
tied up in a clump of bushes, with a rope around
his neck. And this long-eared animal, somewhat
•'gothic" in his style of architecture, we decided,
after a solemn council of war, to declare contra-
band, and forthwith we impressed him into serxice,
intending to return him, after our bath, on our
way back to camp. Untying Bucephalus from
the bush, we mounted, Andy in front and 1 on
behind, each armed with a switch, and we rode
along gayly enough, with our feet dangling among
the corn-stalks.
^^^^^i^-^^i*^^^:^:;^-
' BRTTER GIT OFF N DAT DAR MULE !
Chickahominy to the banks of the James River,
about a mile and a half from which we were now
lying, along a dusty road. We were sun-burned,
covered with dust, and generally used U]), so that
a swim in the river would be a refreshment indeed.
Having learned from one of the officers that the
intention evidently was to remain where \vc then
were until the entire corps should come up, and
that we should probably cross the river at or some-
where near that point, we resolved to risk it.
So, over a corn-field we started at a good pace.
For a while all went well. We fell to talking
about the direction we had come since leaving the
Pamunky ; and Andy, who was usually such an,
autliority on matters geograpliical and astronom-
ical that on the march he was known in the
company as " the compass," confessed to me as
we rode on that he himself had been somewhat
turned about, in that march over the Chickahominy
swamp.
" And as for me," said I, " I think this is the
awfuUest country to get turned about in that I ever
396
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[March,
did see. Why, Andy, while we were lying over
there in the road it seemed to me that the sun was
going down in the east. Fact ! But when I took
my canteen and went over a little ridge to the rear
to look for water for coffee, I found, on looking
up, that on that side of the ridge the sun was all
right. Yet when 1 got back to the road and looked
around, judge of my surprise when I found the
whole thing had somehow swung around again,
and the sun was going down in the east. And
you may judge still further of my surprise,
Andy, when, on going and walking back and
forth across that ridge, I found one particular spot,
from which, if 1 looked in one direction, the sun
was going down all right in the west ; but if in the
opposite direction, he was going down all wrong,
entirely wrong, in the east ! "
" Whoa dar ! Whoadar! Whar you gwine wid
dat dar mule o' mine ? Whoa, Pete ! "
The mule stopped stock-still as we caught sight
of the black head and face of a darkey boy peer-
ing forth from the door of a tobacco-house that we
were passing. Possibly, he was the owner of the
whole plantation now, and the mule Pete might be
his only live-stock.
"Where are we going, Pompey? Why, we 're
going ' on to Richmond t ' "
"On ter Richmon' ! An' wid dat dar mule o'
mine ! 'Clar to goodness, sodgers, can't git along
widout dat mule. Better git off 'n dat dar mule ! "
" Whip him up, Andy ! " shouted 1.
" Come up, Bucephalus ! " shouted Andy.
And we both laid on right lustily. But never an
inch would that miserable mule budge from the
position he had taken on hearing the darkey's
voice, until all of a sudden, and as if a mine had
been sprung under our feet, there was such a
striking out of heels and such an uncomfortable
elevation in the rear, the angle of which was only
increased by increased cudgelling, that at last, with
an enormous spring, Andy and I were sent flying
off into the corn.
"Yi! yi ! yi ! Did n' I say better git off 'n dat
dar mule o' mine? Yi! yi ! yi ! "
Laughing as heartily as the darkey at our mis-
adventure, we felt that it would be safer to make
for the river afoot. We had a glorious plunge in
the waters of the James, and returned to the regi-
ment at sunset, greatly refreshed.
The next day we crossed the James in steam-
boats. There were thousands of men in blue all
along both shores; some were crossing, some were
already over, and others were awaiting their turn.
By the middle of the forenoon we were all well
over, and it has been said that, had we pushed on
without delay, the story of the siege of Petersburg
would have read quite differently. But we waited.
— for provisions, I believe, — and during this halt
the whole corps took a grand swim in the river.
We marched off at three o'clock in the afternoon,
over a dusty road and without fresh water, and
reached the neighborhood of Petersburg at mid-
night, but did not get into position until after
several days of hard fighting in the woods.
It would be impossible to give a clear and in-
teresting account of the numerous engagements
in which we took part around that long-beleagured
city, where for ten months the two great armies of
the North and South sat down to watch and fight
each other until the end came. For, after days
and days of maneuvering and fighting, attack
and sally, it became evident that Petersburg could
not be carried by storm, and there was nothing
for it but to sit down stubbornly, and, by cutting
off all railroad supplies and communications, starve
it into surrender.
It maybe interesting, however, to tell something
of the everj'-day life and experience of our soldiers
during that great siege.
Digging becomes almost an instinct with the
experienced soldier. It is surprising how rapidly
men in the field throw up fortifications, how the
work progresses, and what immense results can
be accomplished by a body of troops in a single
night. Let two armies fight in the open field one
evening — by the next morning both are strongly
intrenched behind rifle-pits and breastworks,
which it wiU cost either side much blood to storm
and take. If spades and picks are at hand when
there is need of fortifications, well; if not, bayo-
nets, tin cups, plates, even jack-knives, are pressed
into service until better tools arrive ; and every
man works like a beaver.
Thus it was that although throughout the iSth
of June the fighting had been severe, yet, in spite
of weariness and darkness, we set to work, and the
morning found us behind breastworks ; these we
soon so enlarged and improved that they became
well-nigh impregnable. At that part of the line
where my regiment was stationed, we built solid
works of great pine-logs, rolled up, log on log,
seven feet high and banked with earth on the
side toward the enemy, the whole being ten feet
through at the base. On the inside of these breast-
works we could walk about perfectly safe from
the enemy's bullets, which usually went singing
harmlessly over our heads.
On the outside of these works were further de-
fenses. First, there was the ditch made by throw-
ing up the ground against the logs; then, farther
out, about twenty or thirty yards away, was the
abatis — a peculiar means of defense, made by
cutting off the tops and heavy limbs of trees,
sharpening the ends, and planting them firmly in
i88a.]
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
397
the ground in a long row, the sharpened ends
pointing toward tlie enemy, the whole being so
close and so compacted together with telegraph-
wires everywhere twisted in, that it w;is impossible
for a line of battle to get through it without being
cut off to a man. Here and there, at intervals,
were left gaps wide enough to admit a single man,
and it was through these man-holes that the pick-
ets p.issed out to their pits beyond.
KS AMONG THE
Fifty yards in front of the abatis the pickets were
stationed. When first the siege began, picketing
was dangerous business. Both armies were bent
on fight, and picketing meant simply sharp-shoot-
ing. As a consequence, at first the pickets were
posted only at night, so that from midnight to
midnight the poor fellows lay in their rifle-pits
under a broiling July sun, with no protection from
the intolerable heat, excepting the scanty shade
of a little pine-brush erected overhead, or in front
of the pit as a screen. There the picket lay, flat
on his face, picking off the enemy's men whenever
he could catch sight of a head or even so much .is
a hand ; and right glad would he be if, when the
long-awaited relief came at length, he had no
wounds to show.
But later on, as the siege progressed, this
murderous state of affairs gradually disappeared.
Neither side found it pleas-
ant, nor profitable, and
nothing was gained by it.
It decided nothing, and only
wasted powder and ball.
.■\nd so, gradually, the pick-
ets on both sides began to
be on quite friendly terms.
It was no unusual thing to
ee a Johnny picket — who
viould be posted scarcely
1 hundred yards away, so
near were the lines — lay
down h.is gun, wave a piece
of white paper as a signal
i>( truce, walk out into the
neutral ground between the
picket-lines, and meet one
of our own pickets, who,
also dropping his gun,
\\ould go out to inquire
what Johnny might want
ti)-day.
"Well, Yank, I want
some coffee, and I '11 trade
tobacco for it."
"Has any of you fellows
back there some coffee to
trade for tobacco? 'Johnny
Ticket,' here, wants some
roffce."
Or, may be he wanted to
trade papers, a Richmond
linquircr for a New York
Herald or Tribuiii;, " even
ii|) and no odds." Or, he
only wanted to talk about
the news of the day — -how
"we 'uns whipped you 'uns
up the valley the other day " ; or how, " if we had
Stonewall Jackson yet, we 'd be in W.ashington
before winter " ; or may be he only wished to have
a friendly game of cards !
There w.as a certain chivalrous etiquette devel-
oped through this social intercourse of deadly foe-
men, and it was really admirable. Seldom was
there breach of confidence on either side. It would
have gone hard with the comrade who should
It I tK:>UV KG
398
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[March,
have ventured to shoot down a man in gray who twenty feet in height, with rows of gabions* and
had left his gun and come out of his pit under sand-bags arranged on top of the embankment,
the sacred protection of a piece of white paper, and at intervals along the sides embrasures or port-
"THE MAGAZINE WHERE THE POWDER AND SHELLS WERE STORED.*
If disagreement ever occurred in bartering, or high
words arose in discussion, shots were never fired
until due notice had been given. And I find
mentioned in one of my old army letters that a
general fire along our entire front grew out of
some disagreement on the picket-line about trad-
ing coffee for tobacco. The tNvo pickets could n't
agree, jumped into their pits, and began firing,
the one calling out : "Look out, Yank, here comes
your tobacco." Bang!
And the other replying: "All right, Johnny,
here comes your coffee." Bang !
Great forts stood at intervals all along the line
as far as the eye could see, and at these the men
toiled day and night all summer long, adding
defense to defense, and making " assurance doubly
sure," until the forts stood out to the eye of the
beholder, with their sharp angles and well-defined
outlines, formidable structures indeed. Without
attempting to describe them in technical mili-
tary language, I will simply ask you to imagine
a piece of level ground, say two hundred feet
square, surrounded by a bank of earth about
holes, at which" the great cannon were planted, —
and you will have some rough notion of what one
of our forts looked like. Somewhere within the
inclosure, usually near the center of it, was the
magazine, where the powder and shells were
stored. This was made by digging a deep place,
something like a cellar, covering it over with
heavy logs, and piling up earth and sand-bags on
the logs, the whole, when finished, having the
shape of a small, round-topped pyramid. At the
rear was left a small passage, like a cellar-way,
and through this the ammunition was brought up.
If ever the enemy could succeed in dropping a
shell down that little cellar-door, or in otherwise
piercing the magazine, then good-bye to the fort
and all and everybody in and around it !
On the outside of each large fort there were, of
course, all the usual defenses of ditch, abatis, and
che%iaiix-di'-frisc, to render approach very danger-
ous to the enemy.
The enemy had fortifications like ours — long
lines of breastworks, with great forts at command-
ing positions ; and the tsvo lines were so near that,
* Bottomless wicker baskets, used to strengthen earthworks.
RKCOLI.ECTIONS OF A U R U M M li K - liU V.
399
standing in one of our forts, 1 could have carried
on a conversation with a man in the fort opposite.
I remember, while on the picket-line one even-
ing, watching a body of troops moving along the
edge of a wood within the enemy's works, and quite
easily distinguishing the color of their uniforms.
I have said already that, inside of our breast-
works, one was quite secure against the enemy's
bullets. But bullets were not the only things we
had to look out for — there were the shell, the case-
shot, and 1 know not what shot besides. Every
few hours these would be dropped behind our
breastworks, and often much execution was done
by them. To guard against these missiles, each
mess built what was called a "bomb-proof," which
consisted of an excavation about six feet square by
six deep, covered with heavy logs, the logs covered
with earth, a little back cellar-way being left on the
side away from the enemy. Into this bomb-proof
we could dart the moment the shelling began, and
be as safe as in our own mother's kitchen. Our
shelter-tents we pitched on top of the bomlj-proof.
Familiarity breeds contempt — even of danger;
and sometimes we were caught. Thus, one day,
when there had been no shelling for a long time
and we had grown somewhat careless, and were
scattered about under the trees, some sleeping
and others sitting on top of the breastworks to get
a mouthful of fresh air, all of a sudden the guns of
one of the great forts opposite us opened with a
rapid fire, dropping shells right among us. Of
course there was a " scatteration " as we tried to
fall into our pits pell-mell; but, for all our haste,
several of us were sevcrel>- hurt. There was a boy
from Philadelphia, — I forget his name, — sitting on
the breastworks writing a letter home ; a piece of
shell tore off his arm with the pen in his hand. A
lieutenant received an iron slug in his back,
while a number of other men were hurt. And
such experiences were of frequent occurrence.
A great victory had been gained by our
cavalry somewhere
(I think by Sheri-
(lan)and onceven- .^/iS^'- -/-^
^H^
FINDlNr, A WOUNDED I'ICKET IN A RIKI.K-riT.
and in this upper story we lived most of the time,
dropping down occasionally into the cellar.
Bang! bang! bang!
" Fall into your pits, boys ! " and in a trice there
was n't so much as a blue coat in sight.
ing an orderly rode along the line to each
regimental head-quarters, distributing dispatches
containing an account of the victory, with in-
structions that the papers be read to the men.
Cheers were given all along the line that night,
400
THE CHILDREN S COUNTRY.
[March,
and a shotted salute was ordered at daylight the
next morning.
At sunrise every available gun from the Appo-
mattox to the Weldon Railroad must have been
brought into service and trained against the ene-
my's works, for the noise was terrific. And still
further to increase the din, the Johnnies, suppos-
ing it to be a grand assault along the whole line,
replied with every gun they could bring to bear,
and the noise was so great that you would have
thought the very thunders of doom were rolling.
After the firing had ceased, the Johnnies were in-
formed that ''we have only been giving three iron
cheers for the victory Sheridan has gained up the
valley lately. " There was, I presume, some regret
on the other side over the loss of powder and shot.
At all events, whenever, after that, similar iron
cheers were given, and this was not seldom the
case, the enemy preserved a moody silence.
After remaining in our works for about a month,
we were relieved by other troops and marched off
to the left in the direction of the Weldon Railroad,
which we took after severe fighting. We held it,
and at once fortified our position with a new line
of works, thus cutting off one of the main lines of
communication between Petersburg and the South.
(To be continued.)
THE CHILDREN'S COUNTRY.
By Ellen M. H. Gates.
She is sitting very silent in her little crimson chair.
With the flicker of the firelight on her pretty golden hair ;
And all pleasant things surround her, but her thoughts are otherwhere.
For these little lads and lasses have a country of their own.
Where, without the older people, they can wander off alone,
Into dim and distant regions, that were never named or known.
They are wearied with the questions, and the running to and fro,
For some one is always saying, " You must come," or " You must go."
You must speak and write correctly, sitting, standing, thus and so."
So they turn at any moment from the figures on their slates;
And the names of all the islands, and the oceans, and the
States
Are forgotten in a moment when they see the shining gates
Of their own delightful country, where they wander as they
please
On the great enchanted mountains, or beneath the forest
trees.
With a thousand other children, all entirely at their ease.
Oh, the happy, happy children ! do they wish for anything.
Book or bird, or boat ' or picture, silken dress or golden ring ?
Lo ! a little page will hasten, and the treasure straight will bring.
It is strange the older people can not find this land at all;
If they ever knew its language, it is lost beyond recall.
And they only, in their dreamings, hear its music rise and fall.
Oh, the riches of the children with this country for their own !
All the splendor of its castles, ever)' flower and precious stone,
Until time itself is ended, and the worlds are overthrown.
I883.J
THIN ICE.
401
THIN ICE.
By William O. Stoddard.
MORT Hubbard was a hero among the Pond-
ville boys that winter morning.
He was a good deal more than that, for he
had been a traveler, and so now he was a curiosity ;
and a round half-dozen of the boys were making a
study of him.
He had spent Christmas and New Year's Day at
his grandfather's, a hundred miles away, and his
school-fellows had not seen an inch of him for
more than three weeks. He must have changed a
good deal in so long a time as that ! Of course
they could hardly suspect him of having a beard
yet, for his twelfth birthday had come only a little
before Christmas; but he might have had two
beards for all they could see of his face.
" Here, I say, Mort," remarked Penn Landers,
"where did you get so much tippet? Your head 's
all done up in it."
(The making of that tippet must have used a
great deal of wool, of wonderful dyes. )
Mort's muffled reply was:
"Christmas."
"Look at his boots!" said Dorr Hopkins.
"He can tuck his trousers 'way down. New mit-
tens, too ! "
These village chums of his had never seen
Mort come out of his front gate in such style
before ; but he had been holding the gate open
for something that was coming out behind him,
and now he gave a shout that had a triumphant
sound, in spite of coming through so much tippet.
" Christmas ! Look at that sled, will you ? "
It was a great thing — to go a hundred miles to
your grandfather's, and stay there so long, and
come home with such a sled as that. The like of
it had never been seen in Pondville !
It was long ; it was low on its runners ; it curved
up gracefully in front; it w'as wider than common;
it w.TS strong ; it was brand-new. The only places
not painted were the faces of the runner-irons, and
they were as smooth as glass. There was only one
thing about it that puzzled the group of gazers,
and that was the name, which shone in gold letters
all along the top of the sled.
" C-e-n-t-i-p-c-d-e ! — Centipede ! " exclaimed
Penn. "Who ever heard of a sled with such a
name as that?"
" It means a hundred thousand legs," said Mort,
" and that sled '11 run away from anything."
"We 'Usee!"
"Fancy sleds never run well."
"There's good coasting on the hill. Just you
come and try it now."
"But the ice in the river's awfully thin," said
Dorr. "The old ice went out in the January
thaw, and the new ice wont bear a dog. "
The boys were already on their way down to the
old bridge, across the little river, beyond which
was a short strip of level road, and then the hill
began. It was a splendid hill for coasting, with
three roads that went up and up, till no boy
would care to drag a sled farther. As the little
group reached the bridge, every boy with his sled
behind him, and two or three of them were
remarking how wide the river looked, Just there,
and how smooth and "glary" the ice was, and
all were wishing it would freeze a little harder, —
suddenly they all shouted pretty nearly the same
thing at the same moment:
" Sam Smith 's broken in ! "
Even Mort Hubbard started on a run with the
rest, but they dropped their sled-ropes while he
kept a firm grip of his.
For a moment all that could be seen was a
bunch of fiery-red hair, in the middle of a big
patch of water ; and the mouth that belonged to it
was wide open in a long, shivering, astonished
yell.
" He 's a-sitting down on his sled ! "
"Broken through, sled and all ! "
It was nearly thirty feet from shore, but the
moment Sam stood up in the water they all knew
just how deep it was.
" It can't drown him."
" He 's coming ashore."
" Saved his sled, too."
"Oh, but is n't he wet!"
" What made you break in, Sam ? " asked Penn.
"I — I — I — just w-w-went on t-t-to try the
i-i-ice," shivered poor Sam. "It's t-t-too thin."
" It must be even thinner out there."
" 1 'm g-g-going home I "
"I think you'd better; but what '11 your folks
say? "
" Should n't w-wonder if Aunt B-B-Betsy would
give me a w-w-warmin'."
Sam was the boy who made most of the blun-
ders that were made in Pondville, and it was gen-
erally known that Aunt Betsy was determined to
do her duty by him.
The other boys at once made up their minds
that they would wait for another frost before
402
THIN ICE.
[March,
they would try that ice ; and Mort Hubbard steepest, and Mort insisted on climbing higher than
remarked, loftily: "We had better ice than that
where I 've been. You could skate all over it."
" Did you get any new skates ? "
"No; but I got some new straps for the old
ones. They '11 stay on now."
any boys had ever before cared to drag sleds.
" This is n't any kind of a hill," he remarked.
"You ought to see the hill they have where
I 've been. It 's as steep as the roof of a house,
and they keep it slippery all winter."
^;i.;^??:?ft*>».
" MORT WAS HOLDING BACK THE GATE.
" Skating 's nothing to coasting,
anyhow. Only you must have a sled
that '11 run."
" I '11 show you one. I 'm going to run
clear over the bridge. "
"No, you wont; not if your sled had a
hundred million thousand legs."
" You '11 see. We had better coasting than this
where I 've been. You could slide for twice as far,
and there was n't any thin ice in the river."
On they went, up the north road, for that was the
" Oh, but it is n't of any use to have a good hill
unless your sled 's good for something. Look at
mine, now. She can just 'buzz' !"
Every sled was then stood up on end to show
i88x]
THIN UK.
403
how brilliantly its runner-irons were polished,
and Mort was fairly overwhelmed by the severe
criticisms upon his " fancy sled."
have tried to
'• I dare say Sam Smith wishes he had n't tried
the ice," chuckled Dorr, just as they all were out
of breath, and had decided that they had climbed
high enough.
"No doubt he does," said Mort. " 15ut you
ought to see the river where 1 've been. If he 'd
broken through into that, his head would n't have
stuck out. Not if he 'd been standing on a whole
stack of sleds like his."
"It's deep, is it? — Can you steer with those
new boots on ? "
Mort made no reply, for just at that moment lu-
was arranging himself on the gorgeous level of
the " Centipede," and it appeared to him as if the
white slope before him had never until then
seemed so long, so smooth, and so wonderfully
steep.
" Some of us 'II run over you, most likely," said
Dorr.
" You ought to see how they run over things up
where I 've been," — began Mort; but at that in-
stant Penn Landers gave him a little push, and the
"Centipede" shot away with him down the hill.
" Hurrah, boys ! Catch him 1 "
" Follow my leader ! "
" Clear the track ! "
One after another, in rapid succession, the Pond-
villc boys darted on behind the " fancy sled " that
Mort Hubbard had brought home from " up where
he'd been."
Catch him ? They might as wef
catch a barn-swallow.
Mort was a good coaster, and he had been all
ready to start when Pcnn pushed him, but he
had never dreamed of going down any hill as
swiftly as he was now going. All the hills he
had looked upon during his visit at his grand-
father's grew smaller and smaller when he tried
to remember them, and this present slide grew
more and more terrific. He did not dare put
the heels of his new boots down upon the snow
any harder than was needed to do a very little
steering. The sled was not likely to need
much, for it was running in the track made by
the sleighs of the farmers from beyond the hill.
Fences, trees, houses went by quickly and
more quickly. Joe Benham's yellow dog
was at the side of the road, half-way down
the hill, and Mort saw his mouth open,
l)ut the bark did not catch up with the
'Centipede" until the dog
was ten rods behind it.
" The river ! "
He was going too fast
to say anything, but he
thought of it; for he
knew there was no
stopping the "Cent-
ipede" yet awhile.
"It '11 carry
I me up
.\\r '■'■•■
J^u
i .,
H^
f
Xt
'
v*
'*-,
^
■^-
1 -
\
THE TL'G
UPHILL.
and over the bridge, after all, and nobody ever
did that before in all the world." He gave a look
back, to see how far behind him were all the other
404
THIN ICE.
[March,
boys, and when he turned his head again — his
teeth began to chatter.
There was a whole drove of cattle coming upon
the bridge !
It was easy enough for him to turn out of the
road, but the long, sloping hollow at the side went
straight down to the river ! Wagon-drivers used
to go along it in summer, and when the water was
low they would let the horses drink in mid-stream.
" No use ! I can't stop her ! I wish I dared
tumble off! "
How that sled did slip
along ! It was just as if
it knew where the river
was, and meant to try the
strength of the ice; for,
before Mort could think -''..,.
again of anything in par-
ticular, the sled skimmed '
out of the road into the
hollow, and the ox in ad-
vance of the drove gave ^, ,
a stupid bellow as the
" Centipede " shot out
upon the thin, dark,
"glary " new ice.
It came to Mort, like
a flash, that he was not
breaking in. " I 'm going
too fast ! The ice has n't
any time to break. I shall
go clear across ! "
And he might have
gone clear across if it had
not been for Sam Smith's
blunder, and if he could
have steered the " Centi-
pede " on the ice.
On she whizzed, over all
the deepest part of the
little river. And then
Mort must have found his
breath, for it came out in
a yell as loud as Sam's.
It ought to have been
every bit as loud, for he
was sousing into the same
cold water, and through
the same hole in the ice.
Then he heard shout
after shout behind him,
for all the boys on the other sleds had been quite
able to stop in time, and they all would have been
slipping over the bridge if it had n't been for the
cattle that were crowding on it.
" Oh ! oh ! oh ! " shivered poor Mort. " The
ice is n't anything like as thin as that up where
I 've been. The w-water is n't so c-c-cold neither.
Oh ! oh ! oh ! how cold it is ! "
He was wading ashore as fast as he could, and
the " Centipede " was following at the end of her
rope. It was too bad ! And he could hear Dorr
Hopkins, on the other side of the stream, shouting
to him :
"I should think you'd better go home! Did
you get as wet as that up where you 've been ? "
^'vV,
MORT CAME SOUSING THROUGH THE HOLE IN THE ICE.
Poor Mort could not have kept his teeth apart
long enough to tell him, so he hurried home. But
he had beaten everything on the hill that morning,
and that was something to be proud of
iSSi.J
REMINDING THE HEN.
405
REMINDING THE HEN.
By Bessie Chandler.
"It's well I ran into the garden,"
Said Eddie, his face all aglow;
" For what do you think. Mamma, happened?
You never will guess it, 1 know.
" The little brown hen was there clucking ;
' Cut-cut ! ' she 'd say, quick as a wink.
Then 'Cut-cut' again, only slower;
And then she would stop short and think.
" And then she would say it all over,
She did look so mad and so vext ;
For Mamma, do you know, she 'd forgotten
The word that she ought to cluck next.
" So / said ' Ca-</aw-cut,' ' Ca-^'aw-cut,'
As loud and as strong as I could.
And she looked 'round at me very thankful ;
1 tell you, it made her feel good.
"Then she flapped, and said, 'Cut-cut — ca-rfaw-cut';
She remembered just how it went, then.
But it 's well I ran into the garden, —
She might never have clucked right again ! "
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.— SEVENTH PAPER.
By Clara Erskine Clement.
ONORATA RODL\NA.
There is a ver)^ interesting story told of an artist
of Cremona, — Onorata Rodiana, — who, while still
a young maiden, acquired such fame as a painter
that she was summoned by the Marquis Gabrino
Fondolo, called the "Tyrant of Cremona," to
decorate some rooms in his palace.
One day, as Onorata was mounted on a ladder,
working at a wall-painting, a young courtier pass-
ing through the room began to tease her; but, his
banter degenerating into rudeness, she came down
from the ladder and tried to run away from him.
He pursued her, however, and caught her, when,
in her fright, she drew a dagger from her belt and
stabbed him fatally. Seeing what she had done,
and fearing the wrath of the Marquis Fondolo, she
hastened to put on the disguise of a boy's dress,
and fled to the mountains. She there fell in with a
band of condottieri : the life of these men, half-
soldier and half-brigand in its character, so fasci-
nated Onorata that she at once consented to become
one of their number, glad of the chance afforded
her to make herself acquainted with the grand
mountain scenery and the careless jollity of life in
its wilds. She soon showed so much daring and
skill, that she was made an officer in the band and
held a post of command.
When the "Tyrant of Cremona" heard of the
affray between the courtier and the maiden, and
of her crime and flight, he was furious, and threat-
ened to hunt her to the very death; but so skillfully
had she concealed her identity as to baffle all his
efforts to track her. After a time, as he could find
no other suit.ible artist to complete the paint-
ings which Onorata Rodiana had begun, he de-
clared a full pardon for her if she would return to
the palace and finish her works. The news of
4o6
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[March,
this pardon was spread throughout the surrounding
country, and when Onorata heard of it, she gladly
laid aside her sword to resume her palette and
brushes. She completed her task, but the excit-
ing life she had led among the mountains had
taken such a hold upon her fancy, that she returned
to it and to the outlawed companions who had
learned to respect and love her.
Again and again she left them, only to return
each time, for her heart and life were divided be-
tween her beloved art and her romantic soldiering.
At last, when her native village of Castelleone,
near Cremona, was laid siege to, Onorata led her
band to its relief, and drove away the enemy.
But she rescued her birthplace at the cost of her
life ; for she was mortally wounded in the conflict,
and died soon after, within sight of the home of
her childhood. I believe that she is the only
woman w-ho has ever been successful as both an
artist and a soldier ; and 1 am sorry that 1 can find
no work of hers of which a picture may be given
here. Her story is well authenticated in history,
and she died about the year 1472.
The great painter whom we call Titian was
named Tiziano Vecelli. Sometimes Cadore is
added to this, because his native place was the
village of that name, situated in the Friuli, a dis-
trict lying north of Venice. The family of \'ecelli
was of noble rank, and its castle of Lodore was
surrounded by an estate on which were small
houses and cottages; and in one of these last,
which still is carefully preserved, Titian was born,
in 1477.
As a child, Titian was passionately fond of draw-
ing, and so much was he in love with color also,
that instead of using charcoal or slate for his pen-
cils, he pressed the juices from certain flowers to
make colors, and with these he painted the figure
of a Madonna while he was still very young.
When he was nine years old he was taken to
Venice to study painting, and from that time he
was called a Venetian. Each great center of art
then had what was called a "school of art" of its
own, and this expression occurs frequently in
books about art ; it means the peculiar character-
istics of the artists of the city or country spoken
of. For example, "the Roman school " means such
a style of design and color as is seen in the works of
Raphael, w ho is called the head of that school. So
Titian came to be the head of the Venetian school
of painting. He is also c.illed by some writers the
most excellent portrait-painter of the world.
At first, in Venice, the boy was in the school of
Sebastian Zuccato, a painter and worker in mo-
saics ; next he was a pupil of the Bellini, and
formed an intimate friendship with his fellow-pupil,
Giorgione, who also came to be a great painter.
I am sure that every boy and girl must know
how much it sweetens study and makes one quick
to understand and patient to work, to have a loving
and sympathetic school-fellow, — one to whom we
can talk freely, feeling sure that we are under-
stood, and who will be glad for us and proud of us
when we make any advance. Such was the rela-
tion between Titian and Giorgione, and they lived
in the same studio and worked together — Titian
with his golden tints, and Giorgione with his more
glowing colors. This happy time was when they
were just coming to manhood, and were filled with
bright hopes for the future.
The name Giorgione means "Great George,"
and it was given to the artist because he was very
handsome and had a noble figure and bearing.
At length, when Titian was about thirty years
old, the two friends were employed in the decoration
of the "Fondaco dei Tedeschi," which was a hall
of exchange for the German merchants in Venice;
here the work of Titian was more admired than
that of Giorgione, and from this cause such a
jealousy arose that they ceased to live together,
and we have reason to believe that they never were
good friends again; yet, after the early death of
Giorgione, his former companion completed the
pictures he had left unfinished; and there is no
doubt that Titian grieved over his death, which
must have lessened greatly his pleasure in the fact
that he himself was then left without a rival in
all Venice.
One of the most interesting pictures painted by
Titian is "The Presentation of the Virgin in the
Temple," which is now in the Academy of Venice.
There are many pictures of this subject, but none
is so famous as this one. The legends of the life
of the Virgin Mary relate how carefully her mother,
St. Anna, watched over her infancy ; and when
the child was but three years old, it was decided to
present her at the temple of the Lord ; so her
father, Joachim, said :
'■ Let us invite the daughters of Israel, and they
shall take each a taper or a lamp and attend her,
that the child may not turn back from the temple
of the Lord."
And being come to the temple, they placed little
Mary on the first step, and she ascended alone all
the steps to the altar ; and the high-priest received
her there, kissed her, and blessed her, saying :
" Mary, the Lord hath magnified thy name to
all generations, and in thee shall be made known
the redemption of the children of Israel."
Then the little Mary danced before the altar,
and all her friends rejoiced with her and loved her ;
l88i.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
407
and her parents blessed God because she had not
turned away from the temple.
Titian's picture of this presentation was paintctl
for the Church of the Brotherhood of Charity ; this
is called in Italian, " La Scuola della Carita,"
and it is this church which is now the Academy of
Art of Venice. The picture is gorgeous in color,
are other portraits of her by Titian, and even in
our day her story is of interest to artists, for, not
long ago, a German painter, Hans Makart, painted
a large picture called "Venice Doing Homage to
Caterina Cornaro," for which the Prussian Govern-
ment paid about $12,500; the painting is now in
the National Gallery at Berlin.
■*,1'
'if — t'
^-«->-7) c<-
L-IU^«^..?^4^
Ol-TI-INE SKETCH OF TITIAN S PAINTINC. "THE PKESENTATinN of the VIRGIN IN THE TEMl'LE.'
and has a great deal of life and action in it. It is
said that the priest who stands behind the high-
priest is a portrait of Cardinal Bembo ; Titian
himself is standing, looking up, and some of his
friends are near him.
A very interesting portrait, by Titian, is that of
Caterina Cornaro. This young Venetian lady was
so very beautiful that when her uncle, who had been
exiled to Cyprus, showed her portrait to the young
Prince Lusignan, the youth fell madly in love with
her, and, as soon as he became king of Cyprus,
asked her to marry him ; the Republic of \'enicc
solemnly adopted Caterina as its daughter, and
gave her to the king, with a very rich dowry. In
two years, her husband and her infant son both
died, and she reigned alone over Cyprus during
fourteen years ; then she resigned her crown and
returned to Venice, about two years after Titian
went there to study. She was received w-ith grand
ceremonies, and even the " Bucentaur," the ship
of the state, was sent out to meet her and bear
her to the city — an honor which was ne\er ac-
corded to any other woman in all the history of
Venice. At this scene of pomp the boy artist was
present, and it must have made a deep impression
on his mind. His portrait of this beautiful lady is
in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence ; it represents her
in a full Greek dress, with a gemmed crown upon
her head, while near her is placed the wheel, the
symbol of her patron saint, St. Catherine. There
In the same gallery with the portrait of Caterina
is also the lovely " Flora," and near by, in the
Pitti Palace, hangs one which is called " La Bella
di Tiziano " (the beautiful lady of Titian). These
two pictures are often copied.
The fame of Titian spread throughout Italy and
all over Europe, and the Duke Alphonso I., of Fer-
rara, invited him to come to that city. Titian
remained a long time at the court of this duke
and made many fine pictures for him; among
them was the famous "Bacchus and Ariadne"
which is now in the National Gallery in London.
The mythological story of Ariadne is, that she had
been deserted by her husband, Theseus, and left
upon the island of Naxos; Bacchus, the beautiful
young god of wine and pleasure, saw Ariadne
there, and thought her so lovely that he married
her, and placed the marriage crown which he gave
her among the stars. In Titian's picture, the car
of Bacchus, drawn by leopards, has halted, and the
god leaps out to pursue Ariadne ; satyrs, fauns, and
nymphs come in a gay troop out of a grove, and
all dance about the car with wild, careless grace.
While in Ferrara, Titian also painted a second
mythological picture, which represents a statue of
Venus surrounded by more than sixty children and
cupids; some of them are climbing trees, some
flutter in the air, while others shoot arrows, or
twine their arms about each other. This picture
is now in Madrid.
4o8
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[March,
Titian was next invited by the Pope, Leo X., to
go to Rome, but he longed for his home in Venice
and for the visit which he was in the habit of mak-
ing each year to his dear Cadore; he was weary,
too, with the ceremony and pomp of court hfe,
and so he dechned to go to Rome and hastened
home to Venice.
Titian had married a lady named Cecilia, who
died about 1530 ; he had two sons, Pomponio and
Orazio, and a daughter called Lavinia. After the
death of Titian's mother, his sister Orsa came from
Cadore to live with him and care for the three
little ones; — we shall say more of them all, fur-
ther on.
In the same year, 1530, the Emperor Charles V.
and Pope Clement VII. met at Bologna ; all the
most brilliant men of Germany and Italy were
gathered there, and Titian was summoned to paint
the portraits of the Pope and the Emperor, and
also those of Ippolito dei Medici and many other
notable men. When Titian returned again to
Venice, he was a great man ; he had honors, titles,
and riches, and no longer lived in the simple
the wide canal, which at night was filled with gay
gondolas bearing parties of ladies and their attend-
ants, and the Murano, which was like another
city with its graceful domes and towers, and be-
yond all the Friuli Alps, with their snow-peaks
rising to the heavens, made up the lovely pano-
rama upon which Titian continually gazed, and its
effects are seen in the landscape portions of his
works. At Berigrande he enjoyed society, and
entertained at his table the wise and witty men
and women of Venice, and those who were visitors
in that city. On one occasion, when a cardinal
and others invited themselves to dine at his house,
which was called "Casa Grande," he flung a purse
to his steward, and said :
" Now prepare a feast, since all the w^orld dines
with me."
While living in Casa Grande he spent "the most
glorious years of a glorious life," and all great
people, both ladies and gentlemen, desired to have
their portraits from his hand ; if a collection of
these portraits could be made, it would include
nearly all the men of his time in Europe whose
L.K IF FK M T1T[\N
THE IRESENTATI M
THE \ 1KU1\ IN THE
manner of his earlier years ; he now had a house names have lived until now. The only man of
at Berigrande, opposite the island of Murano; the note whom he did not paint was Cosmo 1., grand
garden and the views from it were very beautiful ; duke of Florence, who refused to sit for him.
t883.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
409
After he was sixty years old, Titian went the
second time to Ferrara, Urbino, and Bologna, and
again made a portrait of Charles V.; this tiine the
Emperor had a favorite dog by his side. At
length, in 1545, Titian accepted an invi-
tation from Pope Paul 111., and went to
Rome; a portrait of this Pope with his two
grandsons, painted at this time by Titian,
is in the Museum of Naples, and is a re-
markable work. While at Rome he painted
several fine pictures. The artist was sixt\
nine years old when he left that city.
During the winter of 1548, Titian went
to Augsburg, where Charles V. again re-
quired his services; the Emperor had be-
come very fond of the artist, and treated
him with the greatest respect and consid-
eration. While on this visit, it happened
one day that Titian dropped his pencil,
and the Emperor picked it up and returned
it to him ; court etiquette forbade that the
sovereign should do such a service for an\
one, and Titian was much embarrassed.
Charles, seeing this, said : " Titian is
worthy to be served by Ca;sar." ("Caesar"
was one of the titles of the Emperor.)
At Augsburg the painter was made a
count, and received a yearly pension of
two hundred gold ducats.
Some writers have said that Titian visited
Spain; this does not now appear to be
true, but it is certain that Charles V. con-
tinued through life his favors to him, and
when the Emperor resigned his crown and
went to live in the monastery of Yuste, he
took with him nine pictures by Titian ; one
of these was a portrait of the Empress
Isabella, upon which Charles gazed whn
on his death-bed ; it is now in the Museui:
of Madrid. After Charles had given 11 1
his crown to his son Philip II., the ne,.
monarch patronized the artist as his father
had done, and many fine works by the
master are now in Madrid.
It is wonderful that Titian continued to
paint well when very aged ; he was eight\
one years old when he finished his pict- ij;
ure of " The Martyrdom of St. Lawrence,"
for the Church of the Jesuits, in Venice.
St. LawTCnce is a prominent saint in the Roman
Catholic Church, and it is historically true that
he lived, and that he died the dreadful death
which is related in his legend. He was a
Spaniard, but went to Rome when quite young,
and w.as found so worthy in his life that Sixtus II.,
who was then the bishop of Rome, trusted him
greatly, and made him the keeper of the treasures
\'oi.. IX. — 27.
of the church. When Sixtus was led away to his
death, because he was a Christian, Lawrence
clung to him and wished to die also ; but Sixtus
t S'TATION OF
Tin: \ih;i.
told him that he would live three days longer, and
commanded him to give the church treasures to
the poor. So Lawrence went through the city,
and gave much comfort to the sick and suffering.
V'er>' soon, however, he was summoned before the
tyrant, and when he could not show him the
treasures of the church, he was condemned to be
put to death by being stretched on an iron bed,
4IO
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[March,
with bars like a gridiron, and then roasted by a
fire placed under him. He suffered this cruel
death with great courage, and blessed God with
his last breath.
Titian has painted this martyrdom as a night-
scene, and the wonderful effect of the lights he has
used makes it a very remarkable work. Above is a
star, from which shoots a ray of heavenly glory on
the face and form of St. Lawrence, «ho is gazing
up at it ; beneath is the light from the fire, and,
besides these, there are two pans of burning pitch,
the light from them casting a red glow over all.
It is a true pleasure to watch the effects of all
sorts of lights and shadows, and I am sure that
many of you do it, although you may not think about
it on every occasion; but you find pleasure when
you do think of it. The beauty of the sunshine
that appears to flow out of the blue sky is made
more beautiful in contrast with the deep shadows
thrown on the grass by trees and other large ob-
jects. How much prettier are the light and shad-
ow together, than all brightness or all shadow
could be ! It is by the study of these things, and
the representation of them, that painters give us so
much pleasure.
Now, in the picture of St. Lawrence, the face is
not an agonized one, and it is lighted by the glory
from above, rather than by the deep, bright lights
which the wicked men about him have made.
Some of the spectators are terrified by the calm-
ness with which St. Lawrence suffers, and they
turn to flee ; others are hardened by the sight ; only
one appears to be unaffected by the scene.
Although Titian had enjoyed much prosperity,
he had also suffered much; his wife and his dear
sister Orsa had died; his son Pomponio had been a
worthless fellow, and had made his father very un-
happy; his daughter Lavinia had married, and
the old artist was left alone with Orazio, who, how-
ever, was a dutiful son. But Titian had then
reached such an age that most of the friends of his
middle life had died, and he was a lonely old man.
He had painted many pictures of Lavinia, who
was very beautiful; one of these, at Berlin, shows
her in a rich dress holding up a plate of fruit, and
it is one of the best of all his works.
Orazio was an artist, but he usually painted on
the same canvas with his father, and his works can
not be spoken of separately. Many pupils from all
parts of Europe gathered about Titian in his latest
years, and it is said that toward the close of his
life, when he was at w'ork upon an "Annuncia-
tion," some one told him that it did not resemble
his former works; this made him very angry, and
he seized a pencil and wrote upon the painting,
^'Tizianus fecit fecit." — by which he meant to
say, " Titian truly did this ! "
When Titian had become ninety-six years old,
Henry III. of France visited Venice, and waited
upon him in his house ; the king was attended by
a train of princes and nobles. The aged master
entertained His Majesty with princely hospitality,
and when the king wished to know the price of
some pictures, Titian presented them to him with
an ease and grace of bearing which excited the ad-
miration of all.
Finally, in 1576, the plague broke out in Venice,
and both Titian and Orazio were attacked by it.
It was impossible for the father, who was now
ninety-eight years old, to recover. It was hoped
that Orazio might live, and he was taken away to
a hospital, and his father, over whom he had so
tenderly watched, was left to die alone. But the
care taken of Orazio was of no avail, as he also died.
When plagues and dreadful maladies prevail,
wicked people often become more wicked and lose
every feeling of humanity ; so it was in Venice at
this time ; and while the old master still lived, some
robbers entered his apartment and carried off his
money, his jewels, and some of his pictures.
Titian died on the twenty-seventh of August,
1576, and all Venice mourned for him. There
was a law that no person who died of the plague
should be buried within the city, but an exception
was made in this instance, and Titian was borne to
the church of Santa Maria Gloriosa de' Frari, and
there buried. This church is usually called simply
"the Frari" — it is the same for which he had
painted his great picture "The Assumption," now
removed to the Academy of Venice. Another
work of his, called the Pesaro altar-piece, still re-
mains, not far from his grave.
The spot where he is buried is marked by a
simple tablet, on which is inscribed in Italian :
" Here lies the great Tiziano di Vecelli, rival of
Zeuxis and Apelles." (Both these Grecian painters
were spoken of in the first article of this series. )
In 1794, about two centuries and a quarter after
his death, the citizens of Venice determined to
erect a monument to Titian, and the sculptor
Canova made a design for it ; but the political
troubles which soon after occurred, prevented the
carrying out of the plan; and it was not until 1852
that the Emperor Ferdinand I., of Austria, erected
a costly monument to Titian's memory. It is near
his grave, and consists of a Corinthian canopy,
beneath which is a sitting statue of the painter ;
several allegorical statues are added to increase
its magnificence. This monument was dedicated
with imposing ceremonies, and it is curious to
remark that not far away, in the same church, the
sculptor Canova is buried, and his own monument
is made from the design which he had drawn for
that of Titian.*
* For list of extant paintings by Titian, see " Letter-box," page 418.
i88j.J
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
41 r
412
THE ST. NICHOLAS T R E AS U R E - B O X.
[March,
THE ST. NICHOLAS TREASURE-BOX
OF LITERATURE.
The Treasure-box offers you, this month, young
friends, two short pieces from the works of a poet
whose writings may be said to contain something appro-
priate to almost every age of life. For you will find in
the poems of William Wordsworth * many simple and
plain-worded songs that are already familiar to you
through the pages of your early school-readers (what
boy or girl does not know by heart his pretty verse-story,
" We are Seven " ?) — and you will also find poems that
are the admiration and the solace of wise and learned
men. Wordsworth is held in high reverence as one of
the greatest of English poets ; but we should advise
you not to undertake the reading of his longest and
most thoughtful writings now, but to wait until you
are nearer the age of men and women, when the ex-
periences of added years shall have made you able to
enjoy thoroughly the beauty and poetic power of his
best works.
The first of the pieces selected for the Treasure-box
is a beautiful sonnet, giving us the poet's thoughts when
he stood upon one of the bridges of London in the early
morning, and enjoyed the view over the great city.
Morning in London.
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty :
This city now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep,
In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep !
The river glideth at his own sweet will ;
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ;
And all that mighty heart is lying still !
Lucy Gray; or. Solitude.
"That, Father, will I gladly do;
'T is scarcely afternoon, —
The minster-clock has just struck two.
And yonder is the moon."
At this the father raised his hook.
And snapped a fagot-band.
He plied his work; — and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe —
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time;
She wandered up and down.
And many a hill did Lucy climb.
But never reached the town.
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray :
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see, at break of day.
The solitary child.
The wTCtched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide ;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To ser\'e them for a guide.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a w-ide moor, —
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door.
At day-break on the hill they stood
That overlooked the tnoor ;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.
You yet may spy the fawn at play.
The hare upon the green ;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
They wept, — and, turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet"; —
When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.
"To-night will be a stormy night, —
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern. Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."
* Bom, at Cockermouth, England, April 7,
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the foot-marks small ;
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge,
And by the low stone-wall;
Died, at Rydal Mount, England, April 23, 1S50.
i882.]
THE ST. NICHOLAS TREASURE-BOX.
413
And then an open field they crossed —
The marks were still the same —
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge thev came.
—Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child,
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those foot-marks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none !
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind ;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
And here, quite surprised, no doubt, to find itself in
a modern Treasure-box, is a rare bit of old English
writing whicli well may be read by all our boys who
love accounts of great battles and warlike deeds, and
who are inspired with the thought of one day taking
command, — as well as by all patriotic girls who know
such boys, or are likely some day to be personally
interested in generals — or, better still, in the kind of
men of which good generals are made. We copy it from
an elegant old leather-bound volume with an elaborate
title-page, containing the words " Anim.idversions of
Warre, by Robert Ward, gentleman and commander,
London. Printed by John Dawson, 1639." These are
inclosed in a shield-likeframe, set against a large pedestal,
on the summit of which prances a superb horse, bearing
a plumed knight in full armor. Robert Ward dedicates
his book to his " most dread soveraigne, his Royall
Majestic King Charles.'' Whether the " most dread sov-
eraigne " appreciated the com))liment of this gentleman
and commanaer or not, we may fitly honor the author
for his true sense of manliness and military dignity.
Robert Ward's spelling and his three-page dedication
are out of date, but m.inliness and honest bravery are
always in fashion, and one need not be a soldier, cither,
to wear them. Patriotic .\merican boys and girls may
find an added interest just now in Robert Ward's ideal
"character of a generall," since it has been as nearly ex-
emplified by our own Washington as by any other man
in history, and these pages will reach our readers about
the time of the anniversary of Washington's birthday.
The Character of a Generall, luith such exccllenl
properties, both of body and mind, which he ought
to be indued withall, declared; and also the chief-
cst circwnstances belonging to his high and weighty
Office.
A Generall over an Army, must be
ever trusty, faithfull and dutiful! ; indued with
excellent judgement, reason, and resolution ; well
studied in the libcrall .-\rts; of a fierce disposition,
yet tiualified with justice, and clcmcnc)- ; not rash
in undertaking, yet as fi-ee from cow-ardise, as
cruelty; talke little, and bragge lesse, in speech
ready, and eloquent, faithfull of his w^ord, constant
and strong in the prosecution of his purposes,
bountifull and honouring due deserts ; of a good
ability of body ; in his countenance a stately terror,
yet in private affable and pleasant; naturally dis-
posed to abhorre vice; of a naturall strength and
hardinesse to undergoe all extremities, cither in
travcU, or want; in armes expert and adventurous;
his invention subtill, full of inward bravery and
fiercenesse, in his execution resolute ; alwayes for-
ward, but never dismayed; in counscU sudden and
wise, of a piercing insight to foresee dangers, in-
genious, decent, and in performance a man ; or as
Sr. R. Dallington specifies in his Aphorismes, to be
five things required in a Generall; knowledge,
valour, foresight, authority, and fortune : he that is
not renowned for all or most of these vertues, is not
to be reputed fit for this charge ; nor can this
glory be purchast, but onely by practice and
proofe ; for the greatest Fencer, is not alwayes the
best Fighter, nor the fairest Tilter the ablest Soul-
dier, nor the greatest Favourite in Court the fittest
Commander in a Campe : that Prince therefore is ill
advised that conferres this charge upon his Minion,
either for his Courtship or what other respects, neg-
lecting those more requisite and more noble parts.
Wherefore, a Generall ought to be excellently
qualified in the reall know-ledge of his Office, and
every circumstance belonging unto it, before he
shall adventure to take so weighty a charge upon
him ; and farre be it from any man to undertake
this honourable burthen, having the speculative and
practick part of his Office to learne, when occasion
calles for performance; for many Armyes hath
beene subdued by this one thing; for he that will
be fortunate and desires to atchieve to honour, must
be infinitely charj', lest he be scduc'd by the traines*
of time ; and the preservation of his honour must be
his chiefcst aime, next the love and feare he owes
to God, having an especiall care that the Christian
Religion be had in due reverence in his ,\rmy,
causing such Ministers of Gods word, as shall follow
to instruct the Army, to retaine their dignities, and
to be reverenc'd of his souldiers ; by this meanes
an Army shall be kept in mar\-cilous obedience and
order, and the Almighty Lord of Hostes will be
ever assisting to worke him honourable victories.
- traps, or enticements.
414
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[March,
THE-PULPIT.
" Then arc people ivho always come in like a
child iK'ith a piece of good news. If was said of
Lord Holland that he always came down to break-
fast with the air of a man who had just met with
some signal good-fortune. "
There, my dears ! There 's a hint from one of
your American pen-folk that can be of good sen'-
ice to you, whenever, in the whole course of your
lives, March weather befalls you. Take the text to
heart, my hearers. On every morning or occasion
when ill winds blow and your plans are dashed,
just remember that the people around you have
rights you are bound to respect, — rain or shine, —
and greet them in the style of Lord Holland. Sen-
sible man, that, says your Jack, — and a gentleman.
Now, let 's talk about
COASTING-SLEDS MADE OF ICE.
I 'Jl told that sometimes, when an Esquimau
wants a sledge in haste, he cuts one in a short time
out of ice. He hollows it like a bowl, and smoothly
rounds it at the bottom. Next a groove is thawed
around the upper edge, in which is fixed a thong.
Then the dogs are harnessed to this, the fur-clad
driver lays a warm skin in the " bowl " and takes his
seat, and away he speeds over the weird, wintry
lands, sure that never a sled could be finer than his.
TURKISH ENVELOPES.
The Deacon happens to be getting a great many
letters just now. Some of them are very neat, and
others are clumsy affairs that look more like little
bundles than letters. And this reminds me that
the Deacon once received a letter from Turkey,
and, very naturally, it was inclosed in a Turkish
envelope. This was very unlike the American
envelopes that the Deacon generally receives. It
was shaped like ours, but was open at each end
and sealed with two seals. It was quite as odd
on the upper side, where the address was written,
not lengthwise, as on ours, but across one end.
A ROSE-BOY.
And who do you suppose sent this Turkish letter
to Deacon Green ? It was from a young Turkish lad
who called himself a rose-boy, because his business
is to gather roses for his father ! 1 shall mention
in this connection, however, that his father's busi-
ness is to distill the costly perfume known as the
Attar of Roses, which is worth so much a drop. I
forget the exact price.
Do you happen to know ol any American boy
who makes his living by gathering roses for his
father ?
THE CANARY THAT WOULD NT GO. AND THE
CANARY THAT WOULD N'T STAY.
Dear Jack : I know a lady who has a canar>'-bird that really
prefers his cage to his liberty. When she slides up the wire door
for him to fly out, he waits until her back is turned, then slams down
the door with all his might, and then he flies up to his swing and
sings a loud song of triumph. He seems to think that his mistress
wishes to turn him out of house and home, and he takes this way of
show-ing that he is too sharp for her.
The same lady had another canary, who was very fond of perching
about the plants in her open window, and singing his best songs
for her. He seemed to understand everything that she said to him.
One day she did n't feel well, and was low in her spirits. So
she replied to his concert with a troubled :
" Oh, do stop that noise ! I can't stand it."
The bird put his head on one side and considered. Then, decid-
ing it was better not to take any notice of such impolite remarks,
he sang louder than ever, putting in all his extra trills and shakes
in his best style. Then the lady shook her finger at him and said :
" Silence, I tell you \ "
The bird looked at her so sadly and inquiringly with his little
round eyes, that she repeated : '* Yes, Jip, I really mean what I
say ! Just you'go ! I can't bear to hear you ! "
The next moment the bird flew away, and he has never, never
come back again ; and oh, how she longs to see him and to beg his
pardon for her unkind words !
But, as the Turks say, a had word is carried so quickly by the
wind that many horses can not bring it back. — Your friend,
Lizzie Hatch.
BUTTERED TEA.
Did you ever hear of this strange dish ? It is
very common in Thibet, and is made by putting
slices of butter into the tea. That is not the only
queer thing Thibetans do. I 'm told they actually
make their tea thick with oatmeal ! Deacon Green
says the natives of America sometimes thicken cof-
fee very strangely, though he can't say that they use
oatmeal. He says they generally thicken it by not
making it thin. But that 's out of my line.
CATCH-ALL POCKETS.
Tommy, or Johnny, or Ben need not look up
and think that I mean their pockets, though I be-
lieve that these often hold a little of everything. I
was thinking of the pockets of the tiionkeys. Not
pockets in the little coats that organ-men some-
times compel them to wear, but in their cheeks.
When these pockets are empty they are not
obser\'abIe, but when they are filled you can easily
see them. Monkeys, I 'm sorry to say, are natu-
rally thievish, and they use their pockets to hide
the little articles they have stolen.
A bird has told me of a little pet monkey named
Hag, a creature no larger than a big guinea-pig ;
J A c K - 1 N - r 1 1 1: - 1 ' L' L 1' rr .
415
and in his cheek-pockets his master once found n
steel thimble, his own gold finger-ring, a pair of
pearl sleeve-links, a farthing, a button, a shilling,
and a bit of candy.
FAIRY RINGS.
You 'VF. seen fairy rings ? They are circles of
brown and dr\-looking grass, with green grass in-
side, and the country people say they arc made by
fairies dancing on the sward.
The wise men have been examining these rings,
however, and have found out that they are made
by a sort of moss or fungus, which sends out its
growth in every direction from the central plant,
and at the point where it forms its seeds it chokes
the grass. It grows under the surfiice, and there-
fore is not seen.
A FEW WORDS FROM DEACON GREEN.
Mv Uk.-\r Friends : To the great regret of
Brother Plunkett, the Little School-ma'am, the rest
of the Committee, and myself, we find it utterly im-
possible to announce
in the March St.
Nicholas the award
of prizes for straight-
ening the " Histor-
ical Pi." To be sure
we did not promise
to announce it this
month, but as the
time for receiving
answers was up on
January loth, we felt
pretty sure we could
examine them all
and report before the
March St. Nicholas
would be given to
the printers. Well,
it has n't proved
so. In order to get
enough magazines
printed, bound, and
sent out to supply
every St. Nicholas
boy and girl in
Christendom, the
editors have to com-
plete the number
during the last week in January — and here it is
upon us, and hundreds of Pi-letters not read yet !
Whew ! how those letters have been pouring in !
Long before Christmas they began to arrive — first
two by two, like the animals in the ark, then by
dozens, then by scores, then by hundreds — all cry-
ing "Readme!" "read me!" "readme!" at
the tops of their voices — ^so to s
one could be overlooked nor slighted in the least.
The Little School-ma'am and I have done our
best, but we 're not through yet. As soon as we
arc, we '11 show all the good ones to the Committee,
the hundred prizes shall be awarded, and a brand-
new crisp dollar-bill shall be sent at once to each
winner, though their names can not be announced
till the publication of the Committee's report in
next month's St. Nicholas.
Now, perhaps many of you will like to hear what
the Little School-ma'am is doing in the matter.
Well, here is a letter just received from that dear
little woman, which will gi\e you ciuite a clear
notion as to how things are working :
Thursday, i i'. M., 19th January.
Dear Deacon : 1 h.\vc just h.-id your latest card, and hasten to
inform you that 1 have received 2725 solutions to your " Historical
Pi." I have examined about two thousand : they are all creditable
to the youngsters, and I wish you had $2000 in greenb.acks "crisp
and fresh " and could send one to e.ach of the young writers. But
c»f course such pleasure as that is not to be thought of The contest
will be very close; probably nothing with more than three mistakes
will come in for the prizes.
Thus far, a dozen or more are absolutely correct, a greater num-
ber have but one error each, and sometimes that is merely a slip in
the spelling — then more have but two, three, .and four mistakes.
Those with five errors will certainly not have any chance at all.
There is a good spirit shown in the letters and headings sent in by
the children — jokes about the "pi " being " mince" : one boy says,
" It is better than the pies my mother makes, and that is saying a
good deal." Almost all think the exercise and information gained
worth more than the dollar
to them, even if they fail
to win. A wonderful de-
grec of interest is shown.
One Dakota boy writes
that he walked five and
a half miles to the post-
office to send off his solu-
tion, the thermometer being
two degrees above zero
(Dakota, January 2d).
There 's a plucky little fel-
low for you ! Let me assure
you, my dear Deacon, that
when I thought there was
a possibility of getting
thnjiigh in time for the
March number, I worked
late into the night for more
than a week. Bright girls
and boys in Ireland, Scot-
land, England, Nova Sco-
tia, Canada, and cverj'
St.ate and Territory of our
own coimtry, have for-
warded responses. Besides
these, I learn from the let-
ters that a very Large num-
ber of young folk h.ave
corrected the Pi "for the
fiin of the thing," as they
say, but have not ventured
to offer their work in com-
petition. I will close with the remark of one of your admirers, who sends
word that " the Deacon ought to be classed with the great inventors,
hereafter. "—Yours truly, The Little Schooi.-ma'am.
In conclusion, let me say that 1 am a proud and
happy man, though slightly overwhelmed when I
look at your heaps and heaps of "answers " to the
c. Historical Pi, and I don't wonder my friend Jack-
peak — and not in-the-Pulpit is so sure there never was a finer set
of young folk than this royal St. Nicholas crowd.
You may expect to have a clear report next month,
with the names of the hundred winners. Mean-
while, one and all, please accept the best wishes
and cordial thanks of Yours to command,
Silas Green.
New York, Jan. 24, 1882.
4l6 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [March,
GUSTAVE'S FIRST RIDE,
Gus-tave's fa-ther came a-cross the sea to this coun-try with his wife,
his daugh-ters, and his lit-tle son, and went to Hve on a small farm.
Gus-tave still wore the same wood-en shoes and queer cap that he had
worn where he lived be-fore. He was ver-y fond of hor-ses, and oft-en
asked his fa-ther to buy him a horse ; but this could not be done, as his
fa-ther was quite poor.
One day, Mr. Green, a friend of Gus-tave's fa-ther, came rid-ing up
to the house on a large farm-horse. He was go-ing to a small town,
a few miles a-way, and stopped to have a talk with the farm-er.
" I wish I had a horse," said the lit-tle boy, who stood near.
"What would you do with him, if you had one?" asked Mr. Green.
" I should ride him to town," said the lit-tle boy.
" You can ride this one to town," said Mr, Green, " if your fa-ther
will put you up be-hind me."
Then Gus-tave's fa-ther lift-ed his lit-tle boy and set him on the
horse, be-hind Mr. Green.
Fran-cine, Gus-tave's eld-est sis-ter, came out of the house and looked
through the gate-way to see her broth-er take his first ride. Gus-tave
was ver-y proud as the big horse trot-ted off, and he would have waved
his cap to Fran-cine if he had not been a-fraid to let go of Mr. Green's
coat, which he grasped tight-ly with both hands.
Be-fore long, Mr. Green saw a man in a field, and got off his
horse to walk up and speak to him.
"Now, keep sit-ting just as you are, my boy," said Mr. Green to
Gus-tave, "and if you do not take hold of the rein, nor kick the horse
with your feet, he will stand quite still."
When Mr. Green had gone, Gus-tave sat still for a whole min-ute ;
then he said to him-self : " If I do take hold of the rein, and do kick
him with my feet, I sup-pose he will move. I should like so much to
ride a horse all by my-self" So he took hold of the rein which hung
over the sad-die, and kicked the horse a lit-tle. The horse start-ed off^
and be-gan to walk a-long the road. Gus-tave jerked the rein, and
kicked the horse hard. Then the horse be-gan to trot, even fast-er
than when Mr. Green was on him. Gus-tave did not like this, for it
jolt-ed him. He tried to stop the horse by pull-ing on the rein, but the great
creat-ure did not seem to feel his pulls, and trot-ted on as fast as ev-er..
Gus-tave be-came fright-ened, and called for help, but there was no-bod-y
i883.]
FOR VERY LITTLE I'OLK.
417
to Stop the horse. At last the horse saw a pail of wa-ter by the
road, and he stopped to drink. A man came out of a house near by,
and Gus-tave called to him, "Oh, sir, take this horse from un-der me!"
The man looked u]) and said, laug'h-inL;", " I can not vcr-)' well take
the horse from
un-der you, but I
will lake you from
up-(jn the horse,"
and he lift-ed Gus-
tave to the ground.
At this ver-y mo-
ment Mr. Green
came up, walk-ing
ver-y fast.
Gus-tave went
up to him at
once. " I jerked the
rein, sir," he said,
"and I kicked the
horse. I want-ed
to ride a horse
all by my-self.
Hut I did not like
it, and I think I
shall nev-er want
to ride a-gain."
"I am glad you
told the truth,"
said Mr. Green,
"and I will not
scold you. But
you will have to
ride." So he got
up-on the horse a-
gain, and the oth-
er man put Gus-
tave up be-hind.
The horse now went slow-ly and eas-i-ly, and did not jolt at all.
" I think I shall like to ride a-gain," said Gus-tave. " It is ni-cer to
ride when you are do-ing right than when you are do-ing wrong."
4i8
THE LETTER-BOX.
[March,
THE LETTER-BOX.
OlR thanks are due to Mr. P. T. Barnum for the courtesy ex-.
tended to the St. Nicholas artists and to the author of the article
Men-and-.\n,mal Shows." concluded in the present number
Not only were these gentlemen aUowed to e.xamine every detail of
his great show, but all needed information was freely given Even
the wild beasts themselves seemed to understand that they must sub-
nut to have their portraits taken for the benefit of our young readers.
So, if ever you see any of them, especially the elephants, be sure to
let them feel that you appreciate their friendly conduct. We wish
our artist had given you a picture of these elephants bathing in the
grand wartn-water pond ^V^A Mr. Bamum has had constructed
for his sea-Uons and hippopotamuses in the wonderful Winter
Quarters at Bridgeport, where ail his wild animals are lodged in
great houses of their own. But you can imagine the scene for
yourselves. And you can imagine, too, how the swimming ele-
phants would feel if they should happen, by any unaccountable
accident, to stub their Uttle toes against the steam-pipes by which
the pond is heated.
Dear St. Nicholas: I made the Utde house out of matches from
the directions given m the November number of your magazine as
a Chnstmas present for my sister
We think it is quite a success, and are much pleased with it
1 did not follow; the directions exacdy, being obUged sometimes,
irom lack of the nght matenals, to use what I had. Y. K.
Henky L. M. and Others : Any one is at liberty to send puzzles
to the " Riddle-box," but we can not promise to return those which
prove to be unavailable unless postage stamps for the purpose are
sent with them.
^i." j" ^?^' '^■™9'-AS: I want to write and tell about a little fox
we had One night the overseer had some ducks caught by a fox
and so he was very anxious to kill it. One day he found the foxs den'
with some httle foxes in it. While trying to catch the mother fox
she got away with two young foxes. The overseer caught two little
foxes and gave one to us. It had n't its eyes open. We got a box
and put It in. We had a cat with a kitten, and the next momine we
Uiought w-e would put It with the cat and see what she would do
i>he thought it was a kitten, and we put it on the floor, and she tried
to pick It up and carry it back to the box. We had no more trouble
with It then : the cat took care of it. When it got bigger we taught
It how to eat. At first we gave it bread and milk, but when it Sot
bigger we used to give it 'most anything. Everybody said it would
eat up all our chickens as soon as it got big : but we had no smaU
chickens near the house, so we did not think there would be any
danger. The fox wasvery pretty-a reddish brown, with bkck nose
and paws, and a gray breast. Under the hack steps there are two
big holes that go beneath the house, and he had his den under
" P„ ••"rr " ^Tft "^T " ""°'" *»" »"= always called him
f o.vy. If you called him he would comeand let you pet him He
would play with the kittens and dogs. One day, when .Mr. Fox was
fo K^ . /■^°"'"' "i""/*"' ^T "i"'"^ a '■"'^ ""■''•=>•■ So then he had
to be sent away I don't think that was his first turkey; and we
missed several hens after he had gone. One day, shorUy after he
caught the turkey, we turned him out in the woods, and we never
Mme hT^ " w'^"" ' '■■■ ^"^ "°l''' ?'*°"gt' some ^d he would
Sd bright' ""^ '■"^ ""^ '' " so: he was so pretty
isS^fin^ Si.. ^'^^P^V- P"i;« '""■ r y"' ^'^y "-"■her for
irAt'.h'^ r • \^",'P"* ^'•^°" =™'='e =>hout the Stormy Petrel
or Mother Carey s chickens. 1 thought I would give your readers a
little more information concerning them.
My father is a sea-captain and I sail the ocean with him,— I am
writing this at sea,- so I have seen many of these pretty UtUe birds
Jlhey follow our vessel many, many mUes around the Cape of Good
w7h, ,1^^ """'' ''"■°,"S'> *e trade-winds as far as 3ie tropics.
er^fo„ r ■*"" ? T "^u^ ^S="" '" *e northern trade-winds, and
enjoy throwing food on the water for them; it is pleasant to hear
t^.t:x rige7i:c%'^'''=" ^"-^ ""'^ ^="- -- - «y -^y ^^
calkd'^Y^htk^^'s li'ctnT'''" ""' ""' ''"°" -"' *'^ -"=
biSs ha:4YhaTn°a;^e .^"^ '°"' ""^ "''=" ' "^ ^^"'^"^^ ^ =-
A long time ago, an Enghsh emigrant ship, bound for Australia,
was cast away on the Scdiy Isles, and only one person was saved^
this was an old woman called Mother Carey. She was washed
ashore on the rocks, by some high wave, during the storm. She
""fed 'here for several months upon the birds' eggs and the food
which they brought to her. They were tame and grew very fond of
her When she was taken off by a passing ship, myriads of the
birds follow-ed her, coming right on board, alighting on her head
shoulders, hands and lap. The sailors of the vessel laughinglv
named them Mother Carey's chickens. "
Wishing some of the readers of this were with me to enjoy the
many wont^ers of the sea, and of the foreign countries I visit. I remain
your fhend and sincere admirer, .\lice Morrison
A CfRiors Panel.
Dear St. Nicholas: Knowing the fondness of your readers for
all sorts of rare and wonderful things, I send you a representation
oi a strange freak of nature that occupies a panel in the wainscot
of a corridor leading to the Governor's room in the State Capitol at
Albany, New \ ork. The panel is of reddish marble, and came in
a rough state from Germany. It was smoothed and polished in
America, and its surface, when made flat, developed the curious
kneehng figure qmte naturally, without the aid of art. For some
reason the workmen began to call it Sl Jacob ; perhaps because the
hgure was thought to resemble some picture of that saint. It still bears
that name and some persons are incUned to look at it with a feeUng
ol aw-e. No one who sees the magnificent State House faUs tS
visit St. Jacob. j^„^3 c. Beard.
Bovs who are interested in bicycles will enjoy reading the follow-
mg letter :
Gilbertstone Hall, Bickenhill, Nr. Birmingham, England.
Mv Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would Uke to tell you
about a Utde dog we have called Gip. It is an Italian greyhoimd.
THE LKTTER-HOX.
419
One day, when we firsr had it, it ran away. I will tell you how.
We had taken it for a walk, and presently wc unfastened its chain and
it went jumping along all right. When we had nearly got to the
house it ran and ran, until Jl got off the side path into the road. I
called a gentleman and he ran after it, but he did not catch it. Some
men in a cart were calling ihc dog to follow them. But at last the
gentleman saw some boys on bicycles, and he cried, "Ten shillings to
him who brings that little bmwn dog back to me! " So the boys
went after it on their "bikes." as wc call them here, and at last
they brought back my pet, and 1 was glad. It slips out of windovrs
and tries to run away again, you know, but we soon catch it. — I
remain, dear St. Nicholas, Ei^ie GERTRtDE Tangye.
As THERE was not space on page 410 to speak 'of the paintings
by Titian, that still arc preserved, we shall mention them here ; but
these works are so many that it is impossible to give an exact list of
them; again, large numbers are in private galleries, and others in
churches, where sn little light falls on them that they can not be
seen to advantage : therefore, the following list names only the most
important works in galleries usually visited by travelers.
The Pitti Palace, Florence : Marriage of St. Catherine, The
Magdalen, and several portraits.
Uffizi Gallery, Florence: Five Madonnas, Venus, and several
portraits.
The Ambrosiana, Milan: The Adoration of the Shepherds.
The Brera, Milan: St. Jerome in the Desert.
Museum, Naples: Danac, Portrait of Paul III., Portrait of King
Philip II., and others.
Capitol Museum, Rome : Sated and Artless Love, Virgin and
Child, and the Three Ages.
The Vatican, Rome: Madonna and Child, with saints; Portrait
of a Doge of Venice.
Academy of Fine Arts, Venice : The Assumption of the Virgin,
The Entombment (begun by Titian, finished by Palma Giovane),
The Visitation, St. John in the Desert, The Presentation in the
Temple.
Museum, Berlin : Lavinia, Titian, and several other portraits.
Gallery at Dresden : The Tribute Money, Venus and Cupid,
Holy Family, and five portraiLs.
Pinakothck, Munich: Venus, Holy Family, Jupiter and Antiope,
The Crowning with Thorns, and portraits.
Belvedere, Vienna : A large collection of a variety of subjects.
Museum, Madrid : A collection of more than twenty fine pictures.
The Louvre, Paris : A collection of fifteen pictures.
Gallery at Hampton Court : Three portraiLs.
National Gallery, London : Bacchus and Ariadne, Venus and
Adonis, and four other pictures.
The Hermitage, St. Petersburg : A collection of ten pictures.
.\s EVERY word in the following story begins with the same alpha-
bcdc character, wc have decided to thus save the compositor the
trouble of setting up the initial letters ; for we think the omission
will not make it difficult to read the storj-.
vrant, heophrastus, old he amborinc ender, heodosia, o ap he am-
Dorine. heodosia, aking he amborine, apped remendously.
bus erminatcd he ussTe. J. £. Newkirk.
Here are some verses from a girl of California, where spring
comes in almost like the summer of some Eastern States.
The beautiful spring is coming.
The busy bees arc humming,
And the old banjo is tumming.
The merry birds are singing.
The tinkling bells are ringing,
And the dear little girls are swinging.
The gentle cows are lowing.
The ripest hay they 're mowing.
And now I 'm through and gomg.
Little Minnie (10 years).
The following little piece of music was sent to us exactly as here
printed, but we have no positive proof that it was originally written
by Mozart. It may have been composed by him when very young,
and written out byhis father. A short account of Mozart is given
in St. Nicholas for January, 1875:
MINUET.
Written by Mozart at 4 years of age.
&
I^NS^e^j^^f^
=c:=|:
tfzzc
^-^
=t=tl
^
1
7
(P
gg^g l'^ ^g=
^
zl=::
HE Rl'ClLENT HfC.
heophrastus, he olcrated yrant, old he ribcs o ramp o he hcophy-
lactean heater, hey, he urbulent hron^, rudged hither hankfully.
hcopes, heniculent hug, ramping hither, antalizingly aunted he
urbulent hrong, wittcd he olerated >Tant, heophrastus, o ether he
ruant ask-master.
hereupon, he ask-master elemachus, he brasher, ripped hrough he
hrong o ry o brash he Vuculcnt hug. hrcatcningly old he ruculent
hug o r>' o ackle erri6c yphoon.
herewith, he ruculent hug ore hrough he hrong o bump he ask-
master horoughly : hen hey ackled, hen hey umbled. hen rounccd,
hen humped ogether remendously. he ruculent hug hrotiled he
horough-brcd ask-master.
hen, he olerated yrant, heophrastus, old elecles, he imid inker,
o ry o hrow he ruculent hug. elecles, rembling, ottered oward he
ussle, — he borough-bred ask-master, ruculent hug, wisltng, wirling,
humping remendously. hen he imid inker hrcatened o rounce he
ruculent hug.
he ruculent hug wittering, old he imid inker o "ry o ouch
reacherous orpedo."
he imid inker houghtfuUy umed, hrew errene etragons oward he
hug, rippingly hwacked he ruculent hug wice. hen he imid inker
umed o end o he ask-mastor.
he ruculent hug umed, rippingly hrew imid inker, hen aking he
wo, hrew hem oward he heater errincally.
hereupon he umuUuous hrong ittered erribly. hen he olerated
Mt. Lebanon, Syria.
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been reading about " How to stock
and keep a fresh-water aquarium." I should like to make one very
much indeed, but the trouble is, there are no little brooks and ponds
away out here in Syria; even the rivers are so shallow that there are
no fish in them (at least in Beirut), this is such a dry place. But I
have the sea, and if it would do to make a salt-water aquarium, I
should be much obliged to some one of your readers to tell me how to
proceed.
I have a kitten and two canary-btrds. Winkie has a great admira-
tion for the two canary-birds, and is always trying to get a chance
10 become intimate with them, but she has n't made much of a
friendship yet, for I keep them well out of the way. I suppose she
would soon make love to the fishes too, if I should let her. But I
like her very much, all the same; she is very pretty — white, with
black spots on her back and a black tail. She has a pink ribbon
around her neck. I don't think she likes ii much. A, P.
420
THE LETTER-BOX.
[March,
AGASSIZ
ASSOCIATION-
REPORT.
-TWELFTH
Snow Crystals.
The interest manifested in snow-cr>-s-
tals by members has not been so great
as we expected. This must be because
few persons are aware of their beauty,
and variety, or is it because the snow js
late in coming this season ? We present
on these two pages, however, a few
common forms, such as any boy or girl
may readily observe with a small hand-
glass.
The crystals should be caught on a
dark cloth, and examined and drawn as
SdMii as possible, care being taken to
keep the glass cold. The group of six,
shown on page 422, was drawn by
Corwin Linson, of Buffelo. The figures
show the temperature at the time of the
snow-fall. If we had five hundred sim-
ilar drawings from different parts of the
country-, with a record of the temperature
and wind at the moment of catching the
flakes, we should be able to deduce many
facts regarding crystallization. We hope
all these specimens will so charm you,
that you wilt give them your best atten-
tion on their next visit- There is no
other topic concerning which our mem-
bers have not grown enthusiastic.
But we must now let you speak for
yourselves.
Reports fro.m Chapters.
Waterburv, Conn.
We have had five meetings this month,
one being a special meeting. We have
bought a cabinet and a scrap-book. We
have admitted two new members.
Wm. Carter.
D.\^TON, Ohio.
A few of the readers of St. Nicholas
in this little city have become so inter-
ested in the accounts of the "A. A."
that we have determined to form a chap-
ter of our very own, and see if it will not
wake us up to the beaudesall around us.
(_)ur society numbers ten girls and eight
boys, besides two teachers. We shall
diligently search St. Nicholas for in-
formation and suggestions,
we have found.
It is wonderful how many little things
Abbie I. DVER.
Greenwood Lake, Kentucky.
We held our first meeting November 18. Vinnie gave us a sketch
of the formation and manner of growth of leaves, with the names of
the plants bearing the largest and smallest leaves. [We should all
like to know the names.] Lex and Julia gave the names of plants
bearing winged seeds. We have already collected a snake-skin, a
humming-bird's nest made of gray lichens, and more than two hun-
dred fossils of the Silurian period. We find many little rings, some-
times fastened together like stems, sometimes separate. They are
marked with a figure resembling a five-petaled flower. Are they
the stems of the Encrinite? Lillie Bedinger.
[They are probably Encrinite stems, as you suggest. We should
like to have one or two for our cabinet.]
MiLFORD, Mass. _
If you will put us in communication with members interested in
mineralogy you will confer a favor. John R. Eldridce.
Nashia, N. H.
November 9 was the anniversary of the organization of our Chap-
ter. We have resolved to have our officers hold office for a year.
At a good friend's advice, we have honorary members, among whom
is a mineralogist. We have received four or five new members, and
now number seventeen. We have debates or papers at every meet-
ing. Both are very interesting. A good many people said that our
club would not last six months. I leave you to judge how much
they have been mistaken. F. W. Greeley.
[Officers ought, if possible, to hold office for the whole year, and
it is well for the secretary to be permanent. The idea of having
debates is excellent. A great many croakers have been surprised at
the rapid growth and continued prosperity of the Agassiz Asso-
ciation. Well done, Nashua ! ]
Eaton, Ohio,
We live on rocks which contain many trilobites. They are found
in great abundance both in the stratified rocks and in the "local
drift rocks." In the Clinton rocks, a short distance south of us, a
stone was found a few years ago, by Professor Claypole, which has
§ one far to prove the existence of large land plants in the upper
ilurian time. We should like to correspond with other Chapters.
William E. Loy.
Embreville, Chester Co., Pa.
Mamma and my sisters and I would like to form a chapter of the
"A. A.," called the Orchard Farm Chapter. I take the St. Nicholas,
and am very much interested in your reports. This year I am col-
lecting birds* eggs. I take only one from a nest, and am very care-
ful not to disturb the birds. I have a Wood Fly-catcher's nest, which
is made of grass, wound so rightly around the limb that you have to
break the limb to gel it off. Hugh E. Stone.
Nevada City, California.
Weare very anxious to become a chapter of the "A. A.," and are
eager to begin work. We have a great many of the back numbers
Tin-: LETTER- liOX.
421
of St. Nicholas, from which wc have read and enjoyed your
reports. We live in a little mining town. Wc think wc could easily
obtain enough specimens of crviitaUized quartz, etc., to exchange
for almost any interesting natural object. Maude Smith.
[One member has sent us a string which he and his little sister
stretched around one of the " big trees " of California. We made a
circle of it at home, but it stretched through four rooms ! We should
be glad to receive similar strings representing the girth of the largest
tree in each of your own towns. 1
Al'DlRN, N. V.
Wc have seven members, but expect to have five boys join us
soon. Last week I gave them the subject of "coral" to study, and
they each read quite an interesting paper to-day. I have assigned
them " Silk-wonns " as the subject for next week, and hope they
will have a delightful time. Sadie E. Robb.
Lebanon Springs.
Wc have four new members in Chapter 106. Wc have found the
answer to your first question. There are three kingdoms in nature,
the animal, the vegetable, and the mineral. The spongers an ani-
mal ; snow and gases arc mineral.
R. >L RovcE.
20 Mercer Street, Soith Boston, Dec. 16,
We are slowly growing. We have three new members. Wc have
about seventy specimens of ores, and a few shells. We al.so have
had a show. A great many of our friends were there, and thought
wc succeeded nicely. In the evening wc had a magic-lantern exhi-
bition. Many of our friends kindly Tent us things to exhibit. One
of our members also played the banjo. We have decided to have
debates. WiLi.iE O. Hersev.
Laporte, Indiana, Dec. 16.
We have added several to our list of members. The pointed ends
of the silk badge, illustrated in the December St. Nicholas, are apt
to curl up and unravel. A gold cord on the top, and a gold fringe on
the bottom edge, will obviate this. Fkank Elie.
[The same trouble has been noticed by others, and the same excel-
lent remedy has been suggested by Pansy Smith.]
2014 Ridge Avenue, Philadelphia, Pa., T)ec. 2.
We are getting along very nicely, and expect to have additional
members very soon. \Vc wish exchanges after January 1. We shall
send in our drawings of snow-crystals as soon as the snow comes.
Raymond P. ICxighn.
Glencoe, III.
Our Chapter started in February, 1881, with five members. We
now have seventeen, all young people. We have a cabinet nearly
finished. We have taken very broad natural divisions on which to
report, some taking Vertebrates, others MoUusks, others Botany,
etc. We have gold, silver, and copper ore, petrified wood, shells,
eggs, sea-beans, a sea-fan, two teeth of a buffalo, etc. Wc have
made a floor for killing butterflies, and we have several little snakes.
O. M. Howard.
55 Prospect Street, Hartford, Conn.
Wc have t%vo new members in Hartford B. We have all been
away, and brought some specimens from places where we have been.
Some of them are copper ore from the Cape Rosier mines, horse-t:iil
rush from Bethlehem, Sj. H., a string of sea-weed and some dia-
monds from Cape May, N. J,, several wasps' and birds' nests from
East Haddam, Conn., a large horseshoe crab from near Sag Harbor,
and a crow's skull from Gardiner's Island. Francis Parsons.
NEwnt'RvpoRT, Mass.
We have continued our reading, and
have had a few reports ; two on hordes
by Josiah Hale and Alice Northend,
and one on insectivorous plants from
Susie I.uni. We have heard of an in-
sectivorous plant near here, and next
Summer we nope to get some.
Andrews Allen.
Osage Citv, Kansas.
Our Chapter is prospering. We have
nineteen members.
John A. Mkdi.er.
II High Street, Biffalo, N. Y.
Our club has continually increased
in interest, and has been doing some
very good work. Our herbanum for
the year is completed, and is inclosed
in a neat and serviceable cover. Our
boys have almost finished a cabinet,
made according to the plan suggested
in St. Nicholas. Our insccLs are ar-
ranged in order in large cases. Minerals
are catalogued. Every Friday evening
one of our members reads an original
css.ay, after which a general discussion
follows. One source from which we all
derive much pleasure .ind profit is our
so-called Obser\'ation Books. Each
member has a note-book, in which, dur-
ing the week, he jots down a note of
any natural phenomenon or fact which
he may obscr\'e. These notes often
provoke much discussion.
Not long ago we had a debate on the
subject, '*Are all Animals useful to
Mankind?" The whole evening was
devoted to the subject, but each re-
mained firmly convinced that his side
alone was right.
Fkances F. Haberstro.
[This report has valuable suggestions
for all members.]
19 Oakwood AvHNiE, Chicago, Ilu
Dunng this month we have collected
shells from all parts of the earth, from
California, M:iine, Isthmus of Panama,
Florida, Gulf of Mexico, India, Long
Island, and many other places.
Chas. W. Spragle.
Albur.n, N. Y.
We h.ive made quite an interesting
study of sponges, corals, silk-worms,
bees, and spiders, and
have learned a great deal
about each. This is our
first month, and I hope
to have a more interest-
ing report next time.
Flora Dangerfield.
422
THE LETTER-BOX.
[March,
MX^tl^drW^ynrCa.t* y'/''" '° "changes.- George S.
Copper ore for a sand-dollar;
Hohnes, Waterbury, Conn.
and trap-rock for tin ore.— Walter
SIX SNOW-CKVSTALS,
DKAWN bV CORWIN LINSON.
,^ , 1336 Eleventh St., N. W. WASHiNcxnn D r
We have a gorgeous beetle which came from Br-Sil' Its abdn
E.MiLV k. Newcohib.
wiSts'^or 1J """tV". '■'''''"• ""'' ■'^ '^ =" «-'. ™'^" 'Wck
wing-cases or efy/rn. The determination to "count " the seemeni,
Si'-„'S'"*:r, "• ■"-"'■ ■"-■ >•--=
Pansy S.mith.
[Has any member collected more insects in one season? Miss
ftfa sp^ecime"' . ^^■— 8=^. Capture the mischievous cou L
able 7TT • f^" ^S'"" '^^'""^' 'Edward lost all hU valu-
able collection several times ; b„t he never gave up. )
fS^HS-f^^'-^-^^^-SSe'
Willie B. Freer.
[Has any one else found caterpillars under water?]
Questions.
I. What are dragon-flies like before they have wings t Do thev
come from the water ? "'"gs i L>o tney
=. What is the hardest wood in the world?
3. How can poison ivy be distinguished ?
4 How shall I prepare specimens of wood »
SPECIMEN OP WOOD.
withrafir^^: Tn'^wi°„te:''afire'isneeTd\"^%'>'"'^ -'" --™
be put too near it When the ,nH ?' "'"' ""= "''°'' ^'"'"'d "O'
one side carefully with a rasp so ". nniT"' "'= f ^l""!'*' ^">"°'h
with fine sand-paper Vrr^ish iSn Tl" *' ''"'^- ^'"''^^
bark. When drv- fasten wT^h.'.r.n'^ ""^''i^ ""' '" ^^^'^h 'he
center of the bo'Zr'dfp e,i" sVSS ribeT^'l'^T, '^^ }'"^- '° ""'
wr^et=i:^-:--^-^^-.
fer oil or polish to varnish.] vvepre.
New Chapters.
Requests for Exchanges.
>v|^.^'^ f^wi^ ,s-^;yr^°rto f sl^^^ --^ -
.e|^^;^^erafe-;^--<^-^P-
Fossil shells and corals.-John B. Playter, Bristow, Iowa
B™:n:Ti.J.^arrAti;urcl.ic:g<:; '''"'■ - -"■'-Charles S.
Birds eggs, minerals, and ferns— Edward Cox, Belpre, Ohio
Minerals._G. O. Levasey, Beverly, Mass. '
Woods. Correspondence.- Maude Smith, Nevada City, Cal
Gene?eo,''nt '°'"' ^°' '"""'''■ Correspondence.- Hen^ Brown.
PriS' g1!,?'{o*:"^ '°' '"'""=''^' ^'°'- ^^ -a-shells.-Venie
Beding^rGr^^L'oT/lfke^Ty"'^ ^"^'"'"^ ^""^"^ ---Li"ie
fe2.-'Ken7th Srow't'Tir""^'"-/''^^'^?^^^ autumn-leaves and
Munroe & Co ' ^ " '^'="''=' ^""^^ >"""«■ "^e Messrs.
136.
137-
138
139'
140.
141.
142.
Nat}
ColumbirPa ''^"'f Ilex ^'T'^'^'' ^"'''"■"•
Clyde. N.Y. ,= ' ri c »f "T®'
Warren, Me. .■.■.■.•;.•.■;.•■ X7" Miss f I ' r '^
St. Paul, Minn.(B)..::::: T:s^dne/-E':-F^a;^^,t
Germantown, Pa. „ fii:„„ ^ Davidson Block.
Titusville, Pa. '* ' •^"';5'°" -f' Perot.
Leavenworth, Kan ,f ' ' wJt' r 1"- „
' 14- -Wm. L. Burrell, 327 Dela-
ware street
be^^t'exTrnrh:-" ' "°- 'J^"-'-' --• '' -""^"y -i"
An Association Album.
The President of the Agassiz Association has decided to take for
Another Prize.
We will give a copy of the book entitled "Insect Lives" to ,1,.
member who wiU send us the finest collection of six ii::cts rcol
lected labeled, and mounted by the sender), by aL" T /gst
^^^dress al, communications respecting the 'kssocTaln' to *e
h. H. Ballard, Lenox, Mass.
1 883. J
THE RII)1)LE-150X.
42,
S-S^^^^i^^^P^^^s
TheF^iddleBox
IKUSTUATKI* IT/.ZI.ES IN THE IIEAU-PIKCE.
CIRCULAR VVZZl.K.
Makk two circles of any size you please, copying exactly the dia-
gnuns given. Each circle has thirty-six sections, but every alternate
section in No. 2 Is cut away. Now lay No. 2 over No. 1 in such a
manner as to make the letters show a new reading of an old proverb.
The numbers arc a gmdc to the placing of the circles.
EASV REBUS.
The answer is the name of a state in which many persons find
themselves.
MONOGRAM.
These letters form a word which names a
dreaded in many parts of the world.
LADDER PITZZLE.
disturbance much
Each side of the ladder is formed by the name of a President of
the United Slates. Cross-words (beginning at the top) : j. A girl's
name. 2. Fixed allowance. 3. Part of a bird. 4. At a distance.
5. Half of a celebrated diamond. 6. A precious stone.
M. H. AND R. C.
A KETTLE OF FISH.
Each of the following puzzles may be answered by the name of
a fish. Example: .\ consonant and a defeat. W ffxifcr ; T-rout.
I. A measure of distance. 2. An ancient weapon. 3. Two-
thirds of a phantom. 4. A pronoun, and an emblem of eternity.
5, Part of the foot. 6. A consonant, and part of a wheel. 7. A
consonant, and to dissolve. 8. A fann animal, a consonant, and
part of a dnun. 9. A girl's toy, and part of a fish. 10. A boy's
ntcknajiie, a pronoun, and a preposition. 11. Used for polisHmg
silver. 12. An apparatus for illuminating, and what it throws
out. SEDGWICK.
TWO EASY DIAMONDS.
. In philosophy 2. A powerful weapon when skillfully used.
3. A finjit. 4. At the present time. 5. In intonation. II. i. In
communicate. 2. To equip with means of defense. 3. Vegetable
growths. 4. Encountered. 5. In treason. bertha l. t.
HEADS AND TAILS.
Example: Behead me, and my venom you may fear;
Curtail me, and imperfect I appear ;
Complete in gardens find me, far and near.
A nswcr \ Wasp — Asp — Was.
1. Behead me, and reveal a skillful knack ;
Curtail me, and I '11 go upon a track ;
Complete, I carry burdens on my back.
2. Behead me, and 1 furnish you with light;
Curtail, a bivalve tempts your appetite ;
Complete, I 'm warranted to hold you tight
3. Behead me, and my slimness is betrayed ;
Curtail me, and I 'm of an inky shade ;
Complete, with costly woods I 'm oft inlaid.
4. Behead me, and I am to authors dear;
Curtail, I may be gained, 't is very clear
Complete, I do connive, it will appear.
5. Behead me, and an angry passion find ;
Curtail, I am a tree oft tossed by wind;
Complete, 1 'm terrible, but also kind.
6. Behead, and I 'm a solemn-looking bird ;
Curtail, you '11 find me grazing with a herd ;
Complete, in convents 't is a cununon word.
BON BON.
]>01 IILE ACUOSTIC.
The initials spell the name of a well-known novel ; the finals spell
the pseudonym of the author.
Cross-worus: i. The surname of the hero of one of Sir Walter
Scott's novels. 2 To obstruct. 3. The foundress of Carthage. 4.
Misfortune. 5. A heavy piece of timber. 6. To instruct. 7. A col-
lection of wild beasts. 8. A naval officer of the highest rank. 9. A
biblical word meaning a master. 10. A precious stone carv'cd in
relief. 11. Prince of Denmark. F. A. w.
(^RO.SS-\VOKD ENKJillA.
Mv first is in catch, but not in toss;
» My second in vine, but not in moss;
My third is in root, but not in leaf;
My fourth is in rock, but not in reef;
My fifth is in union, but not in strife;
My sixth is in cutlass, but not in knife ;
When on fun or frolic ihe boys are bent.
At my whole you often will find them intent
PHYLLIS.
DEFECTIVE FROVEKB.
Replace the stars by the proper letters, and a proverb will be
formed.
*ec* *hing* "o* *eve* *car* "n" *o* *il* *in* *se* "o'' 'he*.
424
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
[March.
o
A PICTORIAL, W0RD-SQI:ARE.
^
a
'^'^^'a<4.
^?i^iwMr
.i,'^?i'^ "•''"!''* '''^?°'"'^ '^'""'""" °y^<^" fo'™ *e word-square, and II ,
the illustration, when read as a rebus, discloses a six-line stanza, de- pain! i
scnbing the uses to which those objects were puL o F
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM a proverb, composed of twenty-six letters,
ii^, ^'"'3,-??-3 IS an emperor, who is said to have
hddled while watching the burning of Rome. My
23-IS-2-6-J-I2 is the oldest fort in America, built by
the bpaniards in 1565. My 16-6-10-6-1-7 ■« a cele-
brated painter of the fifteenth century. My ii-''3-i8-
14-15 is the last letter of the Greek alphabet " My
23-22-20-13-35 was the lawgiver of Israel. My 8-19-1-
7-16 IS the name of an -American general. My 9-5-1-8
is the dross of metal. My 14-,, is to depart. My
26-11-4-22-12 was a noted lawgiver of Athens, in the
sixth century b. c. My 17-13-2-24 is one of the
characters in Shakespeare's play, " Much -Ado About
^°*'nK- C.4RR1E H. w.
PI.
From what poem by William Cullen Bryant is the
following stanza taken ?
" Het myrost charm sha moce ta stal
Thiw diwn nad dulcos adu hingcang keiss ;
I hera elh shrugin fo het stlab
Alht grothuh eth wyson lea\'yl sleif."
SYNCOPATIONS.
I. Syncopate to publish and leave a measure. 2.
Syncopate a casement and leave a woman bereaved of
her husband. 3. Syncopate a platter and leave a river
of Scotland. 4. Syncopate an article of furniture and
leave a narration. 5. Syncopate pertaining to punish-
ment and leave a succession of loud sounds 6 Synco-
pate pertaining to the sea, and leave one of the United
^*^S* GEO. S. HAVTER.
TWO WORD -SQUARES.
I. I. Tranquillity. 2. Noblemen. 3. Open
surfaces. 4. A girl's name. 5. To attempt.
A measure for liquids. 2. The name of a dark-brown
To degrade. 4. Reposes. 5. A lock of hair.
ALCIBIADES.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER.
2. Omar. 3.
4. Wand.
Race
Two Easy Word-Squares. I. i. Cord
4. Drew. II. I. Snow. 2. Neva. 3. Oven
Illustrated Puzzle. Washing-ton.
-•V little boy thin made a rattling din
VVhen he shoveled a seconj of coal into a bin ■
And a small girl fat w.asyfrr< the cat,
While Mamma sat wondering what Minnie was at.
Double Acrostic Priinals, Circe ; finals, Niobe. Cross-words:
I. CharoN. 2. Icenl. 3. RococO. 4. CatacomB. 5. EuterpE
Central Syncoi-ations and Re.mainders. Sl Valentine. ' i.
Ha-S-te. 2. Ti-T-le. 3. Se-V-en. 4. St-A-ir, 5. Co-L-in. 6
8. Pe-T-al. 9. Pa-I-nt"
Da-N-te.
3. Brant.
Br-E-ad. 7. Do-N-or.
II, St-E-ep.
Letter Charade. Iron.
Concealed Half-square, i. Debased. 2 Earned
4. Anna. 5. SeL 6. Ed. 7. D. Charade. Icicle.
Chanced Heads, i. B-ush. 2. C-ush. 3. G-ush. 4. H-ush.
5. I-ush. 6. M-ush. 7. P-ush. 8. R-ush. 9. T-ush.
Charade. Nut-meg.
P'- L'' *.= soMi" be abroad if he will, he can do nothing in this
age. 1 here is another personage, a personage less imposing in the
eyes of some, perhaps insignificanL The school-master is Ibroad
and 1 trust to him, armed with his primer, against the soldier in
lull military array.
„,?„Ti . ^'-'S'"=*'5, Cross of Diamonds. Upper Left-hand Dia-
SLmond r '<i ^'^ i-'^""" i-^"- 5. S. Upper Right-hand
LJlamond . i. S. 2. Apt. 3. Spam. 4. T p. 5 N Central
h^Tn-'-'-^- "c'=^'- ^■S-'^" ^Ti"- S-n' Lower lS-
hand Diamond : i. S. 2. Rat. 3. Satin. 4. Tic. ^ N Lower
Right-hand Diamond: I. N. 2. Nag. 3 Naked 4.^Gem 5 D
Unions, i. Cam-e-lot. 2. Harps-i-chord. 3. Cat-a-mount i'
Pent-e-cost, 5. Man-i-fold. 6. Pen-i-tent. 7. Par-a-pet s'
lerm-i-nation. 9. Pant-o-mime. 10. And-a-man.
Quincunx. Across :,, Slow. 2. Tap. 3. Arms. 4. Hap. 5. Naps.
Transpositions, i. Sutler-ulster-rustle-lustre. 2. Singer-resien
i«gns. 3. Adder-dread-dared. 4. Meta-tame-mate-team =; Peal
plea-pale-leap. ''
. '''"F names of solvers are printed in the second number after that
m which the puzzles appear.
Answers to December Puzzles were received, too late for
acknowledgment m the February number, from Martha and Eva de
laGuerra, 7— Geo. S. Hayter, 2— Isabel Bingay, Yarmouth, Nova
bcotia, 4.
Answers TO all the puzzles in the January number were
received, before January 20, from " Professor & Co.,"— •• Guesser "
— Martha and Eva de la Guerra, — and " Queen Bess " *
Answers to Pijzzles in the January number were received
before January 20, from " P.," " B," " S.," " B.," and " Tweedle "
I- Harriet B. Stemfeld, ,- David and William Anthony, ,_Wii
H„Wwp'~M "'■??'■""'■".';'•" '-Ernest W. Hamilton, i-
R^W W 1, h'"' —«"'=<= M- Fisher, 5- Jessie Bugbee 5-
Robert Wa ter Hemenway, i-Maud and Sadie, 3- Genie I Call-
SIs^'frlTB^I ■/■ ""fi \9- "-J^^l^^"- '^^■''^°"' '-S.ella^d
Bess fr-B. L. T., S-Ahce and Manon, ,_ Effie K. Talboys,
Ku 11 l°"^,r~rV",'= Corbm, i_May Wilson, i_ Nellie
SloH • ■*""/■,?,""= ?-''^''=y' 4- Ernest B. Cooper, 5.I Grace E.
Peabody, i_J. Edward Farnum, Jr., i_ Theodore G. White, 1-
Jennie Donovan 2-SaIlie Viles, 7_Thos. H. Miller, i_ L I ,_
r^°^^Sl''^°"'-'3-"MiT,nicmH^r4-C,o. W. Kolbe,i-Clira
L. JNorthway, 6— Emma Curran, 2— Nemo, Jr., 6— Charlie W
nrV-7w,J^- 5-NicoIl Ludlow, Jr., 7-Wes;on Stickney! 4-
?lvJ\ F '^ ^"^^l^y ? Hodgsdon, —Florence Leslie Kyte,
Alice ^ ^"!r"h'^~?""'v5-;'"^'^'=^ ^^^"^ Kyte. 5- Anna Ld
, t l~T -^'^'^'ades, 4-G. J. and F. L. Fiske, 8- Inez K K
AN APRIL GIRL.
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX. APRIL, 1882. No. 6.
(Copyright, 1882, by The CKNTURY CO.]
AN APRIL GIRL.
The girl th.1t is born on an April day
Has a right to be merry, lightsome, gay;
And that is the reason I dance and play
And frisk like a mote in a sunny r.iy, —
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day ?
The girl that is born on an April day
Has also a right to cry, they say;
And so I sometimes do give way
When things get crooked or all astray, —
Would n't you
Do it, too.
If you had been born on an April d.ay?
The girls of March love noise and fray;
And sweet as blossoms are girls of May;
But I belong to the time mid-way, —
And so I rejoice in a sunny spray
Of smiles and tears and hap-a-day, —
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
Heigho ! and hurrah! for an April day,
Its cloud, its sparkle, its skip and stay !
I mean to be happy whenever I may.
And cry when 1 must ; for that 's my way.
Would n't you
Do it, too.
If you had been born on an .Vpril day?
Vol. LX.— 28.
426
B R I(i H A M , THE C A V E - D O G .
[Aprii^
11ACHEL.0R.
BRIGHAM, THE CAVE-DOG.
By H. C. Hovey.
Many a dog will bravely go through tangled
forests, swollen streams, and mountain ravines : but
when it comes to following his master down into a
dark and silent cave — that is another matter!
Never, until recently, have I known one that did
not plainly regard it as a very solemn performance.
Jack, the old house-dog, the volunteer escort of
visitors to Mammoth Cave, is no exception to this
rule. He watches the negro guides trim the lamps
and bunch them on canes ready for distribution.
When the bell rings, he leads the company among
the tall trees to the mouth of the cavern. On he
goes, under the hiright cascade, and beneath the
black ledges, as far as the Iron Gate. He peers a
moment between the bars, as if overcome by his
awe of the unknown. Then, when the gate is
unlocked and all have gone in, his duty is done,
and he trots home again, absolutely refusing to go
beyond the last glimpse of daylight !
But Jack has a companion in his old age, a
common yellow cur, the hero of this true story.
William — a wag, as well as a first-rate guide —
explained to me the odd name given to the new
dog: "We call him Brigham — 'cause he 's
young, you know ! "
This creature is remarkable for but one thing,
and that is his fondness for life below ground. He
seems at home among the elves and gnomes, and
appears to have no fear of darkness. The two dogs
trot, side by side, as far as the Iron Gate. But
there they part. Jack, as usual, returns to the
hotel : but Brigham advances, pushing ahead of the
guides, choosing his own path, digressing now and
then, yet always returning in safety to the light
of the lamps.
Brigham and I became fast friends, during my
fortnight's stay at Mammoth Cave, last summer.
The gentle dignit)' with which he sought to aid my
BRIGUAM, Tllli CAVE-DOG.
427
under-ground researches was very amusing. How
sedately he examined each of the huge saltpeter
vats, three in the Rotunda and eight in the Aniphi-
THE SALTPETER VATS.
theater! It really seemed but an act of common
politeness to explain to him that these wore histori-
cal relics; and that the saltpeter made here was
carried by oxen and pack-mules to Philadelphia, to
be used in making gunpowder, during the war with
Great Britain in 1812.
Each striking object — the grotesque stalactites,
while the guide told the melancholy story of the
Consumptive's Cottage. This is a stone building,
nearly a mile within the cave, and is one of fifteen
huts in which several invalids, tempt-
ed by the great purity of the cave
atmosphere, and the uniformity of
temperature (just fifty-four degrees,
Fahrenheit, at all seasons), sought to
regain their health — alas! in vain.
They every one died, like the shrubs
they planted about their abodes.
1 suppose BrighaiTi did not under-
stand all this ; but probably he was
atifected by the deserted and deso-
late appearance of the place, or by
the lugubrious tones of the guide.
Brigham was a great fn\orite with
the manager of the cave, who par-
ticularly warned us not to lose him;
1 ir it was feared the dog would be
1 liable to find his way out again.
' iihcr curs that had been left behind
invariably staid in the place where
they had become lost, not daring
to stir, but yelping and howling till help came.
The dreaded accident hapi)ened at hist. We
went one day on what is called the Long Route, to
the end of the cave, said to be nine miles from the
entrance ; and Brigham went with us. We left
the main cave at the Giant's Coffin, by an arched
way, leading among some pits, the most famous
the uncouth rocks, the mysterious Star-chamber — of which has long been known as the Bottomless
commanded the dog's attention as well as our own. Pit. My guide, however, measured it, and found
Usually a silent observer, he howled piteously that it was exactly one hundred and five feet deep. '
428
BRIG HAM, THE CAVE-DOG.
[April,
There are six pits in all at this place, two of them
latcl)' discovered. We named them Scylla and
Charybdis — because, in trying to keep out of one,
vou arc in danger of falling into the other. These
" THE CORKSCREW." [sEE PAGE 430.
we measured, finding them to be more than two
hundred feet deep.
Hrigham did not like the pits very well. It was
only by much coa.\ing that we led him across the
narrow bridge thrown over the Bottomless Pit.
But, indeed, we all were glad to get away from
that dangerous place.
Our path next led us down still farther, among
great rocks, into such a crooked labyrinth that I
think it will puzzle some of my readers to trace it
on the map, although this is correctly drawn.
We went through the " Fat Man's Miser)-," and
entered River Hall, where there are several deep
lakes. Presently we came to Echo River, about
thirt)- feet deep, from twenty to two hundred feet
wide, and three-fourths of a mile long. Getting
into a small boat, we paddled our way over the
clear, cold water, waking the echoes from the steep,
rocky walls, Brigham helping with some lively
barking. Presently, we landed on a nice sandy
beach at the farther end. Thence we went on, by
widening avenues not marked on the map, to the
terminus of the Long Route ; and then we started
Ijack again.
Poor Brigham became very tired, and cared less
for the lovely arches of flower-like crystals than
for some cozy nook where he might curl down for
a nap. At length, after taking lunch with us in
Washington Hall, he started in chase of a cave-rat,
and probably availed himself of the chance to take
his siesta. At all events, he disappeared, and
made no answer to our calls.
" Perhaps he has gone ahead to Echo River,"
said I, "and is waiting for us there."
" Like enough," said William, the guide. " I
had n't thought of that."
But no bounding form nor joyful bark welcomed
our approach. The echoes answered our calls,
until it seemed as if a thousand voices were crying,
" Brigham, Brigham ! " in every conceivable tone,
from the softest whisper to the deepest bass ; and
our whistling was, in like manner, repeated, until
it seemed as if all the spirits of the cave had been
let loose for an .-Eolian concert.
Plainly, the dog was lost. William thought
Brigham might track us as far as the river; but
that on reaching the water he surch' would lose the
scent, and would not try to swim across. Lighting
a freshly filled lamp, William set it on a ledge, so
that in case the dog should come thus far he might
not feel too lonely.
Sadly we returned to the hotel, where our
announcement of the loss caused a sensation ; the
ladies especially declaring it " perfectly dreadful to
leave the poor thing alone in that horrible cave all
night," — as if it were darker there at midnight
than at noon !
Early the next morning, a party of explorers
crossed Echo River, and were met by Brigham.
The guide reasoned with him, as one might reason
with a runaway child, and tenderly took him in his
arms aboard the boat.
Alas, the warnings were wasted ! For, almost
as soon as we had landed, that capricious cave-dog
B K 1 0 H A M , III !■: C A \' 1'. - DO C, .
429
disappeared again ; and, as before, refused to obey
our loudest summons. Compassion was now mixed
with indignation, and we left him to his fate.
Nothing was seen of him all that day ; and this
A Dl.NNER-PARTV IN* "WASHINGTON HALL.
time, of deliberate choice, he remained a second
night under-ground.
And now comes, perhaps, the strangest part of my
story. On the following morning, Jack, too, was
the bars ; and there the dogs stood, wagging their
tails, and apparently exchanging the news !
Our curiosity led us to examine Hrigham's tracks,
to see by what route he had found his way back.
Beginning at the
Echo River, we had
no difficulty in seeing
that he had, step by
step, followed our
trail ; his only guide,
of course, being the
sense of smell. Here,
his tracks were deeply
printed in soft mud,
and there, more
sharply defined on
the mellow banks of
nitrous earth, less dis-
tinctly along ridges
of sand, or over heaps
of stone, or up steep
stair-ways.
Thus Brigham had
followed us, through
darkness deeper than
that of midnight,
along the narrow
beach of Lake Lethe,
across the treacherous natural bridge spanning the
River Styx, up to the galleries overhanging the
Dead Sea, through the wild confusion of Bandit's
Hall, and by many a spot where one misstep
^^^^pPiPI^^^
^ji^jj^B^^^^^^^^HH^HHHHIJH^^I
^^^^^o^^^l
^^B^^^^^^^^^^l
IIb, ^. S^^^^^^^V' "' ^^
^^^^^^^^^H
-'('incl
"' f^^EP'S^K^^
^H
^^^^H
■^^i^H
^^^^^SSBBBIi^^
^^^^1
missing. The guides had to dispense with their
customary canine escort. On arriving, however, at
the Iron Gate, three hundred yards within the cave,
they found Jack Just outside, and Brigham behind
CHATEL." [see PAGE 431.I
would have sent the poor, lonely creature plunging
downward in darkness to inevitable death.
It will be remembered that we had gone i/i past
the Giant's Coffin, by the arched way among the
430
BRIGHAM, THE CAVE-DOG.
[April,
deep pits, and through the mazes leading to River
Hall. But we had come on/ by a newly discovered
mode of exit, throusrh an intricate set of fissures,
known, on account of its winding nature.
Corkscrew." We preferred this, because
it saved a mile and a half of travel. Our
four-footed friend, pursuing the freshest
scent, went, of course, up the Corkscrew.
The opening is too irregular to be called
a pit, or shaft. Yet it winds upward for
a distance, vertically, of about one hun-
dred and fifty feet ; but fully five hun-
dred feet, as one climbs, creeping through
crevices, twisting through "auger-holes,"
and scaling precipitous rocks scattered in
the wildest confusion imagin-
able. Three ladders have to
be mounted in threading this
passage. One emerges, at
last, on the edcre of a cliff
'The
smoothly along to the Iron Gate, a quarter of a
mile distant.
Only think of it ! Through all this intricate and
hazardous pass, where, without a guide, we should
CaylDog
"THE BOTTOMLESS
overlooking the main cave.
clambers to the level floor.
EE PAGE 427.]
and down which he
where the road runs
"AT THE IRON GATE.
have found it diffi- - — ' ^° Z^ — es
cult to make our «ay ,
even with lamps and a map of the cave, that yel-
low dog had safely gone alone ! He offered no
explanation of his proceedings, nor told us what
motive prompted his independent explorations.
But that was his affair, not ours. We honored
him as a hero, and obtained for him, from the
manager, Mr. Francis Klett, the freedom of the
cave for the rest of his life.
The fact should be mentioned, by contrast with
this perfect and fearless operation of instinct, that
expert cave-hunters find themselves nearly help-
less, if left alone far within the cave and destitute
of a light. The rule for any one so unfortunately
situated is for him to stay where he is, as content-
edly as he can, until assistance comes, which is
sure to be within a few hours.
Several tales are told of persons whose reason
has been lost under such circumstances ; and,
although I know of no instance in which life itself
has been sacrificed, it can readily be seen that it
might be imperiled. The stories one occasionally
BRIGHAM. THE CAVE-DOG.
431
reads of novices finding their way out unaided by-
lights, arc to be discredited. An exploit of that
nature would tax the resources of the most expert
guide. The cases are extremely rare in which it
has been done, even by the guides themselves.
One of the most thrilling stories I ever heard was
told to me bv " ' 'Id MatI," a roldrcd man, who has
ter part of valor," and accordingly he hid in a
crevice, put his lamp out, and quietly waited for
the revelers to pass by. On coming forth from his
hiding-place he found that he h.ad no matches, and
therefore could not relight his lamp.
The hour was late, and the next day was Sun-
day. He feared lest a long lime might elapse be-
rjfouf/l
^tKo/Cave
lART OF MAMMOTH CAVE. (BV PERMISSION OF THE OWNER.) THE DOTTED LINE SHOWS BRIGHAM S RETURN PATH.
served as guide for more than forty years, and who
is supposed to know every nook and corner of the
explored parts of Mammoth Cave.
There had been a marriage in the ( iothic Chapel,
a grand, rocky chamber far within the cave. A
maiden, who had promised her mother "never to
marry any man on the face of the earth," had kept
the letter of her pledge, and yet, in this under-
ground spot, had wedded the man of her choice.
After the wedding there was wine, and then
some of the young men took a ramble through the
cave. Old Matt was at work in the vicinity of the
great pits, when he heard them coming with song
and with shout. Those were Ku-Klux times, and
the ex-slave thought that " discretion was the bet-
fore help should come, and therefore determined to
make his way out in the dark. Feeling cautiously
along with his staff, he went safely until it suddenly
dropped into a pit of unknown depth. Brave as Matt
is known to be, he fell in a swoon, and lay, no one
knows how long, on the very edge of that horrible
chasm. On coming to, he collected his wits as well
as he could, and felt with his hands for the path.
He presently found it and proceeded on his perilous
journey, making his way finally to the surface.
Old Matt told me this story himself, as he and
Brigham and I sat side by side on the brink of the
abyss where the faithful guide so narrowly escaped
finding a tomb. And, as I listened, I was glad
that the lamps were burning brightly.
432
THE TALE OF SCHNEIDER.
I April,
The following tribute to a very accomplished dog forms a fitting postscript to the account of
Brigham's remarkable journey. The pictures of Schneider here given are authentic portraits of
him as he appears when "performing" at his master's bidding.
Bv W. .\. Birch.
Our Schneider is — like Schneider famed in Rip Van Winkle's trip —
A dog, — though not so sad a one as either he' or Rip.
When young he was a merry pup, and bright, as )ou shall see ;
He learned his lessons cheerfully, and took a high degree.
Now, since he 's passed his schooling days and come to dog's estate,
Some few of many things he does 1 '11 truthfully relate.
He '11 walk a plank two inches wide, without a balance-pole —
Which shows his head is firmly set and level, on the whole.
He '11 pick a pocket deftly, and catch sugar off his nose ;
Leap burning hoops, a hand-spring turn, and dance on his hind toes.
He '11 fetch and carry, — take a note and knock against the door
Till some one comes, then give the note — not drop it on the floor.
He '11 stop a car, he '11 pay the fare, and — though 't is passing strange,
'T is really true — he '11 wait until Conductor gives the change.
He '11 play at base-ball famously, — 1 've nothing seen to match it, — ■
For if you throw and cry " foul ball," he 's almost sure to catch it.
At meetings he will take the chair I With dignity unshaken.
In this position, once, he sat to have his "photo" taken.
In manners, too, he 's been well drilled; to Chinese he '11 "chin-chin,"
By jerking both his paws at once, while John will stand and grin.
To white men he will make a bow in quite another way:
He '11 raise one paw beside his head, and so salute good-day.
His hand-embrace is as polite as any in the land;
He '11 give a gentleman's a shake, but kiss a lady's hand.
He 'II smoke a pipe, if smoke he must, — but ne\er likes to smoke.
He deems a passing tread on toes beyond a passing joke ;
But let a jester purposely claim place where Schneider is.
And if a toe gets badly pinched — 1 know it is n't his.
i883.|
THE TALE OJ SCHNEIDER.
433
He never seeks a quarrel, nor makes war for grievance slim ;
He scorns to hurt a little dog, that snarls or snaps at him ;
Hut if a dog, however big, should force him to a fight,
Then, plucky, brave, and gallant, he goes in with all his might.
And often, too, much stronger dogs are beaten by his grit ;
For though he 's last to enter in, he 's always last to quit.
That he 's an economic dog, is proven by this feat :
He Ml take his tail between his teeth, and so make both ends meet.
If one shouts "Dead! " he straightway falls, as if he had been shot.
Nor whistling, calling by his name, will make him move a jot ;
Though tossed around, he lies as if he 'd left this world of pain,- -
But whisper " Pound-man ! " in his ear, and he 's all life again !
And scores of other tricks he '11 do, too many here to name, — ■
The half of which, done half as well, would give his brothers fame.
Once, though, he surely came to grief — in crossing o'er the plains,
From San Francisco to New York. (He might have lost his brains.)
For when the train was at full speed, he took 't into his head
To jump the window, which he did, and straight for home he sped.
But .Schneider was beloved on board, — the passengers cried out ;
The cord was pulled, Conductor came, and then was such a rout !
The whistle blew, the brakes went down, the driver, rough and grim,
With kindh- lieart, re\ersod the wheels — the train put bach for him!
The good conductor, Robert N., soon spied him on the track,
And in his arms, 'neath broiling sun, he brought the truant back.
The driver put on extra steam, to bring to time his train :
A whistle — puff — three hearty cheers, and all went right again!
But Schneider now is getting gray, his eyes are growing dim ;
Old Time wont spare our clever pet because we dote on him.
And w'hen he goes, for well we know all things must have an end,
The tear we then let fall might flow for some less worthy friend !
And when we say the last good-bye, and lay hiin to his rest.
We '11 leave this moral over him — "He did his level best!"
^.. , ^\^
434
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[April,
]-SEI^T-jViy-LlTTL£- fVf/\/05/V-
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'do.
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.*
By Edward Eggleston.
Chapter X.XI.
THE NEW TEACHER.
HE new teacher who was
employed to take the
Greenbank school in the
autumn was a young
from college. Standing be-
the desk hitherto occupied
by the grim-faced Mr. Ball, young
Williams looked very mild by con-
trast. He was evidently a gentle-
spirited man as compared with the
old master, and King Pewee and his crowd were
gratified in noting this fact. They could have
their own way with such a master as that ! When
he called the school to order, there remained a
bustle of curiosity and mutual recognition among
the children. Riley and Pewee kept up a little
noise by way of defiance. They had heard that
the new master did not intend to whip. Now he
stood quietly behind his desk, and waited a few
moments in silence for the whispering group to be
still. Then he slowly raised and leveled his finger
at Riley and Pewee, but still said nothing. There
was something so firm and quiet about his motion
— something that said, " I will wait all day, but
you must be still" — that the boys could not resist it.
By the time they were quiet, two of the girls
had got into a titter over something, and the
forefinger was aimed at them. The silent m.an
made the pupils understand that he was not to
be trifled with.
When at length there was quiet, he made every
one lay down book or slate and face around toward
him. Then with his pointing finger, or with a little
slap of his hands together, or with a word or two
at most, he got the school still again.
" 1 hope w-e shall be friends," he said, in a voice
full of kindliness. " All I want is to "
But at this point Riley picked up his slate and
book, and turned away. The master snapped his
fingers, but Riley affected not to hear him.
"That young man will put down his slate."
The master spoke in a low tone, as one who ex-
pected to be obeyed, and the slate was reluctantly
put upon the desk.
* Copyright, 1881, by Edward Eggleston. All rights reserved.
i88>.)
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
435
" When I am talking to you, I want you to
hear," he went on, very quietly. " I am hired
and paid to teach you. One of the things I have
to teach you is good manners. You," pointing to
Riley, "are old enough to know better than to
take your slate when your teacher is speaking, but
perhaps you have never been taught what are good
manners. I '11 excuse you this time. Now, you
all see those switches hanging here behind me. I
did not put them there. I do not say that I shall
not use them. .Some boys have to be whipped,
I suppose, — like mules, — and when I have tried, I
may find that I can not get on without the switches,
but 1 hope not to have to use them."
Here Riley, encouraged by the master's mild-
ness and irritated by the rebuke he had received,
began to make figures on his slate.
" Bring me that slate," said the teacher.
Riley was happy that he had succeeded in start-
ing a row. He took his slate and his arithmetic,
and shuffled up to the master in a half-indolent,
half-insolent way.
" Why do you take up your work when I tell
you not to ? " asked the new teacher.
"Because I did n't want to waste all my morn-
ing. I wanted to do my sums."
" You are a remarkably industrious youth, I take
it." The young master looked Riley over, as he
said this, from head to foot. The whole school
smiled, for there was no lazier boy than this same
Riley. " I suppose," the teacher continued, "that
you are the best scholar in school — the bright and
shining light of Cireenbank. "
Here there was a general titter at Riley.
" I can not have you sit away down at the other
end of the school-room and hide your excellent
example from the rest. Stand right up here by
me and cipher, that all the school may see how
industrious you are."
Riley grew very red in the face and began to
cipher, holding his book in his hand.
"Now," said the new teacher, " I have but just
one rule for this school, and I will write it on the
blackboard that all may see it."
He took chalk and wrote :
DO Rl(;iiT.
"That is all. Let us go to our lessons."
For the first two hours that Riley stood on the
floor he pretended to enjoy it. But when recess
came and went and Mr. Williams did not send him
to his seat, he began to shift from one foot to the
other and from his heels to his toes, and to
change his slate from the right hand to the left.
His class was called, and after recitation he was
sent back to his place. He stood it as best he
could until the noon recess, but when, at the be-
ginning of the afternoon session, Mr. Williams
again called up his "excellent scholar" and set
him up, Riley broke down and said :
'■ I think you might let me go now."
"Are you tired?" asked the cruel Mr. Williams.
"Yes, I am," and Riley hung his head, while
the rest smiled.
" And are you ready to do what the good order
of the school requires ? "
" Yes, sir."
. " Very well ; you can go."
The chopfallen Riley went back to his seat, con-
vinced that it would not do to rebel against the
new teacher, even if he did not use the beech
switches.
But Mr. Williams was also quick to detect the
willing scholar. He gave Jack extra help on his
Latin after school was out, and Jack grew very
proud of the teacher's affection for him.
Cll.APTKR XXII.
CHASING THE FOX.
LL the boys in the river towns
thirty years ago — and therefore
the boys in Greenbank, also —
took a great interest in the steam-
boats which plied up and dow n the
Ohio. Each had his favorite boat,
and boasted of her speed and ex-
cellence. Every one of them en-
vied those happy fellows whose lot
it was to "run on the river" as
cabin-boys. Boats were a common
topic of conversation — their build,
their engines, their speed, their
officers, their mishaps, and all the
incidents of their history.
So it was that from the love of
steam-boats, which burned so brightly in the bosom
of the boy who lived on the banks of that great
and lovely river, there grew up the peculiar game
of " boats' names." I think the game was started
at Louisville or New Albany, where the falls inter-
rujit navigation, and where many boats of the upper
and lower rivers are assembled.
One day, as the warm air of Indian summer in
this mild climate made itself felt by the evergreen
" blue-grass," the boys assembled, after the snack
at the noon recess, to play boats' names.
Through Jack's influence, Columbus, who did
not like to play with the ABC boys, was
allowed to take the handkerchief and give out the
first name. All the rest stood up in a row like a
436
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[April,
spelling-class, while little Columbuf, standing in
front of them, held a knotted handkerchief with
which to scourge them when the name should be
guessed. The arm which held the handkerchief
was so puny that the boys laughed to see the feeble
lad stand there in a threatening attitude.
" I say, Lum, don't hit too hard, now; my back
is tender," said Bob Holliday.
"Give us an easy one to guess," said Riley,
coaxingly.
Columbus, having come from the back country,
did not know the names of half a dozen boats, and
what he knew about were those which touched daily
at the wharf of Greenbank.
" F n," he said.
" Fashion," cried all the boys at once, breaking
into unrestrained mirth at the simplicity that gave
them the name of Captain Glenn's little Cincinnati
and Port William packet, which landed daily at
the village wharf. Columbus now made a dash at
the boys, who were obliged to run to the school-
house and back whenever a name was guessed,
suffering a beating all the way from the handker-
chief of the one who had given out the name,
though, indeed, the punishment Lum was able to
give was \ery slight. It was doubtful who had
guessed first, since the whole party had cried
"Fashion " almost together, but it was settled at
last in fa\or of Harry Weathervane, who was sure
to give out hard names, since he had been to Cin-
cinnati recently, and had gone along the levee
reading the names of those boats that did business
above that city, and so were quite unknown, unless
by report, to the boys of Greenbank.
"A A s," were the three letters which
Harrj' gave, and Ben Berry guessed " Archibald
Ananias," and Tom Holcroft said it was " Aman-
da Amos," and at last all gave it up: whereupon
Harry told them it was " Alvin Adams," and pro-
ceeded to give out another.
" C A P X," he said next time.
"Caps," said Riley, mistaking the x for an s;
and then Bob Holliday suggested " Hats and
Caps," and Jack wanted to have it " Boots and
Shoes." But Johnny Meline remembered that he
had read of such a name for a ship in his Sunday-
school lesson of the previous Sunday, and he
guessed that a steam-boat might bear that same.
" I know," said Johnny, "it 's Castor "
" Oil," suggested Jack.
" No — Castor and P, x, — Pollux — Castor and
Pollux — it 's a Bible name."
" You 're not giving us the name of Noah's ark,
are you ? " asked Bob.
" I say, boys, that is n't fair a bit," growled
Pewee, in all earnestness. "I don't hardly believe
that Bible ship 's a-going now." Things were
mixed in Pewee's mind, but he had a vague notion
that Bible times were as much as fifty years ago.
While he stood doubting, Harry began to whip
him with the handkerchief, saying, " 1 saw her at
Cincinnati, last week. She runs to Maysville and
Parkersburg, you goose."
After many names had been guessed, and each
guesser had taken his turn, Ben Berry had to give
out. He had just heard the name of a " lower
country " boat, and was sure that it would not be
guessed.
" C p r," he said.
"Oh, I know," said Jack, who had been study-
ing the steam-boat column of an old Louisville
paper that very morning, "it 's the — the — " and
he put his hands over his ears, closed his eyes, and
danced around, trying to remember, while all the
rest stood and laughed at his antics. "Now I 've
got it, — the ' Cornplanter ' ! "
And Ben Berry whipped the boys across the
road and back, after which Jack took the handker-
chief.
■' Oh, say, boys, this is a poor game; let 's play
fox," Bob suggested. " Jack 's got the handker-
chief, let him be the first fox."
So Jack took a hundred yards' start, and all the
boys set out after him. The fox led the hounds
across the commons, over the bars, past the "brick
pond," as it was called, up the lane into Moro's
pasture, along the hill-side to the west across
Dater's fence into Betts's pasture ; thence over into
the large woods pasture of the Glade farm. In
every successive field some of the hounds had run
off to the flank, and by this means every attempt
of Jack's to turn toward the river, and thus fetch a
circuit for home, had been foiled. They had cut
him off from turning through Moro's orchard or
Betts's vineyard, and so there was nothing for the
fleet-footed fox but to keep steadily to the west and
give his pursuers no chance to make a cut-off on
him. But every now and then he made a feint of
turning, which threw the others out of a straight
track. Once in the woods pasture, Jack found him-
self out of breath, having run steadily for a rough
mile and a half, part of it up-hill. He was yet
forty yards ahead of Bob Holliday and Riley, who
led the hounds. Dashing into a narrow path
through the underbrush. Jack ran into a little
clump of bushes and hid behind a large black-
walnut log.
Riley and Holliday came within six feet of him,
some of the others passed to the south of him and
some to the north, but all failed to discover his
lurking-place. Soon Jack could hear them beating
about the bushes beyond him.
This was his time. Having recovered his wind,
he crept out southward until he came to the foot
i88i.]
THE IIOOSIKK SCHOOL- BO V
437
of the hill, and entered Glade's lane, heading
straight for the river across the wide plain. Pewce,
who had perched himself on a fence to rest, caught
sight of Jack first, and soon the whole pack were in
full cry after him, down the long, narrow elder-
bordered lane. Hob Holliday and Riley, the
fleetest of fool, climbed over the high stake-and-
rider fence into Betts's corn-field, and cut off a
diagonal to prevent Jack's getting back toward
the school-house. Seeing this movement, Jack,
who already had made an extraordinary run,
crossed the fence himself, and tried to make a cut-
off in spite of them ; but Riley already had got in
ahead of him, and Jack, seeing the boys close be-
hind and before him. turned north again toward
the hill, got back into tlie lane, which was now de-
serted, and climbed into (blade's meadow on the
west side of the lane. He now had a chance to
fetch a sweep around toward the river again,
though the whole troop of boys were between him
and the school-house. Fairly headed off on the
east, he made a straight run south for the river
shore, striking into a deep gully, from which he
came out panting upon the beach, where he had
just time to hide himself in a hollow sycamore,
hoping that the boys would get to the westward
and give him a chance to run up tlie river shore for
the school-house.
But one can not play the same trick twice. Some
of the boys stationed themselves so as to intercept
Jack's retreat toward the school-house, while the
rest searched for him, beating up and down the
gully, and up and down the beach, until they
neared the hollow sycamore. Jack made a sharp
dash to get through them, but was headed off and
caught by I'ewee. Just as Jack was caught, and
Pewee was about to start homeward as fox, the
boys caught sight of two steam-boats racing down
the river. The whole party was soon perched on
a fallen sycamore, watching first the ".Swiftsure"
and then the "Ben Franklin," while the black
smoke poured from their chimneys. So fascinated
were they with this exciting contest that they staid
half an hour waiting to see which should beat. At
length, as the boats passed out of sight, with the
"Swiftsure" leading her competitor, it suddenly
occurred to Jack that it must be later than the
school-hour. The boys looked aghast at one an-
other a moment on hearing him mention this :
then they glanced at the sun, already declining in
the sky, and set out for school, trotting swiftly in
spite of their fatigue.
What would the master say ? Pewee said
he did n't care, — it was n't Old Ball, and they
would n't get a whipping, anyway. But Jack
thought that it was too bad to lose the confidence
of Mr. Williams.
Chai'Tir .Will.
CALLED TO .VCCOUNT.
,f UCCESSl'UL hounds, having caught
- their fox, ought to have come home
in triumph; but, instead of that,
they came more like dogs that had
been killing sheep, their heads hang-
ing down in a guilty and self-betray-
ing way.
Jack walked into the school-house
firet. It was an hour and a half past
the time for the beginning of school. He tried to
look unconcerned as he went to his seat. There
stood the teacher, with his face very calm Ijut very
pale, and Jack felt his heart sink.
One by one the laggards filed into the school-
room, while the awe-stricken girls on the opposite
benches, and the little ABC boys, watched the
guilty sinners take their places, prepared to meet
their fate.
Riley came in with a half-insolent smile on his
face, as if to say: "I don't care." Pewee was
sullen and bull-doggish. Ben Berry looked the
sneaking fellow he was, and Harry Weatherv'ane
tried to remember that his father was a school-
trustee. Bob Holliday could n't help laughing in
a foolish way. Columbus had fallen out of the
race before he got to the "brick-pond," and so had
returned in time to be punctual when school re-
sumed its session.
During all the time that the boys, heated with
their exercise and blushing with shame, were filing
in, Mr. Williams stood with set face and regarded
them. He was very much excited, and so I sup-
pose did not dare to reprove them just then. He
called the classes and heard them in rapid succes-
sion, until it was time for the spelling-class, which
comprised all but the very youngest pupils. On
this day, instead of calling the spelling-class, he
said, evidently with a great effort to control him-
self: " The girls will keep their seats. The boys
will take their places in the spelling-class."
Riley's lower jaw fell — he was sure that the
master meant to flog them all. He was glad
he was not at the head of the class. Ben Berry
could hardly drag his feet to his place, and poor
Jack was filled with confusion. When the boys
were all in place, the master walked up and
down the line and scrutinized them, while Riley
cast furtive glances at the dusty old beech
switches on the wall, wondering which one the
master would use, and Pewee was trying to guess
whether .Mr. Williams's arm was strong, and
whether he " would make a fellow take off his
r-oat " or not.
438
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[April,
"Columbus," said the teacher, "you can take
your seat."
Riley shook in his shoes, thinking that this cer-
tainly meant a whipping. He began to frame
excuses in his mind, by which to try to lighten his
punishment.
But the master did not take down his switches.
He only talked. But such a talk ! He told the
boys how worthless a man was who could not be
trusted, and how he had hoped for a school full of
boys that could be relied on. He thought there
were some boys, at least — and this remark struck
Jack to the heart — that there were some boys in
the school who would rather be treated as gentle-
men than beaten with ox-gads. But he was now
disappointed. All of them seemed equally willing
to take advantage of his desire to avoid whipping
them ; and all of them had shown themselves nn-
Jit to be trusted.
Here he paused long enough to let the full
weight of his censure enter their minds. Then
he began on a new tack. He had hoped that he
might have their friendship. He had thought that
they cared a little for his good opinion. But now
they had betrayed him. All the town was looking
to see whether he would succeed in conducting his
school without whipping. A good many would be
glad to see him fail. To-day they would be saying
all over Greenbank that the new teacher could n't
manage his school. Then he told the boys that
while they were sitting on the trunk of the fallen
sycamore looking at the steam-boat race, one of
the trustees, Mr. Weathervane, had driven past
and had seen them there. He had stopped to
complain to the master. " Now," said the master,
"I have found how little you care for me."
This was very sharp talk, and it made the boys
angry. Particularly did Jack resent any intima-
tion that he was not to be trusted. But the new
master was excited and naturally spoke severely.
Nor did he give the boys a chance to explain at
that time.
"You have been out of school," he said, "one
hour and thirty-one minutes. That is about equal
to six fifteen-minute recesses — to the morning and
afternoon recesses for three days. I shall have to
keep you in at those six recesses to make up the
time, and in addition, as a punishment, I shall keep
you in school half an hour after the usual time of
dismission, for three days."
Here Jack made a motion to speak.
" No," said the master, " 1 will not hear a word,
now. Go home and think it over. To-morrow I
mean to ask each one of you to explain his con-
duct."
With this, he dismissed the school, and the boys
went out as angrv as a hive of bees that have been
disturbed. Each one made his speech. Jack
thought it "mean that the master should say they
were not fit to be trusted. He would n't have
staid out if he 'd known it was school-time."
Bob HoUiday said " the young master was a
blisterer," and then he laughed good-naturedly.
Harry Weathervane was angry, and so were all
the rest. At length it was agreed that they did n't
want to be cross-questioned about it, and that it
was better that somebody should write something
that should give Mr. Williams a piece of their
mind, and show him how hard he was on boys
that did n't mean any harm, but only forgot them-
selves. And Jack was selected to do the writing.
Jack made up his mind that the paper he would
write should be " a scorcher."
Chapter XXIV.
AN APOLOGY.
F COURSE, there was a great
deal of talk in the village.
The I-told-you-so people
were quite delighted. Old
Mother Home ' 'always knew
that boys could n't be man-
aged without^ switching.
Did n't the Bible or some-
body say: 'Just as the twig is bent the boy 's in-
clined ' ? And if you don't bend your twig, what '11
become of your boy ? "
The loafers and loungers and gad-abouts and
gossips talked a great deal about the failure of the
new plan. They were sure that Mr. Ball would be
back in that school-house before the term was out,
unless Williams should whip a good deal more
than he promised to. The boys would just drive
him out.
Jack told his mother, with a grieved face, how
harsh the new master had been, and how he had
e\'en said they were not fit to be trusted.
"That's a very harsh word," said Mrs. Dudley,
" but let us make some allowances. Mr. Williams
is on trial before the town, and he finds himself
nearly ruined by the thoughtlessness of the boys.
He had to wait an hour and a half with half of the
school gone. Think how much he must have suf-
fered in that time. And then, to have to take a
rebuke from Mr. Weathervane besides, must have
stung him to the quick."
" Yes, that 's so," said Jack, "but then he had
no business to take it for granted that we did it on
purpose."
And Jack went about his chores, trying to think
of some way of writing to the master an address
which should be severe, but not too severe. He
iSSi.j
Tin; IIUOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
439
planned many things but gave them up. He lay
awake in the night thinking about it, and, at last,
when he had cooled off. he came to the conclusion
that, as the boys had been the first offenders, they
should take the first step toward a reconciliation.
But whether he could persuade the angry boys to
see it in that light, lie did not know.
When morning came, he wrote a very short
paper, somewhat in this fashion :
"Mr. Williams.
" Dear Sir : Wc are vcrj* sorry for what we did yesterday, and
for the trouble wc have given you. We arc willing to take the pun-
ishment, for wc think we deserve it : but we hope you will not think
thatwc did it on purpose, for wc did not, and we don't like to have
you think so.
" Respectfully submitted."
Jack carried this in the first place to his faithful
friend Bob Holliday, who read it.
" Oh, you 've come down, have you ? " said Bob.
" I thought we ought to," said Jack. " We did
give him a great deal of trouble, and if it had
been Mr. Ball, he would have whipped us half to
death."
"We should n't have forgot and gone away at
that time if Old Ball had been the master," said
Bob.
"That 's Just it," said Jack; "that 's the very
reason why we ought to apologize."
" All right;" said Bob. " I '11 sign her," and he
WTOte "Robert M. Holliday" in big letters at the
top of the column intended for the names. Jack
put his name under Bob's.
But when they got to the school-house it was not
so easy to persuade the rest. At length, how-
ever, Johnny Meline signed it, and then Harry
Weather\'anc, and then the rest, one after another,
with some grumbling, wrote their names. All sub-
scribed to it excepting Pewee and Ben Berry and
Riley. They declared they never would sign it.
They did n't want to be kept in at recess and after
school like convicts. They did n't deserve it.
"Jack was a soft-headed fool," Riley said, " to
draw up such a thing as that. 1 'm not afraid of
the master. 1 'm not going to knuckle down to
him, either."
Of course, Pewee, as a faithful echo, said just
what Riley said, and Ben Berry said what Riley
and Pewee said ; so that the three were quite unani-
mous.
" Well," said Jack, " then we '11 have to hand in
our petition without the signatures of the triplets."
"Don't you call me a triplet," said Pewee;
" 1 've got as much sense as any of you. You 're
a soft-headed triplet yourself! "
Even Riley had to join in the laugh that followed
this blundering sally of Pewee.
When the master came in, he seemed verv much
troubled. He had heard what had been said about
the affair in the town. The address which Jack
had written was lying on his desk. He took it up
and read it, and immediately a look of pleasure
and relief took the place of the worried look he had
brought to school with him.
" Boys," he said, " 1 have received your peti-
tion, and 1 shall answer it by and by."
The hour for recess came and passed. The girls
and the very little boys were allowed their recess, but
■ nothing was said to the larger boys about their
going out. Pewee and Riley were defiant.
At length, when the school was about to break up
for noon, the master put his pen, ink, and other little
articles in the desk, and the school grew hushed
with expectancy.
" This apology," said .Mr. Williams, "which 1 sec
is in John Dudley's handwriting, and which bears
the signature of all but three of those who were
guilty of the offense yesterday, is a very manly
apology, and quite increases my respect for those
who have signed it. I have suffered much from
your carelessness of yesterday, but this apology,
showing, as it does, the manliness of my boys, has
given me more pleasure than the offense gave me
pain. I ought to make an apology to you. I
blamed you too severely yesterday in accusing you
of running away intentionally. I take all that
back."
Here he paused a moment, and looked over the
petition carefully.
" William Riley, 1 don't see your name here.
Why is that ? "
"Because I did n't put it there."
Pewee and Ben Berry both laughed at this wit.
" Why did n't you put it there ? "
" Because I did n't want to."
"Have you any explanation to give of your con-
duct \'esterday ? "
" No, sir ; only that 1 think it 's mean to keep us
in because we forgot ourselves."
"Peter Rose, have you anything to say?"
" Just the same as Will Riley said."
"And you, Benjamin ? "
"Oh, I don't care much," said Ben Berry.
"Jack was fox, and I ran after him, and if he
had n't run all over creation and part of Columbia,
1 should n't have been late. It is n't any fault of
mine. 1 think Jack ought to do the staying in."
" You are about as old a boy as Jack," said the
master. " I suppose Jack might say that if you
and the others had n't chased him, he would
n't have run 'all over creation,' as you put
it. You and the rest were all guilty of a
piece of gross thoughtlessness. All excepting you
three have apologized in the most manly way. I
therefore remove the punishment from all the
440
THE HOCJSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[April,
Others entirely hereafter, deeming that the loss
of this morning's recess is punishment enough for
boys who can be so manly in their acknowledg-
ments. Peter Rose, William Riley, and Benjamin
Berry will remain in school at both recesses and
for a half-hour after school every day for three
days — not only for having forgotten their duty,
but for having refused to make acknowledgment or
apology."
Going home that evenmg, half an hour after all
the others had been dismissed, the triplets put all
their griefs together, and resohed to be avenged
on Mr. Williams at the first convenient oppor-
tunity.
Chapter XXV.
KING'S BASE AND A SPELL-
ING-LESSON.
S THE three who usually gave
the most trouble on the play-
ground, as well as in school,
were now in detention at
ever^' recess, the boys en-
joyed greatly their play dur-
ing these three days.
It was at this time that
they began to play that fa-
vorite game of Greenbank,
which seems to be unknown
almost everjwhere else. It
is called "king's base," and is full of all manner
of complex happenings, sudden surprises, and
amusing results.
Each of the bo\s selected a base or goal. A
row of sidewalk trees were favorite bases. There
were just as many bases as boys. Some boy would
venture out from his base. Then another would
pursue him ; a third would chase the two, and so it
would go, the one who left his base latest having
the right to catch.
Just as Johnny Meline was about to lay hold on
Jack, Sam Crashaw, having just left /u's base, gave
chase to Johnny, and just as Sam thought he had
a good chance to catch Johnny, up came Jack,
fresh from haxing touched his base, and nabbed
Sam. When one has caught another, he has a
right to return to his base with his prisoner, un-
molested. The prisoner now becomes an active
champion of the new base, and so the game goes
on until all the bases are broken up but one. Verv
often the last boy on a base succeeds in breaking
up a strong one, and, indeed, there is no end to
the curious results attained in the play.
Jack had never got on in his studies as at this
time. Mr. Williams took every opportunity to
show his liking for his young friend, and Jack's
quickened ambition soon put him at the head of
his classes. It was a rule that the one who stood
at the head of the great spelling-class on Friday
evenings should go to the foot on Monday, and so
work his \\a\- up again. There was a great strife
between Sarah Weathervane and Jack to see which
should go to the foot the oftenest during the term,
and so win a little prize that Mr. Williams had
offered to the best speller in the school. As
neither of them ever missed a word in the lesson,
they held the head each alternate Friday evening.
In this way the contest bade fair to be a tie. But
Sarah meant to win the prize by fair ineans or foul.
One Friday morning before school-time, the
boys and girls were talking about the relative
merits of the two spellers, Joanna maintaining
that Sarah was the better, and others that Jack
could spell better than Sarah.
"Oh!" said Sarah Weathervane. "Jack is the
best speller in school. I study till my head aches
to get my lesson, but it is all the same to Jack
whether he studies or not. He has a natural
gift for spelling, and he spends nearly all his time
on arithmetic and Latin."
This speech pleased Jack very much. He had
stood at the head of the class all the week, and
spelling did seem to him the easiest thing in the
world. That afternoon he hardly looked at his
lesson. It was so nice to think he could beat
Sarah \\'eather\ane with his left hand, so to speak.
When the great spelUng-class was called, he
spelled the words given to him, as usual, and
Sarah saw no chance to get the coveted oppor-
tunity to stand at the head, go down, and spell her
waj- up again. But the \ery last word given to
Jack was sacri/cgc, and, not having studied the les-
son, he spelled it with e in the second syllable and
/ in the last. Sarah gave the letters correctly, and
when Jack saw the smile of triumph on her face, he
guessed why she had flattered him that morning.
Hereafter he would not depend on his natural gen-
ius for spelling. A natural genius for working is
the best gift for man or boy — and for woman or
girl, too, for that matter.
Chapter X.X\"1.
unclaimed top-strings.
With a sinking heart. Jack often called to mind
that this was his last term at school. The little
money that his father had left was not enough to
warrant his continuing; he must now do some-
thing for his own support. He resolved, therefore,
to make the most of his time under Mr. Williams.
When Pewee, Riley, and Ben Berry got through
with their punishment, they sought some way of
revenging themselves on the master for punishing
them, and on Jack for doing better than they had
I883.J
THE UOOSIKK SCHOOL-BOY.
441
done, and thus escaping punishment. It was a
sore thing with them that Jack had led all the
school his way, so that, instead of the whole herd
following King Pewee and Prime Minister Riley into
rebellion, they now " knuckled down to the master,"
as Riley called it, under the lead of Jack, and they
even dared to laugh slyly at the inseparable
"triplets."
The first aim of Pewee and company was to get
the better of the master. They boasted to Jack
and Hob that they would fix Mr. Williams some
time, and gave out to the other boys that they
teacher, thought that it would be fun to watch the
conspirators and defeat them. So, when they saw
Mr. Williams going to Dr. Lanham's, they stationed
themselves in the dark alley on the side of the
street opposite to Riley's and took observations.
Mr. Williams had a habit of leaving Dr. Lan-
ham's at exactly nine o'clock, and so. Just before
nine, the three came out of Riley's yard, and pro-
ceeded in the darkness to the fence of Lanham's
door-yard.
Getting the trunk of one of the large shade-
trees between him and the plotters, Jack crept up
BOB HOLLIUAV cAKKlEb HOME HIS tKlEi^U,
knew where the master spent his evenings, and they
knew how to fix him.
When Jack heard of this, he understood it. The
teacher had a habit of spending an evening, now
and then, at Dr. Lanham's, and the boys no doubt
intended to play a prank on him in going or com-
ing. There being now no moonlight, the village
streets were very dark, and there was every oppor-
tunity for a trick. Riley's father's house stood
next on the street to Dr. Lanham's ; the lots were
divided by an alley. This gave the triplets a good
chance to carry out their designs.
But Bob Holliday and Jack, good friends to the
Vol. IX.— 29.
close enough to guess what they were doing and to
overhear their conversation. Then he came back
to Bob.
" They are tying a string across the sidewalk on
Lanham's side of the alley, I believe," whispered
Jack, "so as to throw Mr. Williams head foremost
into that mud-hole at the mouth of the alley."
By this time, the three boys had finished their
arrangements and retreated through the gate into
the porch of the Riley house, whence they might
keep a lookout for the catastrophe.
"I'm going to cut that string where it goes
around the tree," said Bob, and he crouched low
442
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY
[April,
on the ground, got the trunk of the tree between
him ahd the Riley house, and crept slowly across
the street.
" I '11 capture the string," said Jack, walking off
to the next cross-street, then running around the
block until he came to the back gate of Lanham's
yard, which he entered, running up the walk to the
back door. His knock was answered by Mrs.
Lanham.
" Why, Jack, what's the matter?" she asked,
seeing him at the kitchen door, breathless.
" I want to see Susan, please," he said, " and
tell Mr. Williams not to go yet a minute."
" Here 's a myster)'," said Mrs. Lanham, return-
ing to the sitting-room, where the teacher was just
rising to say good-night. " Here 's Jack Dudley,
at the back door, out of breath, asking for Susan,
and wishing Mr. Williams not to leave the house
yet."
Susan ran to the back door.
" Susan," said Jack, " the triplets have tied a
string from the corner of your fence to the locust-
tree, and they 're watching from Riley's porch to
see Mr. WiUiams fall into the mud-hole. Bob is
cutting the string at the tree, and I want you to go
down along the fence and untie it and bring it in.
They will not suspect you if they see you."
" I don't care if they do," said Susan, and she
glided out to the cross-fence which ran along the
alley, followed it to the front, and untied the string,
fetching it back with her. When she got back to
the kitchen door she heard Jack closing the alley
gate. He had run off to join Bob, leaving the
string in Susan's hands.
Dr. Lanham and the master had a good laugh
over the captured string, which was made of
Pewee's and Riley's top-strings, tied together.
The triplets did not see Susan go to the fence.
They were too intent on what was to happen to
Mr. Williams. When, at length, he came along
safely through the darkness, they were bewildered.
" You did n't tie that string well in the middle,"
growled Pewee at Riley.
"Yes, 1 did," said Riley. "He must have
stepped over."
■' Step over a string a foot high, when he did n't
know it was there ? " said Pewee.
" Let 's go and get the string," said Ben Bcrr\-.
So out of the gate they sallied, and quickly
reached the place where the string ought to have
been.
" 1 cant find this end," whispered Pewee by the
fence.
" The string 's gone ! " broke out Riley, after
feeling up and down the tree for some half a
minute.
What could have become of it ? Thcv had
been so near the sidewalk all the time that no one
could have passed without their seeing him.
The next day, at noon-time, when Susan Lan-
ham brought out her lunch, it was tied with
Pewee's new top-string, — the best one in the
school.
" That 's a very nice string," said Susan.
" It 's Just like Pewee's top-string," cried Harrv'
Wcathervane.
" Is it yours, Pewee ?" said Susan, in her sweetest
tones.
"No," said the king, with his head down;
" mine 's at home."
" I found this one, last night," said Susan.
And all the school knew that she was torment-
ing Pewee, although they could not guess how she
had got his top-string. After a while, she made a
dive into her pocket, and brought out another
string.
"Oh," cried Johnny Meline ; " where did you
get that?"
" I found it."
" That s Will Riley's top-string," said Johnny.
" It was mine. He cheated me out of it by trading
an old top that would n't spin."
"That 's the way you get your top-strings, is
it, Will ? Is this yours ? " asked the tormenting
Susan.
" No, it is n't."
"Of course it is n't yours. You don't tie top-
strings across the sidewalk at night. You 're a
gentleman, you are ! Come, Johnny, this string
does n't belong to anybody ; I '11 trade with you
for that old top that Will gave you for a good
string. I want something to remember honest
Will Riley by."
Johnny gladly pocketed the string, and Susan
carried off the shabby top, to the great amusement
of the school, who now began to understand how
she had come by the two top-strings.
Chapter XW'II.
the last d.ay of school, and the l.ast
chapter of the story.
It was the last day of the spring term of school.
With Jack this meant the end of his opportunity
for going to school. What he should learn here-
after he must leam by himself. The money was
nearly out, and he must go to work.
The last day of school meant also the expiration
of the master's authority. Whatever evil was done
after school-hours on the last day was none of his
business. All who had grudges carried them for-
ward to that day, for thus they could revenge
themselves without being called to account by the
1883.1
THE HOOSIKR SCHOOL-nOY.
443
master the next day. The last day of school had
no to-morrow to be afraid of. Hence, Pewee and his
friends purposed to square accounts on the last day
of school with Jack Dudley, whom they hated for
being the best scholar, and for having outwitted
them more than once.
It was on the first day of June that the school
ended, and Mr. Williams bade his pupils j^ooti-
bye. The warm sun had by this time brought the
waters of the Ohio to a temperature that made
bathing pleasant, and when the school closed, all
the boys, delighted with liberty, rushed to the
river for a good swim together. In that genial
climate one can remain in the water for hours at a
time, and boys become swimmers at an early age.
Just below the village a raft was moored,
and from this the youthful swimmers were soon
diving into the deep water like frogs. Every boy
who could perform any feat of agility displayed it.
One would turn a somersault in the water, and
then dive from one side of the raft to another, one
could float, and another swim on his back, while
a third was learning to tread water. Some were
fond of diving toes downward, others took headers.
The "little fellows" who could not swim kept on
the inside of the great raft and paddled about with
the aid of slabs used for floats. Jack, who had
lived for years on the banks of the Wildcat, could
swim and dive like a musquash.
Mr. Williams, the teacher, felt lonesome at say-
ing good-bye to his school ; and to keep the boys
company as long as possible, he strolled down to
the bank and sat on the grass watching the bathers
below him, plunging and paddling in all the spon-
taneous happiness of young life.
Riley and Pewee — conspirators to the last — had
their plans arranged. When Jack should get his
clothes on, they intended to pitch him off the raft
for a good wetting, and thus gratify their long-
hoarded jealousy, and get an offset to the standing
joke about dough-faces and ghosts which the town
had at their expense. Hen Berry, who was their
confidant, thought this a capital plan.
When at length Jack had enjoyed the water
enough, he came out and was about to begin
dressing. Pewee and Riley were close at hand,
already dressed, and prepared to give Jack a fare-
well ducking.
But just at that moment there came from the
other end of the raft, and from the spectators on
the bank, a wild, confused cry, and all turned to
hearken. Harry Weathcrvane's younger brother,
whose name was Andrew Jackson, and who could
not swim, in dressing, had stepped too far back-
ward and gone off the raft. He uttered a despair-
ing and terrified scream, struck out wildly and
blindly, and went down.
All up and down the raft and up and down the
bank there went up a cry : " Andy is drow ning ! "
while everybody looked for somebody else to save
him.
The school-master was sitting on the bank, and
saw the accident. He quickly slipped off his boots,
but then he stopped, for Jack had already started
on a splendid run down that long raft. The con-
fused and terrified boys made a path for him
quickly, as he came on at more than the tremen-
dous speed he had always shown in games. He did
not stop to leap, but ran full tilt off the raft, falling
upon the drowning boy and carrying him com-
pletely under water with him. Nobody breathed
during the two seconds that Jack, under water,
struggled to get a good hold on Andy and to keep
Andy from disabling him by his blind grappling
of Jack's limbs.
When at length Jack's head came above water,
there was an audible sigh of relief from all the on-
lookers. But the danger was not over.
" Let go of my arms, Andy ! " cried Jack.
" You '11 drown us both if you hold on that way.
If you don't let go I '11 strike you."
Jack knew that it was sometimes necessary to
stun a drowning person before you could save him,
where he persisted in clutching his deliverer. But
poor frightened Andy let go of Jack's arms at last.
Jack was already exhausted with swimming, and
he had great difficulty in dragging the little fellow
to the raft, where Will Riley and Pewee Rose
pulled him out of the water.
But now, while all were giving attention to the
rescued Andy, there occurred with Jack one of those
events which people call a cramp. I do not know
what to call it, but it is not a cramp. It is a kind
of collapse — a sudden exhaustion that may come
to the best of swimmers. The heart insists on
resting, the consciousness grows dim, the will-
power flags, and the strong swimmer sinks.
Nobody was regarding Jack, who first found
himself unable to make even an effort to climb on
the raft; then his hold on its edge relaxed, and he
slowly sank out of sight. Pewee saw his sinking
condition first, and screamed, as did Riley and all
the rest, doing nothing to save Jack, but running
up and down the raft in a vain search for a rope
or a pole.
The school-master, having seen that Andy was
brought out little worse for his fright and the
water he had swallowed, was about to put on his
boots when this neW alarm attracted his attention
to Jack Dudley. Instantly he threw off his coat
and w:is bounding down the steep bank, along the
plank to the raft, and then along the raft to where
Jack had sunk entirely out of sight. Mr. Williams
leaped head first into the water and made what the
444
THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
[April,
boys afterward called a splendid dive. Once un-
der water he opened his eyes and looked about for
Jack.
At last he came up, drawing after him the uncon-
scious and apparently lifeless form of Jack, who
was taken from the water by the boys. The teacher
dispatched two boys to bring Dr. Lanham, while
he set himself to restore consciousness by produc-
ing artificial breathing. It was some time after
Dr. Lanham's arrival that Jack fully regained his
consciousness, when he was carried home by the
strong arms of Bob Holliday, Will Riley, and
Pewee, in turn.
And here I must do the last two boys the justice
to say that they called to inquire after Jack every
day during the illness that followed, and the old
animosity to Jack was never afterward revived by
Pewee and his friends. ,
On the evening after this accident and these
rescues. Dr. Lanham said to Mrs. Lanham and
Susan and Mr. Williams, who happened to be
there again, that a boy was wanted in the new
drug-store in the village, to learn the business, and
to sleep in the back room, so as to attend night-
calls. Dr. Lanham did not know why this Jack
Dudley would n't be Just the boy.
Susan, for her part, was very sure he would be;
and Mr. Williams agreed with Susan, as, indeed,
he generally did.
Dr. Lanham thought that Jack might be
allowed to attend school in the day-time in the
winter season, and if the boy had as good stuff in
him as he seemed to have, there was no reason
why he should n't come to something some day.
" Come to something ! " said Susan. " Come
to something ! Why, he '11 make one of the best
doctors in the country yet."
And again Mr. Williams entirely agreed with
Susan. Jack Dudley was sure to go up to the
head of the class.
Jack got the place, and I doubt not fulfilled the
hope of his friends. I know this, at least, that
when a year or so later his good friend and teacher,
Mr. Williams, was married to his good and stanch
friend, Susan Lanham, Jack's was one of the hap-
piest faces at the wedding.
THE END.
l38a.]
M R
WKATIIF.RCOCK.
445
MR. WEATHERCOCK.
By Mrs. Fanny Barrow.
It was at Pau, a beautiful little city in the south
of France, where the roses grow out in the open
air all winter, that I met with a funny old fellow,
who was very fond of children. Whenever he
appeared in the " Haute Plante," which means the
" Upper Park," the children would seem to drop
down from the trees, or creep out from under the
seats, rushing toward him in every direction, and
piling up on the old fellow till the group looked
like a pyramid, and then there was no peace
unless he began immediately to tell them a story.
Here is one I heard him tell. Of course it was
in French :
Once upon a time, at a great chateau or castle,
there was a pretty black Spanish hen, that had a
large family of children — a baker's dozen.
One of the hen's children was a deformed, dis-
mal little rooster. He had only one eye, one leg,
one wing, one ear, half of a nose, and less than
half of a tail. Pretty badly off, was n't he ?
But the Spanish hen loved this demi, semi, poor
little rooster better than all the rest of her children
put together. She scratched all the peas-pods, bits
of meat and crumbs of bread for him. If the
other chickens danced up and tried to snatch
anything away, she would fly at them with a
squawk, which tumbled them over on their backs
with fright ; and if they managed to run otT with-
out a good pecking, they were fortunate.
But her petting was the ruin of poor Jacquot ;
for our one-legged, one-eyed friend soon believed
that he was the most elegant, the boldest, and the
handsomest rooster in all the world.
One fine day, Jacquot obser\'ed to his mother :
" Really, it is very stupid here. I shall pack a
cabbage-leaf full of snails, just for a relish on the
way, and go to court to see the Emperor and
Empress."
" Oh, kuk-a-tuk-ti-raw-ki ! " exclaimed his fond
motner. " What has put such an idea into your
head ? Your father, Don Moustachio, has never
been to court, and where will you hear so melodious
a crow as his ? And look at your brothers and
sisters ; they are elegant young cocks and hens,
with the true Spanish strut. Are they not ? "
" No, they are fat, stupid, country boobies. Their
legs are thick, and their tail-feathers thin, and
they whirl around so, that to look at them makes
me dizzy. They are common-looking things ! "
" Oh, kuk-a-tuk-a-tuk ! my son, did you ever
look at yourself in the pond ? Don't you know
that you have but one leg, and one •"
"Well, that 's more your fault than mine,"
interrupted this undutiful child, " and I shall go,
whether you advise it or not. People admire me
as I am." And Jacquot shook the thin scarlet
comb on the top of his half-head.
When the poor mother heard this, she gave a
sigh, and proceeded to pick up some snails and
put them into a big cabbage-leaf. And she said
nothing more, but helped her naughty son, well
knowing that he would heed no advice of hers, but
hoping, with an anxious heart, that Jacquot would
not meet with some terrible misfortune on his
travels.
When all was ready for his departure, she
addressed to him a few last words: "Oh, ruk-
a-tuk-a-tuk-ta-raw-ki ! " said she. " Son, attend to
this warning. There is a class of men and women
in the world called cooks. Oh, ruk-a-tuk ! beware
of them ! They are our mortal enemies. They
would snatch you up and twist your head off in a
jiffy if you should offend them. Remember this,
my son. Farewell; may good luck attend you."
Jacquot turned around after this tender good-
bye, and, without the least emotion, hopped off
down the road. He hopped along contentedly
enough until he came to the banks of a little river.
It was midsummer, and the stream was nearly dry.
Some fish lay dead on the shelving bank, and a
great tree which had fallen across the stream
choked it so that it could hardly creep along, much
less dance and sing, as it always did in the spring.
The moment the little stream saw Jacquot, she
whispered, in a weak voice, for her strength was
gone: "Oh, my dear friend! I am in very great
distress. I can not push away this great dead
tree, which chokes me so. It tires me dreadfully
to creep around it. Will you help me a little by
separating the branches with your beak? Do, I
entreat you, and if you are thirsty, drink in this
cool, dark corner; and when the kind rain from
heaven restores my strength, I will devote it to
your service if ever you require me."
"Oh, don't trouble me," cackled Jacquot, just
like a cross old hen. " Do you think I am going
to stay here all day, working and scrambling and
scratching over those old dried sticks iox you? A
sers'ant to a muddy little brook, indeed ! I am
going to visit the Emperor and Empress."
" You will be sorry for this unkindness, and
446
MR. WEATHERCOCK.
[April,
remember it when you think it least hkely," sighed
the poor httle stream.
" Fiddlesticks ! What can a puddle do to me?
You must think yourself quite a deluge ! Good-
bye. Give my compliments to the Moon the next
time she looks at your shrunken face."
So he flapped his one wing and hopped on, and
soon came to Mr. Wind, who was l)ing quite
breathless on the ground.
"O Jacquot, dear Jacquot ! " he said; "the
world has come to a stand-still. At least, I have.
Look at me. Dying of the dog-days ! Oh, do
just fan me with your wing, and kindly raise me
only two inches from the ground, so that 1 can fly
to one of my caverns, where there is no end of
whirlwinds and torn clouds waiting to be mended up
for winter use. To think that I should be brought
to such a pass ! I, who have blown down great
trees, and raised up great waves, and scuttled off
with boys' hats and umbrellas and sign-posts "
"Yes, and blown my tail-feathers almost off,"
interrupted Jacquot, in a malicious tone; "and
pushed me behind until I tumbled head-over-
claws against the barn-door, because I could not
balance myself against you, on my one leg. And
you set every squawking old hen, and winking,
bhnking chicken, a-laughing at me ! No, sir ! It
is my turn now. Adieu, Seiior Wind."
Then he crowed at the very top of his voice,
and hopped off with immense self-satisfaction.
He pushed through hedges, hopped over ditches,
and presently came to a field, which the farmer
had tried to set on fire so as to burn off the stubble.
But it did not burn well ; only one thin little column
of smoke was to be seen.
Jacquot hopped up to look at the smoke, and saw
a faint little Spark of fire among the ashes.
" Oh, if you are a friend," said the Spark,
" come and help me ! Bring me a few straws,
please, to keep me alive."
" Well, that 's a good joke ! What do 1 care
whether you live or die ? What good are you to
me, pray ? "
" We can all help or hinder one another in this
world," said the poor little Spark. "An old aunt
of mine, who lives in the kitchen of the farm-
house yonder, and with whom I was living till the
farmer brought me out here to die, — my old aunt
told me a story of a little mouse who saved the life
of a great lion. I may some day be able to show
niy gratitude if you save my life now."
"Oh, hold your tongue!" cried the ugly
rooster, whose heart seemed to have been altogether
left out of his one-sided body. "I sha' n't help
you at all. Take that ! " With this, he scratched
and kicked a heap of ashes over the poor little
Spark, and hopped away, crowing loudly.
After traveling some time longer, he at last
reached the capital city, and very soon arrived at
the palace of the Emperor and Empress. He was
hopping boldly in, but the sentinels poked at him
with their bayonets, and he was glad to hop out
again. Still, determined to enter somehow, he
hopped around to the back door, and passed into
a large room, where a great many persons were
hurrying to and fro.
■■ Who are all those common-looking creat-
ures ? " he inquired of a guinea-fowl.
" They are His Majesty's cooks," said she.
" Beware of them. Come back ! Come back !"
" Oh, cock-a-doodle-do ! nobody cares for them,"
said the silly rooster, and entirely forgetting his
i882.]
MK. WEATHERCOCK.
447
mother's warning, he raised his red comb, stuck
his beak high in the air, made an elegant arch of
his tail, and hopped into the very midst of them.
"Hello! What's this?" cried a scullion.
"What a ridiculous looking bird!" said
another.
" A sort of one-eyed gunner," said a third.
"Or a one-legged tailor," said a fourth.
" Wring his neck," said a fifth.
" I '11 do it," said a cook, who caught him, and
twisted his head in the twinkling of an eye — for
cooks are used to this kind of business.
"Now, then," he added, "we '11 pop you into
some boiling water, and have your feathers off."
" Oh ! oh ! oh ! " screamed Jacquot. " Don't !
oh, don't scald me ! Dear Water, be careful — have
pity on me ! "
"Had you pity on me, when 1 begged you to
move the dead tree out of my way ? " answered the
Water, boiling and bubbling up with rage. " I
said you should remember mc. " And the Water
drenched him from comb to spurs, till all his
feathers came oft' at the least pull. Yes, indeed,
you may be sure that the cook did not leave
one on his body.
And then they thrust a cruel, sharp spit through
him, one end of which rested on a forked stand
and the other entered a box, in which was clock-
work. The cook wound up the clock-work, placed
the whole thing before a bright fire, put a pan
under poor Jacquot, and went away to prepare
other things for His Majesty's dinner. Then the
spit began slowly to turn round and round.
" Oh, Fire ! Fire ! " cried the miserable Jacquot.
" Have pity! Have pity ! Oh, do not burn me ! "
" Rascal ! " cried the Fire; "how dare you ask
me for pity — you who threw the ashes upon me
in the field? Wait a bit, Monsieur — one good
turn deserves another ; " and he blazed away with
all his might, and not only roasted Jacquot but
burned him as black as a coal.
When the cook came to see how the roast was
coming on, he was so disgusted at the black-
looking, dricd-up object that he took him off the
spit and, catching him by his one leg, threw him
out of the window.
As it happened, the Wind was having a high
frolic outside just then, and, passing at the
moment, he caught up Jacquot.
"Oh, Monsieur Wind!" cried the miserable
thing, "have pity enough to let me drop down at
my old home ! Let me see my poor mother.
Dear Mr. Wind, good Mr. Wind, have pity ! "
"Pity!" roared the Wind, turning him around
and around like a ball. " Not I, while 1 have a
breath left. Remember my prayer to you when
you found me on the ground! Hey! Hurrah!"
Instantly, poor Jacquot was twisted this way and
that ; he was whirled around and around ; he was
caught as he was falling down, and driven up
again; he was frisked and whisked in a mad and
terrible dance, till suddenly the cruel, furious
Wind drove him high — high — higher, and then
dashed him down on the sharp top of a church-
steeple with such force as to fix him there firmly.
There he has remained ever since — sometimes
black, at other times with gilding put on to cover
the terrible roasting he got, but always thin and
featherless — his one leg, one eye, one nose, and
one wing exposed to every gaze.
And now the sun scorches him, the rain pelts
him without pity, and the wind* still pushes him
about just as it pleases. The poor rooster always
turns away his tail; and thus, by observing which
way his head points, we know from what quarter
the wind comes.
i: :/
448
LAMENT OF THE CAT-TAIL.
[April,
iSSi.]
LAMENT OF THE CAT -TAIL.
449
450
LAMENT OF THE CAT-TAIL.
[April,
" I 've learned about tiles, and plaques, and
storks ;
Know a dado from a frieze.
But 1 'd rather be in my native bog,
Waving about in the breeze.
' My shakes are gone, but I 've posed so much,
I 've almost broken my back;
I 've been painted on gilded panels,
On sky-blue, olive, and black.
i88j.]
LAMENT OF THE CAT-TAIL.
451
452
THE STORY OF WANGSE PAH
[April,
THE STORY OF WANGSE PAH AND
THE WHITE ELEPHANT.*
By Abby Morton Diaz.
In the Siamese village of Trimpangore once
lived a poor but right-minded lad, who was deter-
mined to discover a Chang Phauk, or white ele-
phant.
Everybody laughed when ever)'body heard of
this. "What! He? WangsePah? He discover the
sacred animal of Siam when the royal Chang Phauk
pavilion at Bangkok had so long stood empty ? "
But Wangse said to him-
self— in Siamese, of course :
" It may be, and every maybe \ \ ,\
may be made into a shall be.' "
A holy fakir f had told him
this. So, day after day, he
roamed through forests and
jungles, where grew the feath-
ery palm, the tall bamboo,
the banana, the banyan, the
boh, the teak, the tamarind,
the wild olive ; where flower-
ing creepers climbed the lofty
boughs, and radiant birds
made music; while ever and
anon was heard the roar of
wild beasts, hungry for their
prey !
At length, after three years
of watching and waiting, there
came a terribly hot season, in
which swamps, ponds, pools,
and rivulets, formerly drink-
ing-places for animals, were
dried up by the parching heat.
Now Wangse in his wan-
derings had seen, far away, a
deep water-course at the bot-
tom of a long, wooded valley,
and knowing that the animals
would find out this water-course, he went there
daily and hid in a tree-top. From this high perch
he could see, visiting the pool, the gay little birds,
who just dipped their wings, the gaudy peacock,
thb brilliant pheasant, the light gazelle, the mag-
nificent bird of paradise. Enormous serpents
glided thither through the brakes ; chattering
monkeys let themselves down from branches, or
scampered away screaming at the approach of
the stealthy tiger, the horned rhinoceros, or the
crushing tread of the elephant.
Alas! not the white elephant — until, — until,
— until one day, one joyful, ever-to-be-remembered
day, — when, as Wangse Pah sat in a palm-tree im-
bibing the milk of a cocoa-nut, he saw — could it
be ? Could it ? Yes ! Yes ! It was ! Oh, joy
unspeakable ! A huge elephant, in color a pink-
ish white, approached the pool !
Instantly Wangse was off. He swung himself
APPROACHED
from tree to tree, rushed
to the village, and aroused
the hunters, who next day
surrounded the place and secured that rare and
priceless prize, the great Chang Phauk.
Now, during the past three years, Wangse had
often said to himself: "Should ever a Chang
Phauk be taken here, and a messenger be needed
to inform the King, it may be found that I am the
swiftest runner, and every way be may be made
into ■3. shall be." So, every day, he oiled his long
legs and practiced running.
Thus it came about that the villagers knew him
to be very fleet of foot, and Wangse was chosen
♦The Siamese believe that good and noble spirits inhabit the forms of white animals. The white elephant, being the largest of white
animals, is thought to be the abode of some particularly pure and majestic spirit, t Fakir; — an Oriental monk.
i88i.)
AND THE WHITE ELEPHANT.
453
messenger. This was great good fortune ; for be-
sides the pleasure of bearing the joyful news, there
was the curious and golden reward.
First oiling his body, and especially his long
legs, Wangse set forth for Bangkok. He arrived
there in good condition, after a swift run of more
than one hundred miles. He darted through the
narrow streets of Bangkok, then through the pal-
ace gate-way, up the palace steps, before the
guard could stop him, and into the throne-room,
where sat the King in all his royal splendor.
Wangse threw himself down, with his forehead
touching the floor, and in trembling accents made
known that near the village of Trimpangore had
been captured that sacred animal, dear to all the
hearts of Siam, the great Chang Phauk!
The King was speechless from joy. He waved
his hand. The signal was understood. The
immense klongs of the palace were sounded, the
whole court was summoned, and W'angse Pah had
his mouth, nose, and ears stuffed with gold,
according to the Siamese custom.
As discoverer of the Chang Phauk, another
reward was due to Wangse, but instead of this he
asked, and got, the privilege of carrying to be
ground the grain from which were to be made the
Cakes of Celebration, — that is, the cakes to be
eaten by the Chang Phauk on his day of celebra-
tion, when he should enter the city of Bangkok,
and take possession of his royal pa\ilion. In those
times it was believed that the person who should
carry this grain and get the blessing of the grind-
ers, would have good fortune ever after.
Wangse was sent in a palanquin, borne on the
shoulders of four runners, the grain, in an em-
broidered silken bag, lying at his feet.
Now, the nobleman who owned the palanquin
and runners had a son, a lad na".'cd Detch, and
this Detch wished for himself the good fortune
and the blessing. Detch, therefore, laid off all his
golden wristlets, his anklets and necklaces of
jewels, also the jewels around his top-knot — that
is, the tuft of hair left on top of his head. He
laid off, also, the rich silken strip, or panung,
which encircled his otherwise naked body, wound
in place of it a cotton panung, and went forth
from the city to a grove through which Wangse
was to pass. When Wangse appeared in this
g^ove, Detch ordered him out of the palanquin,
and stepped into it himself. He commanded
Wangse and the bearers not to tell; indeed, there
was little danger that even Wangse would dare to
tell, for in Siam whoever offends a nobleman's
son may have his head chopped off at any minute.
But Wangse said to himself, as the runners bore
Detch away : "If the grinders are kind, they will
hear my story, and keep it private, and give me
the blessing. May be I can find a way outside
the trees ; may be I can outrun the runners, and
see the grinders before Detch shall arrive. Every
may be may be made into a shall be."
He took a course outside the trees, over a tract
of burning sand, and long before the palanquin
came in sight he had reached the grinders, who,
it is well to state, were two very old women, the
WANGSE I'AH RECEIVES THE CURIOUS GOLDEN REWARD.
very oldest being at that time chosen for grinders
on such occasions.
These old women laid aside their great red um-
brella, and examined Wangsc's sore feet with so
much pity that he ventured to tell them the whole
story, in Siamese, which they, though born Chinese,
understood ; and, after hearing it, they lifted up
their hands and their voices and blessed him — in
Siamese. Wangse then hid himself behind a
pepper-tree and saw Detch ride up in the palanquin,
and saw the C.rain of Celebration poured into the
mill, — a large hand-mill of the kind used in Siam,
— and saw the old women sit one at each side,
and saw them take turns in pushing the handle,
and saw the blessing given.
But when the grinders blessed Detch, after say-
ing in Siamese, "May you be blest," they added,
in Chinese, '■^ according to your actions."
Wangse Pah went privately back to the city and
kept himself hidden, lest Detch should do him
harm.
Detch rode back in the palanc|uin with the Meal
of Celebration as far as the grove. Not far from
this gro\-c was a miserable little village which was
ruled over bv his father, and Detch ordered the
454
THE STORY OF WANGSE PAH
[April,
runners to wait for him in the grove while he
should walk through the village, as if he were a
poor lad. He had heard of an emperor who put
on shabby clothes and walked among poor people,
and he thought it would be pleasant to copy him.
Presently he came to a company of lads flying
DETCH GIVES THE GRAIN OF CELEBRATION TO THE GRINDERS.
kites — kites made in the shape of cats, vultures,
mermaids, alligators, and other creatures. The lads
were trying to make the cat fight the frog, the mer-
maid fight the vulture, and so on, as is the custom
in Siam. Detch ran here and there with the kite-
flyers, and they all became so earnest in watching
a dragon fight an alligator that every one, Detch
among them, fell into a large round hole, or ditch,
and came out wet, for there was water at the
bottom.
The head-boy told them to hop up and down till
they had dried their clothes — that is, their strips
of cloth, or panungs. So they pulled in their kites
and hopped up and dowri, and when a boy stopped
hopping, the head-boy gave him a slap on the
back; and as Detch could hardly hop at all, — he
having been always carried in palanquins, — he got
so many slaps that his back became sore, and he
was glad when the head-boy ordered that they
should sit down and eat their luncheon. Owls'
eggs, spearmint, and little warm cabbages were
then passed round.
During the luncheon, a boy remarked that he
supposed Detch, their ruler's son, had gilt kites
with diamond dots and silvery tails.
Said Detch, then, " What sort of a fellow is
that Detch?" expecting to hear what had been
told him in his father's palace, that he was agreea-
ble, and amiable, and delightful.
" That Detch ? " cried the boys. " We 've heard
enough of that Detch ! He 's hateful ! He 's
mean ! He 's cruel ! He kicks little slaves half
his own size ! He never did a good thing in his
life ! He '11 be a horrid man ! Ughquoeer-r-r-r-
ong ! " (This last is a Siamese exclamation, which
requires sixteen exclamation points.)
"1 'm going now," said Detch. "Good-bye!
I '11 remember you ! " And, as he walked off, he
turned and shook his fist : but they thought he
was throwing away a cabbage-leaf
Next day was the day of Celebration. The
great Chang Phauk had been brought from the
village of Trimpangore to the river Meinam, at-
tended by bands of music. Then he was floated
down the river on a gorgeous raft floored with gilt
matting, while over him was a silken canopy,
fringed with scarlet and gold. He had been
bathed, perfumed, fed, fanned, played to, and
sung to, by troops of attendants ; the choicest
food had been sei-ved to him on trays of gold and
silver ; his drink had been made fragrant with
the delicate flowers of the jessamine ; and now an
immense procession was to escort him to his royal
palace-pavilion, — for in Siam the Chang Phauk is
second in rank to the King.
Only in Siamese language could that gorgeous
procession be described. Four hundred elephants
covered with cloth of gold carried howdahs glisten-
ing with precious stones, in which howdahs were
seated princes and nobles wearing robes of purple,
crim.son, orange, and scarlet, also wristlets, ank-
lets, kneelets, and necklaces of rubies, pearls, and
diamonds, while from each howdah floated the flag
of Siam, which, as everybody knows, is a white
elephant on a red ground. There were eighty roy-
al bearers of the golden umbrellas ; one hundred
royal fan-bearers ; five hundred men in long caps
and wearing pink velvet panungs ; two hundred
runners, carrying spread peacock-tails ; one hun-
dred and fifty peacocks themselves ; forty rhinoc-
eroses elegantl)' enveloped in satin net-work ; an
immense number of palanquins, carrying five hun-
dred members of the royal household ; white birds
and other white animals of all kinds; one thousand
spearmen, with long, glittering spears ; three hun-
dred beautiful little boys dressed wholly in flowers;
the King, borne aloft on a golden throne ; also the
great Chang Phauk himself, in purple and cloth-
of-gold, with strings of jewels adorning his tusks,
and a diadem upon his head — the procession being
accompanied by bands of music in which were
heard the deep or the piercing notes of the klong,
i88j.]
AND Till-: WHITE ELEPHANT.
455
the flue, the ching, the thon, the kanat, and the
khonbong.
Dctch leaned back in his palanquin, silent and
sad. A holy fakir from the village of Trimpan-
gorc said to him, in a pause of the procession:
"Why, O my son, art thou so silent and sad?"
" Because, holy Fakir, I never did a good thing
in my life, f^eople speak ill of me."
"It will be a good thing," said the fakir, "to
confess some of the bad things."
Detch then confessed his conduct to Wangse
Pah. "And now, holy Fakir," said he, "pray
tell me a way of changing from myself to him the
good fortune I wrongly obtained."
" He needs not that good fortune," said the
fakir. " Besides being right-minded, Wangse
Pah has the patience to turn may be into shall
be, and this of itself is good fortune."
" But the blessing," said Dctch. " I should not
keep that. "
A high-pitched voice near by — an old woman's
voice — said, in Siamese: "You were blest only
according to your actions ! "
" According to your actions ! " said another high-
pitched voice, in Chinese.
Detch started forward, but not in time to see two
verj- old women, who stepped hastily away beneath
a huge red umbrella.
T'-'. >
1
f
(
^.
^
1-- .
t
^ ^ 1
^ -=— '-^'- •
"' (M~n ■-■
~ _, »
^&. i
/■
There was a young maid of Selmuch,
Whose delicate nature was such
That it dizzied her head
To make up her bed; —
But the way she could dance beat the Dutch !
456
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[April,
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.*
By Harry M. Kieffer.
Chapter XIV.
"hatcher's run."
While we were yet before Petersburg, two di-
visions of our corps (the Fifth) with two divisions
of the Ninth, leaving the line of works at the
Weldon Railroad, were pushed out still farther to
the left, with the intention of turning the enemy's
right flank.
Starting out, therefore, early on the morning of
Thursday, October 27, 1864, with four days' rations
in our haversacks, we moved off rapidh' by the
left, striking the enemy's picket-line about ten
o'clock.
"Pop! pop! pop! Boom! boom! boom!
We 're in for it again. Boys ; so, steady on the
left there, and close up."
Away into the woods we plunge in line of battle,
through briers and tangled undergrowth, beneath
the great trees dripping with rain. We lose the
points of the compass, and halt every now and
then to close up a gap in the line by bearing off to
the right or left. Then, forward we go through
the brush again, steady on the left and guide right,
until I feel certain that officers as well as men are
getting pretty well "into the woods" as to the
direction of our advance. It is raining, and we
have no sun to guide us, and the moss is growing
on the wrong side of the trees. I see one of our gen-
erals sitting on his horse, with his pocket-compass
on the pommel of his saddle, peering around into
the interminable tangle of brier and brush, with
an expression of no little perplexity.
Yet still, on. Boys, while the pickets are popping
away and the rain is pouring down. The evening
falls early and cold, as we come to a stand in line
of battle and put up breastw-orks for the night.
We have halted on the slope of a ravine. Minie-
balls are singing over our heads as we cook
our coffee, while sounds of axes and falling
trees are heard on all sides ; and still that merry
"z-i-p ! z-i-p ! " goes on among the tree-tops and
sings us to sleep, at length, as we lie dow n shiver-
ing under our India rubber blankets, to get what
rest we may.
How long we had slept I did not know, when
some one shook me, and in a whisper the word
passed around :
" Wake up. Boys ! Wake up, Boys ! Don't
make any noise, and take care your tin cups and
canteens don't rattle. We 've got to get out of
this on a double jump ! "
We were in a pretty fix, indeed ! In placing
the regiments in position, by some blunder, quite
excusable no doubt in the darkness and the tangled
forest, we had been unwittingly pushed beyond the
main line — were, in fact, quite outside the picket-
line ! It needed only daylight to let the enemy see
his game, and sweep us off the boards. And day-
light was fast coming in the east.
Long after, a Company A Boy, who was on
picket that night, told me that, upon going to the
rear somewhere about three o'clock, to cook a cup
of coffee at a half-extinguished fire, a cavalry
picket ordered him back within the lines.
'• The lines are not back there ; my regiment is
out vpnder in front, on skirmish ! "
•jKS'o," said the cavalryman ; " our cavalry is the
extreme picket-line, and our orders are to send in
all men beyond us."
"Then take me at once to General Bragg's
head-quarters," said the Company A Boy.
When General Bragg learned the true state of
affairs, he at once ordered out an escort of five
hundred men to bring in our regiment.
Meanwhile, we were trying to get back of our
own accord.
"This way, men!" said a voice in a whisper
ahead.
"This way, men!" said another voice in the
rear.
That we were wandering about vainly in the
darkness, and under no certain leadership, was
evident, for I noticed in the dim light that, in our
tramping about in the tangle, we had twice
crossed the same fallen tree, and so must have been
moving in a circle.
And now, as the day is dawTiing in the east, and
the enemy's pickets see us trying to steal away, a
large force is ordered against us, and comes sweep-
ing down with yells and whistling bullets — just as
the escort of five hundred, with re-assuring cheers,
comes up from the rear to our support !
Instantly we are in the cloud and smoke of bat-
tle. A battery of artiller)', hastily dragged up into
position, opens on the charging line of gray with
grape and canister, while from bush and tree
pours back and forth the dreadful blaze of mus-
ketry. For half an hour, the conflict rages fierce
and high in the dawning light and under the drip-
* Copyright, 1881, by Harry M. Kieffer. All rights reserved.
83.)
RECOLLECTIONS OK A I) K U M M E R - lid V
457
ping trees — the officers shouting, and the men
cheering and yelHng and charging, often fighting
hand to hand and with bayonets locked in deadly
encounter, while the air is cut by the whistling lead,
and the deep bass of the cannon wakes the echoes
of the forest.
But at last the musketry-fire gradually slackens,
and wc find ourselves out of danger.
The enemy's prey has escaped him, and, to the
wonder of all, we are brought within the lines
again, begrimed with smoke and leaving many
of our poor fellows dead or wounded on the field.
him, — and searched in vain. Not a soul had
tidings of him. At last, however, a soldier with his
blouse-sleeve ripped up and a red-stained bandage
around his arm, told me that, about day-light,
when the enemy came sweeping down on us, he
and Andy were behind neighboring trees. He
himself received a ball through the arm, and was
busy trying to stop the flow of blood, when, look-
ing up, he saw Andy reel and, he thought,
fall. He was not quite sure it was Andy, but he
thought so.
Andy killed ! What should I do without Andy ?
TMi; CONI-LICT .\r UAV-UKtAK IN IHL
A I liA i LJILK .-
Anxiously every man looked about for his chum
and messmates, lost sight of during the whirling
storm of battle in the twilight woods. And I, too,
looked, — but where was Andy?
Chapter X\'.
killed, wounded, or missing ?
Axnv was nowhere to be found.
All along the line of battle-worn men, now
gathered in irregular groups behind the breast-
works, and safe from the enemy, I searched for
Vol. IX.— 30.
— the best and truest friend, the most companion-
able messmate, that a soldier ever could hope to
have ! It could not be ! I would look farther for
him.
Out, therefore, I went, over the breastuorks to
the picket-line, w-here the rifles were popping away
at intervals. I searched among trees and behind
bushes, and called and called, but all in vain.
Then the retreat was sounded, and we were drawn
off the field, and marched back to the fortifications
which we had left the day before.
Toward evening, as we reached camp, I obtained
permission to examine the ambulance-trains, in
458
RECOLLECTIONS OK A DRUMMER-BOY
[April,
search of my chum. As one train after another
came in, I chmbed up and looked into each ambu-
lance ; but the night had long set in before I
found him — or thought 1 had found him. Rais-
ing my lantern high, so as to throw the light full on
the face of the wounded man lying in a stupor on
the floor of the wagon, I was at first confident it
was Andy; for the figure was short, well-built,
and had raven black hair.
"Andy! Andy! Where arc you hurt?" 1
cried.
But no answer came. Rolling him on his back
and looking full into his face, I found, alas ! a
stranger — a manly, noble face, too, but no life, no
signs of life, in it. There were indeed a very low,
almost imperceptible breathing, and a faint pulse
— but the man was evidently dying.
About a week afterward, having secured a pass
from corps head-quarters, I started for City Point
to search the hospitals there for my chum. The
pass allowed me not only to go through all the
guards I might meet on my way, but also to ride
free to City Point over the railroad — "General
Grant's Railroad," we called it.
,i»^roperly speaking, this was a branch of the road
from City Point to Petersburg, tapping it about
midway between the two places, and from that
point following our lines closely to the extreme left
of our position. Never was road more hastily
built. So rapidly did the work advance that
scarcely had we learned such a road was planned,
before one evening the whistle of a locomotive
was heard down the line only a short distance to
our right. No grading was done. The ties were
simply laid on the top of the ground, the rails were
naile J fast, and the rolling-stock was put on with-
out waiting for ballast; and there the railroad
wa', — up hill and down dale, and "as crooked as
a dog's hind leg." At only one point had any cut-
ting been done, and that w-as where the road, after
climbing a hill, came within range of the ene-
my's batteries. The first trains which passed up
and down afforded a fine mark and were shelled
vigorously, the enemy's aim becoming with daily
practice so exact that nearly every train was hit
somewhere. The hill was then cut through, and
the fire avoided. It was a rough road, and the
riding was full of fearful jolts, but it saved thou-
sands of mules, and enabled General Grant to hold
his position during the winter of the Petersburg
siege.
City Point was a stirring place at that time. It
was General Grant's head-quarters, and the depot
of all supplies for the army, and here 1 found the
large hospitals which 1 meant to search for Andy,
although 1 scarcely hoped to find him.
Into hospital-tents at one end and out at the
other, looking from side to side at the long, white
rows of cots, and inquiring as I went, I searched
long and almost despairingly, until at last — there
he was ! Sitting on his cot, his head neatly
bandaged, writing a letter !
Coming up quietly behind him, 1 laid my hand
on his shoulder with — "Andy, old boy ! have I
found you at last ? 1 thought you were killed ! "
" Why, Harry ! God bless you ! "
The story was soon told. " A clip in the head,
you see, Harry, out there among the trees when
the Johnnies came down on us, yelling like demons,
— all got black before me as 1 reeled and fell. By
and by, coming to myself a little, I begged a man
of a strange regiment to help me off, and so I
got down here. It 's nothing much, Harry, and
I '11 soon be with you again ; not near so bad as
that poor fellow over there — the man with the
black hair. His is a wonderful case. He was
brought in the same day 1 was, with a wound in the
head which the doctors said was fatal. Every day
we expected him to die, but there he lies yet,
breathing very low, conscious, but unable to speak
or to move hand or foot. Some of his company
came yesterday to see him. They had been with
him when he fell, had supposed him mortally
wounded, and had taken all his valuables out of
his pockets to send home — among them was an
ambrotype of his wife and child. Well, you just
should have seen that poor fellow's face when they
opened that ambrotype and held it before his eyes!
He could n't speak nor reach out his hand to take
the picture ; and there he lay, convulsed with feel-
ing, while tears rolled down his cheeks."
On looking at him, I found it was the very man
I had seen in the ambulance and mistaken for
Andy.
Chapter XVI.
A WINTER RAID INTO NORTH CAROLINA.
About the beginning of December, 1864, we
were busy building cabins for the winter. Every-
where in the woods to our rear were heard the
sound of axes and the crash of falling trees. Men
were carrying pine logs on their shoulders, or
dragging them along the ground with ropes, for
the purpose of building our last winter quarters;
for, of the three years for which we had enlisted,
but a few months remained. The camp was a
scene of activity and interest on all sides. Here
were some men "notching" the logs to fit them
nicely together at the corners ; yonder, one was
hewing rude, Robinson Crusoe boards for the eaves
and gables ; there, a man was digging clay for the
chimney which his messmate was cat-sticking up
i883.]
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DUUMMER-BOY.
459
to a proper height ; while some had already
stretched their shehers over rude cabins, and were
busy cooking their suppers. Just then, as ill-luck
would have it in those uncertain days, an orderly
rode into camp with some orders from head-quar-
ters, and all building was directed to be stopped at
once.
■'We have orders to move, .Andy," said 1, com-
ing into the half-finished cabin where Andy (lately
returned from hospital) was chinking the cracks in
the side of the house.
"Orders to move! Why, where in the world
arc we going this time of year? 1 thought we had
tramped around enough for one campaign, and
were going to settle down for the winter."
" I don't know where we 're going; but they say
house at ten A. M., halting at dusk near the Wel-
don and Petersburg Railway, about five miles from
the North Carolina line.
Though we did not then know what all this
meant, we soon learned that it was simply a winter
raid on the enemy's communications ; the intention
being to destroy the W'cldon road, and so render
it useless to them. True, we had already cut that
same road near Petersburg, but the enemy still
brought their supplies on it from the South, near to
the point where our lines were thrown across, and
by means of wagons carried these supplies around
our left, and safely into Petersburg.
Never was railway more completely destroyed !
The morning after we had reached the scene of
operations, in the drizzling rain and falling sleet,
ills
:^^i^v^i#i^
, ' ^t ^ lA' -
?S^Sfe#3^-a
WRECKING THE RAILWAY.
the Sixth Corps will relieve us in the morning, and
we are to pull out, anyhow."
We were not deceived. At daylight next morn-
ing, December 6th, we did " pack up and fall in"
and move out from our fortified camp, away to the
rear, where we lay all day massed in the woods,
with nothing to do but to speculate as to the direc-
tion we were to take.
From daylight of Wednesday, Ucccmbcr 7tli,
we marched, through rain and stiff mud, steadily
toward the South, crossing the Nottaway River on
pontoons at eight P. M., and halting at midnight
for such rest as we could find on the cold, damp
soil of a corn-field. Next day, on again we went,
straight toward the South, through Sussex Court-
the whole command was set to work. As far as
the eye could see down the road were men in blue,
divested of weapons and accouterments, prying and
wrenching, and tearing away at iron rails and
wooden ties. It was a well-built road, and hard to
tear up. The rails were what are known as " T "
rails, and each being securely fastened to its
neighbor at either end by a stout bar of iron or
steel which had been forced into the groove of the
T, the track was virtually two long, unbroken rails
for its whole length.
" No use tryin' to tear up them rails from the
ties. Major," said an old railroader, with a touch
of his cap. "The plagued things are all spliced
together at the j'ints, and the only way to get
400
RECOLLECTIONS OF A D R U M M E R - B O Y .
[April,
them off is to pry up the whole thing, rails, ties,
and all, and then split the ties off from the rails
when you 've got her upside down."
So, with fence-rails for levers, the men fell to
work, prying and heave-I-ho-ing, until one side of
the road, ties, track, and all, pulled and wrenched
by thousands of strong arms, began to loosen and
move, and was raised gradually higher and higher.
Forced at last to a perpendicular, it was pushed
over and laid upside down, with a mighty cheer
from the long line of wreckers !
Once the thing was started, it was easy enough
to roll miles and miles of it over without a break.
And so brigade after brigade did roll it ; tearing
and splitting off the ties, and wrenching away the
rails.
It was not enough, however, merely to destroy
the track — the rails must be made forever useless
as rails. Accordingly, the ties were piled in heaps,
or built up as children build corn-cob houses, and
then the heaps were fired. The rails were laid
across the top of the burning pile, where they soon
became red-hot in the middle, and bent themselves
double by the weight of their ends, which hung
out beyond the reach of the fire. In some cases,
however, a grim and humorous conceit led to a
more artistic use of the heated rails, for many of
them were taken and carried to some tree hard by,
and twisted two or three times around the trunk,
while not a few of the men hit on the happy de-
vice of bending the rails, some into the shape of
a U, and others into the shape of an S, and setting
them up by pairs against the fences along the line,
in order that, in this oft-repeated iron L' S, it
might be seen that LIncle Sam had been looking
around in those parts.
When darkness came, the scene presented by
that long line of burning ties was wild and weird.
Rain and sleet had been falling all day, and there
was frost as well, and we lay down at night with
stiff limbs, aching bones, and chattering teeth.
Ever\'thing was covered with a coating of ice ; so
that Andy and 1 crept under a wagon for shelter
and a dry spot to lie down in. But the horses, tied
to the wheels, gave us little sleep. Scarcely would
we fall into a doze, when one of the horses would
poke his nose between the wheels, or through the
spokes, and whinny pitifully in our ears, .^nd
no wonder, either, we thought, when, crawling out
at day-break, we found the poor creatures covered
with a coating of ice, and their tails turned to
great icicles. The trees looked very beautiful in
their magnificent frost-work, but we were too cold
and wet to admire anything, as our drums
hoarsely beat the " assembly," and we set out for
a two days' wet and weary march back to camp in
front of Petersburg.
Both on the way down and on the retreat, we
passed many fine farms or plantations. It was a
new country to us, and no other Northern troops
had passed through it. One consequence of this
was that we were everywhere looked upon with
wonder by the white inhabitants, and by the col-
ored population as deliverers sent for their express
benefit.
All along the line of march, both down and back,
the overjoyed darkies flocked to us by hundreds,
old and young, sick and well, men, women, and
children. Whenever we came to a road or lane
leading to a plantation, a crowd of darkies would be
seen hurrying pell-mell down the lane toward us.
And then they would take their places in the col-
ored column that already tramped along the road
in- awe and wonderment beside " de sodjers."
There were stout young darkies with bundles
slung over their backs, old men hobbling along
with canes, women in best bib and tucker with
immense bundles on their heads, mothers with
babes in their arms, and a barefooted brood trot-
ting along at their heels ; and now and then one
would call out, anxiously, to some venturesome boy :
" Now, you Sam ! Whar you goin' dar? You
done gone git run ober b)' de sodjers yit, you
will."
" Auntie, you 've got a good many little folks to
look after, have n't you ? " some kindly soldier
would say to one of the mothers.
" Ya-as, Cunnel, right smart o' chilluns I 'se got
yere, but I 'se a-gwine up Norf an' can't leabe enny
on 'em behind, sah."
Fully persuaded that the year of jubilee had
come at last, the poor things joined us, from every
plantation along the road, many of them may-
hap leaving good masters for bad, and comfort-
able homes for no homes at all. Occasionally,
however, we met some who would not leave. I
remember one old, gray-headed, stoop-shouldered
uncle who stood leaning over a gate, looking wide-
eyed at the blue-coats and the great exodus of his
people.
" Come along, L'ncle," shouted one of the men.
" Come along — the year of jubilee is come ! "
"No, sah. Dis yere chile's too ole. Reckon
1 better stay wid ole Mars'r. "
When we halted at night-fall in a cotton-field,
around us was gathered a great throng of colored
people, houseless, homeless, well-nigh dead with
fatigue, and with nothing to eat. Near where we
pitched our tent, for instance, was a poor negro
woman with six little children, of whom the oldest
was apparently not more than eight or nine years
of age — the whole forlorn family crouched shiver-
ing together in the rain and sleet. Andy and I
thought, as we were driving in our tent-pins :
• 882. 1
KECOI.LKCTIONS OK A D K U M M K K - H O Y
461
"That 's pretty hard, now, is n't it? Could n't
we somehow get a shelter and something to eat for
the poor souls ? "
It was not long before we had set up a rude
but ser\iceable shelter, and thrown in a blanket
and built a fire in front for them, and set Dinah
to cooking coffee and frying bacon for her famish-
ing brood.
Never shall I forget how comical those little
darkies looked as they sat cross-legged about the
fire, watching the frying-pan and coffee-pot with
great, eager eyes !
Dinah, as she cooked, and poked the fire be-
times, told Andy and me how she had deserted
the old home at the plantation — a home which no
doubt she afterward wished she had never left.
an' leabe us all 'lone, an' so when we see de sodjers
comin' we done cl'ar out too, — ki-yi ! "
Ch.\pter .W'U.
'•johnny co.mes .marchin(; homk."
We had just come out of what is known as the
" Second Hatcher's Run " fight, somewhere about
the middle of February, 1865. The company,
which was now reduced to a mere handful of men,
was standing about a smoking fire in the woods,
discussing the engagement and relating advent-
ures, when some one came in from brigade head-
quarters, shouting the following message: " Say,
Boys, good news ! They told me over at head-
I
A\ -__-
■^i
ill i;^m'\W,
•A ,'.<, nil-/ ■ - ■•
3. * I I'V
r-M:'
V-
M.
■mM \m^
(?
THE CHARCF. ON THE CAKES.
" When we heerd dat de Yankees was a-comin',"
said she, " de folks all git ready fcr to leabe. 01c
Mars' John, he ride out de road dis way, an' young
.Mars' Harry, he ride out de road dat way, fer to
watch if dcy was a-comin' ; and den ebbery now
an' den one or udder on 'em 'd come a-ridin' up to
de house an' say, ' Did ye see anyt'ing on 'em yit ?
Did ye hear whar dey is now ? ' An' den one
mawning, down come young Mars' Harry a-ridin'
his hoss at a gallop — 'Git out o'dis! Git out o'
dis ! De Yankees is a-comin' ! De Yankees is
a-comin' ! ' and den all de folks done gone cl'ar out
quarters that we are to be sent North to relieve
the ' regulars ' somewhere."
Ha ! ha ! ha! That was an old storj- — too old
to be good, and too good to be true. For a year
and more we had been hearing that same good
news, — " Going to Baltimore," "Going to Wash-
ington," and so fortli, and we always ended with
going into battle instead, or off on some long raid.
So we did n't much heed the tidings. We
were too old birds to be caught with chaff.
But, in spite of our incredulity, the next morn-
ing we were marched down to General Grant's
462
RECOLLECTIONS OF A DRUMMER-BOY.
[April,
branch of the Petersburg Railway, loaded on box-
cars, and carried to City Point, where we at once
embarked on two huge steamers, which we found
awaiting us.
For two days and nights we were cooped up in
those miserable boats. We had no fire, and we
suffered from the cold. We had no water for thirty-
six hours, and, of course, no coffee, and what is
life to a soldier without coffee ? All were seasick,
too, for the weather was rough; and so, what with
" Dem sodjers, dar, must be done gone starved,
dat 's sartin. Nebber seed sech hungry men in all
my bawn days, — nebber ! "
After supper we were lodged in a great upper
room of a large building — bunks ranged around
the four sides, and in the middle an open space,
which was soon turned to account, for one of the
boys strung up his fiddle, which he had carried on
his knapsack for full two years, on every march,
and through every battle we had been in, and we
IHE WELCOME HOME.
hunger and thirst, cold and seasickness, we landed
one evening at Baltimore more dead than alive.
No sooner were we well down the gang-plank
than the crowd of apple and pie women that stood
on the wharf made quick sales and large profits.
Then we marched away to a " soldiers' retreat "
and were fed. Fed ! We never tasted so grand a
supper as that before nor since — " salt horse," dry
bread, and coffee ! The darkies that carried around
the great cans of the latter were kept pretty busy
for a while, I can tell you ; and they must have
thought :
proceeded to celebrate our " change of front " with
music and dancing until the small hours of the
night.
Down through the streets of Baltimore we
march in the morning, with our blackened and tat-
tered flags a-flying, mustering only one hundred
and eighty men out of the one thousand who
marched through those same streets nearly three
years ago. We take the cars (box or cattle cars,
with no fire, and the snow outside a foot deep),
and steam away for two days and a night to a cer-
tain city in the far distant North. At midnight we
i883.]
KECOI.I.KCTIONS l) K A D K U M M E k - l!0 V
463
pass within bvo miles of my own home, and I
think the folks there would n't be sleeping quite so
soundly if they could know how near 1 am to them.
And — for there is no need 1 should prolong
matters any further — after some months of garri-
son duty in a Northern city, the great and good
news came at last one day that Peace was declared
and the great war was over ! The young readers
i)f St. Nicholas can scarcely imagine what joy
instantly burst forth all over the land, iiells were
rung all day long, bonfires burned, and people
paraded the streets half the night, and everybody
was glad beyond possibility of expression. And
among the joyful thousands all over the land, the
Boys in Blue were probably the gladdest of all, for
was n't the war over now, and would n't " Johnny
come marching home"?
But before getting home, we bid our comrades in
arms good-bye, for the regiment w;is composed of
companies from different parts of the State, and
we must part, in all probability never to see one
another again. And a more hearty, rough and
read)-, affectionate good-bye there never was in all
this wide world. In the rooms of one of the hotels
at the State capital we were gathered, waiting for
our respective trains ; knapsacks slung, Sharp's
rifles at a "right-shoulder shift" or a "carry";
songs were sung, hands shaken, or rather wrimg ;
loud, hearty " Ciod bless you, old fellows,"
resounded, and many were the toasts and the
healths that were drunk before the men parted for
good and all. And then, at last, we were off for
the train, " Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom ! "
Of the thirteen men who had gone out from our
little village, but three had lived to get home
together. Reaching the village in the stage, at
dusk one evening in June, we found gathered at
the hotel where the stage stopped, a great crowd
of our school-fellows and friends, who had come to
meet us. We almost feared to step down among
them, lest they should quite tear us to pieces
with shaking of hands. The stage had scarcely
stopped when 1 heard a well-known voice calling:
" Harry ! .Arc you there ? "
" Yes, Father ! Here 1 am ! "'
" Clod bless you, my boy ! "
And pushing his way through the crowd, my
father plunges into the stage, not able to wait until
it has driven around to the house, and if his voice
is husky with emotion, as he often repeats " God
bless you, my boy ! " and gets his arm around my
neck, is it any wonder ?
But my dog RoUo can't get into the stage, and
so he runs barking after it, and is the first to greet
me at the gate, and jumps up at me with his great
paws on my shoulders. Does he know me ? 1
rather think he docs !
Then .Mother and Sisters come around, and
they must needs call for a lamp and hold it close
to my face, and look me all over from head to
foot, while Father is saying to himself again and
again, "(lod bless you, my boy!"
Although I knew that my name was never for-
gotten in the evening prayer all the while 1 was
away, yet not once, perhaps, in all that time was
Feather's voice so choked in utterance as when now,
his heart overflowing, he came to give thanks for
my safe return. And when 1 lay down that night
in a clean white bed, for the first time in three long
years, 1 thanked Ciod for Peace and Home.
And — Andy? Why- the Lord bless him and
his ! — he 's a soldier still. For, having laid aside
the blue, he put on the black, being a sober,
steady-going Presbyterian parson now, somewhere
up in York State. 1 have n't seen him for years ;
but when we do meet, once in a great while, there
is such a wringing of hands as makes us both
wince until the tears start, and we sit up talking
over old times so far into the night that the good
folk of the house wonder whether we shall ever
get to THE END.
464
A TRAGEDY IN THE GARRET.
[April,
A TRAGEDY IN THE GARRET.
By Gertrude Huntington.
\E wet afternoon,
two little girls
stood by the
window of a
large countr)-
house and
watched the
rain as it fell.
"What nice
little brooks and
rivers it makes
along the road,
does n't it ? " said
Alice. " How I
should like to go
out and sail boats,
should n't you?"
"Yes, indeed," said
Nell. "And do see
that cunning little
island. Would n't it
be nice if some tiny
fairies would come
and dance on it ? "
"Real nice. Let 's
watch and see if they
will come. Oh, see
the rain-drops on the
steps! They 're exactly like
little fairies dancing. How jolly
they look, and don't they bob
up and down fast .' "
" So they do ; they 're hav-
ing a splendid time, but 1 really
wish it would stop raining, as
I have promised to take my family
over to Europe to-day, and now
they can't go. Where did you say
you would take yours?"
" Mine ? " answered Alice. " Oh, 1 said 1 would
take them to the country, somewhere ; the baby
is n't at all well. Do you know," she added, in
a tone of deep anxiety, "her head 's 'most off —
somehow I can't make it stick on, and I have to
keep her in bed all the time, for fear it will come
off altogether."
" Poor, dear child," said Nell. " Let 's go and
see about them : it 's time they were up."
"Where are you going, children?" said
Mamma.
" Up into the garret, to play paper-dolls. You
don't want us for anything, do you ? " and they
peered between the balusters at their mother in
the hall below, hoping the answer would be "no."
She did not disappoint them, and they were soon
in the large, old-fashioned garret where they had
spent so many happy hours.
On one side was an extensive array of dolls
which the little girls had made for themselves.
They had cut from the fashion-journals a number
of stylish-looking girls and boys, and pasted them
on card-board to make them stiff. All kinds of
dresses were devised for them. Pieces of pretty
paper, such as the bright gilt bands encircling
packages of envelopes, the lace paper in cigar-
boxes, and bright bluc-and-orange glazed paper
that came from the stores where their mother
bought fancy goods, were eagerly seized by the
children, and converted into brilliant wardrobes.
An older sister — Nan — whose doll days were
supposed to be over, — for she went to school, and
was engaged with lessons or reading most of the
time, — used to visit the garret housekeepers occa-
sionally and suggest improvements, and, being of
an artistic turn of mind, she sometimes delighted
their hearts by making wonders of dresses for
the dolls, or painting the faces and hair of any
new members of the family.
There were two dormer windows in this garret.
.'\lice had made her house in one, and Nell had one
just like it in the other window, and these houses
were triumphs of art in the girls' eyes, and cer-
tainly displayed no little ingenuity. Some old
books were stood up on end, making a succession
of square rooms, which were duly furnished. The
floor of "the parlor"- was carpeted with some
green cloth found in the rag-bag. Sofas and
chairs were made of pasteboard and painted brown.
A " piano " was a block of smooth wood left by the
carpenter from some repairs, — white and black
keys were painted on it ; and empt\- spools were
used as legs. A large black spool did service as
a stove. On the walls of the rooms were hung
pictures, with strips of gilt paper pasted around
them like frames.
Now, it had taken many days to collect and
manufacture all these things, and the adage that
working for an object makes the object more
precious, was certainly verified in this instance.
Each and every doll was dearer to the little girls'
hearts on account of the thought and trouble
expended upon it.
A tra(;ei)V in the garret.
465
Every evening the dolls were "put to bed,"
and then they looked very queer, because, for safe
keeping, they were placed between the leaves of
books, with their heads sticking out, " to breathe,"
as Alice said, and they wore sometimes not
" waked up " until the following afternoon.
" Well, dears, how have you slept to-day ? "
said the girls, as they took the dolls tenderly from
the books and proceeded to dress them, after
which they were taken into the dining-room for
breakfiist. The meal ended, Alice's boy, Rob, was
sent "next door" to ride with
Nell's children in the carriage
to the "post-office" — a box
fastened on a beam at one
end of the garret. The ..^-s^
carriage rolled -^ ^^
awa\-, and ,^^ -i'v
" What are you t>vo midgets up to?"
" Oh ! " gasped Alice, her voice breaking into
a frightened squeak. " How you did scare us ! "
" We are having a ball," said Nell.
"I should think you were — quite a ba^i'l, 1
should say." And coming all the way up, Ned
began a survey of the playthings.
Proud of their visitor, the little girls gladly dis-
played their possessions, for they and Cousin Ned
were famous friends.
" This one," said Alice, " is Angelina. I made
her dresses myself Are n't they just
beautiful .' "
THE DOLL-CARRIAGE AND TWO ROOMS
OF THE DOLL-HOUSE.
when it stopped, the
dolls were jumped out and
made to get the letters
posted by Alice the pre-
vious afternoon, and sup-
posed to be from the dolls'
fathers, who were travel-
ing. Then the carriage
came rattling home, only
to be sent off again on
another errand.
So the play went on ;
the rain outside was for-
gotten, and the girls lived
for the time in a little
•world of their own ; and a bright little world it was.
Invitations to visit each other, excursions, picnics,
followed in quick succession. Dajs, and even
weeks, were made to pass quickly by, and the
conversation was unceasing.
A ball w;is given in Alice's house, and great
excitement reigned for a time. The dolls were
dressed in their Sunday best, and were danced
about, while the little girls sang the music at the
top of their voices. Suddenly a curly brown head
was thrust up the stair-way, and a boyish voice said :
" 1 am happy to make Miss Angy's acquaint-
ance, and her dresses are works of art ; Paris fash-
ions, 1 am sure. But what 's all that array of
books over there ? "
" Those are houses ! This one is mine, and that
one over there is Nell's."
" This is the baby. You see, 1 have to keep
her in bed all the time, 'cause her head 's 'most
off. What do you think I had better do with
her?" asked Alice, bringing out the young suf-
ferer and showing her to Ned with much concern.
"Well," said Ned, "I am afraid she is a gone
case ; you can't cure a broken neck ; better throw
her away."
" Throw her away ! " cried Alice, in a horrified
tone. " You don't seem to know what you are
talking about, Ned Allen ! .S'pose your head was
'most off, would you like to have some one say that
about you, just as if they did n't care ? "
"Well, little one," laughed Ned, "you need
n't be so indignant. 1 suppose if 1 were in the
same fix myself, 1 should n't care much what they
did with me. But 1 see it has stopped raining, so
1 must be off. Clood-bye. "
■' Suppose we go, too, and take the children,"
said Alice. " It will do them good, they 've been
in the house so long."
So they took all their dolls, and asked their
mamma if they might go out. Not without some
pleading and promises to be careful, to put on
466
A TRAGEDY IN THE GARRET.
[April,
overshoes and not to get wet, did
their mother consent to let them go.
" Hello !" cried Ned, as he saw
them coming toward the brook.
" Do you want to give
those dolls a sail ?"
Alice looked doubt-
ful as she saw the brook,
much swollen by the
heavy shower, rushing
along over the stones.
But Nell said: "Yes,
indeed, it will be splendid; they have n't
had one for a long time."
"Well, bundle them in. 1 am going to sail
the boat all the way down the brook," said Ned.
After much consultation, and trembling for fear
the wind might blow them away, or the frail craft
be wrecked among the breakers, Alice consented
to let her dolls go. "But — do be careful of the
whirlpools," she said, as she reluctantly handed
Angelina to Ned.
All went famously for a while. The little boat
sailed bravely down the stream, and the dolls
appeared to enjoy the voyage immensely, as they
were quite still. Ned steered it safely around the
large stones, and the little girls followed it along
the banks of the brook. But almost at the jour-
ney's end, Miss -Angelina must have begun to
suffer from the tossing of the waves, for without
any warning she leaned over the
7 I iiiil side and toppled into the water.
" Don't, oh, please don't let
less young lady, as
she whirled about in
an eddy of the swift
current.
" Here, fish her out
with this stick," cried
Nell, — for the doll had
gone beyond Ned's
reach.
After many unsuccessful
attempts, she was finally
rescued, all wet and drip-
ping, her pretty dress quite
limp.
" Her clothes are spoiled,
but otherwise she 's all right,"
said Ned.
" Put her >^
on the stones\. ^
in the sunshine, ^
and she '11 be dry in no
time, and then she can
have another ride."
"Oh, no! I think we
had better go into the
OH, OCR dollies! our DOLLIES !
THE LITTLE GIRLS."
quite
her drou-n ! " cried Alice, clasping her hands in house now ; don't you, Nell ? " said Alice,
something very like agony, while Ned stopped the mournful over her pet's disaster.
boat and leaned over the brook to rescue the luck- " Yes," said Nell. " I suppose we ought to, for
iSSx]
THE SELFISH OYSTER.
467
it must be about time for dinner." So, taking the
other dolls from the boat, and thanking Ned for
the sail, they scampered back to their garret, in
order to put their dolls away safely. But they had
scarcely reached the top floor, when Nan called
them to come down to hear about an invitation.
"What 's it for — where 's it to?" asked the
little girls, as they followed their sister.
" It is to a magic-lantern exhibition ; we are to
wear our white dresses, and go in the carriage."
In the preparations that followed, the dolls were
forgotten, and the little girls, happy in the enjoy-
ments of the party, never dreamed of the woes
that befell their precious families. All the evening
the poor dolls sat patiently waiting. No one came
to put them into their beds.
The night grew dark and darker. They never
moved, nor even breathed, from fright. All around
them they heard mysterious noises ; then a dread-
ful hairy animal made his appearance, and seizing
poor Angelina by the head, dragged her away, to
the speechless horror of her sisters. Soon terrible
confusion reigned. Instead of one monster, there
seemed to be thousands. The furniture was
tossed about and destroyed ; the walls were
knocked down, and the poor dolls dragged here
and there, or torn asunder by their merciless cap-
tors, the rats, who carried them down dark holes,
and stored them away to feast upon at leisure.
Thus in a few moments were destroyed the hopes
and pleasures of weeks of childish life.
Next morning, Alice and Nell went up to their
play-room, as usual, full of anticipations for a
pleasant time, and pussy skipped gayly after them.
But their sorrow can only be imagined as they saw
the ruins of the once happy homes.
" Oh, our dollies ! our dollies ! Where are
they ? " wailed the little girls, in heart-broken
accents. Pussy echoed their grief, but there was
for answer only the silence of desolation. Not
one doll was left to tell the tale.
THE SELFISH OYSTER.
Bv George J. Webster.
There once was a selfish old Oyster,
Who lived like a monk in a cloister.
Safely housed in his shell,
Like the monk in his cell.
Though the bivalve's apartment was moister.
Anchored tight in tlio mud of the bay
This lazy old party did stay.
Nor cared he to roam
Very far from his home ;
For exertion, he thought, did not p.ay.
.And you will be wondering, I think.
What he did for his victuals and drink.
Well, the Oyster was sly.
And when young crabs came by.
He would catch them as quick as a wink.
Then in him the poor crabs had to stay.
Till in time they had melted away.
So the Oyster got fatter.
And the crabs — but no matter —
For crabs have no souls, people say.
And oho ! " said the Oyster, said he :
What a lucky old party I be !
Like a king in his pride
I wait here, and the tide
Kvery day brings my living to me."'
But there came a grim Star-fish, who spied,
Our friend lying flat on his side ;
For the greedy old sinner
Had just had his dinner.
And now could not run had he tried.
With a spring to the Oyster he came.
And he threw his five arms round the same.
He shut off his breath.
And he squeezed him to death.
Then he ate him, nor felt any shame.
The point of this story, my dears.
Just "as plain as a pikestaff" appears.
But please give attention.
While briefly I mention
The moral again, for your ears.
Don't be greedy and live but to eat,
Caring only for bread and for meat ;
Nor selfishly dwell
All alone in your shell, —
Don't be oysters, in short, I repeat.
But you '11 find it much better for you
To be kind, and unselfish, and true;
Then you 'II not lack a friend
Your cause to defend.
When a Star-fish rolls into vour view.
468
THREE FOOLISH FAIRIES.
[April,
Three foolish fairies flou- far and flew high, Three frightened fairies sat down in a row,
One showery April day, On the rainbow that glittered so gay ;
To see how the rain-drops came down from the sky. And there they are sitting, for all that I know.
But alack, they lost their way .' Lamenting their folly to-day.
DO X A LI) AND DORoTIIV
469
DONALD AM) DORoTHV.'
B^ Maky Mapes Dodge.
Chapter XV.
THE HOUSE PICNIC.
The house picnic proved a complete success.
In the first place, not only the original thirty came,
but other boys and girls whose names had been
added to the list ; secondly, a lovely snow-storm,
one of the bright, dry kind, had come during the
night, and evidently had " come to stay " ; thirdly,
the guests made it a frolic from the very first,
and e\cry sleigh-load driven to the door by Jack,
came in singing and cheering; fourthly. Uncle
George, as Dorry said, was "splendid," Jack
was "good as gold," and Liddy was "too lovely
for anything"; fifthly, the house, from top to
bottom, was bright, home-like, and beautiful, —
flowers sprang up in unexpected places, delightful
surprises abounded ; and, lastly, hardly anything
was broken, not a single child was killed, and the
house was n't burned to the ground — all of which
Liddy and Jack agreed was " simply mirac'l'us ! "
Such a wonderful day as that is hard to describe.
Imagine the scene. Great square halls on the
first and second floors; broad stair-ways; fine open
rooms ; pleasant fires ; beautiful flowers ; boys
and girls flitting, gathering everywhere, from
garret to kitchen, — now scattered, now crowded,
now listening to stories, now running, now hiding,
now gazing at an impromptu " performance," now
sitting in a demure circle, with a napkin on every
lap — you know why; now playing games, now
having a race on the broad, freshly cleared piazza,
that extended along three sides of the mansion ;
now giving three cheers for Uncle George, and
then beginning all over again. It lasted more
than ten hours, yet nobody was tired (until the
next day ! ), and all the guests declared, in one
way or another, that it was the very nicest time
they ever had known in all their lives. Donald
and Dorothy were delightful as host and hostess.
They enjoyed everjthing, were on the alert for
every one's pleasure, and by their good-humor,
courtesy, and graceful manners, unconsciously set
an example to all the picnickers. Uncle George, —
ah, now I know what to say ! You have known
him heretofore as a man of grave responsibility, —
troubled with an anxiety which to you, perhaps,
has been uncomfortably mysterious. But Uncle
George, at the house picnic, was quite a different
man. He threw care to the winds, proposed
games, invented capital " forfeits," sprang sur-
prises upon the guests, laughed and played like a
splendid boy, and, better yet, wore his " glow-
look " nearly all the time.
" How handsome Mr. Reed is! " thought more
than one young guest. " They say his brother
Wolcott was handsomer still. What wonder Don
and Dorry are so good-looking. Ho ! what are
we going to do now ? "
Then would follow a merry, well-ordered rush
to this or that part of the house, according to the
special attraction of the moment. But, really, it
is quite impossible for any one to describe the day
properly. The only way is to give you a few notes
from observations taken on the spot.
We '11 begin with the kitchen — Kassy's empire.
There she stands, a queen in a calico gown. But
Dorothy has the scepter. It is a big wooden
spoon. She and a dozen other girls are crowding
about the big cooking-stove. All have large tow-
els pinned over their dresses, after the fashion of
Topsy's apron — close to the throat, tight around
the skirt, and the arms left free. What in the
world are they making ? What but molasses
candy! It is nearly done. It ought to be, after
the boiling and the stirring that the girls in turn
have given it. Finally, some one holds forward a
pan of cold water. Dorothy, carefully (li])piiig out
a spoonful of the fragrant syrup, drops it into the
water. It sizzes; it stiffens — hurrah! the candy is
ready to be taken from the fire.
Cool enough now. " Come, boys ! come,
girls!" cries Uncle. " Here, put on your aprons,
every one of you ! " cries Liddy, with her mouth
full of pins, and her arms loaded with the coarse
towel-aprons which she — knowing soul! — has
specially prepared for the occasion. — " Sakes ! be
careful ! Don't burn yourselves ! "
But who hears? They are pulling the candy
already. Boys and girls in pairs, with hands
daintily washed and greased, are taking soft lumps
of the cooling mass, drawing them out into great,
long, shining ribbons, doubling and drawing them
out again until they get lighter and lighter in color,
and finally the beautiful golden strands are de-
clared ready for more artistic handling. Then fol-
low royal fun and rivalry, each young confectioner
trying to outdo the other. Some twist the soft
candy into sticks and lay them aside to cool ; some
braid it charmingly; others make little walking-
canes; others cut it into caramels, — one and all
* Copyright, 1881, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reser\'ed.
470
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[April,
indulging meantime in flavorsome morsels, and
finally shouting with delight over Donald's mas-
terpiece, which he has placed upon the table for
inspection, and which that rather sticky young
gentleman calls
THE MAID OF ORLEANS !
"Ha! ha!" shouts Daniel Danby. "Pretty
good ! But supposing it had n't been made of
Orleans! Guess there are other kinds. " But that
sarcastic and well-informed young gentleman is
hardly heard in the laughing commotion.
Ah, what a washing of hands ! For the fun of
the thing, Uncle George has caused warm water
to be put into a great tub, which stands upon the
wash-bench, and now the candy-pullers take their
turn in a close ring about it, all frantically feeling
and struggling for the soap, which repeatedly bobs
to the surface, only to be dashed out of sight again
by some desperate little hand.
While this merry crowd of cooks and pullers are
working and frolicking in the kitchen, a few of the
company may be found in other parts of the old
mansion, amusing themselves in their own fashion.
Some of the very young guests are in the upper
rooms playing childish games ; and one or two
older ones who, as it happens, see quite enough of
the kitchen in their own homes, prefer to enjoy
themselves now in the finer apartments.
We '11 look into JVIr. Reed's studv, the door of
which stands slightly ajar. Amanda Danby is
there alone. She is sitting in the master's big
chair with a volume of poems in her hand —
forgetting the party, forgetting that she has labori-
ously smoothed her curly hair for the occasion,
forgetting that she is wearing her precious drab
merino — her mother's wedding gown — now made
over for the fourth time, forgetting the new collar
and pretty blue bow at her throat (Dorry's gifts),
conscious only that
"The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, —
'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar."
Amanda smiles to herself as she turns the leaf,
feeling that after all there is a great deal of life and
spirit in the world, and that dish-pans, pots, and
kettles are mere phantoms of the imagination.
The verse runs on so smoothly, too. She could
write whole books of poetry herself if she only had
gone somewhere and improved herself. Then, as
she reads on, the great, comfortable arm-chair, the
soft carpet, the well-filled book-shelves, and the
subdued light give her a vague, delightful sense of
having improved herself already.
Let us look into the other rooms. No one in
the parlor. The back sitting-room, too, is deserted.
The dining-room is empty and locked ; but high
up on the garret-stairs sit three wide-eyed, open-
mouthed youngsters listening to Ben Buster.
"True?" he is saying, " of course it 's true ;
I knew the boy myself — Joe Gunther, smart fel-
low. He 's on a ranch, now, out in Californy. I '11
tell you how it was : He was living with a settler
named Brown, 'way off in LItah. Brown had three
men besides Joe to help him, — sort of partner-
ship, I b'lieve, raising cattle. It was a desolate
place, and the Indians were troublesome. Brown
nor his men never went outside the hut without
a loaded gun, and they kept several more in the
hut, always loaded, ready for an attack. One
morning, long before daylight, Joe heard a
rumpus. He was in bed — none of your cots, but
a bunk, like a shelf, fastened to the inside of the
stockade walls."
" What do you mean by stockade walls ? " as'rcs
one of the listeners.
"Why, walls made out of logs standing up-
right— it was only a hut, you see; no laths, nor
plaster, nor any such nonsense. Well, Joe knew
by what he heard that old man Brown was inside,
firing from the door at the Indians — did n't
know where the other two were, — killed, maybe, —
and so Joe gets up on his knees and looks through
1 833.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY
471
a crevice of the stockade wall, and sees the chief
crawling stealthily around the hut to get in at the
only window and attack the old man ! A loaded
gun — double-barrel — was hanging on the wall
right near Joe. What did he do but take it, put
the muzzle through the chink, and let go at the
fellow ; discharged both barrels clean at him.
' You will, will you?' he yelled out, as the Indian
fell; and 1 declare, if the other Indians were n't so
scared and mystified by the sudden voice, and the
chief killed, out of the very walls, as it seemed to
them, that they turned and scampered. Joe rushed
out to old man Brown, and there he was with his
two partners at the door, not one of the three
scratched, and the chief was lying there by the
stockade wall, just as he fell.
"Joe did n't care to go near him, for by this time
he began to feel rather weak in the Joints. But
the most wonderful part of all is to come yet.
That Indian chief was only wounded, after all.
They thought he was killed ; and while tlie three
men and Joe were in the hut, planning what
they should do next, — -for they were sure the
red-skins would come back in greater force to get
the body of their chief, — 1 declare if that old Indian
did n't up and go about his business. Brown and
Joe and all of them searched the forest well that
day and the next, but they never found him. Joe
had made his mark, though, and he was in more
than one scrimmage with the Indians after that."
"It 's a shame to kill Indians!" at last ex-
claims one of Ben's awe-stricken listeners. "My
father says they 've been imposed upon and abused
by the white folks. He says we ought to teach them
instead of killing them."
" That 's so," says another of the trio, nodding
emphatically. " .My father says so, too,"
" Oh, does he ? " returns Ben Buster, in mild
wrath, " who does n't? But this was a fair fight.
What are you going to do when they 're doin' the
killing, eh? Open your book and hear them a
spelling-lesson ? Guess not. Ask 'cm questions
in 'rithmetic when they 're helping themselves to
your scalp ? Oh, of course."
All of which would be very impressive and very
convincing to the young hearers, did not a small
boy at this moment come suddenly rushing across
the hall, shouting —
" Ho ! Candy ! 1 smell merlasses candy.
They 're making it. Come on."
And down they run — all but Hen, who prefers
to go through the house in search of adventures.
He opens a door, sees a small ring of prettily
dressed little girls and boys, hand in hand, sing-
ing:
" OaLs pease, beans, .ind barley grows,
You nor I nor nobody knows
Where oats, pease, beans, and barley grows."
He beats a hasty retreat. Signs of commotion
come from a bedroom on the other side of the
hall, but Ben, hearing Fandy's familiar voice
there, turns aside and goes slowly down-stairs,
feeling rather bored since there is no one to listen
to his stories.
A moment afterward he is in the kitchen, laugh-
ing with the rest at Donald's expressive master-
piece, but secretly resolving never to go into com-
pany again until he can have a frock-coat. The
blue cloth jacket and trousers, bought with his last
year's savings, somehow do not seem to him as
fine as they did when he put them on earlier in the
day, though he is an independent youth, not easily
made dissatisfied with his appearance. P"or the
first time in his life he rather envies Daniel
David and Ellen Elizabeth, who look remarkably
well on this occasion, being dressed in clothes that
once were Donald's and Dorothy's. This is no
unusual effect. For Lydia, with Mr. Reed's hearty
sanction, has long been in the habit of slyly hand-
ing garments to Mrs. Danby, with the flattering
assurance that as the dear D's grow like weeds, it
will be an act of real kindness if Mrs. Danby will
turn the clothes to good account, and Mrs. Danby
always has complied.
Talking of the Danbys, perhaps this is a fitting
time to explain the commotion that Ben heard in
Mr. Reed's bedroom.
A moment before, and in the midst of cer-
tain lively planning, a middle-sized boy, named
Thomas Budd, had strayed from the candy-
pulling scene and appeared at the threshold of
this apartment, where Charity Danby, little
Isabella Danby, Fandy, and three or four others
were assembled.
" .'\11 riglit ! " shouted Fandy excitedly, as Mas-
ter Budd entered; "you can play, too, Tommy
Budd. Now Charity Cora, look out for Is'bella !
We 're going to have my new game."
" Oh, please do, Cora ! quick ! " cried little
Helen Danby. " Fandy 's made it up all hisself,
and he 's goin' to teach it to us."
" That 's right," said Fandy, approvingly, as
Charity Cora hastily lifted her three-year-old sister
from the floor; "take her 'way off. It's a awful
dang'rous game. She might get killed ! "
Very naturally, Cora, with little Isabel in her
arms, stood near the door to see what was going to
happen.
" Now, chil'ren," cried Fandy, "take your places
all over. Pete, you 're a lion ; Sammy, you 're
a big wolf; Helen, you 're a wild cat ; Gory,
you 're a elephant ; and Tommy, you '11 have to
be (let 's see, what other animal is there ?) Oh !
yes; you must be a kangaroo! and I 'm a great
big hunter-man, with a gun an' a so-word ! "
472
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[April,
So saying, the great big man took the long
brass-handled shovel and poker from the brass
stand by the fire-place, and struck an attitude.
"Now, chil'ren, you must all go 'round, a-howl-
ing and going on like what you all are, and 1 '11
pounce on you fass as I can, an' kill you. When 1
shoot, you must fall right down : and when I chop
off your heads with my big so-word, you must
roar awful. "
"Hah! Where's the game in that?" cried
Gory, scornfully.
" Why — let 's see," said Fandy, rather puzzled.
Baby Isabel, who must have been born to be a
lion-tamer, looked on in great glee; and Cora tried
not to feel frightened.
Fandy made a capital hunter; he shot right and
left, and sawed off the heads of the slain like a
good fellow, until at last there were four dead an-
imals under the bed, all lying curled up just as
still as mice.
There was only one more animal to kill, and
that was Tom, the kangaroo.
Bang ! went Fandy's gun — the shovel end
pressed in style against his shoulder — bang !
"THE CANDV-PULLING. " [SEE PAGE 469.]
"Oh! yes; the one I kill first is it — that's the
game."
"All right," spoke up Tommy Budd, "and
then that one takes the gun and sword and hunts.
That 's first-rate. Let 's begin."
But Fandy objected to this.
" No, no," he said, " 1 've got to do all the
killin', 'coz it 's my game. I '11 tell you what !
The ones that gets killed are dead animals — and
all the dead animals can go under the bed ! "
"That'll do," they shouted; and the game began.
Such roaring and baying, growling and shouting,
were never heard in human habitation before.
But the kangaroo did n't fall.
Fandy took more careful aim, and fired again.
Bang !
Still the kangaroo hopped about, as frisky as
ever.
"Bang! 1 tell you! Don't you hear me say
bang ? Why don't you go dead ? "
" You have n't hit me yet," retorted the kanga-
roo, taking wonderful leaps. "Lookout! Pretty
soon I '11 jump on you and smash you ! "
"No, you wont, neither!" cries the hunter,
growing very red and taking fresh aim.
Bang !
1 883.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY
473
Unlucky shot ! The kangaroo was on him in
an instant.
" Now, sir," growls the kangaroo, butting the
overthrown hunter with his head, "what's the
next part of this game ? Who beats ? "
" I do ! " gasped Fandy. " Get off me."
This was too much for the dead animals under
the bed. They began to laugh.
Cora laughed as heartily as any, and so did half
a dozen big boys and girls who by this time had
assembled in the open door-way.
" Stop laughin'," shouted Fandy, still struggling
under the kangaroo, "an' all you under the bed
come out. Don't you know when all the animals
'cept one is killed, that 's the end of the game ?
Let 's play somethin' else."
" Where 'd you get that?" he added, as soon
as he was a free man — partly to change the sub-
ject, and partly because a boy whom he knew
suddenl)- appeared eating a piece of molasses
candy.
" Down-stairs. We 've been making loads of
it," was the muffled reply.
A hint was enough. It is hardly necessary to
say that in a twinkling, lion, tiger, wild cat, wolf,
elephant, and hunter had joined the crowd in the
kitchen, and were feasting ecstatically upon cara-
mels and molasses sticks.
"Whatever shall 1 do, Mr. George, sir," said
the distressed Liddy, "to stop the eating? They'll
be sick, sir, every mother's child of them, if they
keep on."
" Tell them to wash their hands and faces and
come to the parlor. We '11 have the picture-gallery
game now," said Mr. Reed.
Accordingly, scouts were sent through the house
to bring the company together. Meantime, Sailor
Jack, in his best clothes, was hard at work clearing
the decks for action, as he expressed it.
All were in the parlor and seated at last. That
is, all excepting Uncle George and eight or ten
who hardly could be missed from such a roomful.
Jack had arranged the chairs in several long rows,
facing the great sliding-doors that separated the
front parlor from the hack sitting-room, and on
these were seated subdued and expectant boys and
girls, all gazing at the closed doors, while the
youngest of the guests sat on the floor in front of
the chairs, half-frightened, half-delighted at the
prospect of " seeing something."
By this time the feathery snow-storm had ceased,
and a flood of afternoon sunlight was pouring into
the large room. Whispered comments upon the
change of weather arose, coupled with remarks
that there would be coasting next day, anyhow:
then came other remarks, and light laughter,
with occasional clapping of hands, when suddenly
Vor.. IX.— 31.
Mr. Reed appeared at the side entrance which led
into the hall :
" Young Ladies and Gentlemen ! You arc
now to sec a live picture-gallery, and we ask for
your criticism upon the pictures, begging you to be
merciful in your remarks, and not to be too funny
while you try to make the pictures laugh. For,
you must know, if any picture in our gallery is
guilty of even a smile, it must instantly pop out of
sight, leaving its frame empty. When all the
frames are thus deserted, we shall expect some of
you to fill them again. In fact, each picture in
the present exhibition is to select his or her sub-
stitute for the next one."
At this, some of the boys looked troubled, and
some of the girTs tittered, but one and all clapped
in hearty applause of Mr. Reed's little speech.
Then came the tinkle of a bell to say that all
was ready ; Ed Tyler and Donald pushed back
the sliding doors, and there, in the great square
door-way, was the picture-gallery. To be strictly
correct, we must call this gallery a gray wall,
apparently hung from top to bottom with fine
portraits in broad gilt frames, and all looking won-
derfully life-like and ////natural ; for when a live
portrait must not laugh, how can it feel at ease ?
At first the spectators were too surprised to speak.
Then came a murmur of admiration, with cries of
"good, good" from the boys and "how lovely"
from the girls, while Liddy, by the parlor door,
clasped her hands in silent rapture at the beautiful
show.
Beautiful, indeed, it was. All the portraits were
as fresh and glowing as though they had been
" painted yesterday." The drawing was perfect,
the coloring exquisite, and so well were the pictures
lighted, so cunningly provided with dark back-
grounds, that they seemed really to be paintings.
Dorry, in a prim Quaker cap and muslin necker-
chief, was prettier than ever. Josie Manning,
in red cloak and hood, made a charming
gypsy ; little Fandy, with his brown eyes and
rosy cheeks, was a remarkably handsome portrait
of himself; and a sallow, black-haired youth, with
a paper-cutter in his clenched fist, scowled ad-
mirably as a brigand. The other pictures, though
content to be simply faces trying not to smile, were
really very bright and effective, and a credit to
any artist.
"Well!" exclaimed Uncle, after a moment,
" what have the critics to say ? What do you
think of — of the gypsy, for instance? Who will
buy it?"
" I wont ! " shouted a funny little fellow in
knickerbockers. " It 's a chromo."
The gypsy twitched very slightly, and all the
other pictures put on increased solemnity of ex-
474
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[April,
for they felt that their time, too, was "No, it 's not an animal at all — let 's see — what
pression
coming.
"Do you throw in the frame?" asked some
one else.
" Is n't that right eye a little out? " said a girl
who was taking drawing-lessons.
This made the picture laugh, and presto ! the
frame was empty.
After this, though the remarks made were not
brilliant nor irresistibly funny, the picture-gallery
soon suffered severe losses. So
small a thing will make
us laugh when we try
to look grave. The
brigand exploded
at a cutting allu-
sion to his dag-
ger ; the Quaker-
ess yielded to a
Ah, it 's a target ;
' cried Ed Tyler;
shine it up a little
THE LAST VIEW OF THE PICTURE-
GALLERY.
profound re-
mark concern-
ing her chiaro-
oscuro ; other
faces grinned
the instant they
were specially
alluded to, and finally, Tandy's portrait was the
only one left in its frame. That bright little counte-
nance stared into the room so defiantly that even
Uncle George tried, with the rest, to conquer it.
In vain critics criticised — the portrait was deaf.
In vain they tried to be as funny as they could ; it
was obdurate. In vain they shouted at it, laughed
at it. Not a smile. Fandy was a youth of principle,
and he felt bound in honor to do his duty. Then
the boys called the picture, names. It was a
monkey, a tramp, a kitten, an eel, a hop-a-toad.
Everybody tried to think of something too funny
for him to resist. Finally, Donald said :
does it look like, any way ?
don't you see the bull's-eye ? "
Not a smile.
" Bring a pot of varnish.
" the picture is so dull we'll
and see what that will do."
Suddenly a childish howl was heard, to every-
body's surprise, for little three-year-old Isabel had
been quite forgotten.
" A-ow, a-ow ! Tate Fan'-y down. What 's 'e
masser wis Fan'-y? Me want Fan'-y."
The little sister unconsciously triumphed
where every one else had tried and
failed. Fandy laughed with the rest,
and instantly disappeared, as though
\ he had been blown out like a can-
dle. In another moment he was in
the parlor, comforting Isabel to the
best of his ability, casting saucy
glances at the rest of the company
meanwhile, with a merry shake of
the head, as if to say : "You thought
you could make me laugh, did you ?
No, sir, you could n't."
Now while the folding doors were
closed, a new set of pictures was
made ; the bell tinkled again, and
the game went on as before.
There hung the same si.x frames
on the same places upon the gray
cloth wall, but the portraits were
new, and very effective, though some of them
laughed as soon as the opened doors revealed them
to the spectators. This time, by way of variety,
each frame as soon as vacated was given a new
portrait in full view of the company. When the
emptied frame happened to be on the lower part
of the gray wall, the new picture had only to stand
or kneel upon the carpet behind the frame, but if
it happened to be higher up, he was obliged to
climb upon a chair or table, or even a ladder,
whichever might be necessary to enable him to
present himself at the proper place. For this
gray wall, you must know, was but a large
straight curtain of dark cotton stuff, without any
fullness, stretched tightly across the door-way
behind the sliding doors, and with large square or
oblong pieces cut out of it here and there. Each
open space thus left was bordered on all sides with
a strip of gilt paper, thus forming an empty
picture-frame. Don and Dorry had made the
whole thing themselves the day before, and they
were therefore very happy at the success of the
picture-gallery and the fun it created. They had
ingeniously provided the highest pictures with
small, dark curtains, fastened above the back of the
D O N A L D A N D D O K ( > T 1 1 N
475
frames and hanging loosely enough to be drawn
behind the living pictures, so as to form back-
grounds. A draped clothes-horse answered the
same purpose for the lower pictures. .AH of this
explanation and more was given by Don and
Dorry at the house picnic to eager listeners who
wished to get up exactly such a picture-gallery at
their own homes some evening; but while they
were talking about it somebody at the piano struck
up a march — " Mendelssohn's Wedding March " —
and almost before they knew it the guests found
themselves marching to the music two by two in
a procession across the great square hall, now
hghted by a bright blaze in its open fire-place.
Donald and Dorry joined the merry line, wonder-
ing what was about to happen — when to their
great surprise (ah, that sly Uncle George ! and
that innocent Liddy !) the double doors leading
into the dining-room were flung open, and there,
sparkhng in the light of a hundred wax-candles,
was a collation fit for Cinderella and all her royal
court. I shall not attempt to describe it, for fear of
forgetting to name some of the good things.
Imagine what you will, and I do believe there was
something just like it or quite as good upon that
delightful table, so beautiful with its airy, fairy-like
structures of candied fruits, frostings, and flowers ;
its jagged rock of ice where chickens and turtles,
made of ice-cream, were resting on ever)' peak and
cranny ; its gold-tinted jellies, and its snowy tem-
ples. Soon, fairy-work and temple yielded to ruth-
less boys, who crowded around with genteel eager-
ness to serve the girls with platefuls of delicacies,
quite ignoring the rolling eyeballs of two little col-
ored gentlemen who had been sent up from town
with the feast, and who had full)- expected to do
the honors. Meanwhile Liddy, in black silk gown
and the Swiss muslin apron which Dorry had
bought her in the city, was looking after the young-
est guests, resolved that the little dears should not
disgrace her motherly care by eating too much,
or by taking the wrong things.
" Not that anything on that table could hurt a
chicken," she said softly to Charity Cora, as she
gave a bit of sponge-cake and a saucer of blanc-
mange to little Isabella — "Mr. George and I
looked out for that ; but their dear little stom-
achs are so risky, you know, one can't be too
careful. That 's the reason we were so particu-
lar to serve out sandwiches and substantials
early in the day, you know. But sakes ! there
's that molasses candy ! 1 can't help worrying
about that."
Charity Cora made no reply beyond a pleasant
nod, for, in truth, conversation had no charms for
her just then. If Donald had found you, hungry
reader, modestly hidden in a corner, and with a
masterly bow had handed you that well-laden plate,
would you have felt like talking to Liddy ?
But Liddy did n't mind. She was too happy
with her own thoughts to notice trifles. Besides,
Jack was at that moment putting a fresh log on
the hall fire, and that gave her an opportunity to
ask him if he ever had seen young folks " having
a delighteder time."
"AVivr, Mistress Blum ! Never! " was his em-
phatic, all-sufficient response.
At this very moment. Gory Danby, all uncon-
scious of the feast upstairs, was having his own
private table in the kitchen. Having grown
hungry for his
usual supper of
bread and milk,
he had stolen in
upon Kassy and
begged for it so
manfully that
she was unabK
to resist him
Imagine his
surprise when,
drowsily taking
his last mouth-
ful, he saw
Fandy rush in-
to the room with
a plate full of
white grapes.
" Gory Dan-
b)' ! " exclaimed that disgusted brother, " 1 'm
'shamed of you ! What you stuffin' yourse'f with
supper for when there 's a party upstairs ? Splcn-
'id things, all made of sugar ! Pull off that bib,
now, an' come up ! "
Again the march struck up. Feasting was over.
The boys and girls, led by Uncle George, who
seemed the happiest boy of all, went back to the
parlor, which, meanwhile, had been re-arranged,
and there Uncle George, producing a great plump
tissue-paper bag, hung it from the chandelier that
was suspended from the middle of the parlor ceil-
ing. I should like to tell you al^out this chandelier,
how it was covered with hundreds of long, three-
sided glass danglers that swung, glittered, and
flashed in splendid style, now that all its wax-
candles were lighted : Isut that would interrupt the
account of the paper bag. This bag was full of
something, they were sure. Uncle George blind-
folded Josie Manning with a handkerchief, and
putting a long stick in her hand, told her to turn
around three times and then strike the bag with
the stick.
" Stand back, everybody," cried Donald, as she
CORY S PRIVATE TABLE.
476
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[April,
made the last turn. " Now, hit hard, Josie !
Hard enough to break it ! "
Josie did hit hard. But she hit the air just
where the bag did n't hang, and then the rest
laughed and shouted and begged to be blindfolded,
sure that they could do it. Mr. Reed gave each a
chance in turn, but each failed as absurdly as Josie.
Finally, by acclamation, the bandage was put over
Dorothy's dancing eyes, though she was sure she
never, never could — and lo ! after revolving like a
lovely Chinese top, the damsel, with a spring and one
long, vigorous stroke, tore the bag open from one
side to the other. Down fell the contents upon
the floor — pink mottoes, white mottoes, blue mot-
toes, and mottoes of gold and silver paper all
fringed and scalloped and tied with ribbons, and
every one of them plump with sugar-almonds or
some good kind of candy. How the guests rushed
and scrambled for them — how Fandy Danby
fairly rolled over the other boys in his delight, and
how the young folks tore open the pretty papers,
put the candy into their pockets, and shyly handed
or sent the printed mottoes to each other ! Fandy,
in his excitement, handed a couplet to a pretty little
girl with yellow hair, and then seeing her pout as
she looked at it, ran over to her again with a quick
"Let me see 't. What does it say?" She held
out the little bit of paper without letting it go, and
Fandy, seizing it at the other end, read laboriously
and in laughing dismay ;
*' You-are-the-nicest-boy-I-know,
.A.id-this-is-just-to-tell-you-so."
He recovered himself instantly, however, and wag-
ging his handsome little head at her, exclaimed
emphatically :
" Girl, glri, don't you see, I meant girl ! It 's
plepostrous to think I meant boy — cause you aint
one, don't you see. Mottoes is awful foolish, any
way. Come over in the hall and see the gol'-fishes
swimmin' in the 'quarium," — and off they ran to-
gether, as happy as birds.
Then came a dance — the Lancers. Two-thirds
of the young company, including Don and Dorry,
attended the village dancing-school, and one and
all "just doted on the Lancers," as Josie Man-
ning said. Uncle George, knowing this, had sur-
prised the D's by secretly engaging two players —
for piano-forte and violin — and their well-marked
time and spirited playing put added life into even
the lithe young forms that flitted through the
rooms. Charity looked on in rapt delight, the
more so as kind Sailor Jack already had carried
the sleepy and well-bundled Isabel home to her
mother.
One or two more dances finished off this amuse-
ment, and then, after a few moments of rest, came
a startling and mysterious order to prepare for the
THANK-YOU GAME !
" What in the world is that ? " asked the young
folk of Don and Dorry, and their host and hostess
candidly admitted that they had n't the slightest
idea what it was. They never had heard of it
before.
" Well, then, how can wc play it ? " insisted the
little spokespeople.
"I don't know," answered Dorry, looking in a
puzzled way at the door.
"All join hands and form a circle.'" cried a
voice.
Every one arose, and soon the circle stood ex-
pectant.
" Your dear great-great fairy godmother is
coming to see you," continued the voice. " She is
slightly deaf, but you must not mind that."
"Oh, no, no!" cried the laughing circle, "not
in the least."
"She brings her white gnome with her," said
the invisible speaker, "and don't let him know
your names or he will get you into trouble."
" No, no, no ! " cried the circle wildly.
A slight stirring was heard in the hall, the doors
opened, and in walked the fairy godmother and her
white gnome.
She was a tall, much bent old woman, in a ruffled
cap, a peaked hat, and a long red cloak. He, the
gnome, wore red trousers and red sleeves. The
rest of his body was dressed in a white pillow-case
with arm-holes cut in it. It was gathered at his
belt ; gathered also by a red ribbon tied around
the throat ; the corners of the pillow-case tied with
narrow ribbon formed his ears, and there was a
white bandage over the eyes, and a round opening
for his mouth. The godmother dragged in a large
sack, and the gnome bore a stick with bells at the
end.
"Let mc into the ring, dears," squeaked the
fairy godmother.
" Let me into the ring, dears," growled the
w'hite gnome.
The circle obeyed.
"Now, my dears," squeaked the fairy god-
mother, " I 've brought you a bagful of lovely
things, but, you must know, 1 am under an enchant-
ment. All I can do is to let you each take out a gift
when your turn comes, but when you send me a
'Thank-you,' don't let my white gnome know
who it is, for if he guesses your name you must
put the gift back without opening the paper. But
if he guesses the wrong name, then you may keep
the gift. So now begin, one at a time. Keep the
i«83.|
DONALD AND DOKOTIIV
477
magic circle moving until my gnome knocks three
times."
Around went the circle, eager with fun and ex-
pectation. Suddenly the blinded gnome pounded
three times with his stick, and then pointed it
straight in front of him, jingling the little bells.
Tommy Hudd w;is the happy youth pointed at.
"Help yourself, my dear," squeaked the fairy
godmother as she held the sack toward him. He
plunged his arm into the opening and brought out
a neat paper parcel.
"Hey! What did you say, dear?" she
squeaked. "Take hold of the stick."
Tommy seized the end of the stick, and said, in
a hoarse tone :
"Thank you, ma'am."
" That 's John Stevens," growled the gnome.
" Put it back ! put it back ! "
But it was n't John Stevens, and so Tommy
kept the parcel.
The circle moved again. The gnome knocked
three times, and this time the stick pointed to
Dorry. She tried to be polite, and direct her
neighbor's hand to it, but the godmother would
not hear of that.
" Help yourself, child, "she squeaked, and Dorry
did. The paper parcel which she drew from the
sack was so tempting and pretty, all tied with rib-
bon, that she really tried very hard to disguise her
" Thank you," but the gnome was too sharp for her.
" No, no ! " he growled. " That 's Dorothy Reed.
Put it back ! put it back ! "
And poor Dorry dropped the pretty parcel into
the bag again.
So the merry game went on ; some escaped de-
tection and saved their gifts ; some were detected
and lost them ; but the godmother would not suffer
those who had parcels to try again, and therefore,
in the course of the game, those who failed at first
succeeded after a while. When all had parcels,
and the bag was nearly empty, what did that old
fairy do but straighten up, throw off her hat, cap,
false face, and cloak, and if it was n't Uncle George
himself, verj' red in the face, and very glad to be
out of his prison. Instantly one and all discovered
that they had known all along it was Mr. Reed.
" Ha ! ha ! " they laughed ; "and now," starting
in pursuit — "let's see who the white gnome is!"
They caught him at the foot of the stairs, and
were not ver>- much astonished when Ed Tyler
came to light.
"That is a splendid game!" declared some.
"Grand!" cried others. "Fine," "first-rate,"
"glorious," "capital," "as good as Christmas,"
said the rest. Then they opened their parcels,
and there was great rejoicing.
Uncle George, as Liddy declared, was n't a
gentleman to do things by halves, and he certainly
had distinguished himself in the Thank-you game.
Every gift was worth having. There were lovely
bonbon-boxes, pretty trinkets, penknives, silver
lead-pencils, paint-boxes, puzzles, thimbles, and
scissors, and dozens of other nice things.
What delighted "Oh, oh's ! " and merry "ha,
ha's ! " rang tlirough tliatbig parlor. Theboys who
had thimbles, and the girls who had balls, had great
fun displaying their prizes, and trying to " trade."
.'\fter a deal of laughter and merry bargaining, the
gifts became properly distributed, and then the
piano and violin significantly played " Home,
Sweet Home!" Soon sleigh-bells were jingling
outside; Jack was stamping his feet to knock the
snow off his boots. Mr. McSwiver, loo, was there,
driving in the Manning farm-sled, filled with straw,
and several turn-outs from the village were speed-
ing chuck-a-ty chuck, cling, clang, jingle-y-jing,
along the broad carriage-way.
Ah ! what a bundling-up time. What scram-
bling for tipjiets, shawls, hoods, and cloaks; what
laughter and frolic; what "good-byes" and
" good-byes " ; what honest " thank-you's" to Mr.
Reed, and what shouting and singing and hurrah-
ing, as the noisy sleigh-loads glided away, and
above all, what an
"Oh, you dear, dear, dear Uncle George!"
from Dorry, as she and Donald, standing by Mr.
Reed's side, heard the last sleigh jingle, jingle
from the door.
And then they went right to bed, slept sweetly,
and dreamed till morning of the house picnic ?
Not so. Do you think the D's could settle down
so quietly as that? True, Uncle George soon went
to his room. Liddy and Jack went their respective
ways, after " ridding up," as she expressed it, and
fastening the windows. Nora and Kassy trudged
sleepily to bed, the musicians and colored waiters
were comfortably put away for the night. But
Donald and Dorothj', wide awake as two robins,
were holding a whispered but animated conversa-
tion in Dorry's room.
" Was n't it a wonderful success, Don ? "
" Never saw anything like it," said Donald.
" Every one was delighted ; Uncle 's a regular
prince. He was the life of everything, too. But
what is it ? What did you want to show me ? "
" I don't know, myself, yet," she answered. " It
fell out of an old trunk that we 'vc never looked
into or even seen before ; at least, I have n't.
Some of the boys dragged it out from under the
farthest roof-end of the garret. It upset and
opened. Robby Cutler picked up the things and
tumbled them in again in a hurry ; but I saw the
end of a parcel and pulled it out, and ran down
478
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[Apru^
here to see what it was. But my room was full of
girls (it was when nearly all of you boys were out
in the barn, you know), and so 1 just threw it into
that drawer. Somehow, I felt nervous about look-
ing at it alone."
" Fetch it out," said Donald.
She did so. They opened it together. It con-
tained only two or three old copy-books.
"They 're Uncle George's when he was a little
boy," exclaimed Dorry, in a tone of interest, as she
leaned over Donald, but yet with a shade of disap-
pointment in her tone ; for what is an old copy-
book?
"It 's not copy-writing at all," said Don, peer-
ing into the first one — "why, it 's a diary ! " and
turning to look at the cover again, he read, " ' Kate
Reed.' Why, it 's Aunt Kate's ! "
"Aunt Kate's diary? Oh, Don, it can't be!"
cried Dorry, as, pale with excitement, she at-
tempted to take it from her brother's hands.
"No, Dorry," he said, firmly; "we must tie it
up again. Diaries are private ; we must speak to
Uncle about it before we read a word."
" So we must, I suppose," assented
luctantly. "But 1 can't sleep a wink
here." Her eyes filled with tears.
Dorry, re-
with it in
"Don't cry. Dot; please don't," pleaded Don,
putting his arm around her. "We 've been so
happy all day, and finding this ought to make you
all the happier. It will tell us so much about Aunt
Kate, you know."
" No, Don, it will not. I feel morally sure Uncle
will never let us read it."
" For shame, Dorry. Just wait, and it will be all
right. You found the book, and Uncle will be de-
lighted, and we '11 all read it together."
Dorry wiped her eyes.
" I don't know about that," she said, decidedly,
and much to her brother's amazement. " I found
it, and I want to think for myself what is best to
be done about it. Aunt Kate did n't write it
for everybody to read ; we '11 put it back in the
bureau. My, how late it must be growing,"
she continued, with a shiver, as, laying the parcel
in, she closed the drawer so softly that the hang-
ing brass handles hardly moved. " Now, good-
night, Donald."
" What a strange girl you are," he said, kissing
her bright face. " Over a thing in an instant.
Well, good-night, old lady."
"Good-night, old gentleman," said Dorry,
soberly, as she closed the door.
( To be contimted. )
TOO QUICK FOR EASTER — OUT OF THE SHELL.
i88a.]
LII.I. S SEARCH.
479
LILL'S SEARCH.
By Mary N. Prescott.
It was a dull, cloudy day, but Lill put on her
hat.
"Where are you going?" asked her mother.
" 1 am going to find the silver lining of the
clouds," said she.
" You will have to travel far, Child ; you will get
wet to the skin."
But Lill thought she could run between the
drops, at a pinch ; and away she went, over hills
and through the woods and across little rivulets,
without finding it. Once she thought she saw it
gleaming in the distance, but when she reached it,
it was only a mud-puddle. She asked of every one
she met, " Have you seen the silver lining of the
clouds ? " but few had been so fortunate ; many
had never even heard of it : some thought she
ought to borrow Jack's bean-stalk, if she was going
after it, and others advised her to inquire of the
Man in the Moon.
" 1 have seen it often," murmured the little
stream that tumbled over a rocky bed. " In the
summer-time, after the drought, my waters are
often too scant to turn the mill-wheel, and the
miller can grind no grain, and the little children
go hungry to bed, tijl a great cloud comes up
and shows its silver lining."
" Wc have seen it, too," whispered the trees
together, " when our roots were thirsty and our
leaves withered." And all the grasses sang its
praises.
" I will spin you a silken ladder, to go in search
of it," offered the garden-spider.
" If 1 could find out where the rainbow- begins,"
said Lill, " that would carry me straight to cloud-
land."
"Can you tell me where the rainbow begins?"
she asked, knocking at a farm-house door.
" Yes, indeed," said the old farmer, looking over
his spectacles ; " it begins in neighbor Goodwin's
meadow, yonder. I 've hunted for it myself, when
I was a boy and went bird-nesting, but I never
caught up with it. Every year I meant to look it
up, but now I 'm too lame. But I 'vc seen it, over
yonder, these forty years."
Lill pushed on along the highway, without see-
ing the rainbow or the cloud's silver lining. But
she met a peddler, who said he had them both in
his pack, and would sell them cheap.
" As I was coming down the valley this morn-
ing, singing to myself, some saucy girl began to
mock me. Tell me her name, and I '11 show you
the silver lining of all the clouds."
" Oh, dear ! " cried Lill, " but I don't know the
girls about here. May be I can find out, though.
What else have you got in your pack, please ? "
" I 've a good stock, let me tell you ; none of
your tinsel gewgaws, but a ser\'iceable lot nobody
can afford to do without. Here 's the seasons,
to begin with. Here 's your rainbows, single
and double, and your showers, your fogs, and
your frosts. I 've a rare invoice of frost-work em-
broideries, just imported from the North Pole ; and
here are your northern lights, and your Christ-
mases, and your Fourth of Julys, and your Thanks-
givings, all stowed away in my pack."
" Are the yesterdays there, too ? " asked Lill.
" I 'vc got all the to-morrows."
" And the silver lining of the clouds ? "
" Plenty of it ; only find out the name of that
wicked girl who dared to mock at old Father Time,
and you shall see it."
Lill went on more quickly than before ; she
climbed the mountain and reached the valley, but
she met no girls, only an old woman gathering
fagots and a wood-chopper felling trees. " Hal-
lo ! " said he, and somebody answered, " Hallo ! "
but it was not Lill, and yet there was nobody else
in sight.
" Have you seen the girl who mocks at people
in the valley here ? " asked Lill.
" Have I seen her ? " repeated the wood-chopper.
" The oldest inhabitant has never seen so much
as her shadow. You know she 's nothing but a
voice."
"What a queer person!" said Lill. "Where
does she live ? "
" In a castle in the air, perhaps."
" It 's growing dark ; they '11 be looking for me
at home," said Lill. " I came out to find the
silver lining of the cloud."
" You '11 be just as likely to find it at home as
anywhere," returned the wood-chopper.
And sure enough, when Lill opened her eyes
next morning, there it was, shining on the hedges,
sparkling on the meadows, hanging on the boughs
of the plum-trees, in great white garlands of snow.
48o
WINNING A PRINCESS.
[April,
/P,i-
By Margaret Vandegrift.
There was once a little princess who was pretty as a
flower,
And in her day, a princess must needs live in a tower;
A tower has a look, you know, of majesty and power.
She had many royal suitors, but to all who sought her
hand,
'* 1 will wed," she said, "who brings me — 1 care not from
what land —
A pocketful of water and a basketful of sand."
Men in those days were stupid ; it was diliferent from our
day;
And when she made this strange demand, they knew not
what to say.
So most of them said nothing, which, at that time, was
their way.
Some argued thus: " .-\ princess who would set this fool-
ish task
Might ask us, next, to bring her some fire within a fiask.
Or some thunder in a tea-pot — there 's no telling what
she 'd ask ! "
A few, more daring, tried it, but of course 't was but to fail,
For it was a tropic country, and their pockets were but
frail;
But a number of them offered to bring water in a pail,
And if she wished for sand, they said they 'd bring it in
a casket,
A casket set with precious stones — 't was foolishness to
ask it.
That any one should even try to bring it in a basket !
1 883.)
WINNING A PRINCESS.
481
These princes, to my thinking, had a great deal of excuse,
For they were but fragile things of reed, the baskets then in use,
And there rose a dreadful whisper, that the princess was a goose !
And that in spite of beauty, in spite of rank and pelf,
It seemed probable this princess would be laid upon the shelf.
And she began, poor darling! to think so of herself!
At this crisis came a stranger-prince, from far and foreign
land ;
He had come, he said, on purpose to request
the princess' hand.
And then they found ho 'd never heard cif the
water and the sand !
Among all those who offered advice, that sum-
mer day,
Not a single one advised the prince in the
capital to stay,
No they every one said earnestly, "You 'd j^
better go away."
But the prince was very different from
these people. Not a wink
Did he sleep that night for thinking.
" She 's as pretty as a pink !"
Ran his thoughts, and •' Having of-
fered, is it princely thus to shrink?
" It 's not caprice, 1 know it, whatever
they may say :
No, she wishes for a wooer whose
love can find a way
To the meaning of her problem, and
her heart — and 1 shall stay!"
So he thought and thought till morn-
ing; then, with heart as light as
feather,
He hied him to a cobbler, and bought a piece
of leather.
The cobbler asked him what 't was for ; he said
" It 's pleasant weather!"
Then he bought an osier basket — oh, these princes
are so rich ! —
And a little ball of cobbler's wax, and a great big
ball of pitch ;
He took them home, and locked his door, and straight began to stitch.
He had never learned to sew, of course, and did it clumsily ;
He wore his thimble on his thumb, and missed one stitch in three,
And he stuck his royal fingers, too — yes, stuck them terribly!
But you see he 'd made his mind up, so at last the pouch was done ;
He took the pitch, which, meanwhile, had been melting in the sun.
And smeared his osier basket, and t/iis work was mere fun.
482
WINNING A PRINCESS.
[April,
It is always a good plan, you know, beginning with the worst,
Of all one's tasks, the others will seem nothing to the first.
He chuckled, "With this pocket, one need never die of thirst!"
His second task was finished, and with eager, trembling haste,
The sand, which he had ready, he in the basket placed.
And he filled his pouch with water, and strapped it to his waist.
Then he hastened to the palace, and he saw the princess fair.
As she stood beneath a linden, with white rose-buds in her hair,
And he whispered, "Ah, I'll guard her. She shall never know a care.'
A herald led him forward, and he knelt and kissed her hand,
Saying, " F'airest, sweetest lady. I have brought, at your command,
A pocketful of water and a basketful of sand ! "
Of course the little princess was married to the prince.
And were they happy ? Bless you, they 've been happy ever since !
And they live ? Upon some hangings made of very ancient chintz.
But 1 am not sure — 1 fancy that once in a long while
I meet them, for I recognize the princess by her smile.
And the prince by deeds of valor, and a certain princely style.
i882.|
STORIES FROM TIIK NORTllKRN MYTHS.
483
THE WRONG MAN AT THK OTHER END OF THE TUBE.
I. Below: " I say, Ned ! Don't forget the time
AND PLACE. At Jones's barn at ten
TO-NIGHT, — SHABI' ! "
II. Above:-
-The listener says to himself : ** I 'u.
be there ! "
STORIES FROM THK NORTHERN MYTHS.
Bv James Baldwin.
Storv the Second.
The little company, gathered in Jarl Ronvaki's
castle hall, had enjoyed so much his story of
Siegfried and the sword Balmung that they
begged for another. In a few moments he assented
to their request, and they settled themselves to listen.
The reverend man took his harp and ran his
fingers rapidly over the strings, and drew forth
music so sweet that those who heard it forgot, for
a time, the story of Siegfried and the sword
Balmung, and thought of nothing but the bewitch-
ing sounds. Then he sang of things great and
good, and of things beautiful and true ; of Odin,
the earth's preserver, the giver of life, the foe of
darkness and error ; of the heaven-tower of Thor,
the thunder-god, and of the .-Vsa-bridgc, all afire ; of
the elves, and the river-sprites, and the handsome
hill-folk : and of the four dwarfs who hold up the
blue sky-dome above the earth. Lastly, he sang
of hidden treasures, and of giants and dragons,
and of heroes and fair ladies and noble deeds, and
of the land of mists and shadows, and of a long
and happy life and an honored old age.
When he had ended his song he laid his harp
aside, and to the eager little company that sat
around liim he told the story of
THE HOARD OF THE SWARTHY ELVES.
Long time ago, the Asa-folk were wont to leave
their home on the heaven-towering Asgard mount-
ain, and to visit the earth much oftcner than now.
Sometimes Odin, as a beggar, wandered from one
country to another, craving charity ; sometimes as
:i warrior, clad in coat-of-mail, he rode forth to
battle against evil-doers ; or, as a minstrel, he
sang from door to door, and played sweet music
in the halls of the great; or, as a huntsman, he
dashed through fens and into forests, and climbed
steep mountains in search of game. And again
and again did the people entertain him unawares.
Once on a time he came to earth with Hoenir
and Loki ; and the three wandered through many
484
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERTSf MYTHS.
[April,
countries, distributing gifts wherever they went.
Odin gave knowledge and strength ; Hcenir gave
gladness and good cheer ; but Loki's gifts were
deceit and strife, and a bad heart. At last, grow-
ing tired of the fellowship of men, they sought the
solitude of the forest, and in the forms of huntsmen
wandered among the wooded hills of Hunaland.
Late one afternoon they came to a mountain
stream, at a place where it poured over a ledge of
rocks and fell in clouds of spray into the valley be-
low. As they stood and, with pleased eyes, gazed
upon the water-fall, they saw near the bank an
otter, lazily preparing to eat a salmon that he had
caught. And Loki, ever bent on doing mischief,
hurled a stone at the harmless beast and killed it.
Then he boasted loudly that he had done a skillful
deed ; and he took both the otter and the fish
which it had captured, and carried them with him
as trophies of the day's success. At night-fall the
hunters came to a farm-house in the valley, and
asked for food and for shelter during the night.
" Shelter you shall have," said the farmer,
whose name was Hreidmar. "But food have I none
to give you. Surely, huntsmen of skill should not
want for food, since the forest teeins with game,
and the streams are full of fish."
Then Loki threw upon the ground the otter and
the fish, and said : " We have taken from forest
and stream, at one blow, both flesh and fish.
Give us but the shelter you promise, and we shall
not trouble you for food."
The farmer gazed with horror upon the lifeless
body of the otter, and cried out :
" This creature which you mistook for an otter,
and which you have robbed and killed, is my son
Oddar, who, for mere pastime, had taken the
form of the furry beast. You are but thieves and
murderers ! "
Then he called aloud for help ; and his two sons,
Fafnir and Regin, sturdy, valiant kin of the dwarf-
folk, rushed in, and, seizing upon the huntsmen,
bound them hand and foot. For the three Asas,
having taken the forms of men, had no more than
human strength, and were unable to withstand
their assailants. Then Odin and his fellows be-
moaned their ill-luck, and Loki said: " Where-
fore did we foolishly take upon ourselves the
likenesses of puny men ? Had I my own powei
once more, I would never part with it in exchange
for man's weakness."
And Hoenir sighed, and said: "Now, indeed,
will darkness win, and the cold breath of the
Frost-giants will blast the fair handiwork of the
sunlight and the heat. For the givers of life and
light and warmth are helpless prisoners in the
hands of these men."
" Surely," said Odin, " not even the highest are
free from obedience to heaven's behests, or to the
laws of right. 1, whom men call the Preserver of
Life, have lowered myself by being found in bad
company ; and, although 1 have done no other
wrong, I suffer rightly for the doings of this mis-
chief-maker, with whom I have stooped to have
fellowship. For all are known, not so much by
what they are, as by what they seem to be, and
they share in the bad fame of their comrades.
Now am I fallen from my high estate. Eternal
right is higher than 1 ; and, in the twilight of
the gods, I shall meet the dread Fenriswolf;*
but the world will be made new again, and then
the shining Balder will rule in sunlight majesty
forever. "
Not long afterward, the Asas asked Hreidmar,
their captor, what ransom they must pay to become
free ; and he, not knowing who they were, an-
swered : "I must first know what ransom you are
able to give."
"Anything you ask," hastily answered Loki.
Hreidmar then called his sons, and bade them
strip the skin from the otter's body.^ When this
was done, they brought the furry hide and spread
it upon the ground ; and Hreidmar said to the
Asas : " Give me shining gold and precious stones
enough to cover every part of this otter-skin.
When you have paid this ransom, you shall have
your freedom."
"That we will do," answered Odin; " but one
of us must have leave to go and fetch the treasure.
The other two will stay, fast bound, until day-
dawn. If by that time the gold is not here, you
may do with us as you list."
Hreidmar and the two young men, his sons,
accepted Odin's offer, and, lots being cast, it fell
to Loki to go and fetch the treasure.
When he had been unloosed from the cords that
bound him, Loki donned the magic shoes, which
had carried him over land and sea from the farthest
limits of the mid-world, and went forth upon his
errand. With the swiftness of light, he sped over
the hills, and the wooded slopes, and the deep,
gloomy valleys, and the fields and forests and sleep-
ing hamlets, until he came to the place where
dwelt the Swarthy Elves, and the cunning dwarf
Andvari. There the river Rhine, no larger than
a meadow-brook, breaks forth from beneath a
mountain of ice, which the Frost-giants and blind
old Hoder, king of the winter months, had raised
long years before. For they had vainly hoped that
thus they might imprison the river at its fountain-
head. But the baby-brook had eaten its way
beneath the frozen mass, and sprung out from its
prison and gone on, leaping and smiling, and kiss-
* The early Norsemen believed the time would come when Odin should be slain by a monster called the Fenriswoll,
and that then Balder, the pure, would reign over a sinless and happy world.
isai.i
STORIES FROM TlIK N O RT 11 K K N MYTHS.
485
ing the sunlight, ever widening its course as it ran
toward Burgundy and the sea.
Loki had come to this spot, because he knew that
it was the home of the elves, and that great wealth
of hidden treasures lay somewhere near. He
scanned with careful eyes the mountain-side, and
the deep, rocky caverns, and the dark gorge through
which the little river rushed ; but in the dim moon-
light not a living being could he see, save a lazy
salmon swimming in the quieter eddies of the
white-veiled Waves, playing in the moonlight neai
the shore. Of them he asked the way to ^gir's
hall.
"Seven days' journey westward," said they,
"beyond the green isle of Erin, is our father's
hall. Seven days' journey northward, on the
bleak Norwegian shore, is our father's hall." And
they stopped not once in their play, but rippled
and danced on the shelving beach, or dashed with
force against the shore.
i.OKi nrr.s kan
HKK MAGICAI. NEr.
Stream. Anj' one but Loki would have lost all
hope of finding treasure there, at least before the
dawn of day. But his wits were quick, and his
eyes were very sharp.
" One salmon has brought us into this trouble,
and another shall help us out of it ! " he cried.
Then, swift as thought, he sprang again into the
,air; and the magic shoes carried him, with greater
speed than before, down tlic Rhine valle>', and
through Burgundy land and the low meadows,
until he reached the shores of the great North Sea.
He sought the halls of old /Egir, the ocean-king.
But he wist not which way to go — whether across
the North Sea toward Isenland, or along the nar-
row channel between Britainland and the main.
While he paused, uncertain whither to turn, he
saw the pale-haired daughters of old /F.gir, the
the Queen of
" Where is your mother, Ran,
Ocean ? " asked Loki.
And they answered :
" In the deep sea-caves,
By the sounding shore :
In the dashing w.-ives,
When the wild storms roar:
In her cold, green bowers.
In the northern fiords;
She kirks and she glowers,
She grasps and she hoards,
And she sprc:id* her strong net for her prey."
Loki waited not to hear more, but he sprang
into the air, and the magic shoes carried him
onward over the water in search of the Occan-
([ueen. He had not gone far when his sharp eyes
espied her, lurking near a rocky shore, against
which the breakers dashed with frightful fury.
486
STORIES. FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[April,
Half-hidden in the deep, dark water, she lay wait-
ing and watching, and slie cunningly cast her net
upon the waves, and reached out with her long,
greedy fingers to seize whatever booty might come
near her. When the wary Queen saw Loki, she
hastily drew in her net, and tried to hide herself in
the shadows of an overhanging rock. But Loki
called her by name, and said :
" Sister Ran, fear not ! I am your friend, Loki,
whom once, as a guest, you served in the gold-lit
halls of ^gir."
Then the Ocean-queen came out into the bright
moonlight, and welcomed him to her domain,
and asked: "Why does Loki thus wander alone,
so far from Asgard, and oxer the trackless
waters ? "
And Loki answered: " I have heard of the net
which you spread upon the waves, and from which
no creature, once caught in its meshes, can ever
escape. I have found a salmon where the Rhine-
spring gushes from beneath the ice-mountain ; but
he is a cunning salmon, and no common skill can
catch him. Come, I pray, with your wondrous
net, and cast it into the stream where he lies. Do
but take the cunning fish for nie, and you shall
have more gold than )ou have taken in a year
from the wrecks of stranded vessels."
"1 dare not go!" cried Ran. "'A bound is
set, beyond which 1 may not venture. If all the
gold of earth were offered me, I could not go."
"Then, lend me your net!" entreated Loki.
" Lend me your net, and 1 shall bring it back to-
morrow, filled with gold."
" Much should 1 like your gold," answered Ran;
" but I can not lend my net. If 1 should do so,
I might lose the richest prize that has ever vent-
ured into my domains. For three days a gold-
rigged ship, bearing a princeh' crew with rich
armor and abundant wealth, has been sailing care-
lessly over these seas. To-morrow I shall send
my daughters and the bewitching mermaids to
decoy the vessel among these rocks. And into
my net the ship and the brave warriors and all
their armor and gold shall fall. A rich prize will
it be. No ! I can not part with my net even for a
single hour."
But Loki knew the power of flattering words.
"Beautiful Queen," said he, "there is no one
on earth, nor even in Asgard, that can equal you
in wisdom and foresight. But, I promise you, if
you will but lend me your net until the morning
dawns, the ship and the crew of which you speak
shall be yours, and all their golden treasures shall
deck your azure halls in the deep sea."
Then Ran carefully folded the net and gave it
to Loki. " Remember your promise ! " were the
only words she said.
"An Asa never forgets," he answered. And
he turned his face again toward Rhineland ; and
the magic shoes bore him aloft, and carried him
in a moment back to the ice-mountain and the
gorge and the infant river, which he had so lately
left. The salmon still rested in its place, and had
not moved during Loki's short absence.
Loki unfolded the net and cast it into the
stream. The cunning fish tried hard to avoid
being caught in its meshes. But, dart in whatever
direction he might, he always met the skillfully
woven cords ; and these drew themselves around
him and held him fast. Then Loki pulled the net
up, out of the water, and grasped the helpless fish
in his right hand. And lo ! as he held the strug-
gling creature high in air, it was no fish, but the
cunning dwarf Andvari.
"Thou King of the Elves ! " cried Loki, "thy
cunning has not saved thee. Tell me, on thy life,
where the hidden treasures lie."
The dwarf knew who it was that thus held him
as in a vise, and he answered frankly, for it was his
only hope of escape: "Turn over the stone upon
which you stand. In the cavity beneath it, you
will find the treasures you seek."
Then Loki put his shoulder to the rock and
pushed with all his might. But it seemed as firm
as the mountain, and would not be moved.
"Help me, thou cunning dwarf," cried he,
"help me, and thou shall have thy hfc."
Then the dwarf put his shoulder to the rock,
and it turned over as if by magic, and underneath
was a great store of gold and glittering diamonds,
such as no man had ever seen. And Loki, in
great haste, seized upon the hoard and placed it in
the magic net which he had borrowed from the
Ocean-queen. When he had taken it all, Andvari
again put his shoulder to the rock, and it swung
noiselessly back to its place.
" What is that upon thy finger?" suddenly cried
Loki. " Wouldst keep back a part of the ti'easure?
Give me the ring thou hast."
But the dwarf shook his head, and made an-
swer :
" I have given you all the riches which the elves
of these mountains have gathered since the world
began. This ring 1 can not give you ; for « ithout
its help we shall never be able to gather together
more treasures."
And Loki gre«' angry at these words of the
dwarf, and he seized the ring and tore it by force
from Andvari's finger. It was in the form of a
serpent coiled, with its tail in its mouth, and its
ruby eyes glittered with an evil light. \\'hen the
dwarf saw that Loki really meant to rob him of
the ring, he cursed it and all who at any time
should possess it, saying:
1 883.)
STORIES TROM Till". XORTIIKRX .MYTHS.
487
" May the ill-gotten treasure which you have
seized to-night be your bane, and the banc of all
who obtain it, either by fair means or by foul.
And the ring which you have torn from my hand,
may it entail upon the one who wears it, sickness
and sorrow, and loss of friends, and a violent
death ! "
Loki was pleased widi these words, and with the
dark curses which the dwarf pronounced upon the
gold. For he loved wrong-doing for wrong-do-
ing's sake, and he knew that no curses could ever
make his own life more cheerless than it always had
been. So he thanked Andvari for his curses and
his treasure, and throwing the magic net upon his
shoulder, he sprang again into the air, and was
carried swiftly back to Hunaland; and, just before
the dawn appeared in the east, he alighted at the
door of the farm-house where Odin and Hcenir
still lay, bound with thongs and guarded by Fafnir
and Regin.
Then the farmer brought the otter-skin, and
spread it upon the ground ; and lo ! it grew
and spread out on all sides, until it covered an
acre of ground. And he cried out :■
" Fulfill, now, your promise ! Cover every hair
of this hide with gold or with precious stones. If
you fail to do this, then your lives, by your own
agreement, are forfeited, and we shall do with you
as we choose."
Odin took the magic net from Loki's shoulder,
and opening it, he poured the treasures of the
Swarthy Elves upon the otter-skin ; and Loki
spread the gold and jewels carefully and evenly over
every part of the furry hide. But after every piece
had been laid in its place, Hreidmar saw near the
otter's mouth a single hair uncovered ; and he
declared that unless this hair, too, were covered,
the bargain would be unfulfilled, and the treasure,
as well as the lives of his prisoners, would be for-
feited. And the Asas looked at one another in
dismay ; for not another piece of gold and not
another precious stone could be found in the net,
although they searched it over and over with the
greatest care.
At last, Odin took from his bosom the ring
which Loki had stolen from the dwarf; for he had
been so highly pleased with its workmanship
that he had hidden it, hoping it would not be
needed to complete the payment of the ransom.
And he laid the ring upon the uncovered hair,
and, now, no portion of the otter's skin could be
seen. And Fafnir and Regin, seeing that the
ransom had been paid, loosed the shackles of
Odin and Hcenir, and bade the three huntsmen go
on their way.
Odin and Hocnir at once shook off their human
disguises, and hastened with all speed back to
Asgard. But Loki tarried a little while, and said
to the farmer and his sons :
" By your avarice and falsehood you have won
for yourselves the Curse of the Earth, which lies
before you. It shall be your bane; it shall be the
bane of every one who holds it. It shall kindle
strife between father and son, between brother and
brother. It shall make you mean, selfish, brutal.
It shall transform you into monsters. Such is
gold, and such it shall ever be to its worshipers.
And the ring which your greediness has secured
for you, shall give to its possessor its own qualities.
Grasping, snaky, cold, unfeeling shall he live ; and
through treachery shall he die ! "
Then he turned and hastened northward toward
the sea ; for he wished to redeem the promise that
he had made to the Ocean-queen, to return her
magic net, and to decoy the richly laden ship into
her clutches.
No sooner were the strange huntsmen well out
of sight than Fafnir and Regin began to ask their
father to divide the glittering hoard with them.
" By our strength," they said, "and through our
advice, this great store has come into your hands.
Let us place it in thred equal heaps, and then let
each take his share and go his way."
At this the farmer waxed very angry, and he
loudly declared that he would keep all the treasure
for himself, and that his sons should not have any
portion of it whatever. So Fafnir and Regin,
nursing their disappointment, went to the fields to
watch their sheep ; but their father sat down to
guard his new-gotten treasure. And he took in
his hand the glittering serpent-ring, and gazed
into its cold, ruby eyes ; and, as he gazed, all his
thoughts were fixed upon his gold, and there was
no room in his heart for love toward his fellow-
men, nor for will to do deeds of kindness, nor for
the worship of the great All-Father. And, as he
continued to look at the snaky ring, behold, a
dreadful change came over him. The warm, red
blood, which until this time had leaped through his
veins and given him life and strength and human
feelings, became purple and cold and sluggish ;
and selfishness, hke serpent-poison, took hold of
his heart, 'fhen, as he kept on gazing at the
hoard which lay before him, he began to lose his
human shape ; his body lengthened into many
scaly folds, and he coiled himself around his loved
treasures — the very image of the ring upon which
he had looked so earnestly.
When the day was drawing to a close, Fafnir
came back from the fields with his herd of sheep,
and thought to find his father guarding the treas-
ure, as he had left him in the mornmg. But,
in his stead, he saw a glittering snake, fast asleep,
encircling the hoard like a huge, scaly ring of gold.
488
WATER POWER.
[April,
His first thought was that the monster had
devoured his father; and, hastily drawing his sword,
with one blow he severed the serpent's head from
its body. And then, forgetting everything except
the gleaming gold, he gathered up the hoard and
fled with it, beyond the hills of Hunaland, until,
on the seventh day, he came to a barren heath far
from the homes of men. There he placed the
treasure in one glittering heap ; and he gazed with
greedy eyes upon the fatal ring, until, at length,
he, too, was changed into a great, cold monster —
a huge and fearful dragon. And he donned the
terrible Helmet of Dread, the like of which the
world has never seen ; and he coiled himself about
his loved gold, and lay for ages upon the Glittering
Heath, watching with sleepless eyes the heaped-up
treasures of the Swarthy Elves.
When Regin, the younger of the two brothers,
came back to his father's dwelling, and saw the
dead serpent and the place where the treasure had
lain, he knew that either his father or Fafnir had
outwitted him, and carried the precious hoard
away. And his heart was filled with bitterness
and anger, and a strange fear came over him, and
he left everything behind him and fled in haste
from Hunaland. For a great many years he wan-
dered from one land to another, gathering wisdom
wherever he went, and teaching men the lore of the
earlier days.
But a restless longing filled his soul — a longing
to gaze once more upon the glittering hoard which
his brother was guarding in the desert. Then, as
an old, old man, he came to live with the Volsung
folk, where he was known as the wisest of men,
the most skillful of smiths, and the most pleasing
of musicians. And it is said, in some of our
northern songs, that it was he, and not Mimer,
who fostered and taught Siegfried.
The sound of the harper's voice ceased for a few
moments; but soon he took his harp and played a
wild melody, and sang a song of the sea. And
the listeners seemed to hear the rushing waves as
they beat against the shore, and the whistUng
winds, and the driving sleet, and the shriek of
frightened sea-birds, and the calls of seamen in
distress. And Ingeborg crept close to her father's
side and trembled with fear ; but RoUo's face
lighted up with a glad smile, as of a strong man
facing danger, for he longed to become a sea-king,
and to brave the perils of the deep.
Then Leif, whose thoughts had not been drawn
auay from the story, said quietly :
" I think I can guess what became of the
dragon. Father says that by putting two facts
together we may often come to right conclusions in
regard to other facts. So, putting the two stories
together, I conclude that one of the first of Sieg-
fried's good deeds was to slay Fafnir on the Glitter-
ing Heath."
" How very wise is our thinker ! " cried RoUo.
" And he is right," said the jarl.
"But did Siegfried get all those treasures?"
asked Ingeborg.
" Perhaps the thinker can put two other facts
together, and draw a right conclusion on that
point? " said Rollo, with a sly glance toward Leif.
'■ Not yet," answered Leif. " But I see from
Father's smile that he is ready to tell us more
about Siegfried, and I think if we listen closely
we may learn from him what became of the
treasures. "
(To be continued.')
WATER POWER.
• By Joel Stacy.
■ Oh, listen to the water-mill ! " I made it all myself.
Out of some odds and ends 1 found upon the tool-house shelf.
It's what they call an "overshot," and always works, of course.
If you have the luck of getting at a stream of any force.
The only trouble 's this, — it 's struck me only now, —
That when the folks see what I 've done there '11 be a precious row ;
And the style of punishment i '11 get, now, probable as not.
Will be, just like my water-wheel, a sort of overshot.
I883.J
W A T !•: R P () W K K .
489
If 't would only keep on raining, — d' ye know? — I have a notion
This water-whccl of mine would make a good perpetual motion ;
But the bother is, a fellow can't depend upon the weather,
For it never rains in April days for two half-hours together.
I wonder what I 'd better do ; it 's going to clear this minute !
Dear me ! 1 wish 1 had n't ! The very mischief 's in it !
If I take it down, they '11 all declare I 've gone and spoiled the pillar;
And if I leave it where it is, I '11 hear from Aunt Priscilla !
Phew ! " Listen to the water-mill ! " and hear it spin and spatter !
As long as I am having fun, perhaps it does n't matter;
For if I was n't doing this, there really is no knowing
What mischief 1 'd be up to: — Just hear that wheel a-going!
Vol. IX.— 32.
490
LORD MALAPERT OF MOONSHINE CASTLE.
[APRIL^
COMEDIES FOR CHILDREN.
By E. S. Brooks, Author of " The Land of Nod," etc.
I. LORD MALAPERT OF MOONSHINE CASTLE.
PERSONS IN THE PLAY.
Lord Malapert. Cicely.
The Seneschal. Mariana.
The Man in the Moon.
Flick. Flock.
Maids of Honor. Guards and Vassals.
[Argument: Mistress Cjcelv, from overmuch reading of fairy
tales, dreams more of what she would like to be and like to have,
than of what she is and has. A curious adventure recalls her to
herself and shows her that contentment is better than wealth, and
that what we are is often better than what we think we should like
to be.)
COSTUMES, PROPERTIES, ETC.
Lord Malapert: Boy of '14. Fancy court suit, over which he
wears, at first, a modem duster or ulster, and traveling-cap.
The Seneschal of the Castle : Boy of 16- Sober-colored court
suit, white wig and beard : long staff; heavy gilt chain on neck ;
belt and large bunch of keys. Pompous and important manner.
The Man in the Moon: Boy of 13. Dull-brown tights and
stnckings ; short blouse: long cape; Phrygian cap ; long beard ;
spectacles, cane, and bag ; piece of cake for porridge.
Cicely : Bright girl of 11 or 12. Pretty modem dress.
Mariana, and three Maids of Honor: Girls of 12. Semi-fairy
dresses ; wings : wands ; wreaths in hair.
Flick and Flock : Boys of 6 or 8. Fancy dresses if possible,
or may be dressed as oriental mutes, — blacked skin; white suit
For the Chorus of Guards and Vassals: Fancy and fairy
dresses.
THE SCENERY.
Stage set at first as garden scene. Imitation green mound or
fancy garden chair at right toward front of scene. A heavy green
curtain should hang behmd this and across the stage ; this curtain,
parting at the time indicated, discloses the castle.
The castle can be made of paper or cloth on light frames. It
should be castellated, with open door-way and steps in front. But as
no one enters, the castle need not be strongly built. The stage set-
ting can be left to the taste and facilities of the managers.
THE MUSIC.
Appropriate music should be played as accompaniment and
during waits. The airs for the choruses can be selected by any
one familiar with pretty or popular airs. So, too, if there are good
singers in the cast, some solos can be arranged, and thus give variety
to the performance.
THE PLAY.
[Low Music]
Cicely discovered — or she may enter and seat herself — reading
a book. Lost in reverie, she lets the book fall from her lap, and,
clasping her hands behind her head, says (or sings) ruefully :
Cicely:
Oh, life is so dreary, and life is so dull,
And life is so weary withal;
Nor pleasures can cheer nie, nor slumbers can lull,
Nor can I lost day-dreams recall.
The sun may shine brigluly, the daisies may gleam, —
To me, though, it mattereth not.
The winds that blow lightly oft sour the cream.
And the sun on the daisies is hot.
I sigh for the hopeless ; I yearn for a sphere ;
I am waiting for something to come.
Our dolls are but sawdust, and hfe 's but a tear;
I am sick of the world's prosy hum.
No prince comes to wake me — all glittering and tall ;
No fairies will rise at my need.
Oh, come. Prince, and take me from dull duty's thrall !
."^h, no ? Then I '11 dream as 1 read.
[AVrjA aloud.'\ "Then the Prince, all glittering in
his silver suit, walked rapidly up the palace corridors,,
past the guards and soldiers, past the vassals and retain-
ers, past the courtiers, the lords and the ladies, past the
King and the Queen — all fast asleep — to where on a
golden couch the beautiful Princess lay, wrapped in a
death-like slumber. Marveling much at her wondrous
beauty, the Prince bent over the closed lids and, all
trembling with eagerness, kissed the half-opened lips.
" With brazen clangor the palace clock struck the hour
of noon. There was a start, a murmur, a sudden
awakening, ^ing. Queen, and court threw off their cent-
ury sleep, and passed to their several duties. But the
Princess, meeting the beaming eyes of the brave and
handsome Prince, recognized at once the hero of her
dream, and greeted him with an entrancing smile. Then,,
rising quickly from her couch, a charming blush suffus-
ing her beautiful face, she took his hand, and leading him
to the King, her father, said :
" ' Behold, my Lord, the husband whom the fairies
have sent me ! '
" And the King, looking upon the young Prince, loved
him so exceedingly that he gave them both his blessing.
" So the gallant Prince and the beautiful Princess were
married with great pomp and ceremony, and lived hap-
pily together ever after."
Cicely sits in reverie a moment, and then says, sadly :
Heigh ho, so the world goes !
How dreary my years !
What bliss if the fables were true !
But the world is so dull
With its hopes and its fears —
I will sleep and will dream. Prince, of you.
[Steeps. "]■
[^ Enter Lord M.^lapert, in traveling costume ; ear-
pet-bag in one hand, compass in the other.
Lord M. :
This way my fairy compass points ;
This way the stars have led;
l.Okl) MAl.ArKKT OF MOONSHINK CASTLE.
491
This way [se^s Cicely] — ah, yes, the stars
are right —
There rests a maiden's head.
What ho, my trusty servitors !
[Enter Klick witJi rifle, and Flock with fishing-rod. ]
My vassals tried and true !
Bear quickly off my carpet-bag.
My rod and rifle, too.
Here mortal game lies handier
Than fisli, or bird, or deer.
Wait till you hear my whistle call,
Then haste ye quickly here.
[Flick and Flock exeunt with bag, rod, etc. ]
Lord M., investigating :
S. girl ? A pearl ! .And I am sent
To set her life in tune.
To soothe her with my blandishment
And take her — to the Moon.
For only there (so fairy lore
This truth doth well profess)
Can eartli's confirmed repiners find
Their highest happiness.
Now, Fairy Guardians, while I kneel
Before this sleeping maid.
In silvery streams
Pour o'er her dreams
Your moonstruck serenade.
[Kneels at head 0/ couch. ]
(See prefatory note about music.)
Chorus, behind the curtain :
Where moonbeams glow
On hills of snow,
And twinkling star-lamps flutter ;
Where moonbeams pale.
In .-izure, sail
Beyond the uttermost utler ;
There, Dreamer fair.
On golden stair.
Wide opes the palace portal ;
And at the gales
The Prince awaits
His mooning, maiden mortal.
Pale moon.
Sail, moon.
To the uttermost utter;
-Soon shine.
Moon, shine,
Where the star-lamps flutter.
Lord M.\l.\pert, rising ■
Now, fairy spell.
Work true and well.
Let earth-born needs forsake her ;
O Lady Moon,
Our lives attune.
As by this kiss I wake her I
[Kisses her.'\
Cicely, starting:
Oh, what was that ?
Lord M. :
'T was I.
Cicely :
Why, who are you ?
Lord M., benving lor,u :
Your fond admirer.
.\h, mv dream is true !
Cicely :
Lord M. :
Behold your slave !
At home, both peer and vassal.
[ Throws off duster, and displays his princely costume. ]
Hail me — Lord -Malapert of Moonshine Ca.stle !
Cicely :
O-o-oh ! -And you 've come ?
Lord M. :
To bear you far away.
Where over azure seas
The moonbeams play;
And all our lives shall be one twilight story.
While o'er our palace streams the Moon's pale glory.
Cicely :
What ! Can I leave this earth, so dull and prosy,
For palace halls and life all fair and rosy ?
Lord M. :
Ay, that you can, and find your humblest vassal
In me — Lord Malapert of Moonshine Caslle.
[Bffws.'^
Cicely :
Then am I ready. To the Moon I '1! flee,
Dearest Lord Malapert, to rule with thee.
How shall we go ?
Lord M. :
Not in the steam-cars tropic.
With quarters cramped and comforts microscopic ;
Not by slow stages nor unsafe balloon
Shall we attain our jjalace in the Moon ;
But by his private air-line will your vassal
Bear Lady Malapert to Moonshine Castle.
[Whistles.^
What ho, my trusty servitors !
Bring rifle, rod, and bag;
Come hither, Flick ; come hither, Flock.
Let not your footsteps lag.
[Enter Flick and Flock hearing the Magic Carpet — a
bright piece of carpeting some three feet square, with
long cord and fancy tassel at upper left-hand and
right-hand corners.
'T is well. Now, spread upon the earth
V'our wondrous roll ; and soon
We '11 on our M.igic Carpet soar
Serenely to the Moon.
[They unroll the carpet. Ix)RD Mai,ai'ERT conducts Cicely, who
scats herself upon the carpel, while he kneels beside her, and
Flick and Flock stand behind, each at a corner, and hold the
tassels. Arrange the group in as pretty a tableau a-s possible.
492
LORD MALAPERT OF MOONSHINE CASTLE.
[April,
Lord M. :
Now Flick, now Flock, your stations take;
Hold each a steering-tassel;
While Lord and Lady Malapert
Mount up to Moonshine Castle.
[7;7Mv»«.]
[Chori's begins behind the curtain. Curtain slowly parts, disclos-
ing Moonshine Castle with Gl-ards, Vassals, and Maids of
Honor prettily grouped in front : Seneschal in middle.
Chorus of Welcome:
[See Music Note.]
Where the twilight hues are flushing
All the sky with amber light,
Where the winds are rushing, rushing.
Through the portals of the night ;
There, the dying sunset paling,
With our moonbeams weird and wan,
Joy we o'er the daylight failing,
As our welcome echoes on.
Hail ye ! Hail ye !
Welcome home !
Lord and lady, welcome home !
[As the chorus ceases, Lord Malapert conducts Cicely to a seat
at left, and Flick and Flock gather up the carpet.
Lord M., stanJiiighy Cicely's «</<■.•
Thus, fairest Cicely, doth every vassal
Welcome the Malaperts to Moonshine Castle.
Cicely:
Oh, this is life ! Good-bye to earth's dull duty.
This is my palace; this my realm of beauty.
Seneschal, -with imfortajit manner, advaming andbmv-
ing low:
Most noble lord and lady,
Your humble Seneschal
With pleasure bids you welcome
To Moonshine Castle's hall.
I speak for all the Moon-folk
Our words of hearty cheer.
On this, your glad home-coming.
Your vassals' greeting hear : — —
Where mighty Tycho's * summits
Uplift their peaks of snow.
Where gray Serenitatis *
In moonlight gleams below ;
From where great Sinus Iridum
Its highland bulwark rears,
To where on Mare Crisium *
The verdure-belt appears;
From rock and plain and crater,
From caverns vast and deep.
From town and hall and castle,
And lava-covered steep.
The notes of joy upswelling
In sounding chorus come.
To lord and lady telling
A happy welcome home.
Within, the banquet waits you;
Without, the moonbeam flirts:
Welcome to Moonshine Castle,
Home of the Malaperts !
Lord M. :
Thanks, worthy Seneschal ;
But, ere we seek the hall,
I must affairs of state
In council contemplate.
Tell me, I pray you, then,
Wisest of serving-men.
Can you no maiden fair
(Child of the moonlight rare)
Into a maid convert
For Lady Malapert?
Se.n'eschal, pointing to Mariana:
Here 's Mariana, — w'irh her sisters three.
Lord M. :
Your Maids of Honor, dearest Cicely.
Cicely :
Thanks to your lordship for your care of me.
Seneschal :
Go, maidens all ;
Wait on your lady fair.
[ They stand bfhmd CICELY'S c/iair.'\
Mariana :
Gladly the task we '11 share.
Seneschal, bowing to Cicely :
None can with her compare !
Cicely, with dignity :
Thanks, Seneschal.
Lord M. :
Here, with your ladies, wait.
While the affairs of state
Briefly I now debate
In council hall.
Cicely :
Stay not too long, I pray !
Lord M., kissing her hand :
Adieu !
Seneschal :
Cicely :
My lady may
Here with much comfort stay.
Thanks, Seneschal.
\^Exeunt Seneschal and all but Maids of Honor anel
Flick and Flock.
Cicely :
I have my wish! Now am I queen at last;
How dismal seem the duties of the past.
Here may I reign in joy ; here all I hold —
Fair Mariana, does it not seem cold ?
Mariana :
Oh, no, my lady, — warm, it seems to me.
Our rare Moon climate can not milder be.
Cicely :
I feel quite chilly ; kindly throw your shawl
Over my shoulders.
' Mountains, plains, and valleys in the Moon.
LORD MALATERT OV M f ) o N S H I X E CASTLE.
493
I have none at all.
Mariana :
Cicely :
No shawls nor wraps?
Mariana :
Why, dearest lady, no.
We need no wrappings as do you below.
Here heat and cold to us seem not to matter.
Iff feel no changes.
CiCF.l.Y :
How my teeth do chatter '.
And I am hungry. Ladies, I entreat.
Kindly procure me something good to eat.
Mariana, puzzled:
To eat ? Why, dearest lady, what is that ?
Cicely, in despair:
Oh, what is what?
Mariana :
To eat?
Cicely :
Why, every cat
Knows that to eat is to stay hunger's craving.
Mariana, complacently:
We know no hunger.
Cicely, indignantly:
How you are behaving!
Of course you cat ; why, you miisl eat to live.
Mariana:
We feast our eyes, but naught our bodies give.
Cicely :
Oh, I shall die 1 What 's in the banquet-hall ?
Mariana :
Here Flick, quick. Flock — run for the Seneschal!
Seneschal, entering hurriedly :
What now ?
Mariana:
Our lady 's dying of despair.
Cicely :
Show me, O Seneschal, your bill of fare.
Seneschal:
The menu for the banquet? Here!
[Produces roll.']
Cicely :
Oh, read!
What does it offer ? Let me know with speed !
Seneschal, with gusto, reading menu :
.Ahem ! First : Moonbeams served on amber ice.
Next: Lunar rainbows — for each guest a slice.
Then — liquid moonshine, crowned with frozen sauce.
With cups of night-dew make a luscious course.
.■\nd — for dessert: bright starlight, clear and cold.
With rays of moonlight served on plates of gold.
Cicely, shivering :
Oh, horrible ! Oh, for our kitchen table !
Seneschal :
I trust your ladyship to feast is able.
Cicely, pettishly :
No, I am star\nng.
Mariana:
Starving ?
Quickly cut her
Seneschal:
Mariana :
.■\ slice of moonshine?
Cicely :
No — of bread and butter!
Oh, is there nothing in the Moon to eat ?
Seneschai, pointing to menu :
Why, is there nothing in this princely treat ?
Cicely, disgusted :
V\Tiat ? Frozen moonbeams heaped on icy hummocks !
Mariana, indignantly:
We feast our eyes: you earth-folk — cram your
stomachs !
Cicely :
Would I were on the earth ! 1 'm cold and starving ;
1 'd give my palace to see I'apa carving.
Mariana:
What can we do?
Cicely :
Oo call my lord.
Mariana:
What, what, my lady ? From the council-board ?
Seneschal :
Fairies and Moon-folk all have work to do.
We have our duties quite a.s well as you.
Pray be content — forget your earth-born cravings.
Cicely :
1 'm cold and hungry — can I live on shavings ?
Slices of moonbeams may for fairies do.
Oh, for the meanest home-dish — hash or slew!
Mariana :
There 's a man in the Moon,
So I 've heard people say.
Who once went to the earth
I?y a roundabout way,
And perhaps he may know
Cicely, interrupting :
Oh, then, Flock, and then Flick,
Find the man, I implore.
And return with him. Quick !
\_Sinks back in her chair. Exeunt Flick and Flock.]
Mariana, to Seneschal, hotk coming forward :
There, worthy Seneschal ;
That 's what 1 said.
Mortals and Moon-folk
Should never be wed ;
494
LORD MALAPERT OF MOONSHINE CASTLE.
[April,
What with their earth-born cravings and misgivings,
They can^t appreciate our higher livings ;
Why, the Moon's meanest slave and humblest vassal
Is fitter far to rule in Moonshine Castle.
Seneschal:
Peace, Mariana ! Question not the cause.
The fairies tell us, in their simple laws,
That those dissatisfied with earth, must be
By bitter lessons taught the truth to see.
Contentment, so they say, than wealth is better ;
He who would read must first learn every letter.
\^Enter Flick arid Flock, with the Man in the
Moon.
Cicely :
Well, Flick ; well, Flock ; found you the one you went
for?
Flick and Flock, together :
Ah, yes, my lady ; here 's the man you sent for.
Man in the Moon :
I 'm the Man in the Moon,
Who once went down too soon.
To inquire the way to Norwich ;
And I found, I may say.
Nothing nice on the way
But a morsel of cold plum-porridge.
For the Man in the South,
Who had just burnt his mouth
By eating this cold plum-porridge.
Said: "The earth is no good;
I 'd return, if I could, —
You '11 never be happy in Norwich."
So, back to the Moon
I returned very soon,
Nor troubled myself about Norwich :
But the Man in the South —
WTio had just burnt his mouth —
Made me take off his cold plum-porridge.
Cicely :
Give me a piece !
Seneschal:
Cease, lady, cease ;
For here 's my lord returning.
LORDM.: Why, Cicely!
What 's this I see ?
Cicely, running tcnunrd him :
For porridge I am yearning.
Lord M. :
I thought your earth-born needs had fled.
When to the Moon we scurried.
Cicely, petulantly :
Would I were back on earth again, —
I 'd never more be worried.
Lord M. :
What ! Leave your palace and your court
For dull earth's duller duties?
Cicely :
Ah, yes ! In them there 's more of sport
Than 'midst your moonlight beauties.
I thought to find supreme delight
In this ethereal station;
I 'm hungry, cold, and homesick in
Your unsubstantial nation.
You feast on shades and shadows here —
You 've neither warmth nor feeling.
Oh, send me back to earth again! ^
My grief there 's no concealing.
LordM. : IWeeps.l^
You 're here, my dear ; and fairy laws
.•\dmit of no reversal ;
The fairies meant your discontent
To be the last rehearsal.
Here you have come, here must you stay, —
'T is ordered so, and fated ;
So, dry your tears — in forty years
You may be acclimated.
Cicely :
Forty years ! Dear, oh, dear !
What words do I hear ? —
But, please, may n't he give me some porridge?
Man in the Moon, confidentially to Lord M. :
I 'm the Man in the Moon,
Who once went down too soon
To inquire the way to Norwich
Lord M., li^aving him off:
Oh, I 've heard that before ;
You 're a tedious old bore.
With your story of cold plum-porridge.
Cicely :
Bid him give me a piece.
That my hunger may cease.
Man in the Moo.v:
Here 's a slice, lady, brought from Norwich.
Chorus of Warning:
[See Music Note.]
Stay, stay, stay!
Turn her hand away !
Whoso eats the porridge leaves our moonlit halls.
Pray, pray, pray.
Send the man away;
If she eats the porridge, down to earth she falls.
Cicely, snatching porridge and taking a bite :
I have eaten ! I 'm free \
How rejoiced I shall be
WTien down to the earth I am dropping .'
Oh ! I 'm dizzy ! I freeze !
Good-bye, Moon-folk ! Now, please.
Let me tumble straight home without stopping.
\_Falls into Lord M.'s arms — asleep.'\
Lord M. :
Here, Flock; here, Flick;
The carpel ! Quick!
[Flick and Flock spread Magic Carpet in cenicr-front.'\
Take each a steering-tassel.
Down, down, we go.
To earth below;
Good-bye to Moonshine Castle.
EASTER CARD.
495
£ Tableau as bi/orc. LORD M. supporting Cicely, ■while
the furtain closes during the following chorus :
Chorus of Farewell
(See Music Note]
Lord M. :
From the moonlighl
Through the >tarlight,
From the twilight to the clay ;
Ever falling, falling, falling.
To the sunlight and the day —
Fare thee well, for ever, ever ;
Mortal may not wed with fay.
Find content in duty's calling ;
Mortal may not wed with fay.
Fare tliee well, for ever, ever ;
Mortal may not wed with fay.
[ Curtain closes. ]
Now, Flick; now, Flock; the couch prepare;
We '11 lay the sleeping maiden there,
And, hastening fast away.
We 'II search for other dreaming maids,
Who sigh for princes, courts, and glades,
.\nd weep because the vision fades
While duty comes to stay.
\_Leads Cicely, still asleep, to couch or hank.'\
Rest, Maiden, in your home once more ;
Content with life, seek not to soar,
'But love and patience evermore
Still to your work be bringing.
For daily duty brightly done
Is half life's battle bravely won ;
Through parting clouds will brc.ik the sun
.•\nd set the birds a-singing.
What ho! my trusty servitors.
My vassals tried and true !
Come follow, follow, follow me —
We 've other work to do.
For duty comes, as duty must,
To Prince as well as vassal.
W.ike, Maiden! Vanish Malapert,
The Lord of Moonshine Castle!
\_Exeunt Lord M., Flick and Flock.]
Cicelv, waking:
Am I awake ? Oh, what a dream !
It seems so strange and queer
To be Where am I ? Oh, how nice
To know that home is here !
Ad-iances.'\
Well, life is life, and work is work,
And I will try to do
Whatever work life brings to me,
.\nd to myself be true.
I think that from this summer dream
I 've learned this lesson well :
Contentment is life's sweetest sauce
[Bell rings. ]
There goes the dinner-bell ! [./oy/nlly. ]
[Exit. ]
[cfRTAIN.]
EASTER CARD. — DRAWN BY ADDIE LEDVARD.
496
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
(April,
TAKING A WALK IN JAPAN.
By William Elliot Griffis.
On this page is a pict-ure of a mer-chant of Ja-pan out for a walk
with his Ht-tle girl.
What have they un-der their feet ?
These queer things are wood-en clogs, which they use be-cause it is
bad weath-er and the streets are mud-dy. In Ja-pan there are no brick,
or board, or flag-stone side-walks such as we have in our cit-ies ; so the
Ja-pan-ese put on clogs, which are four inch-es high and keep the feet
clean. When they go home, o tot-sii san (pa-pa) and mn-S2i-me (daugh-
ter) will leave their clogs at the door out-side, and walk in-to the house
in their stock-ing-feet.
See the odd shape in which the socks are made. The great toe has a
bag all to it-self The oth-er four toes have an-oth-er. The sock is like a
mit-ten. Just think of a mit-ten on the foot.
The Ger-mans call a glove a "hand-shoe,"
and a thim-ble a " fin-ger-hat." The Jap-a-
nese call the big toe the "foot-thumb," and
the small toes " foot-fin-gers." The chil-dren
play with the ba-by's pink-brown feet and
sing- a song while count-ing the toes, as
we do ; but in Ja-pan, the toes are not
"pigs go-ing to mar-ket," — they are mon-
keys, fox-es, or oth-er fun-ny an-i-mals.
The lit-tle girl's name is O-da-ma,
which means " Jew-el." Lit-tle Jew-el is
on-ly six years old. See how her fore-
head is shaved off like her pa-pa's, whose
queue lies on top of his head. See what
long, flow-ing sleeves both have. O-da-
ma's pock-et is in her sleeve. She keeps her treas-ures there. The out-
er side is sewed up, but the in-ner side is o-pen, and she can eas-i-ly
put her hand in to get things out.
See how she holds on to her fa-ther's lit-tle fin-ger. She looks half
a-fraid of us, or of the man who has tak-en her pict-ure for us. No
won-der her fa-ther has named her " Jew-el "; for he loves her very much,
and thinks she is the bright-est, pret-ti-est lit-tle girl in the world.
Dear \'kk-\ Lh-ii.k Folk : Ask your old-er broth-crs and sis-ters to
write for you nice lit-tle stor-ies, in eas-y words, a-bout a-ny or each one
of the pret-ty pict-ures on this page, and send them to Saint Nk iioi.as.
We will print in your pages the best two of these stor-ies that come
to us be-fore the First of May.
498
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[April,
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Good-morrow, my Spring Beauties ! Very glad
to see so many bright faces. Thought it was sun-
shine, but I see it 's going to rain. Never mind ;
it will clear off before we finish the subject of
BABY SPIDERS AT PLAY.
A WELL-KNOWN writer, in telling of the habits
of the spider, gives an account of a bit of spider-
play that your Jack happens never to have seen.
He says that the young of many kinds of spiders
have a funny way of amusing themselves on a
fine day in the fall. They will climb to some
high place, like a fence-post, stand on their tip-
toes, and turn their bodies up in the air with the
spinnerets open. The wind soon blows a thread
from the spinnerets, and it gets longer and longer
till it is strong enough to bear up the spider — two
or three yards long: then the little creatures let go
their hold, grasp the thread with their feet, and away
they go into the air for a sail.
Now, has any of you, my friends, ever seen this
baby-performance ? If so, write to Jack about it.
If not, be sure to keep a sharp lookout in the
future.
AN ADOPTED CHIPMUNK.
Dear Jack-in-the-PuI-PIt: I am ten years old and want to tell
you of something funny. My mamma found in the woods a little ball
with a kind of fuzz on it. It was alive, and had little, liny eyes, like
beads. She did n't know what it was. It had just been born, and
its mamma had gone away to get something for it to eat, I guess.
Well, Mamma put it in her pocket, and took it home. Then she
found out it was a chipmunk probably not two hours old. Mamma
fed it with a spoon, brought it up, and after a little time it grew to
be a small squirrel. It knew no other mamma e.xcept my mamma,
and acted just like a child. It slept at nights curled up in the pocket
of Papa's dressing-gown, and at daylight would go to Mamma in
bed, and poke her nose with one of its paws to wake her up.
Then it would scamper about and frolic, and play like a kitten.
It knew more than any dog. When Mamma used to sew or mend, it
would perch itself on her shoulder and sometimes on top of her
head, stand up on its hind legs and crack nuts, and sometimes
stretch out and go to sleep there. Then it would get mischievous, and
suddenly put one of its little paws down and pull Mamma's thread
out of herneedle. Sometimes it would sit on the window-sill, and
if it ^ot frightened at the sight of pussy in the yard, or at anything
else. It would squeal, and scamper off to Mamma as fast as its little legs
could carry it. Then it knew it was safe. In the early spring, when
the bugs began to crawl, it went out of the window one morning
early, Ijefore Mamma was awake, but its enemy, the cat, caught it.
It squealed for Mamma, but before she could reach it, poor little
" Chippy," as we called it, was killed. We buried it in a box in the
garden. Eddie A. Leet.
GROWING YOUNG AGAIN.
Some animals change their outer coats once a
year, and come forth in new and glossy clothing,
as I 've seen the pretty village girls do at Easter
time. The eagle gets a fresh set of feathers, the
royal stag grows newer and handsomer antlers,
and the Lady Earth puts on her spring garment of
green, and decks herself with delicate flowers, and
smiles up at the blue sky, and looks so beautiful that
the sun beams admiringly upon her, and all night
the stars twinkle their bright eyes at her in delight.
And your Jack, too, renews his youth and feels a
warmer and sweeter air about him, when the boys
and girls of the Red School-house begin to haunt
the brook-side and the woods again, and scamper
over the meadow, and send up shouts and ringing
laughter that set the birds a-caroling in their
perches swinging in the sun.
But I 've heard say, my dears, that human folk,
some of them, have a way of staying young all the
time ; and it appears to your Jack that their plan
must be even better than growing young again.
What puzzles me is how they do it. Perhaps one
of you will come softly up to my pulpit one of
these days, and whisper the secret to me.
THE CAT-CLOCK.
This, of course, is not a clock for cats. What
Cat, excepting Puss-in-Boots, ever cared to stop
purring or to open her eyes, merely to learn the
time of day ? No ; this was a cat that served as a
clock.
One day, when the French traveler, the Abbe
Hue, was Journeying in China, he stopped a boy
by the way-side, and asked him the time.
"Well, sir," said the lad, — but 1 suppose he
said it in Chinese, — "it is too cloudy to tell by the
sun, but if you '11 wait a moment " and away
he darted into a hut near by. He soon came
back, carrying in his arms a fine, lazy-looking cat.
Gently pushing up her eyelids with his fingers, he
said: "Look here, sir; you see, it is not noon
yet!"
But the good Abbe did not "see." However,
he thanked the boy and walked on, wondering
how in China a cat's eyes could help to tell the
time. A few days afterward he was told that the
pupils of a cat's eyes become narrow toward noon-
day, when each of them is like a fine line up and
down the eye, and that after twelve o'clock the
pupils grow large again.
This may or may not be the case, my dears,
with cats that live elsewhere than in China, and it
would be well to take good care of your own eyes
if you intend to look into the time-telling powers
of your pet pussies, — for a cat may be a good
clock, and yet not be good-tempered.
iSSs.]
JACK-I\-TIIK- rV I.IMT
499
SIEMPRE VIVA.
Dear Jack : I am told that, in crossing the " deserts " of Arizona
or New Mexico, or Southern Nevada, you may see little round
m-l-sscs rolled about by the wind, over the sandy plain. They arc
each as large, perhaps, as a very smalt orange, and look like balls of
tangled moss. If a thunder-shower should come, — a ntrc boon in
those deserts, — you would see the nc.\t day a large number of bright
green places, as large as breakfa.st plates, all about you on the sand.
These are what were yesterday the balls, all dry and withered. The
dry balls are often brought aw.iy by travelers, as curiosities, to sur-
prise their friends at home. In San Francisco you may buy them
readily in the sh')ps.
Put one on a plate, and till the plate with water, and then watch
the change. It is not immediate, out, after a time, you see the ball
begin to uncurl and spread out, and while it is doing this it grows
green. In the course of a few hours your plate is covered with a
fiat, CYipiisitely shaped and divided plant, as bright as may be.
Pour off the water, and in two days you have again your brown,
mossy ball. Strange, — is n't it? — but it is true. These pl.ants grow
only in such deserts, and need no roots going down into the ground.
The Mexicans call them Sietnprf I'h'a^ which means Always Liv-
ing: as some of our plants and flowers, which do not wither, are
called Everlasting, or, in the greenhouses. Immortelles.
W. O. A.
A LONG FAST.
Did you ever notice how slowly ;i snail moves,
just as if he were afraid the shell-house on his
back would tumble off if he were not careful ? Well,
I '11 tell you a secret. It is because he knows
he has plenty of time ! Snails are none
of your short-lived animals. They grow to
a good old age, considering their small size ;
and, what is more, they can go so long with-
out eating anything (1 mean anything that
human eyes can see) that they seem alw.ays
to have any amount of leisure on their hands.
1 'm told that a Mr. Simons, of Dublin, a
Fellow of the Royal Society, had some snails
in their shells in his cabinet that lived more
than twenty years without being fed, or ap-
pearing to eat anything at all. There they
staid, always on their good behavior, quiet
antl orderly as any other of the "specimens."
liut they may have had their own opinion
of Mr. Simons as a host, after all.
WHOLESOME MEDICINE.
De.VCON Green was pacing thoughtfully
up and down the path in my meadow, one
fair evening lately, when he bumped against
little Nelly Brown.
.She was studying some lesson from her
open book as she stumbled along. The little
maid was even paler than she usually be-
comes toward school-examination time ; but
the Deacon softly laid his hand on her head,
bade her shut her book, gave her a kind
word and a smile, and sent her home with the
knot smoothed out of her brow.
The next time he came down the path he met
the dear Little School-ma'am, and she was stepping
briskly along, her cheeks as rosy as the sunset.
.Said he :
"That little pale-faced Nelly Brown has just
gone by. She studies too hard, I 'm afraid. I wish
you could give her the recipe by which you keep
so well and cheery in spite of your hard work."
" Well, 1 will." said she, her face all smiling, like
my dimpled brook where the red rose droops over
it. " It 's fisliiui hii/i\ as you know, that works
the charm." Then she tripped away westward into
the glow that topped the hill.
" .-Xh ! " said the Deacon, as he stopped to watch
her. " It '?, fi's/i/hj Ictilc and good-will combined,'
1 think. But it 's a very pleasant kind of medicine
just to look at you : there 's not a doubt of that."
And then he walked away with a light step.
A GILDED LIBRARY.
Dear Jack: I wonder if the dear Little School-ma'am who tells
you so many things ever heard of the strange way that books
are placed in the library of the Escorial of Spain. In the first place,
the books arc Ixumd alike and gilded on the edges. Then the
names are placed on the gilt, and the edges turned out in the
shelves, which makes a very gay show — all gilding. G. T.
Thanks ! friend G. T. The Little .School-ma'am
says she had not heard of this. Now, who can
tell Jack more about this wonderful Escorial, or
Escurial, as the Little School-ma'am calls it ?
FEEDING AN ODD PET.
The pet was a bat, a creature half-mouse, half-
bird. But it looked so much like almost any-
thing else, that the gentleman who caught it called
to his companion, saying : " Come and sec the big
moth I have captured ! "
This bat was kept for some time in a room, and
was fed with meat chopped into tiny pieces and
offered to it on a bonnet-pin — as in the picture.
One day the maid picked up the poor little thing
by mistake among some scraps, thinking it was a
wad of old paper. Just as she was about to throw
it into the tire, the bat flew^ off, scaring her dread-
fully. At last a big, lazy bull-frog, which was
kept in the same room, swallowed the poor bat,
and that was the last of it.
[*See "Festina Lcntc," by Thomas Hughes, in St. Nicholas for February, 1877, — and '
J. T. Trowbridge, in St. Nichulas for April, 1877. — Eu.J
Good-will," by
500
THE LETTER-BOX.
[Apml,
REPORT CONCERNING THE HISTORICAL "PI."
New York, February 24, 1882
My Young Friends : The deed is done. At last all the solutions
of the " Historical Pi " have been examined, and the Committee, after
most carefully considering and weighing their comparative merits,
IS ready to report. Being one of the Committee myself, I freely
confess that it has done its work remarkably well, and in spite of
conflicting elements the result evinces fair play and a high sense of
honor. The fact is, my friend Timothy Plunkett is almost too ten-
der-hearted to be on any Committee ; then the blessed Little School-
ma'am is so fearfully intelligent and exact that no error can
escape her. Being justice personified, the little lady shakes an
emphatic "No" when Brother Plunkett pleads in behalf of a well-
wntten solution, with only three or four omissions, one or two addi-
tions, and a few misspelt words. I can not help feeUng she is
nght, until he adds, impressively, that the competitor is a poor little
workmg-giri with an invalid mother— or else a self-taught orphan
— or perhaps a Western farm-boy, who is busy in the fields and has
only four months' schoohng in the winter— or a lad away off in Scot-
land, who made ten solutions of the Pi before he succeeded in
getting this special result — and so on, as the case may be. Then
over I go to Brother Plunketfs side, until at last my vote is ren-
dered null and void by my being left in the minority, since "an his-
torical Pi" always should be corrected in strict accord with the
conditions set forth in Deacon Green's original offer.""
Fortunately there is the Roll of Honor, and a few of these children
who have done wonders, considering the peculiar difficulties under
which they worked, have been voted a place on it. But for this I
do believe Brother Plunkett would have withdrawn from the Com-
mittee. Alas, even the Roll of Honor can not satisfy us, for to put
in every name that we would be glad to insert, would make the
hstentu-ely too long to be printed in this magazine.
In concIiLsion, let me thank you, one and all, my dear young
fnends, for your help and the great interest you have taken. You
have made us very proud and happy. The one hundred new dollar-
bills shall go, at once, to the one hundred successful competitors
with the compliments of the committee. Your obedient servant,
Silas Green.
The Pi Corrected.
We propose to mention here a few of the worid's great generals,
inventors, discoverers, poets, and men of noted deeds.
Hannibal was born at Carthage, which city was so hated by Cato
that he rarely made a speech without .saying: "Carthage must be
destroyed ! " Of other noted generals, Julius Cajsar was a Roman ■
Frederick the Great was a Prussian ; Napoleon Bonaparte was a
Corsican ; and Ulysses S. Grant is an American.
It is believed that Galileo invented the telescope and discovered
the satelhtes of Jupiter and the revolution of the earth; that Isaac
Newton discovered the law of gravitation and William Harvey the
circulation of the blood : that James Watt invented the steam-en-
gine; George Stephenson, the locomotive; Robert Fulton, the steam-
boat; Samuel Morse, the telegraph; John Ericsson, the monitor-
Ehas Howe, the sewing-machine; Eli Whitney, the cotton-gin: and
Charles Darwin, the naturalist, the theory of The Descent of Man
Among poets, the greatest in all history is Shakespeare; while
Goethe ranks highest in the poetry of Germany, .ind Danle in that
of Italy. Tennyson and Browning are famous English poets of
our day.
Many men have performed special feats. Alexander conquered
and rode Bucephalus, the most fiery, if not the fastest, horse of
ancient times; Blondin frequently crossed the Niagara River on the
tight-rope ; and Dr. Tanner claims to have lived forty days without
eating.
The Report of the Committee.
Almost three thousand solutions were sent in, and not only was every
state and lemtory of our own country represented, but also Eng-
land, Scotland, Ireland, Nova Scotia, Canada, and British Columbil
;^„™ ?v, • 1"P °' contributions, it quickly became evident that
scores of bright boys and girls had closed their cyclopedias, or gram-
mars, or spelling-books too soon in their kindly efforts to help the
Deacon out of his trouble, and so had left his bit of history still sadly
fi/i"t, *=,.°'''" hand however, the Committee were astonished to
find how thorough and determined had been the work of those who
evidently meant to win. and the race between these ran so close Tha
solutions containing only a few errors were soon left behind When
It came » .the final sumnimg-up, there proved to be only nineteen
indeed, which had not a single error ; but there were sixty one wWch
contained but on,- m stake, and these two groups lefrbut a sc"re of
ZVZSLtl ""Me' '"' "=''=^' -venty^of th'^se which contafnel
nva mistakes^ After comparing and arguing and balloting the
IZVt "P°n-with the proviso that a Roll of Honor should be
appenueo.
Honfl^h^ mk"''' ''S"' 'li^ \^".'he slightest injustice has been
done. It should be understood that in all cases the most liberal allow-
^JnJ"""'- """S" "'«,^"'= possible, „,,s/J,>mir the conditions 0/
tilt Deacon s offer, and the closeness 0/ the competition. The mere
order of arrangemcd of facts and names, no matter how varied
was never counted a mistake, provided that the solution was accul
rate and complete as to all the facts and names themselves and
correct in punctuation, spelling, and in clearly defining the discov-
wk^e ''n'litS''^'"'^"'"'""- ., ^"^f' 'l ?'"'>' "^<=^' deviations that other-
wise might have seemed trivial had to be counted errors when
compared with an absolutely perfect restoration of the Pi
Aside from mistakes of spelling, grammar, and punctuation, the
most frequent errors in the solutions were : (i) a wrong use of the
fon'nH i"'"'?'''' ="'' "y^'-'<-'<-< (which were often cafelesslv con
founded and even used more times than they occurred in the Pi) ■
,1 ,s In-Vfn" /h^f^^'"' 'f^' "?? "><=« fiery" concerning Buceph-
In'if ^ °V ''"' "-"^^ fiery if not the fastest"; (,) Ihe orais-
tS H'd"°I ' *" ^"l «^''=" '" "'= P'' " 'he inserlion of words
that did not appear m the Deacon's original.
I^.ill'l'"""''"^'""' "v°"!y '■emains to be said that the Committee
heartily agrees with the many who have said in their letters
that, even if they should fail to win the prize, they have gained much
tlJroLh^h *=^"""* °f " ''°"^!:'" *•= P'=='^""= ^'"d P^fi' ^eceiveS
through their efforts to restore the Pi.
PRIZE WINNERS.
The following nineteen sent restorations without a single error :
Mary G. Webster.
Harry L. Reed.
Philip S. Abbot.
Harry H. Rousseau.
Edwin H. Gaggin.
Edson D. Hale.
Mary J. Knox.
Emma D. Mallory.
L. C. Baker.
Frank W. Tuttle.
Henrietta P. Priestley.
Frank B. Ladd.
Kale S. Vincent.
Clara J. Child.
Robert A. Gaily.
Rosa S. Jewell.
Charles S. Kellogg.
Kittie Warren.
Foster M. Follett.
The restorations sent by the following contained only one eiTor :
Constance M. Carter
Annie B. Chapman.
Willie H. Page.
Alice Nelson.
John C. Allen.
M. Ahce Chase.
Cecil K. Bancroft.
F. Story Conant.
Edith L. Clapp.
Alice W. Clark.
May Gore.
Jennie D. Lovell.
S. Libbie Stewart.
Harry W. George.
Mary D. Allis.
Cora L. Armstrong.
C. J. Atwater.
Roscoe B. Kendig.
Philip B. Jennings.
Decatur Pulford
Claude L. Wheeler.
Genie Trask.
Milly S. Rann.
William L. Simms.
Fanny Pierce.
Carrie H. 'I'hompson.
Olcott O. Partridge.
Willis K. Denison.
Paul W, England.
Howard C. "Tracy.
Minnie Warner.
E. Ludlow Gould.
Isabella Roelker
I. B. Nichols.
Marc W. Comstock.
Charles A. Hanna.
Nellie Beebe.
Mayne Longstreth.
Matlie Parker.
Winfield R. Smith.
May T. Harwood.
May F. Williard.
Annie B. Jones.
Annie Forstall.
Francis L. Palmer.
Alice Maud King.
William H. Adams.
Frank C. Nourse.
Libbie S. Day.
Bertha W. Beman.
Nellie J. Parker.
Russell Raynor.
Eugene Loren Waldo.
R. T. Hack.
Ed. H. Waldo.
Maud M. Lamb.
Thad. S. Lane.
Mary E. Hitchcock.
Addle L. Gardiner.
Annie L. Chapin.
Charies H. Ellingwood
Of those whose restorations contained only two errors, the fol-
* See St. Nicholas for December, 1881, page 180, and for March, 18B2, page 415.
■883.J
Till'. LETTER- liOX.
501
lowing sent the best, and they, therefore, were chosen to fill up the
lUt of the hundred prize-solutions:
r. H. <Jarrison. George Moore. Lola. A. McDaniet.
W. S. Slack. Wilson L. Fairbanks. Daisy It. Hazclion.
Alice C. Twining. Warren R. Schenck Jane Hcnneti.
John W. Graham. Arthur W, Bruwn. Harry Mather.
Willie S. Rcnshaw. Emma H. I^bcock. Mary A. Stillman.
Irene Kuhn. India Irvine. Nicholas P. Jones.
C. Whipple Johnson, iiattic T. Remington.
THE ROLL OF HONOR.
Charles H. Wood — H.-irT>* Ilcatiy — Richard C. Payson — Maud Angell — Katherinc E. Woodward — Alvin L. Noursc — Walter D.
Oaskam — V. li. Allen — W. J. Dc-an — George R. Rrandon — Hallowcll Vaughan — Mollie Marcus — Clara \V. Smith — Alice G. Lani-
gan — Jenny M. Wickcs — Heairice Ilrown — Alice Mitchell — C. Whipple Johnson — Freddie Shirley — Edith R. Hall — John C. Clark
— l^un (»tlcy Pindar — Ed. P. Williams — Amy Sladc — Nellie H. Smcdberg —Charley E. Niles — Walter C. Mctcalf — Cornelia C.
Green — K.iitie E. Hurnham — Nettie A. Ives — Hugh Burns — Willie H. Van Allen — Joseph Iteming — Barton Longacre — G. Willie
Barker — Frank L. Eppcs — George F. D. Traak — J. W. Grant — George L, Kcyes — J. S. Tennant — David L. Huntington — Charlie
P. Rcdtield — l^dna Mary Marsh — Fred. C. McDonald — Charles F. Richardson — F. '1. Rudy — Fred. Macnish — Roscoe C- E. Brown
Harr>' Whitman — Frances M. Brown — Kiltie E. Horton — Amy Moihershcad — Agnes Parker — Addic W. Cross — John L. McCalman
Willis C. Helm— Mary Grace Graham — Nellie Granbery — Ada B. Chancy — Hcber A. McKean — Franklin N. Stradcr — May H. Win-
gate — Emma E. Hancock — Ar>' H. Currier — I^juisa .^I. Wingate — Lucy V. Mackrille — Florence Washburn — B. P. Holbrook — Josie
Alillikcn — Fred. Meicalf — Marj- H. Bradley — Lewis S. Hxslam — Lucy D. Harmstcad — A. E. Warren — Mary F.Jones — Jennie
Chamberlain — Mary L. Otis — Ella Dolbear — Arthur C. Cowlcs — R. M. Hoyt — Sallic W. Rhea — Ellen Chase — Clare Jervey — Julia
A. (irccn— Louise Corbcrt — Walter H. Reynolds — Anna W. Biimstead — M. Kd. Runnclts — Sarah M. Longstreth — S. A. Skinner —
Agnes S. Kramer — Bridget Rcilly — Mabel Remington — Joseph C. Merrill — Minnie B. Phelps — Agnes G. Welsh — Alice J. (irccn —
Sam. F. Houston — Edith V. Kreiner — Maria Gamhrill — Mary L. Walsh — Julia Gricc — Eliz. A. Ely — Edith Mcrriam — Lillie L.
Pinnco — Agnes G. Day — Nettie Stevens— .Mar>' G. and I^ura G. Jones — H. J. Farrington — Bessie C. Davis — William M. Emery
— Hatttc F. Remington — May H. ("arman — Hatiic W. Bane — Josephine S. Sullivan — William F. Akin — C C. Bulklcy — I,ucy Wheat
— t;r.ace Farr — M. Helen Marsh — Fred. S. Banks — William W. Ames — Louise Andrews — Wirt Smith — Florence Van (^aasbeek —
Fred. A. Stevens — Bell B Prior— Alc.v. T. Moore — W. G. Lamb — Arvilla S. Cole — Susan La Flesche — Ethel A. Rockwood — Col-
umba C. Spalding — Minnie Williams — Nettie Finley — Mamie H. Bacon — Fannie Feam — Arthur F. Evans — Horace P. Dinsmoor —
Charles F. Karsebooni — Eight pupils of St Paul's School. Washington Territory — Dannie D. Sharp — Mary L. Lovihond — Ellen B.
Atwatcr — Roy I). Bciiian — Herbert L. Clapp — Helen Ursula Lockwood — Maggie Butler — Kittie Smith — Minnie Larkin — Nellie
0'Dca-~ Stasia Hickcy— Annie Eagan — E. Morsbrugger.
THE LETTKR-BOX.
For lack ot space, the Aga.ssiz Association report is necessarily
omitted this month, but a full report will appear in the May number.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am at home on a vacation, and am having
a nice time. In the January number of the St. Nicholas were
directions for making a puppet-show named '* Puss-in-Boots." I
look the idea into my head that I would try it. So 1 did.
For a frame I took a large salt-box instead of a picture- frame. I
hunted up some old paper box-covers which were very thick and
difhcult to cut, and made some grotesque- loo king figures. I cut
out some ver>' good-looking scenery. I used hemlock twigs for
trees. I was all ready to have my performance except putting
straws on the figures, when my grandmother came to me and said :
"John, I have some thinner card-board if you would like it." So I
took it, and made all the figures again. They looked very nice,
and I put straws on them, and then I was ready. I sent a few in-
vitations 10 my friends, and they all accepted. The performance
began at hatf-p-ist seven. I had a curtain hung so that the audience
could not see me. When all was ready, 1 stepped before the curtain
and made a little speech. Then I stepped back and the curtain
njse. 7"hc play passed off very smoothly, and all wondered how I
did it. This morning I expected to return to my school, but a snow-
storm prevents, so I am writing this to fill up my leisure moments.—
From your constant reader, John R. Hall (second).
' ScHOOi^Bov." — Yes.
In connection with Mrs. Diaz's entertaining "Story of Wangsc
Pah and the White Elephant," printed in the present number, our
readers will be interested in the following account of a veritable capt-
ure of a white elephant. We copy from a newspaper recently
issued :
*| The whole of Siam was lately excited over the capture of a
white elephant and his transportation to Bangkok, the capital city.
The Siam ll^teA-ly Aii7icr/is^r has the following in regard to the
affair: ' The great event of the week to the native community has
been the demonstrations the King of Siam has made in consequence
of his coming into possession of a white elephant. The Siamese
believe that good and noble spirits inhabit the forms of white ani-
mals. The white elephant being the largest of white animals is
thought_to be the abode ot some particularly pure and majestic
spirit. The man who found this exceptional animal of an unusual
color has been handsomely rewarded and promoted. Much cere-
mony has attended the bringing of the elephant to Bangkok, and
the location of a home for ii near the royal palace. Rewards and
promotion have been confertcd upon those who were the immediate
means of placing the king in possession. The much-feted animal
has been titled, and has Iiad appropriated for its use utensils that
indicate high rank. A sLitcly palace has been assigned as its future
home, and a set of attendants is charged with the duly of waiting
upon it. The only fear now is that the exceptional animal may be
killed by the unnatunil attentions it will receive.' "
And now, read this letter from a little girl who, with her comrades,
has been making studies in the history and customs of Siam :
Dear St. Nicholas: I belong to a missionary society called
" Lilies of the Field." We have chosen Siam as our mission to
work for, and in our study of the country and its people, we find
many strange things. For instance, they name their months after
animals, such as dogs and cats; — and their superstitions compel
them to marry only those born in the same month : — so a man bom
in the dog-month dare not marry a woman born in the cat-month.
Another strange habit of theirs is to blacken their teeth with a paste
made of the beiel-nut, "because," they say, "foreigners and
monkeys have while teeth and we don't want them." I'here are
other curious things which I learn, but have not time to write now.
I will close now by saying that I am one of four happy tittle girls
who attend school in " Bcltevue Tower," and use the Sr. Nicholas
magazine instead of a Reader. — Your devoted admirer, G. AL N.
Dear St. Nicholas: In Mr. Baldwin's story of "Northern
Myths," in the December number, it is said that " Persephone (Sum-
mer) was stolen frtun her mother Dcmetrc (the Earth) by Hermes,
who took her to Hades." But in Nosselt's Mythology, which I
study, it says " Persephone had been stolen by Pluto, the god of
Hades"
I should like to know which Is right, as I am much interested in
Mythology. Yours respectfully,
M. M. C, twelve years old.
The author of the article referred to by *' M- M. C." answers as
follows ;
"The sentence to which this correspondent refers should read:
' But they probably told how Pluto had stolen Persephone (the
Summer) from her mother Demetre (the Elarth), and had carried her
in a chariot, drawn by four coal-black steeds, to that gloomy land of
his.' This is as it was written in the first rough draft of the ' Fore-
502
THE LETTER-BOX.
[Apkil,
word ' : but inexcusable carelessness and haste in copying, coupled
with the recollection that it was Hermes who brought Persephone
back to Demetre, led to the error, which, unfortunately, was again
overlooked in reading the proof."
Dear St. Nicholas: Can any of your readers tell me the origin
of the " Man in the Moon " ? And why is he supposed to be made
of green cheese? The moon is not in the least green; on the con-
trary, it is, as we all know, " silver^'," as the poets say. I suppose
the fable about there being a man in the moon is about as old as
Mother Goose, is it not ? — Yours, sincerely, " Moonbeam."
Dear St. Nicholas : In looking thmugh St. Nicholas for 1881,
I found, in the May number, in an article by Mrs. OUphant entitled
** Mary, Queen of Scots," the following sentence: " Mar)''s grand-
father, James IV., was called, Sir Walter Scott tells us, in the ' Lady
of the Lake' — of which this romantic, gallant knight and monarch
is the hero — ' the Commons' King,' " etc. But it was Mary's father,
James V., who was called the " Commons' King," and who is the
hero of the " Lady of the Lake." When he laments the loss of
his "gallant grey," he says:
"I little thought when first thy rein
I slacked upon the banks of Seine."
Now, James IV. was never in France, but James V. paid a long
visit there in 1536-37. when he married Madame Magdalene of
France, daughter of Francis I, ; and as Lindsay, of Piscottie,
names " twenty vera bonnie steeds" as among the gifts bestowed
by Francis on his royal son-in-law, it may be fairly supposed that
the " gallant grey" was one of that number.
He obtained the name of the Commons' King from the severity
with which he punished those chiefs and nobles who robbed and
oppressed their weaker neighbors. In 1529, he went with an army
of ten thousand men through Ettrick Forest, where no poor man
could live unless he paid tribute for the protection of some noble,
and did justice on the oppressors. He hanged Sir Piers Cockbum.
who had prepared a feast for him, over the gate of his own castle of
Henderland. He executed, also, Adam Scott, of Tushielow, called
"King of the Border," and the famous Johnnie Armstrong, with
thirty-six companions. After which, says Lindsay, of Piscottie, he
kept ten thousand sheep in Ettrick Forest as safe as if they were in
his own park in Fifeshire, and all through his reign " the rush-bush
kept the cow."
He carried his preference of the commonalty to such an extent as
to make Oliver Sinclair general of the army he sent against England
in 1541-42, and thereby caused the disgraceful defeat of " Sal way
Moss," where the proud nobles refused to fight under a man of no
rank, and surrendered without striking a blow; and so keenly was
the shame felt by the high-spirited king, that it caused his death.
His dislike of the Douglases, who were ruined and banished by
him, was caused by the treatment he had received from them during
his minority, and the annoyance caused him by the conduct of his
mother's second husband, the Earl of Angus. — I remain, respect-
fully, etc., Sophie S. Hungerfokd.
In behalf of thousands of boys and girls who have read with deep
interest Mr. Kieffer's admirable " Recollecrions of a Drummer-boy,"
we give extracts from three of the many pleasant letters which the
" Recollections" have drawn from veterans in various parts of the
country.
The first letter was originally addressed to Mr. Kieffer, but with
his consent and that of the writer, we are permitted tn print it here :
Fort Wayne Station, Indiana, January 9, 1882.
Rev. Harrv M. Kieffer.
My Dear Sir : Through the kindness of the editorof St. Nicholas
I have been furnished With your address. My object in asking for
it was to thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, for the vivid
and truthful descriptions of camp and battle-field scenes which you
are now placing before the young folk of America in your " Re-
collections of a Drummer-boy," through the medium of the good
St. Nicholas. My attention was first called to them by my little son
Frank (twelve years old), who often asks me to tell him stories of
my own army experiences. He was much interested in your de-
scription of the battle of Gettysburg in the January number.
He said : " Papa, some one is wnting in my St. Nicholas about
his experiences in the army, and he, like you, was a boy when he
enlisted." To please the child, I began with the first article in No-
vember St. Nicholas and read them through. I was so struck
with the graphic and vivid descriptions that I was at once con-
vinced it was no fancy sketch, but the actual experience of one who
had been there. I could not believe that any one who had not
passed through the actual experiences of army life could so faith-
fully describe them. Some days after this, I attended a reunion of
the Eighty-eighth Regiment Indiana Volunteers, held at this place,
upon the anniversary of the battle of Stone River, Being called
upon for a speech, I spoke of the part my own regiment (the Forty-
fourth Indiana) took in the engagement, and then referred to the
articles in St. Nicholas as being the most vivid and life-like of all
descriptions of army life I had ever read. I related the incidents
you had depicted — old John Bums, the recapture of the One
Hundred and Forty-ninth Regiment's flag, and so forth. When I had
closed. Comrade John C, Kensill arose and said that, from what I
had just told them, he knew that the writer in the St. Nicholas
must have been a member of his regiment (the One Hundred and
Fiftieth Pennsylvania, Bucktail Brigade), as he (Kensill) was the one
who had led the charge which resulted in the recapture of the One
Hundred and Forty-ninth Regiment's flag. He then told the story of
the battle ofGettysburg in such a manner as toconvince me that you
both must have belonged to the same regiment. This incident
added to my interest in the *' Recollections," and induced me to
seek your address and write to you.
Although the armies in which we served were wide apart, yet
the incidents of camp-iife and battle-field vary only in ihe persontiel
and the locality.
I enlisted in 1861, at the age of sixteen, and served through the
entire war, being mustered out September, 1865. Of the original
members of my regiment that took the field in 1861, only one hun-
dred and nineteen returned in 1865. (")ur dead sleep upon almost
every battle-field of the West. Our battle-flag bears the names of
Donelson, Shiloh, Corinth, Stone River, Chickamauga, and others.
We, the survivors, gather together once a year, usually upon the an-
niversary of one of our battle-days, to renew our associations, review
our battles, sing our old army-songs, and have a good time. This
we hope to continue to do until some time in the twentieth century,
when the last old gray-headed veteran shall have ceased to answer
to roll-call. Then the Forty-fourlh Regiment Indiana Veteran Vol-
unteers will be finally disbanded on this shore. May they all meet
above !
And now, in closing, again I thank you for placing before the
youth of our country so truthful a statement of what their fathers
did to preserve the nation. Thanks for the "Recollections of a
Drummer-boy," and thanks to the good St. Nicholas for being
the medium of so wide a circulation. — Yours truly,
Sam. B. Sweet,
Late of Co. C, 44th Regt. Ind. Vols.
The second letter is from an "old First Corps man," who re-
ceived two bullets through his hip in the big charge, on the third
day at Gettysburg, and who now is in one of the Departments at
Washington. He says:
Dear Mr. Kieffer : I take the St. Nicholas for my daughter,
and casually took it up while smoking my " night-cap" pipe last
evening, and I assure you I read it twice over, and it brought back
the old times so vividly that the chimes rang out midnight before
my reverie was ended. . . . You remember how well the One
Hundred and Fifty-first Regiment (my old regiment) and the
Twentieth New York held the left that first day, and I trust you will
kindly accept the thanks of an unknown comrade for the story you
have told so well.
And here is just a word from the gentleman who, it seems, enlisted
our " Drummer-boy," and whose letter is here printed without
Mr. Kieffer's knowledge:
Philadelphia.
Dear St. Nicholas: . . . The writer takes pleasure in saying
that he enlisted the " Drummer-boy" whose " Recollections " are
so graphically and touchingly described in your monthly. Harry
M. Kieffer, of Company D, One Hundred and Fiftieth Regiment
Pennsylvania Volunteers (Bucktail Regiment), was personally as
popular with the boys in the company and regiment as are his con-
tributions to the St. Nicholas. A brave soldier, an exemplary,
noble youth, a worthy son of pious parents. And he is to-day an
influential, zealous, able worker as a minister in one of the leading
churches of Eastern Pennsylvania. — Respectfully yours,
H. W. Ckotzer.
Dear St. Nicholas: In reading the "Letter-box" of the Feb-
ruary number of the St. Nicholas I found a request for " Marsh-
mallow Paste," and as I have one I inclose it.
Marsh-mallow Paste.
Dissolve one pound of clean white gum arabic in one quart of
water; strain, and add one pound of refined sugar; place over a fire,
stirring continually until the sirup is dissolved ana the mixture has
become of the consistency of honey: next add the whites of eight
eggs, previously beaten ; stir the mixture all the time until it loses
its thickness and does not adhere to the finger ; flavor with rose or
anything you like : pour into a tin or box dusted with powdered
starch; when cool, divide into small squares or strips. — Yours truly,
Clara E. Ward.
|883.]
Till-; Rl 1)1)1. K- IU)X.
503
and make the principal timber of a ship. 5. Transpose a substance
which forms part of the body, and make dark. 6. Transpose a
latuilord, and make the discharge of a missile weapon. 7. Trans-
pose a low tide, and make a plate of glass. 8. Transpose the alter-
nate rising nnd falling of the waters of the ocean, and make to
superintend for pul)lication. 9. Transpose to say wildly, and make
to affinn with contitience. 10. Transpose a stopper for a bottle, and
make a mass of stony material. 11. Transpose a bench, and make
one of the points of the compass. d. c. m.
CHARADE.
M\ Jirsf may he found in green fields
Where nil is gay and bright and sunny;
M;iy be futmd ^r away from green fields,
Where they work very hard to make money.
In your hand if you lake a hot poker,
I think it may safely be reckoned,
licforc a long time shall elapse,
You '11 be likely to show us my second.
My iKhoU finds existence in falling;
is loved as a sweet little thing :
Has taste — but is never a critic —
And is always suggestive of Spring. w. u. a.
n>iV£RTED PYRAMID.
II.Ll STUATED
ZZI.l
IN THE IIEAD-IMEC'E.
Make duplicates of the five dominos represented in the drawing.
Arrange them so that the halves of the dominos will match in the
number of spots. Fiy thus matching them, see how many different
readings can be made of the April couplet written upon them.
DIAGONALS.
Diagonals: One who is imposed upon. Across: i. Plentiful.
2. Part of a wheel. 3. A blackbird. 4. Delicate. 5. Jeopardy.
6. Cunning. 7. To scowl. 8. A subject. 9. A flowering shrub.
DVCIE.
EASY CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
Mv first is in mend, but not in tear;
My second in tune, but not in air:
My third is in silver, but not in gold;
My fourth is in valiant, but not in bold;
My fifth is in jacket, but not in vest:
My whole makes mcrr>', and soothes to rest.
DVCIE.
TR^VNSPOSITIONS.
When the transpositions have been rightly made, the initials of
the made words, placed in the order here given, will name a famous
dramatist who was born and who died on the same date in April.
I. Transpose a flat, circular plate, and make a chain u-sed to fasten
a wagon-wheel, to prevent its turning when descending a steep
hill. 2. Transpose a covering for the foot, and make stockings.
3. Transpose to bewilder, and make a carpenter's tool for chipping.
4. Transpose a plant regarded by Welshmen as a national emblem,
Across: 1. Inclined to favor unreasonably- 1. To move in a
military manner. 3. A kind of pastry. 4. In April. Downward:
I. In April. 2. A much used verb. 3 To knock. 4. A brief
journey. 5. An article bar\ested in cold weather. 6. An exclama-
tion. 7. In April. i'. a. w.
EASY DIAMOND.
I. In Nilometer. 2. A young boy. 3. A language used by
the ancients. 4. To delve. 5. In Nilometer. fave neil.
CONCEALED CENTRAL ACROSTIC.
Takf five words of equal tengtli from the following sentences;
when these are rightly selected and placed, one below another, the
two central rows of letters, reading downward, will spell two words
which are often heard at this time of the year.
Once upon a time there was a young frog who constructed a raft
and also a canoe. *' I can now fill one or the other with provisions,"
said he, "and take a little jaunt down the river." m. v. w.
KABKfT PCZZLE.
Draw a picture "f three t
such a way that each rabJiit :
ss nibbit;
have tw(
and three rabbit-ears in
■ ears.
SHAKESPEAREAN ENIGMA.
I AM composed of thirty-two letters, and am a quotation fi-om
" Hamlet."
My 12-5-9-30-15-24-4 isone to whom his father gave good advice,
as he was about to start on his travels. My 8-3-7-11-5 " never told
her love." My 6-30-31-1-31-23 was " the noblest Roman of them
all." My 14-13-2-19-25-11-20 "loved not wisely but too well."
My 10-18-29-7-22-17-20 is the noblest friend mentioned by Shake-
speare. My 16-32-30-14 is a heroine who was fal.sely accused.
My 26-11-S-21 is what Portia discovered in the bond. My 27-28-
12-25-10-30-17-20 helped Portia. M. w. g.
504
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
[April.
The pictorial puzzle on this page is
based upon part of a nursery-rhyme. The
pictures represent the last words of four
of the lines of one verse. What is the
verse?
RHOiYlBOID.
Across: i. A staff 2. A place of con-
stant residence. 3. What ^^w/W said was
"out of joint." 4. A word formerly used
to signify advice or counsel. Down: i.
One hundred. 2. An exclamation. 3. A
word e.\pressing denial. 4. A ruler.
Three-sevenths of a precious stone.
The end of a circle.
6. A boy's nickname. 7.
J. S. TENNANT.
METAGRAMS.
I. Whole, I am a small vessel. Change my initial letter each
time, and I successively become obscure, an exclamation, a bird, a
target, and an e-\lensive garden.
II. Whole, I signify to partake of the principal meal of the day.
Change my initial letter each time, and I
successively become imposing, cows, a
slender cord, an e.xcavation. a number, a
kind of tree, part of a fork, a trailing plant,
and the juice of grapes.
III. Whole, an old lady once bestowed
me on a favorite. Change my initial letter
each time and I become the fruit of the
fir, accomplished, departed, a fine stone
for sharpening instruments, single, not
any, and a sound.
IV. UTiole, I am an animal. Change
my initial letter each time and I become
cherished, dread, harness, to heed, an un-
happy king, close by, a fruit, to raise, to
rend, to assume, and a measure of time.
MARION E.
PHONETIC SPELLING-LESSON.
Combine two letters of the alphabet in such a way that, when
spoken, they form a word. Example: A girl's name. Atis^uer:
KT(Katy).
1. A climbing plant. 2. A kind of material used for dresses. 3.
Not difficult. 4. To try. 5. Void. 6. To surpass. 7. A county
of England. 8. To covet, g. A river of Asia. 10. Set in order.
II. A nocturnal quadruped. 12. An architectural molding. E. c. M.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER.
Illustrated Puzzles. Circular Puzzle : See head-piece for this
month. Easy Rebus : Pennsylvania. Monogram : Cyclone.
Ladder, Andrew Jackson ; James Garfield. Cross-words: 1
NorA. 2. RatE. 3. WinG. 4. AfaR. 5. Kohl (noor). 6. OpaL.
A K.ETTLE OF Fish. i. Perch. 2, Pike, 3. Shad(ow). 4. Her-
ring. 5. Sole. 6. Chub. 7. Smelt. 8. Sheepshead. g. Dolphin.
10. Halibut. II. Whiting. 12. Lamprey.
Two Easy Di.amonds. I. i. L. 2. PEn. 3. LeMon. 4. NOw.
5. N. II. I. T. 2. ARm. 3. TrEes, 4. MEt. 5. S.
Heads and Tails, i. Cart. 2. Clamp. 3. Ebony. 4. Wink.
5. Fire. 6. Cowl.
Double Acrostic.
Eliot. Cross-words :
DisasteR. 5. LoG,
Initials: Middlemarch. Finals: George
1. MannerinG. 2. ImjiedE. 3. DidO.
6. EducatE. 7. MenageriE. 8. AdmiraL.
9. Rabbi. 10. CameO. 11. HamleT.
Defective Proverb. Keep things for seven years and you will
find uses for them. Cross-word Enigma. Circus.
Syncopations, i. Print — Pint. 2. Window — widow. 3. Tray
— Tay. 4. Table — tale. 5. Penal — peal. 6. Marine — Maine.
A Pictorial Word-square.
Put on the fire at early mom —
Holding a breakfast for the boys (Pan).
A tool for making extra fuel for those
Who cook the meal the hungry youth enjoys (Axe).
Now let us see the finder of the feast ;
Its casting many a strong man's time employs (Net).
Numerical Enigma. A rolling stone gathers no moss.
Pi. The stormy March has come at last.
With wind and clouds and changing skies ;
I hear the rushing of the blast
That through the snou-y valley flies.
William Cullen Bryant, in '* AfarcA."
Two Squares. I. i. Peace. 2. Earls. 3. Areas. 4. Clara. 5.
Essay. 11. i. Quart. 2. Umber. 3. Abase. 4. Rests. 5. Tress.
Answers to all the Puzzles in the Febri^ary Number were received before February 20, fromC. F. Home — George Salter — .A idyl
Airotciv Trebor — P. S. Clarkson — J. S. Tennant — " Kid" — " Macauley " — Martha and Eva de la Guerra, — and Florence Leslie Kyte.
Answers to Puzzles in the February Number were received before February 20, from Marion S. Dumont, i — Li\'ingston
Ham, 2 — Harry, i — Edith McKeever, and Amy Elliott, g — Saidie Hall. 8 — Grace H., 4 — Lulu .-Mien, 2 — Charles Townsend, 3 —
Mary B. Tarr, 2 — Georgia Harlan, 10 — Skipper, 13 — Will H- Post. 4 — Willie Walker, 6 — Anna Mallon, 8 — Bessie Robins, 2 — Grace
H. Semmes, 2 — Lillian V. Leach, i — J. T. Sarratt, 7 — J. H. Norris, 3 — Louise Gilman, 8 — G. Heals, 3 — Paid England, 2 — Faye
Neil and Sister, 3 — Professor and Co., o — Helen M.. 5 — " Bidie," 4 — "Two Dromios," 13 — Sanford B. Martin, i — Minnie B.
Murray, 6 — Katie L Freeland, 2 — Lulu CJ. Crabbe, 6 — Frankie Crawford. 4 — Blanche Coppock, 1 — Effie K. Talboys, 12 — G. H.
Semmes, 2 — Florence Wilcox, 10 — J. Perry Seward, 3 — May Beadle, 9 — Isabel Bingay, 8 — Alattie Winkler, 7 — Dot and Lot, 13 —
Margaret W. Stickney, i — Weston Stickney, 5 — Carrie C. Oliver, 4 — Lalla E. Croft, 2 — "Zaita," 4 — Anna and Alice, 11 — Lizzie
Fyfer, 5 — D. W. Roberts, 3 — M. B. Alexander, 6 — Blanche and Grace Parr>', 8 — Fred Carragan, 6 — Rosa and Mamie, 2 — Jennie E.
Cutler, 4 — '* Star," 10 — Jack and Tommy, 6 — " Minnie Ha Ha," 10 — Clara and her Aunt, 12 — " Rory O'More," 3 — Mattie Gilbert
Colt, I — A. M. S., 3 — Willie Serrell. 2 — Bessie C. Rogers, 4 — Nellie Caldwell, 11 — Genie Callmeyer, 12 — "Warren," 4 — Jennie and
Bessie, 5 — Mabel Ray McCurdy. 8 — D. B. Shumway. 7 — "Two Subscribers," 13 — Marion Booth, 5 — Phi! I, Pine, 5 — X. Y, Z., 6 —
Ethel C. L. Weeks, 8 — Daisy and Buttercup, 10 — Madge and Katie Robertson, 12 — "Queen Bess," 13 — Adele and Delia, g — Algie
Tassin, 8 — Edward Dana Sabine, i — J. C. Winne, 1 — Maude and Sadie, 3 — O, B. and C. F. Judson, 10 — Charlie W. Power. 11 —
Anna and Arthur, 3 — \V. M. Kingsley. 11 — Nemo, Jr., 7 — Alice Maud Kyte, 8 — Appleton H., 11 — Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., 10 — Robert
B- Arry, 3 — Myra C. Holbrook, 12 — Lulu Graves, 7 — Lyde W. McKinney, 13 — Sallie Viles, 13 — Enid Mary Smith, i — Campbell, 3
— Marguerite, 6 — Hester M. Frere Powell, g — Clara L. Northway, 9. Numerals denote number of puzzles solved.
ST. NICHOLAS:
AN
Illustrated Magazine
For Young Folks
CONDUCTED BY
MARY MAPES DODGE
VOLUMK IX.
Part II.. May, 1882, to October, 1882.
THE CENTURY CO. NEW-YORK.
Copyright, 1882, by The Centl'rv Co.
Press of Francis Hart & Co.
New-York.
ST. NICHOLAS:
I
f X'OLUME IX.
PART II.
Six Months — May, 1882, to October, 1882.
CONTENTS OF PART II., VOLUME IX.
PACE.
Abbotsford. (Illustrated) Mrs. P. L. Collins 774
Esthetic Young Lady. The Jingle. (Illustrated by F. W. Lamb) Jofl Stacy 708
Agassiz .Association. The (Illustr.ited) Harlan II. Ballard 585
663, 743, 823, 903, 983
" .V Ladv who Lived by i hf. Simre." Jingle. (Illustrated) Thomas S. Collur 756
Amatei'r Newspapers. (Illustrated liv -V. C. Redwood, L. Hopkins, W. )
Taber. and others) .' \ "<"''"' "' ^"'^'"'^ ?> 7
Ambitious John Thomas. Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) A. W. Harrington 851
A.ndrea DEI, Sarto. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 522
".\N Old Man who Lived by a Gate." Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Thomas S. Collier. . . 515
April AND May. Poem. (Illustrated) Celta Thaxter 564
Arbalist. The Story of the (Illustrated by C. Mettais and li. V. Share). . . .Maurice TItompson 861
Art and Artists. Stories of (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 522
" AURELIUS Wellington Wilks." Jingle. (Illustrateil by L. Hopkins) 835
Bakertown. Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) 959
Balloon Story in Four Chapters. A Picture, drawn by II. McVickar 780
Base-ball Nine. The Captain of the Orient CM. Sheldon o^ i
Bee-charmer. The Poem. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) M. M. D 591
Boy in the Moon. The Jingle. (Illustrated by F. S. Church) . Clara Louise BnrnUam 654
Boy who Lost the Foiirth of July. The . .Sophie Swett 709
Brunelleschi. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 851
Burdock was Good for. What the \'erses A. S. R 532
Celli.ni. Benvenuto Clara Erskine Clement 85 7
Cloister of the Seven Gates. The E. S. Brooks 789
Clovers. Magic. (Illustrated by the Author and H. E. Thompson) Margaret B. Harvey 618
Cockatoos. The Poem. (Illustrated) Celia Thaxter S36
Conscientious Correggio Carothers. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Wo\!gS.m.) Malcolm Douglas 679
Consolation. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) . Wilhelmina Grant 631
Correction Hox. The Ada Neyl 635
Correggio. (Illustrated) Clara Ersktne Clement . 524
Cross-patch. An Old Picture 942
Curious Rolling Bridge. A (Illustrated) 653
Dandelion. Poem IV. B. Allen 896
Dantzic. The Origin of (Illustnited by .Mfred Kappes and John Steeple Davis) A. M. Cook 51!
Designs for Little .\rtists to Copy. Drawn by H. McVickar 607
Doll that Could n't Spell her Name. The (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis \
Shepherd) \Soph,e &uett 829
DOMENICHINO Clara Erskine Clement 936
Donald and Dorothy. (Illustrated) Mary Mapes Dodge 556
644, 728, 810, 885, 959
Don.^tello. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement .854
Do Vou Know Such Boys? (Illustrated by W. L.Taylor) Eliot McCormick . . 867
Dozen Squirrels. \ Verses. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) J. H. Hubbard . 847
Early American Rebellion. .\n (Illustrated) F. N. Doubleday 680
VI CONTENTS.
PAGE,
Electric Light. The (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren, and others) Charles Barnard 566
Elephants. (Illustrated) John Lnvccs 838
Eleven or None. Verses. (Illustrated by H. P. Share) Malcolm Douglas 838
Erring Scientist. The Jingle W. L 516
ExTK.\ Train. The (Illustrated by H. Sandham) Edwin Lassetter Bynner. . . . 689
Famine among the Gnomes. The (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Hjalniar H. Boyesen 909
F.\MOUS Se.vfight. a (Illustrated by Juhah O. Davidson) A'oah Brooks 714
Fourth of July. The Boy who Lost the Sophie S^oelt 709
Ghiberti. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 853
Going to the Fair. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 788
Good Time on the Beach. A Picture, drawn by G. F. Barnes 787
Grab-bag. Poem. (Illustrated by Francis Miller and H. P. Share) H. H 540
Great Tub-r.ace at Point No-point. The (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley).£//cK W. Olncy 587
GuiDO Reni. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 939
Handkerchief. What can be made with a, (Illustrated by the Author) D. C. Beard. .... 972
Hassan's Water-melon David Ker 763
How a Hoosier Bov S.wv the Tower of Pisa. (Illustrated by Granville )
Perkins; \'-^- "' ^'''"S^"' '^^
How Burt Went Whale-hunting. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards and )
Daniel C. Beard) \ "J"'"""' "J'"-"' ^".'"'■" ■ 749
How Far Yet ? Poem. (Illustrated) Celia Thaxter 808
How Joe Bently Won a Bouquet from the Queen of Portug.a.l.
(Illustrated by J. E. Kelly and others) J ' ' ' ' ^
How the Children Earned Money for Charity C. B. Bartlett 875
In School Again. Jingle. (Illustrated by Miss Rose Muller) E. L. Sylvester 877
Inside a Fish-net. (Illustrated by V. Nehlig) . Sarah J. Prichard 669
\y the Garden. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDefmott) Margaret Johnson 636
In the Harvest-field. Picture, drawn by Miller and Hayden 784
Iron-clad Pie. The Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) A. W. Harrington 810
Jabberwocky. To the Author of Verses E. P. Matthews 930
Jane and Eliza. Verses. (Illustrated) 621
Japanese Boy. Jiro— A (Illustrated by G. W'. Edwards) C. A. W 848
Jingles 515, 519. 530, 539, 563, 613, 617, 620, 654, 708, 756, Sio, 835, 851, 873, 877
Jiro — A Japanese Boy. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) C. A. W. 848
July. Poem Susan Hartley Swett 728
King Midas. Poem. (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan). .Celia Thaxter 515
Lake George. Summer Days at (Illustrated by J. H. Cocks and F. S. Church) . Z2/rv A. Millington 794
Land of Noddy*. The Verses Kossiter Johnson S73
Laughing Lill. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 872
Leap-frog in the Woods. Picture, drawn by Palmer Cox 793
Le.\rning to Ride. (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) . Charles Barnard 920
Lesson of the Briers. The Joel Stacy 754
Little Brown Betty. Poem. (Illustrated by Miss C. .\. Northam) Ada Neyl . . . 845
Little Girl's Idea. A Picture, drawn by Addie Ledyard 522
Little Guido's Complaint. Verses Margaret J. Preston 941
Long Ago. Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 884
Longfellow and the Children. (Illustrated) Lucy Larcom 637
Longfellow's Last Afternoon with Children. (Illustrated) Hezekiah Butterworth. . . . 641
Magic Clovers. (Illustrated by the Author and H. E. Thompson) Margaret B. Harvey 618
Maid of Honor. The Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Eva L. Ogden 602
Man from Paris. The Jingle. (Illustrated) J. B. C 563
Marlborough Sands. A Tale of the (Illustrated by W. L. Taylor) .Eliot McCormick 867
Mary Jane Tells About the Spicers' Cows. (Illustrated by J. H. Cocks) /4. G. Plympton 592
" Mary', Mary, Quite Contrary." Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) . . . .Adelia B. Beard 530
Master Theodore. Verses. (Illustrated) B. H 566
Mentor. Play-day at (Illustrated) Frederic G. Mather 532
Midas. King Poem. (Illustrated by Alfred Brennan) Celia Thaxter 515
Mrs. Peterkin in Egypt Lucretia P. Hale 756
CONTENTS. Vll
?AGE.
MvsTKRious Barrel. The (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) .Paul Fort 781
Nk.w Light. The ( lUustr.ited by F. H. Lungren, and others) Charles Bamanl 566
Nkw Red Riding-hood. The Play. (Illustrated) E. S. Brooks 572
NlCHTl.NGALE. The Poem. (Illustrated) Cflia Thaxter 755
Noddy. The Land of Verses Rossiter Johnson 873
NoNSE.NSE Song. Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins). ... A. H. tVells 845
Northern Myths. Stories from the (Illustrated by Robert Blum and R. B. >
,,. ,. (James Baldwin 554. 766, S70
Birch) > ^^
" Oh, What are You at. Little Woman ? " Jingle. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) 931
Orient B.\se-ball Nine. The Captain of the C. Al. Sheldon 931
Origin of Dantzic. The (Illustrated by Alfred Kappes and John Steeple }
Da^•is) X-i-^l-Cook S"
Our Largest Friends. (Illustrated) John Leivees 838
Peterki.v in Egypt. Mrs Lucretia P. Hale 756
Picus and his Pots. .V (Illustrated by John S. Davis) Maurice Tliompson 916
Play-day at Mentor. (Illustrated). . . . .■ Frederic G. Mather 532
Pleasant Surprise. .\ .■.,.,....■... Ada Neyl , 530
Private Rehearsal. K Picture, drawn by L. Hopkins S83
Problem. A Verses Bessie Chandler 612
PuxjAUBS of Siam. The Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Mrs. S. C. Sloiu 761
Queen of Prussia's Ride. The Poem. (Illustrated by John Steeple Davis). ^. L. A. Smith 700
Queen's Repartee. The Poem. (Illustrated by H. McVickar ) Jay Allison 935
Queer Fly. .V True Story about a L. H. 655
R adishville , William O. Stoddard 913
Rai.n'-ma.n. The Poem. (Illustrated by J. 11. Cocks) Augusta Lamed 520
Realized Hope. A Poem. (Illustr.ited by R. li. Birch) Clara Louise Bninham 915
Red Kiding-iiood The New Play. (Illustrated) E. S. Brooks 572
Reni. Guidu (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 939
Riddle. The Poem. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) M. P. D 953
Ride. Learning to (Illustrated by J. E. Kelly) Charles Barnard 920
Scholar. .\ Verses Sydney Dayre 925
Scott. A Visit to the Home of Sir Walter. (Illustrated) Mrs. P. L. Collins 774
Sea Baby-houses. (Illustrated by James C. Beard) Mrs. H. M. Miller 764
Se.^ls and Seal-hunting in the North-.\tlantic. (Illustrated by Jas. }
C. Beard, Daniel C. Beard. W. Taber, and M. J. Burns) \ ^">"t Ingersoll 624
Sea-side Turn-out. .\ Picture, drawn by F. S. Church 804
Secretary Bird. The Story of the (Illustrated) Paul Fort 518
Septe.mber. Picture drawn by John Steeple Davis S74
Septe.mber Number — Just Out. The Picture S71
Seven Idle Little Men. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) E. Vinton Blake 860
Silverhair's Quest. Verses Ruth Hall 620
Sirani. Elisabetta Clara Erskine Clement... . . 940
Sisters Three and the Kilmaree. The (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) . . .Frank R. Stockton 943
Song of the Swing. The Poem. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott and \
t ■/--.• c-i i_ j\ c Mrs. Caroline M. //arris. ... 772
Jessie Curtis Shepherd) S ■■ ii'-
Spring Story. A Verses. (Illustrated by .\lfred Brennan) Kate Kellogg 555
Stories from the Northern Myths. (Illustrated by Robert Blum and R. >
B. Birch) S "^"""^ ■^'''*'"'" 534. 766. 879
Stories of Art and .Artists. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 522,
851, 936
Story of a Very Naughty Girl. .\; or, Mv Visit to Mary Jane. (Illus- >
trated by the Author) ' \A. G. Plympton 925
Story of the .■\rbalist. The (Illustrated by C. Mettais and II. P. Share). .Maurice Tliompson 861
Story of the Secretary Bird. The (Illustrated) Paul Fort 518
Sudden Shower. .\ Picture. (Drawn by L. Hopkins) 919
Sultan of the East. The Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 688
Summer Days at L.\ke George. (Illustrated by T. H. Cocks and F. S. )
Church) " \ ^'"y ^- Millington 794
Vlll CONTENTS.
PAGE.
Surprise Party. A Play Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz 956
Sweet, Red Rose. The Verses. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Joel Stacy 766
Swords. ( Illustrated) John Lewees 701
Tag's 'Coon. (Illustrated by W. L. Sheppard) Frank R. Stockton 683
" The Sail-boat and the Catamaran." Jingle. (Illustrated by C. Weaver) C. May Smith 873
TiNKEY. (Illustrated by A. B. Frost) S. A. Sheilds 674
Tit for Tat. Verses. (Illustrated by L. Hopkins) Eva F. L. Carson ^ 804
Tower of Pisa. How a Hoosier Boy Saw the (Illustrated by Gran\'ille >
Perkins) \A. H. Fretageot 784
True Story About a Queer Fly. A L. H 655
Tub-race at Point No-Point. The Great (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley). .Ellen W. Olney 587
Twinegrams. (Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill) Mrs. E. C. Gibson 613
Visit to the Home of Sir Walter Scott. A (Illustrated) Mrs. P. L. Collins 774
What One Year Makes of a Little Kitten. Verses. (Illustrated by }
H. p. Share) \ ^^"- ^"""y Barrow 539
What the Burdock was Good For. Verses A. S. R 532
" When my Ship Comes in." Jingle Emily A. Braddock 617
Whirligig Club. The (Illustrated by H. Sandham) L. A. B 607
Why the Clock Struck One. (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) Sophie Swett 505
Wings of Things. The Verses Katharine Hanson 596
Wise Professor. The Jingle. (Illustrated by H. McVickar) Malcolm Douglas 620
Witch-trap. The (Illustrated by Hermann Faber) Felix L. Oswald 596
Wolf-reared Children. (Illustrated by W. M. Chase, R. B. Birch, W. T. )
Smedley, H. P. Share, J. H. Cocks, and others) \ Charles L. Brace 542
Working by the Day. Picture, drawn by S. G. McCutcheon 701
Yellow Pane. The Poem Walter Learned 680
Young Wolves at Play. Picture 878
DEPARTMENTS.
Tack-in-the-Pulpit ( Illustrated).
Introduction — The Bottle-fish — A Living Life-buoy — Watch the Saturdays — ATen-legged Torment (illus-
trated)— For the Inquisitive — Can't hold a Candle to him — The Owl's-head Butterfly (illustrated) — If So,
How? 578; How do Birdies Learn to Sing? — Ho, for a New Candy! — The Origin of the Nail-mark — Some
Queer Facts About Chickens — .\ Village Captured by Bees — Music-loving Rats — Side-saddles for Men —
The Sperm-whale (illustrated), 660; The Eagle Month — Eagles' Food — ^ .\ Warm-weather Puzzle — Orbits —
Is This the Reason Why? — Busy at the California Trees (illustrated) — Three Noted Ravens — Baby
Lions — Natural .\partment-houses, 740; Introduction — .\ Little Exercise — .\ Young Gardener — .\ Two-
legged Steed (illustrated) — That " Cloudy Saturday " Question — .\ncient and Modern, 81S ; Tread Lightly —
Woven Wind — Who Has Tasted It? — The Trembling Tree — Ways of Thinking — .\ Tide 1296 Feet
High — How the Flat-fish Disappeared — What Would You Do If? — Babies .\mong the Flowers — What are
They? 900; Introduction — The Troubles of the Telegiaph — The Squirrel and her Children — The Last of
the Seven Wonders — h. Tricycle Journey — A Sharp Trick in Self-defense — A Fable with a Moral, 980.
For Very Little Folk (Illustrated).
Master Self, 575 — Mayo's Mice ; The Letter " B," 656— How .Santa Claus Came to Harry in Summer-time ;
Fourth of July, 738 — Making a Big Hill; Neddie and Lillie Melville; Herbie's Gardening ; Fannie and
Johnny, S20 — A Queer Boat and a Funny Crew, 896 — The Poor Dolly, 977.
Plays.
The New Red Riding-hood E. S. Brooks 572
A Surprise Party Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz .... 956
The Letter-box (Illustrated) 581, 662, 742, 823, 902, 982
The Riddle-box (Illustrated) 583, 665, 745, 825, 905, 9S5
Fro.ntispieces. "Ninette," facing Title-page of Volume — Mr. Longfellow and his Boy Visitors, 587 — The
Queen of Prussia's Ride, 669 — Summer Days at Lake George, 749 — What Makes It Go ? 829 — When We
were Boys, 908.
From the en^r^viHe;, \>y Saiimel Coui^lns. of the pnintini^ l)y Greuze.
" NINETTE."
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX.
M.W. 1X82.
No. 7.
tCopyrighi, 1882, by The CENTURY Co |
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONK.
HV SOPHIli SWKTT.
KeTI'RAH was in the kitchen making a chicken-
pic of the Plymouth Rock rooster, whose domi-
neering disposition had liccome imendurable.
She had been making pop-overs, which would
soon come out of the oven, in all the crispness,
and flakiness, and general toothsomeness which
made Keturah's pop-overs famous; so the kitchen
was not a bad place to be in, just now. But Ke-
turah had her apron on her head, and that was a
sign that she was in the doleful dumps, and small
boys and girls had better keep out of the way.
That apron of Keturah's cast a shadow over the
whole house, especially when Aunt Kate and Uncle
Rufe had.eonc to Boston, and Keturah had all the
small fry under her thumb.
Sam put his nose in at the crack of the kitchen
door, and sniffed. The pop-overs allured, but Ke-
turah's apron waved .a warning, and Sam, being a
wise boy, retreated.
Polly was in the garden hanging out the clothes.
Sam, looking out of the hall window, saw her, and
wondered if a blackbird had nipped her nose, it
was so red. But the next moment a big tear
dropped past it, and he saw that she was weeping,
and there was her lover, Jake Pettibone, Ijeating
a hasty retreat, looking very sheepish. Keturah
had "shooed" him off, just as she "shooed" the
chickens. Keturah was Polly's aunt, and had
been "more 'n a mother to her," as she was
always reminding her.
Sam did wish that Polly had more spirit, and
wrfuld n't allow her lover to be "shooed" away.
Jake was such a good fellow, and owned such
delightful boats.
Ike was down by the currant-bushes, now. dig-
VoL. IX.— 33.
ging worms for bait, preparatory to going fishing
with Jake. Sam had been invited to go, but Ke-
turah would n't let him, because it might rain,
and he had had the croup when he was six months
old. (This was the very worst attack of doleful
dumjjs that Keturah had ever had.)
Kitty was in the garden, too, trying to put salt
on a robin's tail; somebody had told her she
could catch a robin so, and she believed it, because
she was only a girl ; and she did n't care if she
could n't go fishing, for the same reason. It was
almost as well to be a girl, as to be a boy, under
Keturah's thumb; and Aunt Kate would be away
for three weeks more, and there was no hope that
Keturah would come out of the doleful dumps,
and be her usual good-natured self — unless that
provoking old clock should get over its mysterious
habit of striking One, and unless she should find
her saffron-colored silk stockings !
For Keturah was superstitious ; she believed in
signs and omens, and nobody could reason, nor
laugh, nor coax her out of the belief. Nothing
could induce her to begin any undertaking on
Friday; she would not burn egg-shells, lest she
should come to want; and, if she spilled salt, she
was sure she should quarrel. If she saw the new-
moon over her left shoulder, or the first robin on
a low bough, ill-luck was certain. If a mirror was
broken, or a whip-poor-will sang on the roof, some-
body in the housie would die before the year was
out. If a fork or a pin that was dropped stood up
on the floor, or Casabianca, the cat, washed his
face, she made preparations for company. She
carried a horseshoe in her pocket to ward off
5o6
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
^May,
witches, and a potato to ward off rheumatism.
She was always hearing mysterious noises, and
was very scornful when anybody suggested rats.
When she saw a "calico" horse, she wished, and
she was sure that she would get her wish ; and she
always made a bow to the new moon, that it
might bring her a present.
Uncle Rufe and Aunt Kate — who were like the
best of parents to their little, orphaned nephews
and nieces — were always telling them, privately,
that Keturah's signs were all nonsense, and they
must not listen to them; but so many signs "came
true " that Ike and Kitty more than half believed
Keturah was right. Did n't Ike have that fight
with Neddy Forrester the very day that he spilled
all his salt at breakfast? And did n't he get his
velocipede, and Kitty her walking doll, — presents
from Uncle Jack, — only two days after they bowed
to the moon ? Sam declared it to be his belief that
they would have had the presents, even if they had
failed to pay their respects to the moon, and, as for
the salt, Neddy Forrester had been threatening to
"whip" Ike for a long time.
Sam was almost ten, and Aunt Kate had told
him that she depended upon him to teach the
other children not to mind Keturah's nonsense.
But he did quake, inwardly, whenever Keturah
heard very strange noises, and prophesied dreadful
things. However, he hadn't quaked half so much
since Keturah had twice called him to the door, in
the evening, to see a ghost in the garden; and one
ghost was the Bartlett pear-tree, all blossomed out
white, and the other was a stray white cow that
had taken a fancy to the cabbages ! Then Sam
had concluded that there was something as sub-
stantial and commonplace as a pear-tree or a cow
at the bottom of all ghost stories, and he had felt
sure that Keturah could n't scare him again — but
it was queer that that clock should strike One !
The disappearance of Keturah's saffron-colored
silk stockings — which had been given her by her
first and only lover, a sailor, who was drowned on
his second voyage — was not so unaccountable.
Keturah had a great many bundles and budgets:
she was, as she declared, "uncommon savin'."
and hoarded all the scraps that would otherwise
have found their way to the rag-bag. Sam sus-
pected that in one of Keturah's budgets the
saffron-colored silk stockings, which she felt sure
had been spirited away as a warning of impending
evil, were hiding themselves.
But what coidd make that clock strike One ?
It was a tall old hall-clock, that had been in
the family for generations; it had not been in
working order for years, and was supposed to have
outlived its usefulness. Some people admired it
ver)' much, but the children thought it very ugly,
with its great gilt griffin on the top, and its gilt
claw feet, just like a beast. Keturah had always
felt there was something queer about that clock.
And now it did seem as if there was something
queer about the clock; for it had struck, on five or
six occasions, just one loud, solemn stroke, which
could be heard all over the house.
It struck the very first night after Uncle Rufe
and .Aunt Kate went away, between nine and ten
o'clock at night. Sam and Ike were awakened,
and got out of their beds to see what was the mat-
ter. Keturah was as white as a sheet, wringing
her hands, and bewailing that something was
going to happen, whereupon Ike got back into bed,
and covered his head with the clothes.
Sam slipped into his pantaloons, so as to be ready
for emergencies, and crept down two or three stairs.
He peered over the balusters at the clock. A
moonbeam fell exactly across the griffin's head. It
did n't wink, but its eyes flashed like coals of fire.
I am sorry to say that Sam followed Ike.
Keturah said that something dreadful must have
happened to Uncle Rufe or Aunt Kate. But the
next day she received a telegram, saying that they
were well, and had had a \-ery pleasant journey.
And Sam thought that something might have
jarred the clock, and made it strike, and he wished
he had n't covered up his head with the bedclothes.
If he 'd only had time to think, he 'd have marched
boldly up to the clock, and found out what was
the matter ! He lay awake for more than an
hour, mourning that he, the man of the family,
should have let the others think he was afraid.
He was awakened by another stroke of the
clock. There was a faint glimmer of dawn creeping
in at the window — not enough to give the cheerful
courage that comes with morning, but just enough
to make the furniture take on ghostly shapes.
Instead of going boldly down-stairs, Sam sat up
in bed, with his teeth chattering ; and when the
door-knob turned slowly, and the door opened
softly, Ike or even Kitty could not have popped
down under the clothes more quickly than he did !
It was only Keturah. Sam felt wonderfully
re-assured when he heard her voice, and he
emerged from his retirement, and assumed as easy
and confident a manner as a boy could assume
while his teeth were chattering.
" That clock wa' n't never struck with hands ! "
announced Keturah, solemnly.
" Of course it was n't the hands that made it
strike," began Sam, but his feeble attempt at a
joke was promptly frowned down by Keturah. .
" 1 felt in my bones that something was a-goin'
to happen, even before them saflron-colored silk
stockin's was sperited away," said she, in a doleful
voice, and with manv shakings of the head. " And,
i88xj
WllV Tllli CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
507
as if them stockin's \va' n't warnin' enouj^h, there 's
that old clock, that haint been wound up nobody
knows when, and with its insides all gi'n out, any-
how, a-strikin' out loud and solemn enough to
wake the seven sleepers of Christendom ! I haint
no expectation that we shall ever
see your aunt and uncle ag'in ! "
" 1 say, Keturah, if 1 were
you, I 'd go down and take
a look at that clock ! You
might fmd out what makes
it strike," said Sam.
" 1 sha' n't meddle nor
make with the works of dark-
ness, and 1 'd advise you
not to, neither," said Keturah.
Sam scarcely needed that ad-
vice. He felt even less like in-
vestigating the matter than he had
tlic night before. Even in the broad,
cheerful daylight he gave that
clock a wide berth.
After that, the clock struck, once
or twice, every night : and three
times it had struck in the day-
time,— each time when Jake Petti-
bone, Polly's lover, was in the house ;
and from this, Keturah had become pos-
sessed of the idea that Jake had something
to do with the impending evil of which they were
warned by the clock. And so she had forbidden
Polly to have anything to say to him. Polly was
almost broken-hearted, in consequence, and Jake
was as much under the weather as such a jolly
sailor could be.
Sam and Ike and Kitty all thought it was a
great shame. If there ever was a sweetheart that
was worth having, Jake was one. Indeed, Kitty
had resolved to marry him, herself, when she
should grow up, if Polly did n't — unless Ike and
she should keep a candy store, for which enter-
prise she was willing to forego matrimony. Jakt'
had been " 'round the world and home again,"
when he was only a boy. He had seen cocoa-
nuts, and bananas, and dates, growing ; he had
been down in the ocean, and brought up great
branches of coral, and shells that looked as if they
were made of pure gold ; he had been on intimate
terms with monkeys, and wild men, and alligators.
a whale, and it was once as large as the fabulous
sea-serpent ; he had caught a cod-fish so heavy
that it nearly sank the vessel; had got wrecked,
and escaped drowning only by a hair's breadth.
.After all those good times, he had settled
quietly down in Northport, and, wonderful man as
he was, had become so condescending as to
wish to marry Polly, the children's nurse.
""•j;;:^^ Polly was a nice girl enough, and pretty,
. ' '"'- too; but she did not know what a
volcano was, and seemed to
SAM PEERED OVER THE BAL-
USTERS AT THE CLOCK.
think it «as an animal ; she
said she saw one stuffed in a
menagerie, once; and she would
say, " Oh, la, now, I know you 're
jokin' ! " while Jake was relating
his most thrilling adventures,
which was very disagreeable.
To say nothing of his past greatness, Jake was
now the propt-ietor of three boats ; in one, he went
fishing; the other two he kept to let. If there
could be a happier or prouder position in life than
Jake's, Sam and Ike would like to know what it was.
The fishing vessel was "as tidy a craft as you
often run afoul of," as its owner often remarked, and
the children were very fond of going fishing in it.
and earthquakes, and volcanoes ; he had been half although, to tell the truth, there was a fishy smell
cooked by cannibals, scalped — in a mild way — b;
Indians, and had had a piece of his arm bitten out
by a shark; he had been on a fishing expedition
to "the Hanks"; had killed, with his own hands, a
shark as big as — well, 1 am obliged to confess that
the size of that shark varied with each time th:'.t
Jake told the story; but it was never smaller than
about it, which grew very strong just about the time
the water began to break up into hills, and the boat
began to make dancing-school bows, and you began
to wish you had n't come. The little pleasure-yacht,
the " Harnsome Polly," was "desarvin' of her name,
and more 'n that you could n't say." That was
Jake's opinion. The children thought Polly ought
5o8
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
[May,
to be very proud and grateful for the honor of hav-
ing such a beautiful boat named for her. Jake's
third boat was only a row-boat, named the "Racer,"
which he had made for himself; but it was ever\-
thing that a row-boat ought to be, and he often
lent it to Sam and Ike to row in. by themselves.
It will readily be seen that Jake was a valuable as
well as a distinguished friend, and his marriage to
Polly was an event greatly to be desired, especially
as Jake threatened, if Aunt Kcturah persisted in
"cutting up rough," and preventing him from see-
ing Polly, to go off to the Cannibal Islands, and get
himself wholly cooked, this time, and eaten ; a har-
rowing possibility, the thought of which caused
Kitty to dissolve into tears, and made Sam and Ike
lose their zest for fishing, even, for a whole day.
And that queer, ridiculous old clock was at the
bottom of all this trouble !
As Sam, looking out of the hall window, saw
Jake being "shooed" away from Polly, he beck-
oned to him, slyly. He wanted to see whether
that clock would strike as soon as he set foot in
the house, as on former occasions, and he also
wished to cheer Jake a little, lest he should, in des-
peration, set sail at once for the Cannibal Islands.
Poor Jake's round, rosy face was elongated until
it looked like the reflection of a face in a spoon,
and its jollity had given place to a woe-begoneness
that was enough to make your heart ache.
He came cautiously around to the door, anxious
lest Polly's vigilant aunt should espy him ; but
Keturah had returned to her chicken-pie, without
having the faintest idea that Jake would be so
audacious as to enter the house by the front door.
Jake stood still, just inside the door, and sur-
veyed the clock. He was superstitious, as sailors
usually are, and he seemed to prefer to keep at a
respectful distance from that clock.
" She 's an onacountable cre'tur', now, aint she ? "
Sam understood that he meant the clock, for
Jake had a way of considering clocks, as well as
vessels, as of the female sex.
"But it did n't strike, Jake! It did n't strike
One when you came in ! " exclaimed Sam.
" She did n't, that 's a fact ! " said Jake, bright-
ening a little. " Mebbe she 's gi'n over her pesky
tricks. I don't see what nobody 's got ag'in' me to
go to bewitchin' on her like that, anyhow ! "
"I don't think it has anything to do with you,
Jake. It strikes every night, and you are not here
then," said Sam.
" But it 's kinder cur'us that she don't never set
up to strike in the day-time, onless I be here.
But there is folks, Sammy, that says none o' them
things don't happen without nateral causes, and if
there is a nateral cause for that there clock's per-
formances, I 'd gin somethin' harnsome to find it
out ! For there haint nothin' but jest clearin' up
this here mystery that '11 ever fetch the old woman
'round" — with a nod toward the kitchen. "As
for them saffron-colored silk stockin's, — she says,
mebbe I haint got nothin' to do with their bein'
speritcd away, but that pesky clock's strikin' is a
warnin' ag'in' me. Well, if Polly 'n' me has got
to part, there 's the Cannibal Islands for me, and
the sooner I 'm off the better ! "
"Oh, Jake, don't go!" cried Sam, in distress.
"Perhaps we shall find out what makes it strike.
1 'm going to try ! "
"Sammy, if you will find out, and fetch Keturah
'round. I '11 — I '11 take you mackerelin' clear'n
outside the shoals, and I '11 — Sammy, I '11 make
you a row-boat that '11 beat the ' Racer ' all hol-
ler, and as pretty as new paint can make her ! "
This was a dazzling offer, indeed ! Sam felt
ready to brave all the ghosts he had ever heard of,
for such a prize. .And to keep Jake away from
the Cannibal Islands ! — though he must be a great
goose to let cannibals eat him, just for Polly.
"Of course, it is nothing but what can be
accounted for, and I '11 find out for you, for noth-
ing, Jake," said he, grandly. Just at that moment
a sudden breeze, blowing through the open
window, slammed the hall door.
A moment afterward the clock struck One !
Jake's ruddy face actually changed color, and he
gazed at Sam in awe-stricken silence. Sam did n't
feel so brave as he had felt a few- moments before,
but he marched up to the clock, and had his hand
on the door when he heard Keturah's voice. He
turned to look for Jake, but he had vanished.
" It 's jest because that Jake Pettibone was
hangin' 'round here, though he did n't set his foot
in the house. I did n't send him off none too
soon, for it 's as true as preachin' that that warnin'
has got somethin' to do with him ! Sakes alive,
child, you aint a-touchin' of it ! Come right away,
this minute ; it 's a-flying in the face o' Providence
to meddle with such things ! "
Sam was not at all sure that he would have
opened the clock door if Keturah had not ap-
peared, for he felt very queer and " shaky."
His heart sank. He had a " presentiment,"
like Keturah. He felt sure that he should never
have a boat that could beat the " Racer," that Polly
would die of a broken heart, and the cannibals
would dine off roasted Jake.
" Hickory, dickor\', dock. A mouse ran up the clock ;
The clock struck one, and down he ran, Hickory, dickory, dock ! "
Sam awoke in the dead of the night, with this
poem of Mother Goose running in his head. It
i882.]
WIIV THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
509
had, in some way, mingled itself with his dreams, tiresome old lady, whose poetry was of very little
It was no wonder, for Kitty was continually repeat- account — by which it will be seen that Sam's
ing Mother Goose's poetry, and the clock, which literary taste was poor. But now it occurred to
was in everybody's mouth, figuratively speaking, him that a mouse might make a clock strike One,
had probably put that vi-fii' inio hir li.;\il. Inilnil. if it t'nt in and frisked about among the works.
r --'vy----r^^.W^5:tjL«.y
TKK M-iSrtKV bOl-VED.
Sam remembered, now, that he had heard her
singing it over and over the day before. It had
not suggested any idea to him then ; he only
wished that he need not hear quite so much about
clocks, and he thought that Mother Goose was a
A mouse might be the " nateral cause" that
Jake would give so much to find. Sam might
possibly make a discovery that would bring Ke-
turah out of the doleful dumps, keep Jake from the
cannibals, drv PoIIv's tears, take them all mack-
5IO
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
[May,
ereling out beyond the shoals, and last, but not
least, give him a row-boat of his own that could
beat the " Racer" all hollow.
He must be a queer boy who would not dare
something with a chance of gaining all that.
He might wait until morning to investigate, but
Keturah seemed to know, by instinct, when any-
body went near that clock, and she would be sure
to interfere, and, besides, he could n't wait.
He slipped out of bed and lighted his candle
(Keturah did not allow him to have a lamp, lest he
should break it and set the house on fire), and he
stole softly down-stairs. The one small candle
had very little effect upon the darkness of the great
hall. There seemed to be shadowy shapes in
every corner, and the stillness was awful. It re-
quired all the courage that Sam could muster to
force himself to go forward.
But at last he did stand before the clock, with his
heart in his mouth, and his hand trembling so that
he could scarcely hold the candle. You may think
it strange that he was afraid, but you have n't
heard Keturah talk about ghosts and witches until
your blood ran cold. Sam knew there were no
such things, just as well as you do, but he felt very
" shivery."
It was not too late to turn back ; but that was
not the kind of boy that Sam was.
He thought of the boy that stood on the burning
deck, of Daniel in the lions' den, and, queerly
enough, of the Plymouth Rock rooster that uiouhi
fly around after its head was cut off. People do
think of queer things at great crises, you know.
Then, with a bold little jerk, he opened the
clock door.
The clock struck One !
The stroke came in the midst of a rushing and
scrambling noise, and Sam saw a mouse's tail
whisking out of sight !
Sam put his head inside the clock, and there,
down in one corner, was a nest, full of tiny mice,
scarcely as large as your little finger ! And what
do you suppose the nest was made of? A great
quantity of bits of paper came first, but sticking
out at the side was a strange something that
caught Sam's eye. He pulled, and out came —
just as true as you live — Keturah's saffron-colored
silk stockings !
Sam was a brave boy, then, you may be sure !
You could n't have made him believe that he
ever had been otherwise; and happy? — if he had
had anything to set the candle on, he would have
turned a somersault, then and there. As it was,
he had to content himself with uttering a shout; it
was what Ike and he called a Camanche war-
whoop, and it raised the whole household.
Keturah came first, with her night-cap strings
flying, a Bible under one arm, and a horseshoe
under the other. Ike came ne.xt, in his night-
gown, with his hair standing upright, from terror,
but tugging his velocipede along, because, as he^
afterward explained, " if everything was going to
smash, he was going to save that, anyhow."
Then came Kitty, half awake and sobbing ; and
Polly brought up the rear, her face as white as her
curl-papers.
Keturah sat down fiat on the hall-floor, when
she heard Sam's report, and saw her saffron-
colored silk stockings, soiled and tattered, but still
her precious treasures.
" Seein' that wa' n't a warnin', I '11 never believe
in warnin's no more ! " she exclaimed.
"Oh, don't! please don't, Keturah!" cried
Sam. "Nor hear raps nor have doleful dumps — "
" Nor turn ag'in' poor Jake ! " interrupted Polly.
" It was just because he is big, and stepped
heavily, and jarred the clock, and scared the
mouse, that the clock struck One when he came
here ! Don't you see ? " cried Sam.
" I 'm a foolish old woman, and I 'm free to
confess I 'd ought to put more trust in Providence,
seein' things mostly turns out to be jest what you
might have known, and as nateral as life ! "
With this not very clear confession, Keturah
retired. She dropped her horseshoe on the way,
and did n't stop to pick it up !
Keturah wanted to let Casabianca have those
wee mice, but Sam begged them off; he thought
it was mean to take the advantage of such little
bits of things, and he declared they should have a
fair chance for their lives. But the next time that
they went to look at them, — lo and behold!
their mother had carried them all off! She evi-
dently thought a quieter tenement was better
suited to a growing family.
And so the clock never struck again.
That new boat is a beauty. Sam and Ike agree
that the "Racer" "is n't anywhere" beside it.
The Cannibal Islanders will have to go hungry
for a long time, before they make a meal off Jake.
If you '11 believe it, Keturah washed, darned,
and patched those saffron-colored silk stockings,
and danced in them at Jake and Polly's wedding !
iS82.]
1' 111-: 1 ) R 1 l; I x II I- DAN r /. i c .
511
THE ORIGIN OF DAXTZIC.
(A IVest-PrHssian Legend,)
By a. M. Cook.
'THK TOWNS-FOLK SIORMEO AGAINSI
On the spot now occupied by the great commer-
cial port of Prussia, the strongly fortified city of
Dantzic, there stood, in ancient times, a little fish-
ing-town named Wieke.
The inhabitants of this place supported them-
selves mostly by trading in eels and smoked her-
rings; there were, however, a good many soldiers
in the town, and their presence made the fishermen
turliulent and nuarrclsonie. When, as had been
their custom from time out of mind, all the towns-
folk assembled, with their wives and children, to
celebrate their ancient festivals, and kindled great
fires, around which they danced, there was pretty
sure to be a disturbance and a fight before the
frolic was over, and not unfrequently it ended in
the death of one of their number.
The " grundherr," or landed proprietor of
Wieke — that is, the nobleman to whose estate the
village and all the surrounding country belonged —
was a man of high rank, but very uncertain tem-
per. His name was Hagel, and he had built for
himself a large castle, made entirely of wood, and
situated upon the top of a high hill that was called,
from him, " The Hagelsberg." But of neither cas-
tle nor village can the smallest trace now be found.
llagel was a powerful and hard man, for whom
his dependents felt no affection. He punished the
slightest offenses with great severity, and it must
be confessed that the rough conduct of the villagers
too often gave him an excuse and opportunity.
But he \vas not only severe, he was also unjust, and
insisted upon having, as a sort of tribute, the best
512
THE ORIGIN OF DANTZIC.
[May,
of all that the people obtained by their fisheries,
in addition to their labor in cultivating his land.
THE EN i h.A.SCt, ui- lHr_ iW t K t .\- » . ^.i c.n r.i-.AKlNG WEDDING-'
Even the women had to do their share whenever
extra help was wanted at the castle, and as the
work up there seemed to have no end, there was a
general alarm whenever the boigt (or steward) of
Hagelsberg was seen coming down to the village,
for no one could tell who or what would be wanted
next.
But, before going on to tell the rest of the
story, 1 must stop and explain to the little Ameri-
can reader that in those old times in Europe the
country people, or " peasantry," as they are called,
did not own their farms, as most American farmers
do. Nowadays, some of the richest own their land,
but in former days the whole country belonged
cither to the king or to some great man, and the
people were their tenants and dependents. Some-
times they paid their rents in produce, sometimes
by their services, some-
times in both, but within
certain limits. Money they
seldom used — it was too
^1 arcc. Their condition
ikpended entirely upon
the character of the land-
lord, who in different coun-
tries had different titles,
1 ml all signifying the same
hing, — the "lord," or
owner," of the soil.
However dissatisfied a
|ieasant might be with his
landlord, he could not
move away and go to
another. Peasants never
thought of such a thing.
In the first place, they
could not go unless by the
consent and permission of
the man under whom they
were living; and then the
landlord who would treat
them the worst would be
most unwilling to part with
a good tenant. So that for
peasants to remove was a
sort of disgrace, for it at
once raised the suspicion
that they bore a bad char-
acter, and had, perhaps,
been sent off. Therefore,
they got along as they
best could, and lived and
died where their fore-
fathers had lived and died
before them, — often in the
same house.
In some countries there
still is but little change, not, in these days, be-
cause they inight not remove if they wished, but
simply from habit and custom. Now that all parts
of Europe are governed by good laws, the land-
owners have no longer such absolute power over
their tenants as they had in what are called the
" feudal " times, — an expression which means the
times when affairs were in the very state just de-
scribed. Besides this, the peasants feel a natural
pride in having lived for many generations on the
same estate, and therefore they are very unwilling
to remove, unless driven to it by the most urgent
necessity.
Now to return to the legend.
For ten long years the " Wieker," or inhabitants
.iFTS. [see page 514.1
1883.1
THE ORIGIN OF DANTZIC.
513
of Wicke, — with impatience and murmurs, it is
true, — had borne the weight of the yoke laid upon
them by their grundherr. But at last it got to
be past bearing, and they determined to put an
end to his oppressions, either by force or stratagem.
They would much have preferred to use force, for
to their honest, manly hearts there was something
mean and small in stratagem ; but it was only too
evident that they would not be able to accomplish
their purpose in that way. For how could they,
undisciplined villagers, hope to make their way to
the top of the Hagelsberg, in the face of the strong
garrison within the cas-
tle-walls ? And if they
gained the summit,
how could they effect
an entrance through
bars and iron-bound
doors and armed serv-
ing-men, tc get at the
tyrant hidden within ?
.Muskets and cannon
were things altogether
unknown in those
days ; arrows shot up-
ward would onl\' fall
back, and perhaps in-
jure those who sent
them. So they came
to the conclusion that
there was nothing left
for them but to try
stratagem.
It was again time for
one of their great fes-
tivals, the remains of
the old heathen wor-
ship of their ancestors,
but which their de-
scendants still contin-
ued to observe for mere
amusement and frolic.
The evening before the
festival they always
assembled to light a
huge bonfire. — former-
ly kindled in honor of
their gods, — and all
the night they danced
around it with songs
and all sorts of wild
antics. Accordingly,
on this occasion, they
ascended to the usual
place, — the open space
in front of the castle. The selection of this spot an-
ciently had been made as a mark of respect to the
nobleman who owned the castle, implying a degree
of valor and heroism on his part so great as to en-
title him to a share in the honors offered to their
deities. This compliment custom obliged him to
acknowledge by sending out to the re\'elers a cask
of beer, which, with loud shouts and hurrahs, they
drank to his health.
The Wieker had long fixed upon the present
festival as the time for carrying out their plan of
vengeance; and when the appointed day came,
they ascended the Hagelsberg, as they had often
done before, built and kindled their bonfire, began
AND RUSHED UPON
their dance, and seemed to be enjoying themselves
to the utmost. But scarcely had the cask of beer
514
THE ORIGIN (IF DANTZIC.
(May,
made its appearance when they seized upon the
serving-men who brought it, and having secured
and fastened them, made a rush toward the castle,
hoping to effect an entrance through the gate,
which still stood open.
All were armed with swords and axes concealed
under their clothes, and not a doubt was enter-
tained of their success, for no one in the castle
could have had the least suspicion of their inten-
tions; but the watchman on the tower happened
to detect the flash of some of their weapons just
in time to spring forward and close in the face of
the assailants the iron-bound gate, against which
they now stormed in unavailing fury. The raging
towns-folk were finally obliged to retire, having
accomplished nothing but the capture of the two
serving-men, about whom Hagel cared not a straw.
Sorely against their own wills, they were now
under the necessity of keeping themselves quiet
until another opportunity should offer for carrying
out their plans. But the outbreak had taught the
oppressor some respect for the courage of the vil-
lagers, whom he did not think it wise to imbitter
by further exactions. He even began to believe
that it was worth his while to make some efforts to
conciliate them, and therefore he determined to
give his daughter Pechta in marriage to one of
the most distinguished among them, hoping by
this means to form with them a bond of mutual
interest which they would be slow to break.
Now, it was a custom that the bridegroom, at-
tended by his friends and family, should go with
great rejoicing to carry away the bride from the
home of her parents, and take her to the great
square in the center of the village, where the com-
pany were assembled to witness the betrothal.
Hagel knew this well, but, still mistrusting the
Wiekcr, was not willing to allow any large body of
them to come together up the hill and into the
castle. He therefore ga\e orders that the mother
of the bridegroom should come in his stead to carry
away the bride, and intimated that she could bring
with her as many young maidens for her attend-
ants as she might choose.
Accordingly, on the day appointed for the cere-
mony, a long train of women, laden with rich
presents for the noble bride, slo«'ly and wearily
ascended the Hagelsberg. Hagel, on his part,
received them with the most flattering cordiality,
and conducted them to the great hall of the castle,
where a numerous and richly dressed company was
assembled, musicians were in attendance, and the
bride in her marriage robes awaited the villagers.
The master of the house and the bride's mother
immediately led off the " ehren-tez " (literally the
honor dance), and the principal members of the
castle household, whose duty it was to fall in at a
certain point and follow their movements, began
to seek among the newly arrived damsels for
partners. But at that moment the pretended
young women, throwing off their disguises and
grasping the weapons concealed beneath, rushed
upon the unwary Hagelsbergers, with so much
promptness and vigor that few escaped with
their lives. Hagel himself was slain, and with
his dying breath exclaimed: "O dance! O
dance ! How hast thou betrayed me ! " Not long
afterward, the great wooden castle of the oppressor
was demolished and burned to the ground.
The country at this time was subject to Sub-
islaus, the first Duke of Pomerellen, who was
threatened with a war by King Waldemar, of
Denmark. As Subislaus had no fortified city
in which he could make a stand against the
enemy, he called upon his subjects to erect
the necessary fortifications in their several
towns, promising them land and timber for
the purpose, together with whatever else they
might need. He made them such representa-
tions of the advantages which they, as towns,
would derive from these defenses, that the inhabit-
ants of Wieke were quite captivated by the idea,
and offered to build and fortify a town themselves,
if Subislaus would give them for it as much land
as they could inclose with their arms.
The duke did not exactly understand what it
was they wanted, but he unhesitatingly granted
their petition for so small a bit of land, and ap-
pointed a day for them to come to select and
measure it off. At the time named, the inhabitants
of Wieke all assembled — men, women, and chil-
dren, old and young, masters, mistresses, and serv-
ants— no one was left out, not even some strangers
who happened to be spending a few days among
them ; and, forming a circle around the spot
chosen, they took hold of hands and stretched out
their arms to the utmost. The space thus encom-
passed was very large, but Duke Subislaus had to
keep his word, cost him what it might.
But the Wieker kept theirs also, and in an in-
credibly short time the given ground was covered
with houses and strong defenses.
In remembrance of their agency in building it,
and of the cry that accompanied the death of their
oppressor and left them at liberty to give their aid
to their good duke, they called the new city
" Tanz-Wieke," which has since been corrupted
into its present name — " Dantzic."
I 883.]
KING MIDAS.
515
An old man who lived by a K^tc,
On the passers-by promptly would wait ;
And when no one would ride,
He would open it wide,
And march through himself in great state.
KING MIDAS.
By Celia Th.-vxter.
Heard you, O little children.
This wonderful story told
Of the Phrygian king whose fatal touch
Turned everything to gold ?
In a great, dim, dreary chamber,
Beneath the palace floor.
He counted his treasures of glittering coin,
And he always longed for more.
When the clouds in the blaze of sunset
Burned flaming fold on fold.
He thought how fine a thing 't would be
Were they but real gold !
And when his dear little daughter.
The child he loved so well.
Came bringing in from the pleasant fields
The yellow asphodel.
Or buttercups from the meadow,
Or dandelions gay.
King Midas would look at the blossoms sweet,
And she would hear him say :
'If only the flowers were really
Golden as they appear,
'T were worth your while to gather them,
My little daughter dear ! "
One day, in the dim, drear chambei,
As he counted his treasure o'er,
A sunbeam slipped through a chink in the wall
And quivered down to the floor.
5i6
KING MIDAS.
[TMay,
" Would it were gold," he muttered,
"That broad, bright yellow bar!"
Suddenly stood in its mellow light,
A Figure bright as a star.
Young and ruddy and glorious,
With face as fresh as the day.
With a winged cap and winged heels.
And eyes both wise and gay.
"O have your wish, King Midas,"
A heavenly voice begun,
Like all sweet notes of the morning
Braided and blended in one.
" And when to-morrow's sunrise
Wakes you with rosy fire,
All things you touch shall turn to gold.
Even as you desire."
King Midas slept. The morning
At last stole up the sky,
And woke him, full of eagerness
The wondrous spell to try.
And lo ! the bed's fine draperies
Of linen fair and cool.
Of quilted satin and cobweb lace,
And blankets of snowy wool.
All had been changed with the sun's first ray
To marvelous cloth of gold.
That rippled and shimmered as soft as silk
In many a gorgeous fold.
But all this splendor weighed so much
'T was irksome to the king.
And up he sprang to try at once
The touch on every thing.
The heavy tassel that he grasped
Magnificent became,
And hung by the purple curtain rich
Like a glowing mass of flame.
At every step, on every side,
Such splendor followed him.
The very sunbeams seemed to pale.
And morn itself grew dim.
But when he came to the water
For his delicious bath.
And dipped his hand in the surface smooth.
He started in sudden wrath ;
For the liquid, light and leaping,
So crystal-bright and clear.
Grew a solid lake of heavy gold,
And the king began to fear !
But out he went to the garden.
So fresh in the morning hour.
And a thousand buds in the balmy night
Had burst into perfect flower.
'T was a world of perfume and color.
Of tender and delicate bloom.
But only the hideous thirst for wealth
In the king's heart found room.
He passed like a spirit of autumn
Through that fair space of bloom.
And the leaves and the flowers grew yellow
In a dull and scentless gloom.
Back to the lofty palace
Went the glad monarch then,
And sat at his sumptuous breakfast,
Most fortunate of men !
He broke the fine, white wheaten roll.
The light and wholesome bread.
And it turned to a lump of metal rich —
It had as well been lead !
Again did fear assail the king.
When — what was this he heard?
The voice of his little daughter dear,
As sweet as a grieving bird.
Sobbing she stood before him,
And a golden rose held she,
And the tears that brimmed her blue, blue eyes
Were pitiful to see.
" Father ! O Father dearest !
This dreadful thing — oh, see !
Oh, what has happened to all the flowers ?
Tell me, what can it be ? "
"Why should )OU cry, my daughter?
Are not these blossoms of gold
Beautiful, precious, and wonderful.
With splendor not to be told ? "
■' I hate them, O my father !
They 're stifl" and hard and dead.
That were so sweet and soft and fair.
And blushed so warm and red."
'Come here," he cried, " my darling,"
.'\nd bent, her cheek to kiss.
To comfort her — when — Heavenly Powers!
What fearful thing was this ?
He sank back, shuddering and aghast.
But she stood still as death —
A statue of horrible gleaming gold,
With neither motion nor breath.
iSSi.l
KlNt; MIUAS.
517
The gold tears hardened on her check,
The gold rose in her hand.
Even her little sandals changed
To gold, where she did stand.
Then such a tumult of despair
The wretched king possessed.
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And sobbed, and beat his breast.
Weighed with one look from her sweet eyes
What was the whole world worth ?
Against one touch of her loving lips,
The treasure of all the earth '1
The Stranger listened — a sweeter smile
Kindled his grave, bright eyes.
' Glad am 1, O King Midas,
That )ou have grown so wise !
' .\gain your wish is granted ;
More swiftly than before,
W\ you have harmed with the fatal touch
You shall again restore."
He clasped his little daughter —
Oh, joy I — within his arms.
She trembled back to her human self.
With all her human charms.
Then came that voice, like music,
As fresh as the morning air,
•■ How is it with you, King Midas,
Rich in your answered prayer ? "
.A.nd there, in the sunshine smiling,
-Majestic as before,
Ruddy and young and glorious,
The Stranger stood once more.
" Take back your gift so terrible !
No blessing, but a curse !
One loving heart more precious is
Than the gold of the universe."
Across her face he saw the life
Beneath his kiss begin.
And steal to the charming dimple deep
Upon her lovely chin.
Again her eyes grew blue and clear,
.Vgain her cheek flushed red.
She locked her arms about his neck.
'• My father dear ! " she said.
Oh, happy was King Midas,
.•\gainst his heart to hold
His treasure of love, more precious
Than a thousand worlds of gold !
;i8
THE STORY OF THE SECRETARY BIRD.
THE STORY OF THE SECRETARY BIRD.
By Paul Fort.
It must not be supposed that the Secretary
Bird, which has its home in South Africa, received
its name because it is in the habit of writing letters
for other birds, or attending to the correspondence
of any living creature. On the contrary, there is
no other reason for his singular name than the
fact that he has behind one ear a tuft of feathers,
somewhat resembling a quill pen stuck behind
the ear of a clerk. This bird has another
name — that of Snake-Eater — which seems
much more suitable ; for the most remark-
able thing about the Secretary Bird is his
habit of feeding upon large snakes. He is
a good-sized bird, with long, powerful legs,
like those of a crane. When he attacks a
snake, which he does with great swiftness
and apparent fury, his usual way of killing it
is to stamp it to death with his feet. There
are many birds which eat small snakes, but
it is very unusual for any of the feathered
tribe to pick out large serpents, and feed
exclusively upon them.
There is a story told about the way the
Secretary Bird came to be a snake-eater,
which is, I am quite sure, nothing but a mere
fable, but which may be of interest to those
who have heard of the peculiarities of this
curious and interesting creature. The story
runs as follows :
There was a time when the Secretary Bird
lived on fish, like the other long-legged and
crane-like birds, and he was so well satisfied
with this fare that he never cared for any
other kind of food.
One day, a large Secretary Bird was stand-
ing in the water, on the edge of a river,
busily engaged in fishing. When he saw a
fish pass by, he would dart down his head
and seize it in his bill, which was strong and
hooke^ , like that of a fish-hawk. As soon
as he had caught a fish, he would wade
ashore, and there eat it. While he was thus
engaged in fishing, a large serpent came
winding his way along the river-bank, and,
as soon as he perceived the bird, he stopped
to see what it was doing. When the Secretary
Bird came out of the water to cat the fish, the
Snake remarked :
" Friend, it seems to me you would make a
pleasanter meal if you would toss your fish upon
the bank as fast as vou catch them, and then.
when you have enough, come out and eat them at
your leisure."
" I should like that plan very well," said the
Secretary Bird; "but if I should toss a freshly
caught fish upon the bank, he would flop into the
water as soon as I had gone to catch another. Thus
I should always be catching fish, and eating none."
"There need be no trouble of that kind to-day,"
THE ANGRY BIRD ATTACKS THE SNAKE.
said the Snake; " for, if you will throw the fish on
shore, 1 will see that they do not get into the
water again."
"Thank you very kindly," said the Secretary
Bird. " If you will do that, it will save time, and
I shall soon catch enough fish for a dinner."
THE STOKV OF Tilt: SECRETARY lilKU.
519
" I shall be only too glad to oblige you," said
the Serpent.
Thereupon the Bird waded into the river, and as
soon as he caught a fish he threw it ashore, where
the Snake took care that it did not get into the
water again. When the Bird thought he had
caught enough fish, he came on shore and saw the
Snake slowly moving away.
'•What is your hurry?" he cried. '"Stop and
take dinner with me. I have now caught twelve
fish, and as I had eaten some before you came, six
will be all I shall want. You can have the other
six, and we can take a pleasant meal together."
"I am very much obliged to you," said the
Snake, still moving away; "but I do not believe
that anything could induce me to eat a fish at
present. I have no appetite at all for such food."
And he glided into the bushes, and was lost to
sight.
" He need not be so dainty," said the Secretary
Bird to himself ; "for fish is very good food, indeed ;
but, since he will not accept my invitation, I shall
have all the more dinner for myself But where an
the fish ? "
The Secretary Bird looked anxiously about, on
the shore and in the grass, but he could find no
sign of the fish he had caught. .■Xt length he came
to a little pile of twelve fish-tails lying behind a
bush. The Snake did not like fish-tails, and h.ul
bitten these off before eating the fish. Instantly
the truth flashed through the mind of the Secretary
Bird.
" That wretched Serpent ! " he exclaimed. " I k-
has, indeed, taken good care that my fish shall not
escape into the water. He has eaten them, one b)'
one, as fast as I threw them on shore. I never
heard of such an infamous trick. But 1 will be
revenged on him. I will find him, no matter w-liere
he has hidden himself" So saying, the angry
Bird rushed away in pursuit of the crafty acquaint-
ance who had taken care of his fish.
The Snake, who had made an unusually heavy
meal, felt very lazy and sleepy; and when he had
gone a little distance from the river, he crept
among some tall grass and reeds, and coiled him-
self up to take a nap. But the Secretary Bird was
not far away, and he saw a movement among the
tall reeds.
"There he is!" he shouted, and ho dashed
toward the place.
In a moment he had pounced among the reeds,
and attacked the Snake with great fury.
" You infamous creature ! " he cried. " I will
teach you how to deceive a bird of my standing."
And in spite of the Snake's efforts to get away, he
stamped upon him and pecked him until he had
killed him.
" You have cIiL-alcd me of my dinner," said the
angry Bird, " and it would serve you right if 1 were
to make a dinner of you."
So saying, — his appetite whetted by the morn-
ing's work, — he began to eat the Snake, and did
not stop until he had entirely devoured him.
" Upon the whole," said the Secretary Bird,
when he had finished, " I prefer snakes to fish,
and I think that for the future I shall make my
meals upon these deceitful creatures, who go about
playing tricks upon honest folk."
After that, this bird gave up eating fish, and fed
entirely upon snakes. He did not trouble himself
to catch the little ones, because it took too many of
them to satisfy his hunger ; but he preferred the
large ones, as one of them was enough for a
meal. His wife and children soon learned that
snakes were easy to catch and good to eat, and they
also gave up eating fish.
This Secretary Bird was a very influential mem-
ber of his tribe, and the new diet soon became
quite fashionable : and the descendants of the
Secretary Birds of that day have since lived
entirely upon large snakes.
It may be noticed, also, that the serpents of that
part of the country, remembering, perhaps, this
old story, have a great distaste for fish.
T HI-; !•; R R I X C, S C I V. N T I S T.
A STUDENT of great enterprise
Went out early to see the sun rise :
But he faced the wrong way.
And stood there all day,
Very much to his neighbors' surprise.
S20
THE RAIN-MAX.
[May,
Wash the strawberries in their bed,
Make them ripe and round and red
Wash the cherries 'neath the eaves.
Blushing under thick green leaves.
Lay the dust upon the street.
Send up odors clean and sweet
From the earth and new-mown grass,
When the little breezes pass.
i83xj
THK RAIN-MAN.
521
WlWWWIiiHiiiiiiii 1! I iiiu inMii^w^-.
Steal' into the robin's nest,
Make the nestlings seek her breast;
Make the chickens run and hide
'Neath the mother-wings so wide.
Rain-man, 'neath your cloudy hat,
Come and clatter, pat, pat, pat;
O'er the roofs, and chimneys, too,
Let us hear your tramping shoe.
>>.
I' lUL- and \-i^,i; u.i I .'-J.i;, .
I'our your buckets down the sky ;
When you 're through, we '11 shout : " Good-by ! "
Vol. I-\— 34.
522
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[May,
1 CAN T GROW TO BE A GOOD GIRL UNLESS I EAT GOOD THINGS.
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.*— EI GHTH PAPER.
Bv Clar.# Erskine Clement.
ANDREA DEL SARTO.
The true family name of this painter was
Vannucchi. He was called del Sarto because his
father was a tailor, or un Sarto, in Italian. An-
drea was born in 1488, and, when quite young, was
employed as a goldsmith and worker in metals ;
but his great desire was to become a painter, and,
when he finally studied art, he was untiring in his
efforts to learn its rules and to understand its prac-
tice. Andrea was the pupil of Pietro di Cosimo,
but his style of painting was not like that master's.
He seems to have had many original ideas, and
to have formed his soft and fascinating manner
for himself
Andrea del Sarto can not be called a truly great
painter, but his pictures are sweet and lovely, and
would be more pleasing to many persons than
those of artists of higher fame. He was very suc-
cessful in his fresco-painting, and was employed in
Florence in decorating the convent of the Nunziata,
and in a building called the Scalzo ; the last was
named from the Scalzi, Barefooted Friars, who
held their meetings in it. These frescoes are con-
sidered the finest of Andrea's works, although
some of them are now much injured.
Andrea had so much sorrow in his life, that one
is moved to think he might have painted better
had he been a happier man. He loved his wife
devotedly, though she was a selfish and mean-
spirited woman, who never appreciated his talents,
and seemed only to think of how she could get
money to spend in a showy and extravagant way of
living. She was even unwilling that he should
care for his aged parents, and it was owing to her
that he at length deserted them, although formerly
he had been a kind and dutiful son.
After a time (about 15 iS) Francis I., the king
•Copyright, 1881, by Clara Erskine Clement. All rights reseired.
8..)
S T O K 1 E S OF A R T A X 1 ) A R T I S T S .
523
of France, invited Andrea to go to Paris and exe-
cute works for him. The artist consented, and
was treated with great consideration in the brilliant
French capital. Soon, however, his wife insisted
that he should return to Florence. Francis I. was
very unwilling to allow Andrea to leave France,
where he had engaged already to do many decora-
tive paintings ; but Andrea was so much under the
influence of his wife that he did not dare to
remain. So, when he had made a promise, and
solemnly sworn with his hand on the Bible, that
he would soon return and bring his wife with him,
and remain as long as might be necessary to finish
the works he had engaged to do, the king con-
sented. Francis also intrusted to .Andrea a large
sum of money, with which he was to buy works of
art and other beautiful objects for the king.
When Andrea reached Florence, his wicked
wife not only refused to go to France, but
persuaded him to give her the money which
belonged to Francis I. This she soon spent,
and, although Andrea had been so weak in
listening to her wicked advice, he still was
not so base that he could forget the wrong
he had done in giving the money to her. Hi-
lived ten years longer, and painted many
more pictures, but he was always vcr\- un-
happy. Francis I. never forgave him for his
breach of trust ; and, to this day, all who
read the story of Andrea can not but feci
sorrow in remembering how weak he was ami
how wickedly he came to act, in consequence
In 1530, Andrea was attacked by a conta-
gious disease ; his wretched wife abandoned
him, and he died alone, and was buried with
out a funeral or even a prayer, in the same-
convent of the Nunziata in which he had
painted his finest frescoes. One of these
pictures is a "Repose of the Holy Family,"
which is usually called the '' Matioiiiia del
Sacco," because in it St. Joseph is repre-
sented as leaning on a sack.
Now, there are so many different picturc^
of the Holy Family, that they are divided
into classes, and such as arc called, in Italian.
// Riposo, and, in our own tongue. The Re-
pose, all represent an incident of the flight
into Egypt, when St. Joseph, his wife Mary,
and the child Jesus halted in their journey for
rest and refreshment. The legend, in telling
of this episode, says that, near the village of
Matarca, where they were resting, a fountain
sprang forth by miracle ; and near by was a syca-
more grove, beneath which the family found shade
and protection. The story has given a peculiar
religious significance to the sycamore tree, by
associating it with the mother of Christ ; and the
Crusaders were in the habit of bringing branches
of it into Europe as sacred mementos of the grove
near the " Fountain of Mary," as the spring is
called. When I was in Egypt, I visited this spot,
which is a few miles from the city of Cairo, and is
always pointed out to the Christians by the Arab
guides.
The oil paintings by Andrea del Sarto are very
beautiful ; the finest one hangs in the Tribune of
the Uffizi C.allery, in Florence. This is a place
of great honor, because some of the most re-
markable works of art which exist in an)' collec-
tion in the world are in this same building — such
.IS the " V'enus dci Medici," the " Dancing Faun,"
and other beautiful antique statues, as well as
some of the finest pictures by Michael Angelo,
ANDREA UEL SARTO.
Raphael, Titian. Van Dyck, and other great
masters. This painting, by .Andrea, is called the
" Madonna di .San Francesco," and represents the
Virgin Mary seated on a throne, with the child
Jesus in her arms, while St. John the Baptist and
St. Francis stand, one at each side.
The Madonna with her Child was Andrea's
favorite subject, and he represented it in a great
\ariet\- of ways, and always made sweet and at-
524
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[Mav,
tractive pictures. Occasionally he painted single
figures of saints, such as St. Barbara and St.
Agnes ; one of these is in the Cathedral of Pisa.
There are two churches in Rome dedicated to
St. Agnes, besides many others in various parts of
the world, and, after the Apostles and Evangelists,
she is a ver)- important saint. She is usually
place, and Lieto and AUegri are his family names,
and are Italian words which have the same mean-
ing as the Latin word kctus, or joyful. He was
born in 1493, and was so clever that, when thirteen
years old, he had not only studied many things
such as other boys learn, but had mastered the
rudiments of art, so that he could draw very well.
I
CORRF.r.GlO.
represented in works of art witli a lamb b\- hei
side, because the lamb is the type or symbol of
modesty, purity, and innocence. *
CORREGGIO.
Antonio Allegri — for this is the true name
of this great painter — is called Antonio Allegri da
Correggio, or Antonio Lieto da Correggio. The
name Correggio is taken from that of his birth-
He received his first lessons in drawing from his
uncle, Lorenzo Allegri, and then he studied under
the famous Andrea Mantegna, and, after the death
of this artist, under his son, Francesco Mantegna.
From these men Correggio acquired wonderful
skill in drawing, especially in foreshortening — that
is, in representing objects seen aslant. These
masters all had what is termed a dry, hard style,
which is so different from Correggio's that we are
sure he soon added to what they had taught him the
* For list of the principal works of Andrea del Sarto still in existence, see page 527.
STOKIKS OF ART AND ARTISTS.
525
GROUP OF SINGI.NG ^U.CI::Li. (1 UuM A I'AINTI.NG DV CORKEGGIU, IN THE CUOIK UF THE CHURCH OF ST, JOHN, IN PARMA.)
grace and movement, and exquisite management I shall now trj- to explain further what is meant
of light and shade, which appear in his paintings, by foreshortening, because it is a ver)' important
;26
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[May,
element of good drawing, and all who wish to learn
how to appreciate the works of others should under-
stand what it is, as also should those who them-
selves practice drawing. It is especially proper to
speak of this in connection with Correggio, as he is
often said to be the most skillful of artists, in this
particular, since the days of the ancient Greeks.
The art of foreshortening is to make the objects
which are painted or drawn on a plane surface
look as they do in nature when one is farther back
than another, and where one part is thrown out
much nearer the eye than others. To produce
this effect it is frequently necessary to make an
object — let us say, for example, an arm or a leg —
look as if it was thrown forward, out of the can-
vas, toward the person who is looking directly at
it. Now, in truth, in order to produce this appear-
ance, the object is oftentimes thrown backward in
the drawing, and sometimes it is doubled up in a
very unnatural manner, and so occupies a much
smaller space on the canvas than it appears to do.
for as we look at it, it seems to be of full size.
The picture of "Christ in Glory," painted by
Correggio in the cupola of the church of San Gio-
vanni Evangelista, in Parma, photographs of which
are easily got, is a fine piece of foreshortening,
because the head is so thrown back and the knees
are so thrown forward that the figure seems to be
of full size; yet, if the space from the top of
the head to the soles of the feet, in the painting
itself, were measured, it would be found to be
much less than the full height of the figure would
be if it were represented erect.
Another characteristic of this master is his deli-
cate manner of passing gradually from light to
shade, and so softening the whole effect of his
work as to produce what is called in Italian chiaro-
osciiro, which must be literally translated clear-
obscure — or a sort of mistiness which has some
light in it, bu* is gradually shaded off into either
full light or deep shadow. It is remarkable that,
m the early works of Correggio, his peculiar quali-
ties were evident; this is seen in the beautiful
Madonna di San Francesco, now in the Dresden
Gallery, which was painted when he was but eight-
een years old.
When Correggio was twenty-six )ears old, he
married Girolama Merlini, and during the next
eleven years he was occupied with his great fresco-
paintings in Parma and with works in Mantua, to
which city he was summoned by the rich Duke
Federigo Gonzaga, who reigned there. In 1530,
the artist returned to Correggio, where he passed
the remainder of his life. In 1533, he was one of
the invited witnesses of the marriage of the Lord
of Correggio, so he doubtless was much esteemed
by that nobleman. In 1534, he died of a fever,
and was buried in his family tomb in the Francis-
can convent at Correggio : his grave is simply
marked with his name and the date of his death.
Correggio had but one son, named Pomponio
Quirino Allegri; he also was a painter, but he did
not make himself famous.
There are several anecdotes related of Correg-
gio, the father ; one is that, when he first saw one
of Raphael's great pictures, he gazed upon it a
long time, and then exclaimed, enthusiastically:
"I also am a painter!" and, I dare say, he then
felt himself moved to try if he, too, might produce
pictures which should live and bear his name
through future centuries.
When Titian saw Correggio's frescoes at Parma,
he said: "Were I not Titian I should wish to
be Correggio." Annibale Caracci, another great
artist, said of Correggio, more than a century
after that master's death: "He was the only
painter ! " and he declared that the children
painted by Correggio breathe and smile with such
grace that one who sees them is forced to smile
and be happy with them.
At Seville, in Spain, there was a large picture
by Correggio, representing the " Shepherds Ador-
ing the Infant Saviour," and during the Peninsular
War (1808-14), when the people of Seville sent
all their valuable things to Cadiz for greater safety,
this picture was cut in two, so that it could be more
easily moved. By some accident the halves were
separated, and afterward were sold to different
persons, each being promised that the correspond-
ing half should soon be delivered to him. Great
trouble arose, because both purchasers determined
to keep what they had, and each claimed that the
other part belonged to him ; and as they were both
obstinate, these half-pictures have remained apart.
It is ver)' fortunate that each of them forms a fine
picture by itself, and perhaps they thus give
pleasure to a greater number of people than if
they were united.
It is very interesting to visit Parma, where the
most important works of Correggio are seen. He
painted much, not only in the church of St. John
the Evangelist, but also in the cathedral of Parma,
and in the convent of the Benedictine nuns,
where he decorated a parlor with wonderful fres-
coes. Over the chimney-piece is a picture of
Diana, Goddess of the Moon, and protector of
young animals. Sometimes she has been repre-
sented as a huntress, but in this picture she is
Goddess of the Moon, which is placed above her
forehead. The ceiling of this parlor is high and
arched. The pictures on pages 528 and 529, showing
in the semicircles a Satyr and Ceres, the Goddess
of Plenty, will help you to understand how elabo-
rately and beautifully the ceiling is decorated.
i883.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
527
ST. JOHN THE EVANGELIST. (FRO.M THE PAINTING BY COBREGGIO, IN THE CHURCH OF ST. JOHN, 1:.
It is painted to represent an arbor of vines, hav-
ing sixteen oval openings, at each of which some
frohcking children appear, peeping in and out, as
if they were passing around and looking down into
the room. Each child bears some sign or symbol
of Uiana. Beneath each of the openings is a
half-circular picture of some mythological story
or personage, such as " The Three Graces,"
■' The Nursing of Bacchus," " Ceres," " Minerva,"
"The Suspension of Juno," "A Satyr," and oth-
ers. .411 the frescoes in this wonderful room
have been so often engraved and photographed
that they must be known already to many readers
of Sr. Nicholas.
Some of the oil paintings by Correggio are very
famous. Among them is one called the " Notte,"
or Night, which is in the Dresden Gallery. It
represents the " Nativity of the Saviour," and has
received its name because the only light in the
picture shines from the halo of glory around the
head of the infant Jesus. In the same gallery is
Correggio's " Mary Magdalene," represented as
lying on t'.-.c ground and reading the scriptures
from a book lying open before her on the sward.
Probably no one picture in the world has been
more generally admired than this.
Another masterpiece is the " Marriage of St.
Catherine," in the Louvre, at Paris. According
to the legend concerning her, this saint, during the
persecution of the Christians in Alexandria, bravely
went up to the temple and there triumphantly
maintained her cause in argument against the
Emperor Maximin, and also against fifty wise men
whom he then called upon to oppose her reasoning.
But her courage, wisdom, and saintlincss availed
not to save her from the rage of persecution, for
she was beheaded by the tyrant's order. There
are two important saints by this name ; one is St.
Catherine of Siena, the other, of whom we now
speak, is St. Catherine of Alexandria, and when
the marriage is represented it always refers to
this saint.
The following is a list of the principal works of Andrea del Sarto
to be seen in European galleries. Pitti Palace, Florence:
Eleven pictures, among which are two of the Holy Family, two of
the "Assumption of the Virgin," and portraits of Andrea and his
wife, which are attributed to Andrea, but are not positively known
to be his work. Uffizi Gallery, Florence: Madonna di San
Francesco, his own portrait, and two other pictures. Dresden
Gallery : Marriage of St. Catherine, Sacrifice of Isaac, and
others. Pinakothek, Munich : Four studies for the frescoes in
the Scaizo at Florence. Musei;m, Madrid : Portrait of his wife,
Sacrifice of Abraham, Holy Family, and others. The Louvre,
Paris: Charity, two pictures of the Holy Family. National
Gallery, London : His own portrait. The Hermitage, St.
Petersburg : Holy Family and Saints, St. Barbara.
The following are the princip.al works of Correggio, known to be
still in existence. In the Uffizi Gallery, Florence : The Re-
pose in Egypt, Virgin Adoring the Infant Christ. Museum,
Naples : The Madonna della Zingarella, Marriage of St. Cath-
erine, A Pidta. Pinacoteca, Parma : Madonna della Scala,
Madonna della Scodclla, Madonna di San Girolamo, called " II
Giomo"or"The Day," and several others. Museum, Berlin :
Leda and Nymphs, and a copy of the lo, which is at the Belve-
dere, Vienna, where there are several other works of Correggio's.
Dresden Gallery : Enthroned Madonna, Virgin and Child in
Glory, Repentant Magdalene, "La Notte," a portrait called "Cor-
reggio's Doctor," and others. Museum, Madrid : Noli Me Tan-
gere. Louvre, Paris: Marriage of Sl Catherine, Antiope
Asleep. National Gallery, London : Mercury Instructing
Cupid before Venus, Ecce Homo, Holy Family, called " au
panier" (a very beautiful picture), Christ's Agony in the Garden.
Hermitage, St. Petersburg: Madonna "del Lattc," Study of
the Assumption, and another small mythological subject.
528
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[May,
PART OF THE CEILING IN THE CONVENT AT PARMA. (AFTER FRESCOES BY CORREGGIO.)
ST(n<IKS OK ART AND ARTISTS.
5^9
PART OF THE CKILlNr, IN THE CONVENT AT TARMA. (AFTER FRESCOES TiV CORREGGIO.)
530
A PLEASANT SURPRISE.
[May,
Mu>;.M^^y-^^i!7^>^^^,#^^y
|How. DOES|yO\/f^.C
A PLEASANT SURPRISE.
By Kitty White.
' V brother Johnny says he would
do for a first-class bumble-bee ;
he 's as hot all over as if he had
forty stings. We 've been talking
through the stove-hole to com-
fort each other. This hole is in
the wall at the side of my bed; so, if I
put a chair on the bed, and then climb up
and stand on tiptoe, I can see into Johnny's
room, and we can have a good talk.
We 're in trouble : and this is how it
happened :
One day last week, our teacher read us a stor)-
about a good little girl who had a sick father ; and
he was going to star\-e to death 'cause he had n't
any money to buy oranges ; and everything had
gone wrong inside. Well, the good little girl
heard that a dentist wanted some teeth, and would
pay well for them. (I don't see why he should pay
money for teeth, when he could have his own for
nothing.) The little girl had fine teeth, so she
went to the dentist and asked him to take some out
and pay her the money they were worth, for her
poor father. Then the dentist made her tell him
all about her father; and he would n't take the
teeth, but he gave her the money all the same, and
went to see her father, and got a doctor for him,
so he did n't die.
It was a beautiful story, and made me cry.
Johnny said it was n't anything to cry about;
stories like that were for examples, and when we
had a chance we must just go and do likewise.
Well, this morning, when Father was putting on
his overcoat, Johnny and I asked him for a penny.
A PLEASANT SURPRISE.
531
And Father, he said we were always wanting pen-
nies, and he was n't made of money ; and then he
went out.
Sister Em began to cry, 'cause Father said she
could n't have a new dress this Easter. Everything
was going wrong, and he did n't know what would
become of him, and he was sick of everything.
Johnny and I did n't cry; we only looked at
each other.
While wc were going to school, Johnny said this
was our chance. Now we could do like the good
little girl, and be a support to our parents. Den-
tists always wanted teeth, and we 'd go to the den-
tist right away after school, and have it over.
"And then," says Johnny, " if wc 've made five
dollars for Father, perhaps he '11 give us our penny,
'cause it '11 be such a pleasant surprise to him."
^'e could n't hardly wait for school to be out.
I got a black mark in arithmetic, 'cause when
Miss Stevens asked me if you had .m apple, and
if Samuel Smith ate it up, what had you left ? 1
said, " Your teeth."
After school we walked about till we came to a
dentist's, and we went in, and asked him if he
wanted some teeth. And he said, "Why? Did
we want to lose some ? " And we told him, " Yes."
Wc thought he would sit down and ask us all
about it, just as the other dentist did with the
good little girl ; but he only said :
" Let 's look at em."
Then he made Johnny climb up in the high
chair, and tip his head back ; and then he said,
"You want these two out that crowd the rest."
Then he put an iron thing into Johnny's mouth,
and pulled out one tooth, and then he pulled an-
other. And he said Johnny was a brave boy 'cause
he did n't holloa.
I asked Johnny if it hurt, and he said, " Not
much, and don't you disgrace the family, Kitty
White, by howling."
"Now, my little lady," says the dentist, "get into
the chair, and I '11 be as gentle as I can." So he
helped me up, and tipped back my head, and
looked.
"Your teeth are crowded just like your brother's,"
says he ; and then he begins to pull.
My, how it hurt! And did n't I make a noise !
1 thought my head was coming off. Hut it was
over in a minute, and the dentist told Johnny not
to laugh at me, 'cause my teeth came harder than
his did.
When our teeth were out, we thought the dentist
would pay us. He asked us whose little boy and
girl we were, and where we lived, and said this
was pleasant weather for little folks.
After a while he said : " It 's four dollars."
We thought he had four dollars for us, and
held out our hands, but he did n't give us any-
thing. Instead of that, he said : " Have n't you
got any money ? "
Then Johnny explained to him that we thought
he would pay us for our teeth, so that we could help
our poor father.
The dentist began to laugh, and said he did n't
pay for teeth ; but he would give us a letter that
would make it all right.
So he wrote a letter, and sealed it, and told
Johnny to be sure to give it to Father. He kept
laughing all the time he was writing it, and we
thought he was the pleasantest man in the world.
When we got home, Johnny said we 'd better
wait till after dinner to give Father his pleasant
surprise. And at first I was glad we 'd waited ;
for the roast beef was too brown, and Father said :
" There never could be a piece of beef done right
in this house, and Mrs. White, my dear, if you
could only have a carving knife that would cut !
I believe your son uses the carving knife for a
jackknife."
We felt so sorry for poor Father that we thought
we 'd give him his surprise then, so he 'd feel
better. Johnny took out the letter and gave it to
him. He sits next to Father, and I sit next to
Johnny. Father took the letter, and said :
" What's this, sir?"
And Johnny said : " Read it, dear Pa, and
see."
Then Father read it, and wrinkled his forehead
all up, and we thought he was going to burst into
tears, like the sick man did when the good little
girl brought him the oranges. But he did n't burst
into tears. He threw the paper across the table,
and said :
"What's this, Mrs. White? Have you been
running me into debt, after what I told you this
morning? "
And Mother said : " 1 'm sure I don't know
what you mean, dear." Then she read the letter,
and called us naughty children, and " how dare
you go and have sound teeth out without my
consent ? "
And Father said that, " What we had done was
catamount to robbery ; going and getting him into
debt of our own accord ; and you may go to your
rooms and think about it till your mother and I
come."
We 've been in our rooms ever since, and both
Father and Mother said they were under the n'ces-
sity of
Well, Johnny says a switch is the worst, but he
does n't know anything about a slipper. Anyhow,
it 's over for this time.
532
PLAY-DAY AT MENTOR.
[May,
WHAT THE BURDOCK WAS GOOD FOR.
By a. S. R.
" Good for nothing," the farmer said,
As he made a sweep at the burdock's head ;
But then, he thought it was best, no doubt,
To come some day and root it out.
So he lowered his scythe, and went his way.
To see his corn, to gather his hay;
And the weed grew safe and strong and tall.
Close by the side of the garden wall.
"Good for a home," cried the little toad,
As he hopped up out of the dusty road.
He had just been having a dreadful fright,
The boy who gave it was yet in sight.
Here it was cool and dark and green.
The safest kind of a leafy screen.
The toad was happy; "For," said he,
" The burdock was plainly meant for me."
" Good for a prop," the spider thought.
And to and fro with care he wrought,
Till he fastened it well to an evergreen.
And spun his cables fine between.
'T was a beautiful bridge, — a triumph of skill;
The flies came 'round, as idlers will ;
The spider lurked in his corner dim.
The more that came, the better for him.
• Good for play," said a child, perplext
To know what frolic was coming next.
So she gathered the burs that all despised.
And her city playmate was quite surprised
To see what a beautiful basket or chair
Could be made, with a little time and care.
They ranged their treasures about with pride,
And played all day by the burdock's side.
Nothing is lost in this world of ours ;
Honey comes from the idle flowers ;
The weed which we pass in utter scorn,
May save a life by another morn.
Wonders aw-ait us at every turn.
We must be silent, and gladly learn.
No room for recklessness or abuse,
Since even a burdock has its use.
PLAY-DAY AT MENTOR.
By Frederic G. Mather.
One very hot day, last July, I left the Lake
Shore Railway train at Willoughby, a little station
eighteen miles east of Cleveland, in the State of
Ohio. Some business took me to Mentor, three
miles away, and, while the boy was driving me over
there, I thought I should like to make a call for
pleasure also. You know that President Garfield
lived in Mentor, and you will guess that 1 wished
to call upon his two youngest boys, who were then
at the Garfield homestead.
The house does not seem like a farm-house at
all. It is more like a dwelling in a village, or in a
city, set in a little piece of lawn, and sheltered by
three great locust-trees. 1 knocked at the door,
and was asked to enter the parlor. After a little
talk, I asked about the boys, and w-as told that
they were in " the office," a little one-story build-
ing, back of the house, used by their father for a
study, or working-place.
Then I was led out through a long hall, where a
tall clock looked down on me, and just outside the
rear door was the oflice. A narrow path led out
to it, and I followed along and stepped upon the
floor of the little porch that covered the only door
there was, which was the front door. The study
was a very small building, with a window on each
side of the door, a window at each end, and a
window just opposite the door. A mite of a chim-
ney came out of the middle of the roof.
The door was open as 1 stood on the porch,
and I could see four boys playing on the floor. I
said to them ;
"Well, boys, is this a fort? "
Now the reason I thought it was a fort was that
1 saw some pieces of white chalk, that the boys
had mounted on blocks and set on the floor, so as
to look like cannon.
This was all that 1 could see from the door when
1 asked the question.
But when I was inside the room, 1 saw a lot
of paper soldiers standing up, and found out my
mistake before this answer came to my question :
1 883. J
PLAV-DAY AT MENTOR.
533
" Not much a fort. We are deploying troops
in the field," said one of the two Garfield boys —
whether Ir\Mn or Abram, I forget just now. The
other two boys were cousins of theirs, and they
were rather younger.
I then looked more closely. Besides using cray-
ons for cannon, they also had brass casters for
cannon-wheels, and their soldiers had been cut out
of card-board, with jackknivcs. Small stones,
nails, and peas were the bullets and cannon-balls.
Small paper flags showed which side was the
enemy, and which the American.
■' ."^nd who is the enemy in this game?" 1
asked.
" My brother,' the elder Garfield replied. '" He
upon it an inkstand and pen that had seen better
days. The floor was bare and painted.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
" We came here on the 2d of July," they said.
"The very day papa was shot."
" And do you like living here as well as in
Washington ? "
"We like it better here," said they ; "because
there are more boys, and because we can play out
of doors more."
I should say, here, that at the time of my visit
a great many people thought the President would
get well.
"Now, then," I said, "go on with your fun, and
let me see how you fight the battle."
PRESIDENT GARFIELD S OFFICE .\T -MENTOR.
does n't want to be, but he has to be, because he is
beaten so much."
" Hut I beat you the other day," chimed in the
younger (larfield.
" Yes, and the way you did it was to bring out a
lot of soldiers that had been sent to the hospital
the day before. That was no fair."
By this time, the boys were again sprawled upon
the floor, and ready to begin the battle over again.
While they were picking up the stones to throw,
1 looked about the room. Several large book-cases
were filled with the President's books, and a
desk at the back win'dow, opposite the door, had
You should have seen the stormy time that came
when I said this. First, one side would throw at
the other until all the soldiers were knocked over,
and then the other side would begin. This made
the enemy beat for a while, and then the Ameri-
cans. The sport lasted for a long time, and when
I went away it was not because 1 wanted to, but
because 1 had to, in order to take the train on the
railway. As 1 sat in the car, I thought over the
pleasant afternoon that 1 had spent ; and I could
not help saying :
"Well, after all, boys are boys, and they play
much alike, whether Presidents' sons or not."
534
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[Mav,
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
By James Baldwin.
Story the Third,
how siegfried fared to nibelungen land.
Jarl Ronvald smiled good-humoredly on the
circle of listeners about the blazing hearth in his
castle-hall. For the little family party had asked
him to go on with his story.
"I see," said he, "that I shall hardly escape
without telling you the whole story of Siegfried,
from beginning to end. But I could not do that
in one evening. The hero's life was so full of advent-
ures that the telUng of them would fill a volume.
One of the greatest and most daring deeds that he
ever did was to ride through flaming fire into the
castle of Isenstein, and awaken the Princess Brun-
hild from the deep slumber into which Odin, in
his wrath, had cast her. But our time will not
allow me to tell you much about that adventure.
The old Norse story of Sigurd and Brynhild,
which you often have heard, is very much like it.
" You are anxious to know what became of the
treasure, of which I told you that Fafnir guarded
it so long on the Glittering Heath ? Well, to
please you, I shall relate how, after awakening the
Princess, Siegfried escaped from Isenstein and
came to the mysterious land of the Nibelungs."
Every one in the castle of Isenstein, from the
Princess, whom he had awakened to life, to the
lowest kitchen-maid, felt grateful to the young
hero for the deliverance he had wrought so val-
iantly. The best rooms were fitted up for his use ;
and a score of vassals were set apart to do his bid-
ding, and ordered to be mindful of his slightest
wish. All the warriors and bra\e men, and all the
fair ladies, and Brunhild, fairest of all, besought
him to make his home there, nor ever to think
of going back to Rhineland. Siegfried yielded to
their persuasions, and for six months he tarried in
the enchanted land of Isenstein, in one long round
of merry-making and gay enjoyment. But his
thoughts were ever turned toward his father's
home in the Lowlands across the sea, and he longed
to behold again his gentle mother, Sigelind.
At length he grew tired of his life of idleness
and ease, and wished that he might go out again
into the busy world of manly action and worthy
deeds. And, day by day, this feeling grew stronger
and filled him with unrest.
One morning, as he sat alone by the sea-shore,
and watched the lazy tide creep up the sands, two
ravens lighted near him. Glad was he to see
them, for he knew them to be Hugin and Munin
— Thought and Memor>' — the sacred birds of
Odin, and he felt sure that they brought him
words of cheer from the All-Father. Then Hugin
flapped his wings and said: " In idleness the stings
of death lie hidden ; but in busy action are the
springs of life. For a hundred years, fair Brun-
hild slept; but why should Siegfried sleep? The
world awaits him, but it waits too long."
Then Munin flapped his wings, also, but he said
nothing. And busy memory carried Siegfried
back to his boyhood days in Rhineland, and he
called to mind the wise words of his father, Sieg-
mund, and the fond hopes of his gentle mother.
And he rose in haste, and cried: "Life of ease,
farewell ! I go where duty leads. To him who
wills to do, the great All-Father will send strength
and help."
While he spoke, his eyes were dazzled with a
flash of light. He looked', and out of the sea there
came dashing up the beach a wondrous creature,
such as he had never before seen — a milk-white
horse, from whose long mane a thousand sun-
beams gleamed and sparkled in the morning
light. As the noble steed sprang forivard, and
stood in all its strength and beauty before the
Prince, Siegfried knew that it must be the horse
Greyfell — the shining hope which the All-Father
sends to those who dare to take in hand the doing
of noble deeds. All uncertainty now fled from his
mind, for he felt that with such a trusty steed to
aid him every hindrance would vanish, and every
hardship would be overcome.
Then he looked toward the sea again, and saw,
in the blue distance, a white-sailed ship, drawing
swiftly near, its golden-dragon stem plowing
through the waves like some great bird of the
deep. And as, with eager eyes, he watched its
coming, he felt that Odin had sent both the horse
and the ship, and that the time had come for him
to be up and doing. The hour for thriving action
comes to us once ; if not seized upon and used, it
may never come again.
The ship drew near the shore ; the sailors rested
on their oars. Siegfried and the steed Greyfell sprang
upon the deck. Then the sailors silently bent again
to their rowing; the flapping sails were filled and
l8«3.)
STORIES IKOM THE NORTHERN MVTUS.
535
tightened by the strong west wind, and the light
vessel leaped from wave to wave as if it were alive,
until Isenstein, with its tall towers and green marble
halls, sank from sight in distant mist. And Sieg-
fried and his noble steed seemed to be the only
living beings on board ; for the sailors who plied
the oars were so silent and phantom-like that
they might have been but ghosts of the summer
breezes. As the ship sped swiftly on its way, all
the creatures in the sea paused to behold the sight.
The mermen rested from their search for hidden
treasures, and the mermaids forgot to comb their
long tresses, as the radiant vessel and its hero
freight sped past them. And even ^Egir, the god
of the sea, left the brewing kettle in his banquet-
hall, and bade his pale-haired daughters, the
around both hero and horse, and they dared not
stir, but stood long hours in the silent gloom,
waiting for the appearance of the dawn.
At length the morning came, but the light was
not strong enough to scatter the thick vapors that
rested upon the land. Then Siegfried mounted
his steed, and the sunbeams began to flash from
Greyfell's mane and from the hero's glittering
armor ; and the hazy clouds fled upward and away,
until they were caught and held fast by great mist-
giants, who stood like sentinels on the mountain-
tops. As the shining pair came up from the sea,
and passed through the woods and valleys of the
Nibclungen Land, for that was the name of the
mysterious country, there streamed over all that
region such a flood of sunlight as had never before
SiSGKRIED bAILS fOK .MUIiLUNGEN I-ANI).
white-veiled Waves, cease playing, until the vessel
should safely reach its haven.
When, at length, the day had passed, and the
evening twilight had come, Siegfried saw that the
ship was nearing land. But it w;is a strange land.
Like a fleecy cloud it appeared to rest above the
waves, midway between the earth and the sky ; a
dark mist hung upon it, and it seemed to be a land
of dreams and shadows. The ship drew nearer
and nearer to the mysterious shore, and, as it
touched the bank, the sailors rested from their row-
ing. Then Siegfried and the horse Greyfell leaped
from the vessel and stood upon the land ; but, when
they looked back, the fair vessel which had carried
them was nowhere to be seen. Whether it had
suddenly been clutched by the greedy fingers of
the Sea-queen, Ran, and dragged down into her
deep sea-caverns, or whether, like the wondrous
ship " Skidbladner," it had become invisible to the
eyes of men, Siegfried never knew. The thick
mist and the darkness of night closed over and
been seen. In everj' leafy tree, and behind every
blade of grass, elves and fairies were hidden ; and
from under every rock, and out of ever)' crevice,
lurked cunning dwarfs. Hut Siegfried rode straight
forward until he came to the steep side of a shad-
owy mountain. There, at the mouth of a cavern,
a strange sight met his eyes. Two young men,
dressed in princes' clothing, sat upon the ground ;
their features were haggard, gaunt, and pinched
with hunger, and their eyes wild with wakefulness
and fear; and beside them was a heap of gold
and precious stones, which they had brought out
of the cavern. And neither of the two Princes
would leave the place, to get food, nor close his
eyes in sleep, lest the other should seize and hide
some part of the treasure. And thus had they
watched and hungered through many long days
and sleepless nights, each hoping that the other
would die ; for the whole inheritance would then
become his own.
When they saw Siegfried riding near, they called
536
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
(May,
out to him and said: "Noble stranger, stop a
moment ! Come and help us divide this treasure."
"Who are you?" asked Siegfried ; " and what
is your treasure ? "
" We are the sons of Niblung. who, until lately,
was King of this Mist Land. Our names are Schil-
bung and the young Niblung," faintly answered
the Princes.
" And what are you doing here with this gold
and these glittering stones ? "
" In this cavern lies the great Nibelungen
Hoard, which our father, long ago, found upon
the Glittering Heath. And now he is dead, and
we have longed to bring the hoard out of the cav-
ern where it was hidden, in order that we might
share it between us equally. But we can not
agree, and we pray you to help us divide it."
Then Siegfried dismounted from the horse Grey-
fell, and came near the two Princes.
" I will gladly do as you ask," said he; "but
first tell me how the King, your father, obtained
the hoard of the Glittering Heath, and how he
brought it to this Mist Land."
Then Niblung answered feebly, while his brother
fell back upon the ground from weakness :
" Our father was, from the earliest times, the
ruler of this land, and the lord of the fog and the
mist. Many strong fortresses and noble halls had
he in this land; and ten thousand brave warriors
were ever ready to do his bidding. The swarthy
elves, and the trolls of the mountains, and the
giants of the cloudy peaks were his vassals. But
he did more than rule over the Nibelungen Land.
Twice every year he crossed the sea and rambled
through the Rhine valleys, or loitered in the wet
Lowlands ; and, now and then, he brought rich
trophies back to his island home. Once on a
time, he ventured past the unknown boundaries of
Hunaland. L'pon a dry and cheerless moorland,
which men call the Glittering Heath, he found this
treasure, which had been long guarded there by a
vile snake-dragon, whom men called Fafnir. A
brave young hero slew the monster and gave the
treasure back to its rightful guardians, the swarthy
elves of the mountains. But the chief of the
elves, the dwarf Andvari, had, long before, cursed
the treasure ; and now the elves dared not touch
it, nor possess it, unless some man would take
upon himself the dreadful risk of incurring the
curse, and should assume ownership of the hoard.
This thing our father did. Then the dwarf Al-
berich and the ten thousand swarthy elves that live
in the mountain caves gathered up the treasure
and brought it to this cavern, where, with the help
of the twelve giants whom you see like sentinels
on these mountain-peaks, they guarded it for our
father.
" This is the storj' of the hoard as we know it,
although men tell it quite differently. They say
that our father obtained it unjustly and by guile
from his brother, whose vassals had digged it from
out of the earth, in the sunny valleys of the upper
Rhine. But be this as it may, the treasure lies
here within, and lo ! for many days we have
watched it and hoped to divide it equally. But
we can not agree."
"What hire will you give me if 1 divide it for
you ? " asked Siegfried.
"Name what you will have," the Princes an-
swered.
"Give me the sword which lies before you on
the glittering heap."
Then Niblung handed him the sword, and said :
" Right gladly will we give it. It is a worthless
blade that our father, last year, brought from the
low Rhine country. They say that it was forged
by Mimer, the Knowing One. and that in the south-
land it is considered a most wondrous blade. Be
that as it may, it is of no worth to us ; it turns
against us when we try to use it."
Siegfried took the sword with joy, for it was his
own BalmUng.
Forthwith he began the task of dividing the
treasure ; and the two brothers, so faint from hun-
ger and want of sleep that they could scarcely
lift their heads, watched him with anxious, greedy
eyes. First, he placed a piece of gold by Nib-
lung's side, and then a piece of like value he gav€
to Schilbung. And thus he did again and again,
until no more gold was left. Then, in the same
manner, he divided the precious stones, until none
remained. And the brothers were much pleased,
and they hugged their glittering treasures, and
thanked Siegfried for his kindness and for the
fairness with which he had given to each his own.
But, one thing was left which had not fallen to the
lot of either brother. It was a ring of curious
workmanship — a serpent coiled with its tail in its
mouth, and with ruby eyes, glistening and cold.
"What shall 1 do with this ring? " asked Sieg-
fried.
" Give it to me ! " cried Niblung.
" Give it to me ! " cried Schilbung.
.■\nd both tried to snatch it from Siegfried's
hand. But the effort was too great for their strength.
Their arms fell helpless at their sides, their feet
slipped beneath them, their limbs failed ; they sank
fainting, each upon his pile of treasures.
"O my dear, dear Gold! " murmured Niblung,
trying to clasp it all in his arms. " My dear, dear
Gold ! Thou art mine, mine only. No one shall
take thee from me. Here thou art, here thou
shalt rest. O my dear, dear Gold ! " And then,
calling up the last spark of life left in his famished
I 883.]
STORIES I-ROM TllK NORTUKKN MYTHS.
537
body, he cried out to Siegfried; "dive me the
ring ! The ring, I say ! " He hugged his cher-
ished gold nearer to his bosom : he ran his thin
fingers deep into the shining, yellow heap ; lie
pressed his lips to the cold and senseless metal ;
he whispered, " My dear, dear Gold ! " and then
he died.
"O priceless, priceless gem-stones!" faltered
Schilbung, " how beautiful you are I And you are
mine, all mine. 1 will keep you safe. Come !
and sun-bright diamonds, and two thin, starved
corpses stretched upon them. Some men say that
the brothers were slain by Siegfried, because their
foolish strife and greediness had angered him.
Hut 1 like not to think so. It was the gold, and
not Siegfried, that slew them.
" O Gold ! Gold ! " cried the hero, sorrowfully.
'• Truly thou art the world's curse ! Thou art
man's bane ! But when the spring-time of the
new world shall come, then will the curse be taken
GIVE .ME THE SWORD WHICH LIES BEFORE VOI* ON THE GLITTERING HEAP, SAID SIEGFRIED.
Come, my bright Beauties ! No one shall harm
you. You are mine, mine, mine!" And he chat-
tered and laughed as only madmen laugh ; and he
kissed the hard stones and sought to hide them in
his bosom. But his hands trembled and failed^
dark mists swam before his eyes ; he fancied that
he heard the black dwarfs clamoring for his
treasure, he sprang up quickly, he shrieked, — and
then fell lifeless upon his heap of sparkling gems.
A strange, sad sight it was. Immense wealth,
and miserable death. Two piles of yellow gold
Vol. 1.x. -3 V
from thee, and thy yellow brightness shall be the
sign of purity and enduring worth ; and thou
shalt be a blessing to mankind, and the plaything
of the gods,"
But our hero had little time for thought and
speech. A strange sound was heard on the mount-
ain-side. The twelve great giants, who had stood
as watchmen upon the peaks above, were rushing
down, to avenge their masters and to drive the
intruder out of Nibelungen Land. Siegfried
waited not for their onset, but mounted the noble
538
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[May,
horse Greyfell, and, with the sword Balmung in
his hand, he rode forth to meet his foes, who, with
fearful threats and hideous roars, came striding
toward him. The sunbeams flashed from Grey-
fell's mane and dazzled the dull eyes of the giants,
who were unused to the full light of day. Doubtful
they paused, and then again came forward. But
they mistook for an enemy every tree in their way,
and every rock they thought a foe, and in their
fear they fancied a great host to be before them.
One and all they dropped their heavy clubs, and
cried for quarter. And Siegfried made each of
the giants swear an oath of fealty to him ; and
then he sent them back to the snow-covered
mountain-peaks," to stand again as watchmen at
their posts.
And now another danger appeared. Alberich,
the dwarf, the master of the swarthy elves who
guarded the Nibelungen Hoard, had seen all that
had befallen the two young Princes, and when he
beheld the giants driven back to the mountain-
tops, he lifted a little silver horn to his lips and
blew a shrill bugle-call. And the little brown
elves came trooping forth by thousands. From
under every rock, from the nooks and crannies and
crevices in the mountain-side, from the deep cavern
and the narrow gorge, they came at the call of their
chief. Then, at Alberich's word, they formed in
line of battle, and stood in front of the cavern
and the bodies of their late masters. Their little
golden shields and their sharp-pointed spears were
thick as the blades of grass in a Rhine meadow ;
and Siegfried, when he saw them, was both pleased
and surprised, for never before had such a host of
pygmy Nvarriors stood before him.
While he paused and looked, the elves became
suddenly silent, and Siegfried saw that Alberich
stood no longer at their head, but had strangely
vanished from sight.
" Ah, Alberich ! " cried the Prince, " thou art
cunning. 1 have heard of thy tricks. Thou hast
donned the Tarnkappe, the cloak of darkness,
which hides thee from sight and makes thee as
strong as twelve common men. Come on, thou
brave dwarf ! "
Scarcely had he spoken, when he felt a shock
which almost sent him reeling from the saddle,
and made Greyfell plunge about in fright.
Quickly did Siegfried dismount, and, with every
sense alert, he waited for the second onset of the
unseen dwarf. It was plain that Alberich wished
to strike him unawares, for many minutes passed
in utter silence. Then a brisk breath of wind
passed by Siegfried's face, and he felt another blow ;
but, by a quick downward movement of his hand,
he caught the plucky dwarf, and tore off the magic
Tarnkappe, and then, with firm grasp, he held his
struggling little enemy.
'• Ah, Alberich ! " he cried ; " indeed thou art
cunning ! But the Tarnkappe is now mine. What
wilt thou give for freedom and life ? "
■' Worthy Prince," answered Alberich, humbly,
■' you have fairly oxercome me and made me your
prisoner. I and all mine, as well as this great
treasure, belong rightfully to you. We are yours,
and you we shall obey."
" Swear it ! " said Siegfried. " Swear it, and
thou shalt live, and be the keeper of my treas-
ures ! "
And Alberich made a sign to his elfin host, and
every spear was turned point downward, and every
shield was thrown to the ground, and the ten thou-
sand little warriors kneeled, as did also their chief,
and owned Siegfried to be their rightful master,
and the lord of Nibelungen Land, the owner of the
Nibelungen Hoard.
Then, by Alberich's orders, the elves carried the
hoard back into the deep cavern, and there kept
faithful watch and ward over it ; and they buried
the starved bodies of the two Princes on the top of
the mist-veiled mountain. Heralds were sent to all
the fortresses and strongholds in Nibelungen Land,
and they proclaimed that Siegfried, through his
wisdom and strength, had become the rightful Lord
and King of the land.
Then the Prince, riding on the horse Greyfell,
went from place to place, scattering sunshine and
smiles where shadows and frowns had been before.
And the people welcomed him with glad shouts
and music and dancing ; and ten thousand Nibel-
ungen warriors came to meet him, and plighted
their faith to him. And the pure brightness of
his hero-soul, and the gleaming sunbeams from
Greyfell's mane, lifted the curtain of mists and
fogs that had so long darkened that land, and let
in the glorious glad light of day and the genial
warmth of summer.
"Did he stay there all the rest of his life?"
asked Leif, after a pause.
" Did they leave the treasure buried in the
cave ? " asked RoUo.
"What became of the fair Brunhild? " asked
little Ingeborg. " Did Siegfried ever go back to
Isenstein ? "
"Yes, tell us all about it!" cried the three
together.
'■ As I have said," answered their father, "one
evening will not afford time to tell of all Sieg-
fried's strange adventures. 1 will answer your
questions by telling you one or two stories more ;
and, with those, you must rest satisfied."
(To f>e continued. )
i88i.]
WHAT ONE Vr.AR MAKES OF A LITTLE KITTEN,
539
d
By Mrs. Fanny Barrow.
At iii'st, a bar. of ?.ui?; fur,
Ail blaok, or gray, or white,
Trying to catcia its little tail
With all its little might.
Four pretty little velvet pav/s,
That leap, and catch, and pat;
But presto ! in a year you see
A dignified old cat !
'ffe'A'
0f^^'^ . JW>
«ij
m^
^^^/SSSi'^-
540
GRAB-BAG.
[May,
GRAB-BAG.
By h. H.
A FINE game is Grab-bag, a fine game to see !
For Christmas, and New Year, and birthdays, and all.
Happy children, all laughing and screaming with glee !
If they draw nothing more than a pop-corn ball,"
'T is a prize they welcome with eyes of delight,
And hold it aloft with a loud, ringing cheer:
Their arms waving high, all so graceful and white ;
Their heads almost bumping, so close and so near.
The laughter grows louder ; the eyes grow more bright.
Oh, sweet is the laughter, and gay is the sight —
A fine game is Grab-bag! a fine game to see!
A strange game of Grab-bag 1 saw yesterday ;
1 '11 never forget it as long as I live.
Some street-beggars played it, — poor things, not in play!
A man with a sack on his back, and a sieve, —
A poker to stir in the barrels of dirt. —
A basket to hold bits of food he might find, —
'T was a pitiful sight, and a sight that hurt,
But a sight it is well to keep in one's mind.
His children were with him, two girls and three boys ;
Their heads held down close, and their eyes all intent ;
No sound from their lips of glad laughter's gay noise :
No choice of bright playthings to them the game meant !
A chance of a bit of waste cinder to burn ;
A chance of a crust of stale bread they could eat ;
A chance — in a thousand, as chances return —
Of ragged odd shoes the^■ could wear on their feet !
iSSz.]
G R A B - li A G
541
The baby that yet could noi toiler alone
Was held up to see, and, as grave as the rest.
Watched wistful each crust, each cinder, each bone,
And snatched at the morsels he thought looked the best.
The sister that held him, oppressed by his weight —
Herself but an ovcr-yeared baby, poor child ! —
Had the face of a woman, mature, sedate,
And looked but the older whenever she smiled.
Oh, a sad game is Grab-bag — a sad game to see!
As beggars must play it, and their chances fall ;
When Hunger finds crusts an occasion for glee,
And Cold finds no rags too worthless or small.
O children, whose faces have shone with delight,
As you played at your Grab-bag with shouting and cheer,
And stretched out your arms, all so graceful and white,
And gayly bumped heads, crowding near and more near,
With laughter and laughter, and eyes growing bright, —
Remember this jiicture, this pitiful sight.
Of a sad game of G rab-bag — a sad game to see !
54^
WOLF-REARED CHILDREN.
[May,
WOLF-REARED CHILDREN.
By Charles L. Brace.
The baby probably suckles with the young wolves,
and the mother-wolf comes to have a wild atTection
for the child, and he grows up with the wolf-cubs.
At length, the mother-wolf is smoked out of her
cave, or the cubs are killed or caught, or they are
all hunted down, and the wild little human being is
caught also — sometimes after he has lived six or
eight years among his four-footed companions.
Mr. Ball saw two of these wild children in an
orphan asylum at Sekandra, in Oude, and in differ-
ent orphanages in India there have been others
whose history was well known. At first they
appear like wild beasts ; they have no language,
and only keep up a curious whine, creeping around
on hands and feet like the young wolves, and
smelling everything before eating it, as an animal
does. For a time they will eat nothing but raw
flesh, and they snatch eagerly at a bone, and gnaw
it like a dog. Their hands and the skin of the
ENTKANXI£ UUUH lU THE OFFICE uF IHE CHILDREN S
AID SOCIETV, NEW YORK.
A TRAVELER who has recently journeyed in
India, a man of science, Mr. V. Ball, gives an
account of a very curious matter which before had
been somewhat discussed by the celebrated scholar,
Mr. Max Miiller — that is, the history of '-Wolf-
reared Children."
It appears that, in the province of Oude, the
wolves are exceedingly destructive. They creep at
night from the jungles and mountains into the vil-
lages of the poor people, and, crawling into the
little huts, will often snatch the babe from the
mother's arms, sometimes even without awaking
her ; or they will pick up an infant that has been
left for a moment during the day by the hard-work-
ing mother. Wolves are said to have an especial
appetite for young and tender infants, and so de-
structive are their ravages that, in one district men-
tioned by Mr. Ball, it is estimated that a/if hundred
infants are carried off annually by wolves ; and the
business of smoking out wolves from their dens, in
order to find the golden and other ornaments worn
by the unfortunate babies, is an extensive and
profitable one.
It seems that now and then a wolf captures and
carries home an infant to his cubs, and that they do
not at once eat the child ; perhaps because they
have recently eaten a kid or a lamb, or other food.
OLR ARTIST AMONG SOME WOLF-REARED CHILDREN.
knees are hard and callous from constant creeping,
and the fore- arms of one whom Mr. Ball saw had
become short from the same habit. A photograph *
was made of one, who, with his open mouth and
' *' Jungle Life in India," by V. Ball, of the Geological Survey of India. Page 459. London,
i88x]
WOLF-REARED CHILDREN.
543
vacant expression, looks like an idiot. Rescued
wolf-reared children have a constant desire to get
back to the jungles, and to creep into holes, and
they have not been able to learn much, nor to
become used to civilized habits; and then, too,
they die early. It is said, though for this we can
not vouch, that when a wolf conies to a house
where is a wolf-reared child, he seems to know it
by its odor, and never harms it.
The wolf-child has no language ; its morals and
habits are wolfish ; it has drawn into its bod)' wolf-
milk; it hates the dwellings and ways of men ; it
loves creeping instead of walking, and jungles and
caves and the forest, rather than fields and cot-
tages and houses. It is a wild beast, but with the
brain and soul of a human being. The wolf-child
of India has all the capacities and possibilities of
any ordinary boy or girl. No doubt, if he were
left with his step-mother, the wolf, his brain would
make him more cunning than his wolf play-fellows,
and he would show the savageness of the beast
with the skill of the man. He would become the
most dangerous wild animal — worse than tiger or
leopard — of the Indian jungles.
Did
think
N-HAV KESTP.
DLf-KtARED
the children who read St. NICHOLAS in comfortable homes ever
that there are wolf-reared children in such a citv as New York? —
boys and girls who ulu- Ih.ii; to hunger, and cruel treatment, and who live in miserable dens and
holes ; who are as ignorant of love and hope, and of the missions, and churches, and schools of this
544
WOLF-REARED CHILDREN.
[May,
SWORX FRIENDS.
city as are the infants found in the wolves' dens of
the mountains of Oude ; who have been taught
only in the schools of poverty, vice, and crime ;
whose ways are not our ways, and who have wolf-
ish habits ; whose brain makes them more cun-
ning, more dangerous, than the animal, and who,
if they grow up thus, will be more dangerous to
this city than wolf or tiger to the villages of India.
But, fortunately for us, these children have not
lost our language, like the poor babies of Oude,
and, though wolves in human shape have brought
them up to crime and sin, they can be saved and
made into reasonable human beings.
Would you like to hear how this is done ?
Well, here comes one of the wolf-reared children
to the office of the Children's .■\id Society, in
«882.]
WOLF- KEARKD CII II.DKEN.
545
Fourth street, New York. He has no cap, but his
tangled hair ser\'es as a covering for his head ;
bright and cunning eyes look out from under the
twisted locks ; his face is so dirty and brown that
you hardly know what the true color is ; he has no
shirt, but wears a ragged coat, and trousers out at
the knees and much too large for him ; he is bare-
footed, of course. He is not at all a timid boy,
small as he is, but acts as if nothing would ever
upset his self-possession, whatever might happen.
The benevolent Mr. Macy, who has been dealing
with poor children for tlie last quarter of a century,
meets him, and asks :
" Well, my boy, what do you want?"
"A home, please, sir."
" What is your name ? "
" Haint got no name, sir : the boys calls me
Pickety."
"Well, Pickety, where do you live?"
" Don't live nowhere, sir."
" Hut where do you stay ? "
" I don't stay nowhcres in the day-time, but
and jist now a cove has taken me in at the iron
bridge at Harlem."
" Iron bridge ! What do you mean? "
'• Why, them holler iron things what holds the
bridge up. He got it first, and he lets me in."
" Pickety, who is your father? "
"Haint got no father, sir; he died afore I
knew, and me mither, she drinked and bate me,
and we was put out by the landlord, and she died,
and the City Hall buried her!" And somcthin'g
like a shadow came over the cunning blue eyes.
" Pickety, did you ever hear of (iod ? "
" Yes, sir ; 1 have beared the fellers swear about
Him, and I know it 's lucky to say something to
Him when you sleep out in bad nights."
" Did you ever go to school, Pickety, or to
church ? "
" No, sir; 1 never went to no church nor school.
I should kind o' like to learn somethin' ! "
"Well, Pickety, we '11 make a man of you, if
you will only try. You will, I see ! "
So Pickety is sent by Mr. Macy down to a clean.
I sleeps in hay-barges, sir, and sometimes in
dry-goods boxes, and down on the steam-gratings
in winter, till the M. P.'s [policemen] come along.
beautiful "Lodging House," put up by a generous
lady for just such homeless children. It stands at
No. 287 East Broadway. A kind, experienced
546
WOLF-REARED CHILDREN.
[May,
Superintendent, Mr.
Calder, meets him,
and a matron — Mrs.
Calder — takes him in hand.
Her smile alone would take
the wolf-feeling out of him and
make him more of a human
child. In his secret heart, lit-
tle Pickety thinks they must
be a very soft set, or else that
they want to make money out
of him by and by, but he takes
their kindness very quietly.
Perhaps, too, he is watching
for a chance to pocket a handy
little article or so, or to slip
out-of-doors with something.
And now, first, he is put
into a bath and made clean,
and his hair is cut short by a
cutter such as those used for
THE EAST END OF THE SCHOOL-ROOM.
i882.]
WOLF- REARED CH I L IJ R K N ,
547
clipping horses. He feels much better after
all this, and quite enjoys a clean check-shirt
given him ; but he finds that he must wear
his old trousers again, so his hastily formed
plan of slipping away with a whole suit of
new clothes is nipped in the bud.
He then enjoys a plain, wholesome supper
in company with a number of other boys, who have
been in the house longer; and when he sees the
sweet face of the matron who is sen'ing them, he
finds his feelings change a little, and he almost
thinks she is too good for him to try to cheat her.
Presently, he goes up willingly to a large, cheer-
ful school-room. It is the prettiest place he ever
saw; there are many lights, and large windows, and
beautiful flowers in a conservatory at the end, and
pot-flowers at the sides, and a nice library, and
long rows of neat boxes, where the boys keep their
books and tilings.
Every part of this room is as clean as wax-work,
and Pickcty is very glad he has had that thorough
washing; it 1)egins to dawn upon him, too, that
the people must be good who have made such a
nice room for poor boys. But he still keeps a
lookout, lest he should be entrapped in some dis-
agreeable way.
By and by, the Superintendent, a handsome,
benevolent-looking man, talks to the boys about
548
WOLF-REARED CHILDREN,
(May,
things our little waif never
heard of before — of doing
right, and making true
change in selling newspa-
pers, and not stealing other
people's property, and of
a God above who is pleased
if a street-boy is honest
and good. Little Pickety
thinks this is meant for
him, for only yesterday a
customer gave him a ten-
cent piece by mistake for
a penny, and he never told
him, but pocketed the
money ; and he remembers
a poor old woman, whose
apples he used to steal, till
she had to break up her
stand and go to the Island
Almshouse ; so he feels
very uneasy at the Superin-
tendent's words.
After this came the les-
sons, and for the first time
he was introduced to all the letters, though he had
known enough before to tell one newspaper from
BOYS WHO \V.\NT TO GO WEST, WAITING IN THE OFFICE IN FOURTH STREET.
another ; and he w-as very glad to find that he
learned them quickly, and that in counting and
'THE LARGE, .\IRV DORMITORY, CLEAN AS A SHIPS DECK, WITH WIRE-BEDS ARRANGED ON IRON FRAMES,
i883.|
WOI.F-REAKED CHILDREN.
549
sums he was quicker than the others ; of course,
this was because he had sold papers and so had
had to make change so often.
Little Pickcty's greatest surprise, however, was
when he was taken up to the sleeping-room — a
large, handsome, airy dormitory, clean as a ship's
deck, with nice, springy wire-beds arranged on
iron frames, one over another, like ships'
bunks. He saw some boys kneeling down
before climbing into bed, and he thought
he, too, might say something to the
Great Being above, of whom he had
heard, and who seemed to care even
for such poor creatures as he — and
he made his prayer. He had had
some intention of ranging around
at night and playing some trick, or
stealing something, but his new
feelings drove the idea out of his
head ; and, besides, he saw pres-
ently that strict watch was kept.
ness, and others had paid for their lodgings and
meals (five cents each), and he began to feel he,
too, must do something. He did not wish to be a
'• pauper," nor to have anybody think of him as
one, and he saw lads as small as he who said they
SAVINGS-BANK.
After his breakfast next morning, he heard that
some boys had put their money into the "savings-
bank " in the audience-room ; and others had
borrowed from the fund for starting boys in busi-
A GOOD-NIGHT CHAT.
earned from fifty cents to a dollar a
day, and that they bought their own
clothes.
One bright little fellow especially ex-
cited his envy by declaring that he
"belonged to the upper ten," as it
appeared he slept in the ten-cent dor-
mitory, and had his own special
'ten-cent locker" for his clothes, with
private key.
Hearing all this, Pickety at length
ventured to speak to the Superin-
tendent, who kindly explained to
him that each boy was expected to
do all he could to pay his own way,
that idle and pauper boys were not
wanted there, and that some kind
gentleman had supplied money with
which to help boys who might wish
to start in "business.
Pickety knew all about the boot-
blacking business, but, as he
explained, " a big boy had
punched him and stolen all his
kit." He could sell newspapers, too, but he had
been "stuck" with his last lot, and had lost all
his money ; and after that piece of bad luck he
had lived on bits of bread that a hotel-waiter had
550
W O L F - R E A R E D CHILDREN.
[May,
(11 T Fi r
THE FLOWER-MISSION". — DISTRIBUTING BOUQUETS TO SICK WOMEN AND CHILDREN. [SEE PAGE 552.]
1883.]
\V O I. K - K E A K li D C 11 1 L U K E N .
30'
given him, and once or twice he had been fed by
one of the other boys.
Mr. Calder was ready to supply him with a boot-
blacking outfit, or to give him checks which would
entitle him to so many copies of the Telegram or
Dailv Neius, the boy to return the value of the
checks, after a few days, when he should have made
some money.
Pickety chose the newspaper checks, and cleared
twenty-five cents, and then invested again, and
came back at night with fifty rents made,
feeling very proud and independent, since
he was now able to
pay for his lodging
and meals.
buy " policy-tickets," and thus take a short path
to fortune. Other boys were. after him to " go on
the lay," as they called it — that
is, to break open
stores, and so gain
fifty or a hundred
dollars at once, in-
stead of working
hard every day
and all day, for
the sake of get-
ting a few pen-
/ nies. But in
the Sunday-
evening meet-
ings of the
,.^
"mino" addresses the boys, [see next pace.]
The ne.\t day and the next, he appeared at the
Lodging House, for he rather liked the place and
the people, and, wide-awake as he was, he saw that
he got a great deal for his money, and could not
hope to do better anywhere else. In a few days
he had repaid the loan, had a little capital ahead,
and actually found himself rich enough to afford
a pair of new trousers.
Then, later, having some money, he was sorely
tempted to pitch pennies and make more, or to
Lodging House, Pickety heard a great deal about
the sin of stealing and the folly of such "short
cuts to fortune," and he began to see how wrong
and foolish all these things were ; and that he
ought to try in his humble way to lead a straight-
forward and manly life, and to please the wonderful
Being of whom the teacher read in the Testament,
and who had lived and died on the earth for men.
So Pickety broke away from bad companions,
and, finding that liberal interest was offered in the
552
W O L F - R E A R E D CHILDREN.
[May,
savings-bank of the Lodging House, he put his
money there ; and when, after some months, the)-
would no longer keep it there, because, they said,
it was too much to risk, he felt very proud to place
it in a big savings-bank in the city.
Little Pickety happened to be sent one day to
the Superintendent's sitting-room; he knocked at
the door, and heard a harsh voice cry :
" Come in ! "
So he opened the door and entered.
To his surprise, he found no one in the cozy,
tasteful little room. But a deep, sepulchral voice
from a dark corner of the room asked: "Who are
you ? "
The little street-rover was not afraid of human
enemies, but of ghosts he had heard many a fear-
ful story ; and he now began to quake in his shoes.
Suddenly, however, he discovered, in a cage in the
corner, a strange, weird-looking bird, about as
large as a crow, dark as night, with a most beauti-
ful metallic luster on its feathers. The bird held
its great head sidewise, and, after peering at the
boy in a most searching fashion for a minute, it
unexpectedly exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest
misery :
•' P-o-o-r M-i-ii-o ! " and again: "M-i-n-o
w-a-n-t-s a drink of w-a-ter ! " with various other
plaintive speeches, which seemed to come from
the throat of some stout, heavy alderman. The
creature ended by whistling, in not at all a melan-
choly manner, that lively air called ' 'Captain Jinks. "
Pickety ran back in great haste to describe his
wonderful discovery to his comrades, when Mr.
Calder brought down the cage among them, and it
was a source of endless amusement, as it often had
been before to other sets of lads. The mischiev-
ous boys took special delight in having Mino in the
school-room; for whenever the Superintendent had
begun a prayer, or was making some serious
remarks, the bird was sure to give vent to an
unearthly scream, or to call out in its harsh voice :
"Who are you ?" or othenvise break in upon the
sobriety of the occasion.
Pickety was especially touched, one day, by see-
ing poor sick women and children come up to
Mr. Calder's desk for the little bouquets of flowers
furnished to the Flower Mission by kind people in
the country. The lad knew that these beautiful gifts
were carried home to the dark cellars and miser-
able attics of that neighborhood, and that these
bunchesof bright, sweet-smelling flowers came like
gifts from God. gladdening the bedside of many a
sick and dying creature in the poor quarter around
the Lodging House.
Pickety had now lost much of his former wolfish,
savage nature : he did not wish to go back to his
jungle and den; he had learned to eat with his
knife and fork, and to sleep in a bed, like a civil-
ized human being; he was less cunning but more
bright, and was kind to other boys ; he had begun
to have a desire to earn and own something, and
to get on in the world. Besides, he had some idea
of religion, and a great longing to be considered a
manly fellow ; and he was beginning to read in
books.
At length, one day, the Superintendent called
him and told him he could not be always in the
Lodging House, for they did not keep boys long,
and he must soon strike out by himself and en-
deavor to make his own way in the world.
The Superintendent also explained to the bright
young lad that the best possible employment for a
young working-boy in this country was farming,
and that there were kind-hearted farmers in the
West who would be glad to take him, and teach
him their business, giving him at first only cloth-
ing and food, but paying him fair w'ages later on.
In this way he would have (for the first time in
his life) a home, and might grow up with the
farmer's family, and share in all the good things
they had.
Pickety at first thought he might be sent where
bears would hunt him, or Indians catch him, and
that he would earn very little and would lose all
the sights and fun of New York, so he was almost
afraid to go ; but, on hearing all about it, and see-
ing that he would never come to much in the city,
and especially hoping to get more education in the
\\"est, and by and by to own a bit of land for him-
self, he resolved to join a party under one of the
western agents of the Children's Aid Societj- and
go to Kansas — which to the New York boy seems
the best State in the West.
We have not time nor space to follow his fort-
unes there: ever)thing was strange to him, and
he made queer work of his duties in a farmer's
house; but the strangest thing of all to him was to
be in a kind. Christian family. He wondered what
made them all so good, and he began to think he
would like to be as they were, and most of all like
the One he had heard of in the Lodging House
meeting.
He was careful to write to his New York friends
about his new home, and here is one of the letters
received from him, after he had been in the West
a few months :
" , , Kansas.
"Mr. Macv — DE.iVR Sir: I write you these
few lines hoping you are in good health at present,
and not forgetting the rest of the gentlemen that
I remember in the Children's Aid Society. I am
getting on splendid with my studies at school, and
I send you my monthly report, but please return
i882,l
WOLF-REARED CHILDREN.
553
A \\ ■ ' I. i ■ ■ I ■ I \ K
Vol. LX.— 36.
554
W ( ) L F - R E A R E D CHILDREN.
[.May,
it, as I want to keep all my reports. I have a
good place and like my home, and am glad I came.
" The first time I rode a horse bare-back, he
slung me off over his head and made me sick for
a week. I also had diphtheria but I am all right
again and in good health, and can ride or gallop a
horse as fast as any man in town. When summer
comes I will learn to plough and sow, and do
farmer's work. I will get good wages out here.
It is a nice country-, for there is no Indians, or
bears, or other wild animals — 'cept prairie-wolves,
and you can scare tlu-in with anything.
"If any boy wants a good home, he can come
here and have plenty of fun. I have fun with the
mules, horses, pigs and dogs. No pegging stones
at rag-pickers or tripping up men or tramps in the
Bowery or City Hall Park.
' ' Tell ' Banty ' I send him my best respects. Tell
him it is from ' Pickety,' and he will know me.
"Yours truly, ."
He learned his farm-work fast and soon made
himself very useful ; the next winter he went to
school again, and became a very good scholar. He
knew how to make money, too: when the farmer
gave him a calf, or a lamb, or a sheep, he took
good care of it, and by and by sold it, and bought
other stock with the proceeds, and in this way,
after a few years, he had saved a considerable sum.
With this he bought some "Government land,"
on which he built a shanty ; and so he began to be
a "landed proprietor."
He was no longer "Pickety," but had a Chris-
tian name, and for his last name he took that of
the kind people to whom he felt like a son. He
had acquired a fair education, too; and the neigh-
bors liked and respected the "New York orphan,"
as they called him. He had quite lost his wolfish
nature by this time, and now had a new one, which
had come to him from the Good Being he had
heard of in the Lodging House, through the civil-
izing. Christian influences that had been thrown
around him. And here we will leave him, —
A THRIVI.NG FARMER ON HIS OW.N L-\.\D.
A SPRING STOKV.
.■>:>3
A-SPRiNo-5TonY'f^
By Kate Kellogg.
A Lady-hug and a Bumble-bee
Went out in tlie fine, spring weather ;
Tliey met by chance on a lilac-bush.
And talked for a while together.
These days are warm," said the Buniblc-bec,
" Hut the nights are damp and chilly.'
So damp, indeed," the Lady-bug cried,
" I should think you 'd rent the lily.
I know it 's To Let, — I 've seen the sign,^ —
But it wont be long untaken ;
The wonder is, that so sweet a place
.Should ever have been forsaken."
" A thousand thanks," said the Bee in haste,
" .And if you '11 excuse my hurry,
I '11 go and secure the house at once.
Before there 's a rush and flurry."
So off he flew toward Marigold street
(The way was not long, nor hilly).
But just as he jiassed the pinks, he saw
A little girl pick the lily.
The only house he could find to rent !
.\nd this is the pitiful reason
Why out on a cold, bare clover-leaf
lie slept the rest of the season.
Vou call this story too sad to tell ?
Perhaps it is ; but it teaches
A little rule to the little heart
Of each little girl it reaches.
.■\nd the rule is this : When spring-time
comes.
And the nights are damp and chilly,
Be very sure that it 's not To Let,
Before you gather a lily.
556
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[May,
DONALD AND DOROTHY.*
By Mary Mapes Dodge.
Chapter XVI.
A DISCOVERY IN THE GARRET.
" Is Miss Dorothy in?"
"I think she is, Miss Josie. And yet, it seems
as if she went over to the Danbys'. Take a seat,
Miss, and I '11 see if she 's in her room."
"Oh, no, Nora! I 'II run up myself and sur-
prise her."
So the house-maid went down-stairs to her work,
for she and Liddy were " clearin' up" after the
house-picnic of the day before; and Josie Manning
started in search of Dorry.
"I 'II look in her cozy corner first," said Josie to
herself.
Only those friends who knew the Reeds inti-
mately had seen Dorry's cozy corner. Mere ac-
DORRv's COZY CORNER.
quaintances hardly knew of its existence. Though
a part of the young lady's pretty bed-room, it was
so shut off by a high, folding screen that it formed
a complete little apartment in itself It was deco-
rated with various keepsakes and fancy articles —
some hanging upon the walls, some standing on
the mantel-shelf, and some on the cabinet in
which she kept her "treasures." With these, and
its comfortable lounge and soft Persian rug, and,
more than all, with its bright little window over-
head, that looked out upon the tree-tops and the
gable-roof of the summer-kitchen, it was indeed
a most delightful place for the little maid. And
there she studied her lessons, read books, wrote
letters, and thought out, as well as she could, the
plans and problems of her young life. In very
cold weather, a wood fire oh the open hearth
made the corner doubly comfortable, and on
mild days, a dark fire-board and a great vase of
dried grasses and red-sumac branches made it
seem to Dorry the brightest place in the world.
Josie was so used to seeing her friend there that
now, when she looked in and found it empty, she
turned back. The cozy corner was not itself with-
out Dorry.
"She 's gone to the Danbys' after all," thought
Josie, standing irresolute for a moment —
"I '11 run after her. No, I '11 wait here."
So, stepping into the cozy corner again, but
shrugging her pretty shoulders at its loneliness,
she tossed her hood and shawl upon the sofa, and,
taking up a large book of photographic views that
lay there, seated herself just outside the screen,
where she would be sure to see Dorry if she
should enter the room. Meantime, sitting in the
sunshine, a pleasant heat came in upon her from
the warm hall ; not a sound was to be heard, and
she was soon lost in the enjoyment of the book,
which had carried her across the seas, far into
foreign scenes and places.
But Dorry was not at the Danbys' at all. She
was overhead, in the garret, kneeling beside a
small leather trunk, which was studded with tar-
nished brass nails.
How dusty it was !
" I don't believe even Liddy knew it was up
here," thought Dorry, "for the boys poked it out
from away, 'way back under the rafters. If she
had known of it, she would have put it with the
rest of the trunks."
Dorry laid the dusty lid back carefully, noting
as she did so that it was attached to the trunk by
a strip of buff leather inside, extending its entire
length, and that its buff-paper lining was gay with
* Copyright, 1881, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reserved.
l882.)
DONALD AND DOROTHY
557
sprays of pink rose-buds. In one of the upper cor-
ners of this lid was a label bearing this inscription:
"Oh!" exclaimed Dorry, under her breath, as,
still kneeling, she read the words, — "it 's Aunt
Kate's own writing ! "
"Papa," ran her thoughts, "that was Donald's
and my grandpapa. October, 1849 — ^ten whole
years before we were born ! when she was a little
girl herself ! "
Then with reverent hands Dorry lifted the top
article — a soft, pink muslin dress, which had a
narrow frill of yellowish lace, basted at the neck.
It seemed to have been cast aside as partly worn
out. Beneath this lay a small black silk apron,
which had silk shoulder-straps, bordered with nar-
row black lace, and also little pockets trimmed with
lace. Dorry, gently thrusting her hand into one
of these pockets, drew forth a bit of crumpled rib-
bon, some fragments of dried rose-leaves, and a
silver thimble marked " K. R." She put it on her
thimble-finger ; it fitted exactly.
"Oh, dear!" thought Dorry, as, with flushed
cheeks and quick-beating heart, the looked at the
dress and apron on her lap; "1 wish Don would
come ! " Then followed a suspicion that perhaps
she ought to call him, and Uncle George, too,
before proceeding further; but the desire to go on
was stronger. Aunt Kate was hers, — " my aunty,
even more than Don's," she thought, "because
he 's a boy, and of course does n't care so much," —
and then she lifted a slim, white paper parcel,
nearly as long as the trunk. It was partly
wrapped in an old piece of white Canton crape,
embroidered with white silk stars at regular inter-
vals. Removing this, Dorry was about to take off
the white paper \vra[)per also, when she caught
sight of some words written on it in pencil.
" Dear Aunt Kate ! " thought Dorry, intensely
interested; "how carefully she wrapped up and
marked everything! Just my way;" and she
read :
My dear Utile Delia : I atit fourteen to-day,
too old for dolls, so I must put you to sleep and lay
you away. But I 'II keep you, my dear dolly, as
long as I live, and if I ever have a dear little girl,
she shall wake you and play luith you and love
you, and I promise to name her Delia, after you.
Kate Reed. A ugust, i8^z.
With a strange conflict of feeling, and for the
moment forgetting everything else, Dorry read the
words over and over, through her tears ; adding,
softly: "Delia! That 's why my little cousin was
named Delia."
And, as she slowly opened the parcel, it
almost seemed to her that Cousin Deha, Aunt
Kate's own little girl, had come back to life, and
was sitting on the floor beside her, and that she
and Delia always would be true and good, and
would love Aunt Kate forever and ever.
But the doll, Delia, recalled her. How pretty
and fresh it was! — a sweet rosy face, with round
cheeks and real hair, once neatly curled, but now
pressed in flat rings against the bare dimpled
shoulders. The eyes were closed, and when
Dorry sought for some means of opening them,
she found a wire evidently designed for that pur-
pose. But it had become so rusty and stiff that
it would not move. Somehow the closed eyes
troubled her, and before she realized what she
was doing, she gave the wire such a vigorous
jerk that the eyes opened — bright, blue, glad
eyes, that seemed to recognize her.
" Oh, you pretty thing ! " exclaimed Dorry, as
she kissed the smiling face and held it close to her
cheek for a moment. " Delia never can play with
you, dear ; she was drowned, but / '// keep you as
long as I live Who 's that? Oh, Don, how
you startled me ! I am so glad you 've come."
"Why, what's the matter. Dot?" he asked,
hurrying forward, as she turned toward him, with
the doll still in her arms. " Not crying ? "
"Oh, no, no, I 'm not crying," she said, hastily
wiping her eyes, and surprised to find them wet.
"See here! This is Delia. Oh, Don, don't
laugh. Stop, stop ! "
Checking his sudden mirth, as he saw Dorry's
indignation, and glancing at the open trunk,
which until now had escaped his notice, he began
to suspect what was the matter.
" Is it Aunt Kate's?" he asked, gravely, as he
knelt beside her.
" Yes, Don ; Aunt Kate's doll when she was a
little girl. This is the trunk that I told you about
— the one that the diary fell out of."
A strong, boyish step was heard coming up the
garret stair: "Who is it? Run, Don, don't let
any one come up here ! " begged Dorry.
"It's Ed Tyler,— Hold up, Ed!" cried Don,
obediently. " I '11 be there in a minute." Then
hurriedly kissing Dorry, and with a hearty "cheer
up, little sister! " he was gone.
558
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[May,
Don's pleasant tone and quick step changed the
current of Dorry's thoughts. More than this, a
bright beam of sunhght now shone through the
dusty window. Sobbing no longer, she carefully
wrapped the doll in the same paper and piece of silk
that had held it for so many years. As she arose,
holding the parcel in her hand, the pink dress and
black silk apron on her lap fell to the floor.
A sudden thought came to her.
Dorry never could remain sad very
long at a time. She hastily opened
the parcel again.
" Lie down there, Delia dear," she
said, gently placing the doll on the
rose-buds of the still open trunk-lid.
" Lie down there, till 1 put on these
things. I 'm going to take you down
to see your uncle ! "
' ' Wont he be astonished, though !"
murmured Dorry, as, half smiling,
half sighing, she took off her dress in
great excitement, and put on, first
the pink muslin, and then the black
silk apron, fastening them at the
back as well as she could, with many
a laborious twist and turn of her
white arms, and with a half-puzzled
consciousness that the garments were
a perfect fit.
The dress, which was high at the
neck, had short sleeves, and was
gathered to a belt at the waist.
Tying the apron at the back, so that
the ends of its black ribbon bow
hung down over the full pink skirt,
she proceeded to adjust the silk
straps that, starting in front at the
belt, went over the shoulders and
down again at the back.
As she did this and perceived that each strap was
wide on the top and tapered toward the belt, it
struck her that the effect must be quite pretty.
Bending, to take up Delia, she saw, for the first
time, among the bits of calico and silk lying in the
bottom of the trunk, what proved to be a wide-
brimmed straw hat. In another moment it was on
her head, and, with a quick little laugh, she caught
up Delia and ran down the stairs.
Looking neither to right nor left, Dorry sped
down the next flight ; across the hall, on tiptoe
now, and so on to the study door, which stood
ajar just enough to admit her slight figure.
Mr. Reed, who sat at the table busily writing,
did not even look up when she entered.
"How d' ye do?" she exclaimed, courtesying
to her uncle, with the doll in her arms.
He sprang to his feet in amazement.
" Don't be frightened. It 's only Dorry. I just
wanted to surprise you !^ See," she continued, as
he stood staring wildly at her, " I found all these
things upstairs. And look at the dolly! "
By this time the hat had fallen off, and she was
shaking her tumbled hair at him in a vehement
manner, still holding Delia in her extejided arms.
JOSIE MANNING WAITS FOR DORRY.
" Good-bye, Ed ! " rang out Donald's clear
voice from the piazza, and in an instant he was
looking through the study window, much surprised
to see a quaint little pink figure folded in Uncle
George's embrace, while Dorry's voice was calling
from somewhere : "Be careful ! Be careful !
You 'II break Delia ! "
Ed Tyler, sauntering homeward, met Josie Man-
ning on her way to the Danbys'. " 1 think Dorry
has gone to see Charity Danby," she said, " and
1 'm going after her. I 've been waiting at her
house, ever so long."
"I've been at Don's, too," said Ed. "Just
come from there."
Josie laughed. " As if I did n't know that," she
said. " Why, I was in Dorry's room all the time.
First I heard Don run up to the garret for some-
i883.|
DONALD AND DOROTHY
559
thing, then you went up after him, and then you
both passed down again, and out upon the pia2za.
I suppose you went to the old carriage-house, as
usual, did n't you ? "
" Of course we did. We 're turning it into a
first-class gymnasium. Mr. Reed has given it to
Don outright, and I tell you it will be a big
thing. Jack 's helping us. Don has saved up
lots of pocket-money, and Mr. Reed gives him
all the lumber he wants. Just you wait. But, by
the way, Dorry is n't out. Don told me himself
she was rummaging up in the garret."
"Why, that's queer!" was Josie's surprised
exclamation. "Then it must have been Dorry
who ran down-stairs. It could n't be, though —
some one with a hat on and a short-sleeved pink
dress went by like a flash."
" Don't you know Dorry Reed yet ? " laughed
Ed — " she is always dressing up. Why, one day
when I was there, she came into Don's room
dressed like an old woman — cap, crutch, corked
wrinkles and all complete — never saw anything
like it. What a little witch she is ! "
"I think she 's an angel! " said Josie, warmly.
" A pretty lively angel! " was lid's response.
But the tone of admiration was so genuine that
it satisfied even Josie Manning.
" Well ! " exclaimed Donald, noting Dorry's
strange costume as he entered the room, after
shouting a second good-bye to Ed Tyler.
"Weill" echoed Dorry, freeing herself from
her uncle's arms, and facing Donald, with a little
jump — "what of it? I thought I 'd pay Uncle a
visit with my pretty doll-cousin here " (hugging
Delia as she spoke), " and he started as if I were a
ghost. Did n't you. Uncle.'"
" I suppose I did," assented Mr. Reed, with a
sad smile. "In fact, Dorry, I may as well admit
that what is fun to you happened, for once, not to
be fun to me."
" But it Tvas n't fun to me ! " cried that aston-
ishing Dorry. " It was — it was — tell him, Don ;
yott know."
There was no need for Don to speak. Dorry's
flushed cheeks, shining eyes, and excited manner
told their own story — and both her brother and
uncle, because they knew her so well, felt quite sure
that in a moment Dorothy's own self would have
a word to say.
Still folding the dolly to her heart and in both
arms, just as she would have held it years before, and
with the yearning look of a little child, the young
girl, without moving from the middle of the room,
looked wistfully toward the window, as though she
saw outside some one whom she loved, but who
could not or would not come to her. Then she
stepped toward her uncle, who had seated himself
again in the big chair, and laying her hand upon
his shoulder, said earnestly :
" Uncle, I 've been brought nearer to .Vunt
Kate to-day than ever in my life before, and the
lonely feeling is almost all gone. I found a little old
trunk, far back under the rafters, with her doll in
it, her clothes and her writing, and now I see how
real she was, — not like a dream, as she used to
seem, but just one of us. You know what I mean."
"A trunk, Dorry! What? Where?" was all
the response Uncle George made, as, hastening
from the room, he started for the garret, keeping
ahead of the others all the way.
Chapter .XV'Il.
DORRY ASKS A QUESTION.
Donald and Dorothy followed their uncle
closely, though he seemed to have forgotten them;
and they were by his side when he reached the
little treasure-trove, with its still opened lid.
Paying no attention to their presence, Mr. Reed
hurriedly, but with the tenderest touch, took out
every article and examined it closely.
When he came to the diary, which Dorry that
day had restored unopened to the trunk, he eagerly
scanned its pages, here and there ; then, to the
great disappointment of the D's, he silently laid it
down, as if intending soon to take it away with
him.
" May we see that, Uncle ?" asked Dorry, softly.
" Is n't it right for us to read it? We found out it
was her diary — but I put it back "
Without replyihg. Uncle George went on with
his examination. Finally, replacing the last arti-
cle in the trunk, he closed the lid with a hopeless
air, and turned toward Dorry, saying ;
" Dorothy, where is that doll ? It must go back
where you found it, and the clothes, too."
She handed it to him without a word — all her
hope turned to bitterness.
But as he took it, noting her grieved expression,
he said :
" Thank you, my dear. You are too old to
play with dolls "
"Oh, Uncle, it is too bad for you to speak so !
^'ou /dKnti I did n't mean to play with it. It is n't
a dolly to me — she 's more like — like something
with life. But you can shut her up in the dark, if
you want to."
" Dorry ! Dorry ! " said Don, reproachfully.
" Don't be so excited."
In a flash of thought, Dorry made up her mind
to speak — now or never.
" Uncle ! " said she, solemnly, " I am going to
56o
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[May,
ask you a question — and, if it is wrong, I can't
help it. What is the reason that you ahvays feel so
badly when I speak of Aunt Kate ? "
He looked at her in blank surprise for an instant ;
then, as she still awaited his reply, he echoed her
words, " Feel badly when you speak of Aunt Kate !
Why, my child, what do you mean ? "
" I mean, Uncle dear, that there is a secret in
the house : something you have never told Don and
me. It 's always coming up and making mischief,
and I don't think it 's right at all. Neither does
Don."
" That 's so. Uncle," said Donald, emphatically ;
" we feel sure there is something that gives you
trouble. Why not let us share it with you ? Re-
member, we are not little children any longer."
The uncle looked quickly from one to the other,
mentally deciding that the children could be told
only the facts that were positively known to him ;
then seating himself on the corner of a large chest,
he drew Don and Dorry toward him.
"Yes, my children," he said, in his own hearty
way, as if already a load had been taken from his
mind, "there is something. It is right that I
should tell you, and this is as good a time as any.
Put the doll away, Dorry " (he spoke very gently
now), "wherever you please, and come down-stairs.
It is chilly up here — and, by the way, you will
cateh cold in that thin gown. What have we been
thinking of all this while ? "
"Oh, I 'm as warm as toast, Uncle," she re-
plied, at the same time taking her pretty merino
dress from the old chair upon which she had
thrown it, scarcely an hour ago; "but I suppose
it 's always better to be on the safe side, as Liddy
says."
" Much better," said Uncle, nodding with forced
cheerfulness. "Down with you. Dot. We '11 join
you in a minute."
Dorry saw her uncle stooping low to peer into
the far roof-end of the garret, as she left them ;
and she had time to place Delia carefully in her
treasure-cabinet, put on the warmer dress, and be
ready to receive her uncle and Donald before they
made their appearance.
"May we be your guests, Dot?" asked Uncle
George, at her door.
"Oh, yes, sir; come right in here," was her
pleased response, as, with a conflict of curiosity
and dread, Dorry gracefully conducted them into
her cozy corner.
" It is too pretty and dainty here for our rough
masculine tread, eh, Don ? " was Mr. Reed's re-
mark, as, with something very like a sigh, he
seated himself beside Dorry upon the sofa, while
her brother rested upon one of its ends.
"Well," began Dorry, clasping her hands
tightly, and trying to feel calm. " We 're ready,
now. Uncle."
"And so am I," said he. "But first of all, I
must ask you both not to magnify the importance
of what I am going to reveal."
" About Aunt Kate ? " interposed Dorry.
"About Aunt Kate. Do not think you have
lost her, because she was really, no — I should say
— not exactly."
"Oh," urged Dorry, "don't stop so. Uncle!
Please do go on ! "
" As I was about to say," resumed Mr. Reed, in
a tone of mild rebuke at the interruption, "it
really never made any difference to me, nor to
your father, and it should make no difference to
you now. You know," he continued, with some
hesitation, "children sometimes are adopted into
families — that is to say, they are loved just the
same, and cared for just the same, but they are
not own children. Do you understand ?"
"Understand what, please. Uncle? Did Aunt
Kate adopt any one ? " asked Dorry.
"No, but my father and mother did; your
grandfather and grandmother Reed, you know,"
said he, looking at the D's in turn, as though he
hoped one of them would help him.
"You don't mean. Uncle," almost screamed
Dorry, " that it was that — that horrid "
Donald came to her assistance.
"Was it //la/ man, Uncle? " he asked, quickly.
" Ben Buster told me the fellow claimed to be
related to us — was he ever adopted by Grandfather
Reed ? "
• " Ugh ! " shuddered Dorry.
Very little help poor Uncle George could hope
to have now from the D's. The only way left was
to speak out plainly.
"No, not that man, my children; but Aunt
Kate. Aunt Kate was an adopted daughter — an
adopted sister — but she was in all other respects
one of our family. Never was daughter or sister
more truly beloved. She was but two years old,
an orphan, when she came to us. Grandpa and
Grandma Reed had known her parents, and when
the little" — here Mr. Reed hastily resolved to say
nothing of Eben Slade for the present — " the
little girl was left alone in the world, destitute,
with no relatives to care for her, my father and
mother took her into their home, to bear their
name and to be their own dear little daughter.
"When Aunt Kate was old enough, they told her
all, but it was her wish that we boys should for-
get that we were not really her brothers. This
was before we came to live in this house.
" Our Nestletown neighbors, hearing nothing of
the adoption, naturally supposed that little Kate
Reed was our own sister. The secret was known
i88i.)
DONALD AND DORUTIIV
561
only to our relatives, and one or two old friends,
and Lydia, who was Kate's devoted nurse and
attendant. In fact, we never thought anything
about it. To us, as to the world outside, she was
Kate Reed — the joy and pride of our home — our
sister Kate to the very last. So it really made no
serious difference. Don't you see ? "
Not a word from either of the listeners.
" Of course, Dorry dar-
ling," he said, coaxingly,
" this is very strange news
to you, but you must meet
it bravely and as I said be-
fore, without giving it undue ifnportance. I wish
now that, from the first, you and Donald had been
tokl all this ; but indeed your Aunt Kate was always
so dear to me, that I wished you to consider her, as
she considered herself, a relative. It has been my
great consolation to think and speak of your father
and her as my brother and sister, and to see you,
day by day, growing to love and honor her
memory as she deserved Now, do you not
understand it all? Don't you see that Aunt Kate
is Aunt Kate still.'' "
" Yes, indeed. / say so, most decidedly," broke
forth Donald. " And I am very glad you have
told us. Uncle. Are n't you, Dorry?"
Dorry could not speak, but she kissed Uncle
George and tried to feel brave.
" M.iinma and .Xunt Kate were great friends,
were n't they?"
1 )onald asked.
" Yes, indeed.
Though they be-
came acquainted
only a few months
before your par-
ents married and
departed for Eu-
iiipe, they soon
1 iccame very fond
I if each other."
"Then, Uncle,"
]iursued Donald,
■ why did n'ljttii
know Mother,
too? I should
ihink she would
hive come here to
visit Aunt Kate,
sometimes."
"As your moth-
er was an only
I hild, livingalone
>iith her invalid
father, she was
unwilling to leave
im, and so Aunt Kate visited her instead.
I wish it had been different, and that I could
speak to you and Dorothy more fully of
your mother, whom I rarely saw. We all
know that she was good and lovely, but I should
like to be able to bring her familiarly to your
minds. This old home would be all the dearer
if it could be associated with thoughts of your
mother and happy days which she had passed here
with Aunt Kate "
At this point Mr. Reed was summoned to his
study. A gentleman from town had called to see
him on business.
" Keep up a good heart, my girl," he said, ten-
derly, to Dorry, as he left her, "and as soon as
you feel like it, take a run out-of-doors with
Donald. The bracing air will drive all sad
thoughts away."
Dorry tried to smile pleasantly, as she promised
to follow his advice. .She even begged Don not to
wait any longer, assuring him that she would go
out and join him very soon.
562
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[May,
"That 's a good old Dot," said Don, proudly.
" I '11 wait for you. Where 's your hat ? "
" No, you go first, Don. I '11 be out soon. I
really will."
" All right. Ed 's out there again by this time.
You '11 find us in the gymnasium," and ofif he ran,
well knowing that Dorry's heart was heavy, but
believing that the truest kindness and sympathy
lay in making as light as possible of Uncle
George's revelation — which, he felt, was n't so
serious a thing after all, if looked at in the right
manner.
Dorothy waited until he was out of sight, and
then sat down to think it all over.
The result was that when Liddy chanced to pass
through the hall, a few moments later, she was
startled at hearing half-suppressed sobs.
According to the custom of the house, which
made the cozy corner a sort of refuge for Dorry,
the good woman, upon entering at the open door,
stood a moment wondering what to do. But as
the sound of another little sob came from behind
the screen, she called out in a cheery voice:
" May I come in, Miss Dorry, dear ? "
" Y-yes," was the answer. " Oh, Liddy, is that
you? Uncle has told us all about it."
" Sakes alive!" cried Liddy, holding up her
hands in dismay — "not told you everything?"
" Yes, he has," insisted Dorry, weeping afresh,
as Lydia's manner seemed to give her a new right
to consider that an awful fact had been revealed to
her. "I know now all about it. I haven't any
Aunt Kate at all. I 'm a-all alone ! "
" For shame. Miss Dorry ; how can you talk so ?
You, with your blessed uncle and your brother, to
say nothing of them who have cherished you in
their arms from the day you were a helpless baby
^for shame. Miss, to say such a thing ! "
This put matters in a new light.
" Oh, Liddy, you don't know about it. There 's
no Aunt K-Kate, any way," sobbed Dorry, rather
relieved at finding herself the subject of a good
scolding.
" There isn't, eh ? Well, 1 'd like to know why
not ! " retorted Lydia, furtively wiping her eyes.
"I guess there is. I knew, long before you were
born, that she was a dear little adopted girl. But
what of that — that does n't mean she was n't ever
a little girl at all. Don't you know, Miss Dorry,
child, that a human being 's a human being, and
folks care for 'em for what they are ? It was n't
just belongin' to this or that family made Miss
Kate so lovely — it's what she was herself, and I
can certify to her bein' as real as you and me are
— if that 's all that 's wanted."
By this time Dorry, though half comforted, had
buried her face in the sofa-pillow.
" Not that I can't feel for you, poor dear,"
Liddy continued, gently patting the young girl's
shoulder, but speaking more rapidly — " many 's
the time I 've wept tears, just to think of you,
longing with all your little heart for a mother.
I 'm a rough old body, my dove, and what are
your dear good uncle and Master Donald but
menkind, after all, and it 's natural you should
pine for Aunty. Ah, I 'm afraid it 's my doings
that you 've been thinkin' of her all these days,
when, may be, if 1 'd known your dear mother,
which I did n't, — and no blame to me neither, —
I would n't always have been holding Miss Kate
up to you. But she was a darling, was your Aunt
Kate, as you know by her picture down-stairs —
don't you, dear ? "
Dorry nodded into the cushion, by way of reply.
Liddy gazed at her a moment in sympathizing
silence, and then, in a more cheerful tone, begged
her to rouse herself:
" It wont do any good to fret about it, you
know. Miss Dorry. Come, now, you '11 have the
awfulest headache that ever was, if you don't
brighten up. When you 're in trouble, count
your blessings — that 's what I always say, and
you 've a big share of 'em, after all, dear. Let me
make you a nice warm cup of tea — that '11 build
you up. Miss Dorry. It always helps me when
I Sakes ! what 's that ? "
"What's what, Liddy?" said Dorry, languidly
raising her head from the pillow. "Oh, that 's —
that 's /ler — that 's Aunt Kate's frock and apron.
Yes, and here 's something else. Here 's Delia —
1 '1! show her to you."
And so saying, she rose and stepped toward the
cabinet.
" Show me Delia ? Merciful heavens," cried
Liddy, " has the child lost her senses ! "
But the sight of the doll re-assured her.
"Oh, that 's Deha, is it?" she asked, still won-
dering; "well, where in the world did it come
from ? "
Dorry told her all about the discovery of the
little trunk that had been hidden in the garret so
many years.
" Oh, those miserable house-cleaners ! " was
Liddy's wrathful comment. "Only to think of
it ! We had 'em workin' up there when you twins
were too little to spare me, and I 've never felt easy
about it since, nor trusted any one but myself to
clean that garret. To think of their pushing things
in, 'way out of sight and sound like that ! "
This practical digression had a good effect on
Dorry. Rousing herself to make the effort, she
bathed her face, smoothed her hair, and seizing her
hat and shawl, started with a sigh to fulfill her
promise to Donald.
iSSi.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY
563
And all this time, Liddy sat stroking and folding become too much for him. Plans and consulta-
the little pink dress and black apron.
Chapter XVIII.
THE GYMNASIUM.
When Dorry reached the " gymnasium," as
Ed and Don called it, she could not help smiling
at the grand title they had given prematurely to a
very unpromising looking place.
The building had been a tine carriage-house in
its day, but of late it had been used mainly by
Jack as a sort of store-house for old barrels, boxes,
wheels, worn-out implements, and odds and ends
of various kinds. Its respectable exterior had
saved it from being pulled down when the new
carriage-house was built. As Donald had planked
off one end for his own special purposes, — first as a
printing-office, later as a carpenter's shop, — and as
Dorothy had planted vines, which in summer sur-
rounded its big window with graceful foliage, it had
become the special property of Jack and the D's.
Consequently, when Donald asked Mr. Reed to
allow him to sell or send away the rubbish, and,
with the proceeds of the sale of the old iron added
to his own saved-up pocket-money, to turn the
place into a g)'mnasium, his uncle not only gave
free consent, but offered to let him have help and
material, in case the young man should fall short
of funds — as he most undoubtedly would.
The project was but a few days old at the time
of the house-picnic, but being a vigorous little proj-
ect, with life in its veins, it grew and prospered
finely. Sailor Jack entered heartily into the work
— the more so as his gallant fancy conceived the
idea of some day setting up near by a sort of ship's-
rigging with shrouds and ratlins, in which to give
the boys lessons, and occasionally disport himself,
by way of relief, when his sea-longing should
tions soon were the order of the day, and Dorry
becoming interested, learned more about pulleys,
ropes, ladders, beams, strength of timber, and
such things than any other girl in the village.
The building was kept moderately warm by an
old stove, which Jack had set up two years before,
when Don and Dorry had the printing-press fever
(which, by the way, had broken out in the form of
a tiny, short-lived newspaper, called The Ncstle-
town Boom), and day after day the boys spent
every odd moment of daylight there, assisted in
many ways by Dorothy. But perhaps more
efficient help was rendered by Jack, when he could
spare the time from his horses, and by the village
carpenter, when he would deign to keep his
engagements.
Above all, it was decided that the new tutor
should not begin until after the Christmas holidays,
now close at hand.
Under this hearty cooperation, the work pros-
pered wonderfully.
Pretty soon, boys who came to jeer remained
to try the horizontal bar or the " horse," or the
ladder that stretched invitingly overhead from one
end of the building to the other. By special
request, Don's and Dorry's Christmas gifts from
Uncle were a flying-course, a swinging-bar, and a
spring-board. Jack and Don carted load after load
of saw-dust from the lumber-mill, and presto ! the
gymnasium was in full operation.
All of which explains why Josie Manning and
Dorothy Reed bought dark-blue flannel, and sent
to town for the latest pattern for gymnasium
dresses, — why Don and Ed soon exasperated them
by comfortably purchasing suits ready-made, — why
Dorry's cheeks grew rosier, why Uncle was pleased,
why Jack was happy, and why Lydia was morally
sure the D's would break their precious necks, if
somebody did n't put a stop to it.
(To be continued.)
THI-: MAN FROM PARIS.
There once was a man from ^'Par-ee,"
Whose reply to all questions was "Old!"
When told he 'd go wrong,
Should he not change his song.
He replied very much as you see.
564
APRIL AND MAY.
[May,
Birds on the boughs before the buds
Begin to burst in the spring,
Bending their heads to the April floods,
Too much out of breath to sing!
They chirp, " Hey-day ! How the rain comes down !
Comrades, cuddle together!
Cling to the bark so rough and brown, ^
For this is April weather.
" Oh, the warm, beautiful, drenching rain !
I don't mind it, do you ?
Soon will the sky be clear again.
Smiling, and fresh, and blue.
" Sweet and sparkling is every drop
That shdes from the soft, gray clouds;
Blossoms will blush to the very top
Of the bare old tree in crowds.
" Oh, the warm, delicious, hopeful rain !
Let us be glad together.
Summer comes flying in beauty again,
Through the fltful April weather."
1882.)
APRIL AND MAY.
565
II. MAY.
Skies ara glowing in gold and blue ,
What did the brave birds say?
Plenty of sunshine to come, they knew,
In the pleasant month of May!
She calls a breeze from the South to blow,
And breathe on the boughs so bare,
And straight they are laden with rosy snov;.
And there 's honey and spice in the air
Oh, the glad, green leaves 1 Oh, the happy v/ind
Oh, delicate fragrance and balm
Storm and tumult are left behind
In a rapture of golden calm.
From dewy morning to starry night
The birds sing sweet and strong.
That the radiant sky is iilled v/ith light.
That the days are fair and long;
That bees are drowsy about the hive —
Earth is so warm and gay!
And 't is joy enough to be alive
Tn t^q liqai-AnlTr TvinntVi nf \'tfv
566
THE NEW LIGHT.
MASTER THEODORE.
By Old Nursey.
iTTLEBAT Titmouse Theodore Van Horn
Was the prettiest baby that ever was born.
I bathed him and fed him and taught him " Bo-peep,"
Rocked him and trotted him, sang him to sleep.
Then I bade him good-by, and crossed the wide sea,
And it rolled twenty years 'twixt that baby and me;
Till at last I resolved I would cross the blue main
And hug my own precious wee baby again.
Well, that old ship creaked, and that old ship tossed,-
I was sure as 1 lived that we all should be lost, —
But at last we saw sea-gulls, and soon we saw land;
And then we were in; and — if there did n't stand
My own blessed baby ! He came there to meet me !
Yes, when we all landed, he hastened to greet me !
And wonder of wonders ! that baby had grown
To be bigger than me, and he stood all alone !
Why, Nursey ! " he said (he could talk, think of that !),
As he bowed like a marquis and lifted his hat.
Ah, how did you know your old Nursey? Oh, my!
You 've changed very much, and no wonder," says I;
When I spied of a sudden his mother, behind, —
Sweet lady ! She 'd helped him Old Nursey to find.
And he told me, right there, he 'd a sweet little wife
And that I should live with them the rest of my life.
So I 'm here, and right happy. You just ought to see
The dear little fellow that sits on my knee.
He has beautiful dimples and eyes like his Ma,
And a nose and a chin just the same as his Pa.
.-Ih, me ! He 's a beauty ! There never was born
A prettier babe than this latest Van Horn.
THE NEW LIGHT.
By Charles Barnard.
"It 'S too bad that the fairies and giants died
so long ago. It does seem as if all the wonderful
things happened before there was a chance to see
them. If a gnome or a nixie would appear in the
woods near the fairy ring, and send word that
it would do something, we could go to the tele-
phone in the library, and tell all the boys and girls
in the neighborhood to meet at the railway depot
and take the train for the woods, so as to be in
time to see. That would be something like !
They have put an electric light on a tall mast near
the Town Hall. They say you can see it from
Perkins's Hill where the fairy ring was found, and
that 's more than nine miles from the Town Hall.
Perhaps if there were any gnomes or fairies there,
they could see it. What do you suppose they
would think about it ? It is very bright, and
it makes the streets look like fairy-land. "
You see, the boy who made this long speech
was a great talker. He certainly mixed things
up in a strange fashion. — fairies and telephones,
gnomes and electric lights. He was sure nothing
l8«3.]
THE NEW LIGHT.
567
wonderful happens now, and yet he spoke of
three things that leave poor Mr. Aladdin quite out
of sight. What was the good of his old brass
lamp? If you rubbed it well, you could fly away
wherever you wished ; but there 's nothing to show
that even the wonderful flying carpet was half as
fast as a train of cars. As for talking through
a wire ten miles long, there is nothing like that
in any fairy story ever written.
There arc men and women still living who re-
member the time when there were no railways.
It was at the Centennial Exhibition that the tele-
phone was first shown, and some of you can
recall the day the men brought the wires over
the top of the house and put up that little box
in the library. Now comes this mysterious electric
light. It is queer and strange, bright as a small
chip split off the sun, and they say the small white
perimenting," and it is in this way that nearly all
the strange new things were discovered. Faraday
knew the battery would give him sparks and
flashes of light. By trying the wires of the bat-
tery in a particular way, he found he could make
the sparks stand still, while a great and wonderful
light flashed up, burning and dazzling, before him.
Franklin, you remember, went out one day, just
as a thunder-shower was coming, and sent up his
kite. The lightning ran down the kite-string and
gave him a tiny spark from a key tied to the string.
That was a famous experiment, for it proveil that
lightning and electricity were the same thing.
From Faraday's experiment we learn that a thun-
der-storm is a grand show, similar to the electric
lights that shine in the streets. The lights in the
clouds are not steady; — the lightning is not a good
lamp to read by. Yet these three are the same —
^11: |#^^
DVNAMO-EI.FCTRIC MACHINES, WORKED BY STEAM, AND PRODUCING MACNETO-ELECTRICITV. [SEE PAGE 570.]
flame is so hot that it will burn up hard metals,
like platinum, or tough stones, like diamonds.
The gnomes never did anything like that, and, if
they could do it, they never said so, or never took
the trouble to try. Giants and nixies and gnomes
don't amount to much, after all, nowadays.
It was Faraday who first saw the electric light.
He was one day at work with his battery, trying
experiments. He was continually trying things to
see how thev would behave. We call this " ex-
the sparks from the battery, the lightning from the
clouds, and the new lamps in the streets.
Place a needle near the ends of a magnet, and it
will be pulled toward it. If the needle touches
the magnet, it will stick to the ends. Something
draws the needle to the magnet and makes it cling.
The attraction of the magnet for the needle we
call "magnetism." Wc can see nothing of it; it
has no light and no motion of its own. We can
not hear it, and yet we know there is force of some
568
THE NEW LIGHT.
[Mav,
kind. This force that drags the needle to the mag-
net we call magnetism. In trying our experiment
we have been, as it were, asking a question, as if
we said, " Mr. Needle, what would you do if you
met Mr. Magnet?" Mr. Needle is not very talka-
tive, but the pointed way he has of clinging to Mr.
Magnet speaks more loudly than words. Could
he speak, he might say: "There is a force I must
obey, and it draws me to the magnet. In nature
there is a law of attraction, and in nature nothing
ever breaks a law."
Put a two-cent piece in the mouth, on the tongue,
and lay a nickel five-cent piece under the tongue,
so that the edges of the two coins will just touch.
In a moment you will have a curious bitter taste
on the tongue. Neither coin by itself will have
this taste. When the two pieces touch each
other in the mouth, something happens besides
their touching. You feel a strange, biting sensa-
tion on the tongue. Look at the coins. Nothing
seems to have happened to them, yet you feel sure
that something did take place when you held them
in your mouth.
Another way to perform this experiment is to
wind a short piece of fine copper wire around each
coin, and then to drop them in a cup of vinegar.
Take care that the bundles do not touch each
other, and bring the ends of the two wires close
One wire does not have this effect, but, when
both wires touch the tongue, something happens,
for you feel it plainly. What docs this experiment
tell us ? That here is force of some kind. This
kind of force is called electricity. The coins on
the tongue or in the vinegar make what is termed
a " battery," that is, a fountain, of this force, and
the taste on the tongue is caused by electricity.
If, in place of the coins, you use a sheet of cop-
per and a sheet of zinc, each with its copper wire,
and if in place of the vinegar a stronger acid, like
sulphuric acid, is used, there will be more force,
and the electricity will give us light and sounds.
If the ends of the wires are brought together, there
will be a tiny spark and a low sound, like the
snapping of a bit of wood. There is nothing new
to be seen or felt in the wires. They are cold and
silent, yet, when they touch, they seem for an instant
to be full of crackling fire. If the battery is a strong
one, and you place a piece of paper between the
ends of the wires, you will find after the flash
that a small hole, with blackened edges, has been
made through the paper. This shows that there is
heat as well as light, for the spark burned a hole
in the paper. From these experiments you can
prove for yourself that electricity is something that
can be tasted, and that it gives light and sound
and heat ; and yet, it can not be seen.
A KAINV :.'IGHT. ■
-bTKEEr LIGHIHU BV ELECTKICITY.
together. Now, holding the cup in the hand,
touch the ends of the two wires to the tongue.
Again you feel the strange, biting, bitter taste.
At one time it was imagined that electricity was
a kind of fluid, like water, and that it could, in
some way, flow through the wires of a battery.
>88i.J
THE XKW LIGHT.
569
Tllli ELiiCTKlC LIGHT l.N MADIiUN SQUARE, NEW YORK, ON A CLOUDY EViiMNG.
It is better to think that electricity is merely
energy displaying itself; but no one can tell what
it really is. We can see its light ; we can feel
it in the hands and arms — as when you touch
a Leyden-jar ; we can taste it, as you know ; and it
will burn and give out terrible sounds. We see the
lightning strike a barn, and the barn burns down,
and we hear the pealing sound when the flash
has darted from the black clouds. These things
arc only the ways in which it shows itself to us,
and we say these are displays of energy. The
acid in the battery bites and eats up the copper and
zinc. This process releases force or energy, and
this force gives light and heat and sound. Electric-
ity is the name we give to this strange force that
comes from the copper coins in your mouth ; that
streams from the battery ; that flashes from the
clouds ; and burns with such beautiful fires in the
Northern Lights. It is this force that is now used
to light the new electric lamps in the streets.
Faraday knew that the battery would give
sparks, and he discovered a way of making them
stand still and burn like a lamp. After this, for a
long time, nothing more was done with the light.
A strange thing was next discovered. If the
wire from a battery were wound around a jiiece
of iron, the iron would become a magnet. If the
wire were cut in two, so that it did not reach the
Vol. IX.— 37.
battery, the iron would cease to be a magnet, and
become mere ordinary iron, fo~r which needles did
not seem to care. If the wire were again joined
to the battery, the needles found it out quickly
enough. Now, here is a curious matter. A piece
of iron may be a magnet at one time, and not at
another. While the electricity runs through the
wire, around and around the iron, the iron is a
magnet. When the electricity stops, the iron loses
its magnetic power. So it appears that the kind
of energy which we call electricity may create
magnetism in a rod of iron. We might say. Mag-
netic force and Electric force are brothers. It
seems so ; and a magnet made by passing elec-
tricity through copper wire wound around iron, we
call an electro-magnet, and the attractive power
it has over a needle, we call electro-magnetism.
If Electricity is brother to Magnetism, perhaps
the magnet can give us electricity ? This appears
to be so ; for if a coil of wire is placed near a mag-
net, and then made to revolve rapidly, electricity is
found in the wire just as if it had come from a
battery. Electricity obtained in this new way
was therefore called magneto-electricity. Then,
working on this discovery, inventors made machines
for producing electricity. These machines gave
more electricity than could be obtained from a bat-
tery, and it was much cheaper to make a steam-
57°
THE NEW LIGHT.
[May,
engine turn the new machines, than to put costly
metals like zinc and copper into batteries.
These electrical machines are now very common,
and it is from them we get the electric force for the
new lights. They are called dynamo-electrical
machines, because the science of making engines
work is called dynamics, and the motion or en-
ergy of the engine is used to drive the machines.
They are sometimes called "dynamos " — for short
— or, as we might say, " work machines."
These "dynamos" are of various kinds, but all
are much alike. There is one large magnet, or a
number of small ones placed together, and near
the ends are set bundles of insulated wires — that
is, bundles of wires, each wire being coated with
gutta-percha, which shuts in, or insulates, the elec-
tricity, and prevents its escaping from the surface
of the wire. These bundles of wires are called
"armatures," and they are placed on axles, as if
they were wheels. The steam-engine is connected
with the armature of a machine, and when the
engine is at work the armature turns around many
hundred times in a minute, close to the end of the
magnet. The armature feels the magnetism of
the great magnet, and every bit of the winding
wire seems to thrill and quiver with electricity.
THE ELECTRIC LIGHT ON AN I lALlAN
Brilliant sparks leap from the ends of the flying
wire, and crackling blue flames seem to dance on
the copper brushes that touch the armature, as
it whirls swiftly around. On page 567 is a picture
of one of these strange machines. You can not
distinguish the parts of the armature as it spins
around and around near the magnets. There must
be something going on inside, for the whole
machine is hot, as if it were in a terrible excitement
over its work. Big copper wires, covered with
cloth, arc fastened to the machine, and are car-
ried along the street on telegraph poles. Outside,
in the dark, gleam and shine the fiery lamps, look-
ing like baby moons glowing on the lamp-posts,
or like clusters of brilliant stars burning on tall
masts above the trees in the park.
If we examine one of these electric lamps in the
streets, we shall find it consists of two rods, one
pointing upward from the bottom of the lamp, the
other hanging downward. The rods seem to
touch, and the brilliant flame is exactly where they
seem to meet. The man in the picture on the next
page is just putting these rods into place in the
lamp. Once a day he comes around with a bag of
the rods. He takes out the old rods that were
burned the night before, and places a new set in
each lamp. After he has gone about, as if he
were putting new wicks into the lamps, and each
is ready for its night's work, all the lamps are
lighted in broad day, to see that every one is in
proper trim. They are allowed to burn until the
men ha\e walked about in the streets and looked
at each lamp. If all are burning well, they are
put out till it begins to grow dark. If one fails to
burn properly, a man goes to that lamp to see
what is the matter. The rods are made of a
curious black substance,
like charcoal, that is called
carbon. When the lamp
is out, the two rods touch
each other. In order to
light the lamp, they are
pulled apart ; and if you
look at the flame through
a smoked glass, you will
see that the rods do not
quite touch. There is a
small space between their
points, and this space is
filled with fire. Look at
the other parts of the
rods, or the copper wires
that extend along the
streets. They have no
light, no heat, no sound.
The wires are cold, dark,
and silent. If we were to
push the two rods in the lamp close together, the
light and heat would disappear, and the curious
hissing sound would stop. Why is this ? Let us
go to the woods near some brook, and it may be
that we can understand this matter.
Here is the brook, flowing quietly .along, smooth,
deep, and without a ripple. We walk beside the
stream, and come to a place where there are high
rocks, and steep, stony banks. Here the channel
is very narrow, and the water is no longer smooth
AR-SHIP IN THE BAV OF NAPLES.
i88j.1
THE NEW LIGHT
571
and silent. It boils and foams between the rocks.
There are eddies and whirlpools, and at last we
"^
4
over the hindrance in its path, and it grows white-
hot with anger, and flames and hisses as it leaps
across the narrow space between the rods.
One of the pictures gives a good idea of the way
some of the lamps are placed on tall masts,
high above the trees and houses, and of the curi-
ous cone-like effect produced by the rays shining
across the rain-drops at night, making each one
glisten like a diamond falling out of the sky.
Another \icw was taken from tlic windows of the
tall building in Union Square where St. NICHOLAS
may Ije found at home ; it shows how the masts
and lamps look in the day-time. Besides these, we
/
r-Mmn./\
THE LAMPS AT THE TOP •
. OF THE HAST IN MADI-
/ SON SQUARE, AS SEEN BV DAV-
. UGHT OVER THE HOUSE-TOPS.
come to the narrowest part of all. Here, the once
dark and silent water roars and foams in white,
stormy rapids. There are sounds and furious
leaping and rushing water and clouds of spray.
What is the matter? Why is the smooth, dark
water so white with rage, so impetuous, so full of
sounds and turmoil ? The rocks are the cause.
The way is narrow and steep. The waters are
hemmed in, and there is a grand display of flash-
ing white foam and roaring water-falls, as the
waters struggle together to get past the narrow
place.
It is the same with the electricity flowing
through the large copper wires. It passes down
one wire into the other, through the lamp, in
silence and darkness, so long as the rods touch and
the path is clear. When the rods in the lamp arc
pulled apart, there is a space to be got over, an
obstruction, like rocks in the bed of the brook.
The electricity, like the water, struggles to get
THE LAMPS I.OWERED. FITTING-IN THE NEW RODS.
have a picture of an electric light on board an
Italian war-ship in the bay of Naples. These
lights are also used on steam-boats on the West-
572
THE NEW RED RIDING-HOOD.
[May,
ern rivers. The pilot moves the light about until it
shines on the trees or houses upon the bank, and in
this manner picks out his way along the stream.
There is another kind of electric lamp, used in
houses ; it has a smaller and softer light, steady,
white, and very beautiful.
In these lamps, also, we have something like the
narrow place in the brook. They are made with
slender loops of carbon, inclosed in glass globes.
The electricity, flowing silently through a dark
wire, enters the lamp, and finds only a narrow
thread on which it can travel to reach the home-
going wire, and, in its struggle to get past, it heats
the tiny thread of carbon to whiteness. Like a
live coal, this slender thread gives us a mild, soft
light, as long as the current flows. It seems calm
and still, but it is enduring the same fury of the
electricity that is shown in the larger lamps.
This is the main idea on which these lamps are
made : A stream of electricity is set flowing from a
dynamo-electric machine through a wire until it
meets a narrow place or a break in the wire.
Then it seeks to get past the obstruction, and there
is a grand putting forth of energy, and in this
way the electric force, although itself invisible, is
made known to our eyes by a beautiful light.
'J^e.'warjt
COMEDIES FOR CHILDREN.
By E. S. Brooks, Author of "The Land of Nod," etc.
II. THE NEW RED RIDING-HOOD.
CHARACTERS: Jenny, a girl of eight years. Johnny Stout,
a boy of sixteen or eighteen years. Jimmv Bincs. a Tramp.
The argument shows that wolves are just as designing, little
girls just as heedless and helpful, and the chances of rescue just as
possible to-day as at the time of the original Red Riding-hood.
Scene: A neatly furnished parlor. Jenny discovered dusting fur-
niture, arranging flowers, and making things look nice generally.
Jenny, sitr7'eying her work critlcaUv :
There ! — my mamma 's gone away.
To be gone, slie said, all day,
And .so I am keeping house. Oh, what fun !
I shall have no time to play.
But must work and work away.
And be busy as a mouse, till I 've clone.
But my mamma said to me —
Now, what was it ? Let me see :
'Jenny, darling, don't go out all the day;
But keep close at home till tea.
When I '11 come and set you free ;
.So just mind what you 're about, dear, I pray.
"And keep Bridget right in call;
And mind this, dear, most of all :
Don't let in any stranger while I 'm gone.
Lock the windows and the hall.
And be careful not to fall.
And don't get into danger here alone."
i883.]
THE NEW RED K I L) I N G - H O O I).
573
Well, I 'II try my best, I 'm sure.
To keep everylliing secure;
But I 've no need for liriilget, that I know;
Girls are such a bore about.
And she might as well go out ;
I '11 just go down and tell her she can go. [Exil.'\
[Jimmy Hings appears outside at window (or door,
if a li'indirw is impracticable) ; he peers in, looks around;
then tries the wi>ido7o, opens it, and enters cautiously.
Jimmy Uings : Well, now, here 's a lucky go !
With that window 0])en so,
I just skipped right in tlic house as slick as soap.
Why, here 's loads of pretty things.
You 're in luck, old Jimmy Hings,
And can do a stroke of business here, I hope.
[.-/ noise outside.'\
Hello ! Who 's that coming here ?
[ Goes to door, and looks out cautiously. ]
Men ? No ! Oogs ? No ! Well, that 's queer !
Why ! It 's only just a pretty leetle gal.
Jimmy Bings, slip out, and then
Just walk in here bold again —
Play your game, and make that little chick your pal I
[Exit through door cautiously. "l \_Reenter Jen.n'Y. ]
JEN.NY : There I Now Bridget 's gone away.
And I '11 have a <iuiet day.
Fixing everything up lovely while I wait ;
So that Mamma, she will say.
When she comes back home to-day ;
" What a lady is my little girl of eight ! "
\_Enter liy door Jl.MMY BiNGS, hat in hand, lie makes
J K.N NY a low bcroj.
Jimmy B. : Ah! Good-morning, little miss!
You look sweet enough to kiss.
Is your Ma at home this morning, may I ask ?
Jenny: Why, sir, no. She 's gone away,
To be gone the livelong day,
.'\nd I 'm keeping house alone.
JiMMV B. : .\ pleasant task.
.\nd you '11 do it, I '11 be bound.
Well, I 'm sorry Ma 's not 'round,
For I wanted quite pertickeler to see her.
Jenny: May not I, sir, do as well?
Is it — anything to sell?
Pray sit down, sir, so that we may talk the freer.
Jimmy B., sittint;: Thank you, Miss, I 'II sit awhile ;
For I 'vc traveled many a mile,
Just to see your precious Ma, if you '11 believe me.
Jenny : She '11 be sorry, sir, I know,
When she hears she 's missed you so.
Can't you tell me, sir, your business, ere you leave me?
Jimmy B. : Well, the fact is, I 'm her cousin !
[Jenny looks surprised.'\
Oh, she 'd know me in a dozen.
I 'm her cousin, come to see her, from Nevada.
Jenny, suspiciously :
In those clothes? — Oh, sir, — I fear !
Jimmy P.. : Oh, a railroad smash-up, dear.
Mussed me up a little — never was jogged harder!
Jenny: Oh, I 'm sorry! Are you hurt?
Jl.MMY B. : Not the least. It 's only dirt ;
But I always am so neat, I quite despair ;
Ami my wardrobe all is down
.'Vt the Clarendon, in town.
Where I 'm stopping: I am Algernon St. Clair.
Jenny: My, though! What a pretty name!
Well, it really is a shame
You should have to go to town in such a plight.
There now, would n't Papa's do ?
Oh, please look the papers through,
.\nd I '11 run upstairs, and soon fix you all right.
Jimmy B. : No, don't fret yourself, my dear;
I prefer to have you here.
Though perhaps I may accept your offer later.
Is your Pa as big as me?
Jenny, surprised : Uon't you know him ?
Jimmy B. : Well, you see,
I 've been West so long I 've kind of lost my data.
Jinny : Wont you have a bit to eat?
Jimmy I>. : Well, I do feel rather beat.
Jenny:
Then I '11 go and bring you up a little luncheon.
Jimmy B. , carelessly :
Have you silver, dear — or ]>late ?
Jenny: Mostly solid, sir.
Jimmy B. : Fust rate!
Bring it up, and let me see it while I 'm munchin'.
Jenny, surprised: Bring up all the silver, sir?
Jimmy B. : Why, that 's what I come here fur.
Just to make your dearest Ma a little present, —
.Silver service lined with gold, —
.^Xnd if hcr's 's a trifle old
I 'II have it all fixed over.
]i.lili\, delighted : Oh, how pleasant!
I will get it right away.
My ! I 'm glad you came to-day,
It will be, oh, such a nice surprise to Mamma.
Jimmy B. : Well, I rather think so, too.
Jenny: Now, your luncheon. [Exi/.'\
Jimmy B., looking after lier and rubbing his hands:
ViOoA for you !
What a blessed little chick you are, my charmer !
Just the cream of tender things;
You 're in luck, old Jimmy Bings —
Oh, hexcuse me, Mr. .Mgernon St. Clair! —
Just you turn an honest penny.
Now, let 's see if there are any
Of these things worth my packing up with care.
[ Takes the table-cloth off the table and begins filling it
■with ornaments, knickknacks, and valuables, look-
ing at each article sharply. Suddenly he stops, both
hands full, as if struck by a brilliant idea.
Jimmy Bings ! Why, that is grand, —
Here 's a fortune right at hand !
For contriving little schemes you are the boss.
Scoop in all the things you can,
An<l then, like a prudent man.
Take the little girl off too — like Charley Ross !
[Hurries the rest of the things into the table-cloth, stop-
ping occasionallv to express his approval of his great
plan by sundry slaps and noils. Enter ]eN!^Y with
a tray of luncheon, Jticely set. She stands in the
door-way amazed.
Jenny: .Mr. .Mgcrnon St. Clair,
Why — what are you doing there ?
Jimmy B. :
Only clearing off the things to help you, dear.
Jenny : But the table 's large enough.
574
THE NEW RED RIDING- HOOD.
[May,
Jimmy B. : Oh, well ! Just set down the stuff,
And I '11 make the reason very, very clear
Brought a lot for me to eat ?
Jenny : Bread and cake, preserves and meat.
Jimmy B. -. What a handy little chick you are, —
\_A'ods at her^ his mouth fulL~\ That 's so!
Don't you want to come with me —
And your little cousins see ?
Jenny:
Oh, no, thank you, sir ; from home I can not go.
Jimmy '&., eating rafidly :
Well, we 'II speak of that bime-by.
Vittles, fust-class — spiced quite high.
Yes — they 're most as good as what I get in town.
IPiishis his plate auiay.'\
Now, then ; I will tell you. Miss,
What 's the meaning of all this.
\_Points to his bundle.']
Where 's that silver service ?
[Jenny opens sideboard and sho7c>s the silver serviee. ]
All right — pack her down.
\_StuJping it into the bundle.]
Well, you see, it is n't fair
That a sister of St. Clair
Should have to use things when they 're worn and old.
So, I think I '11 take them down
To my jeweler's, in town.
And just swap 'em off for nicer things in gold.
Jenny : O — li ! But that will cost so much !
Jimmy B. : Now, then. Sissy, don't you touch
On that question, 'cause the new ones / shall buy ;
But I 'd like to have you go
.\nd help pick them out, you know ;
'Cause you know what Mamma likes best, more
than I.
Jenny : But I really can't leave home.
Jimmy B. : Oh, I think you 'd better come ;
For it wont be long befoi'e I bring you back.
Jenny, hesitating: I have half a mind to go.
Mamma 'd let me.
Jimmy B. : That I know.
So get ready, while I go to work and pack.
Jenny, deliberating :
She said: "Jenny, do not go."
But, of course, she could not know
That her cousin, Mr. Algernon St. Clair,
Would come here to take me out.
Oh, I know what I 'm about,
And I '11 go along with him, I do declare.
[ Goes to closet a?ul brings out her led eloak and hood. ]
Jimmy B. : What a pretty cloak and hood !
Jenny : Mamma made them. She 's so good !
Jimmy B. : Good as gold ! Just wear them, wont you?
That's a dear.
Jenny : But I must n't get them wet.
Jimmy B. : I wont let you; don't you fret.
I '11 take care of them when once we go from here.
Now, then — are you ready, Sis?
Jenny : Yes — but, then, I must n't miss
To see everything locked up all safe and tight,
So that none of those old tramps —
My! but are n't they horrid scamps? —
Can sneak in before we both get back to-night.
Jimmy B. , looking at doors and windo^a>s :
Oh, well ! Everything 's secure.
Jenny: Did you look?
Jimmy B. : Oh, yes. I 'm sure.
So let 's both be off at once, without delay.
\_A^oise outside — Jimmy starts, guiltily.]
Jimmy B. : Hello, there, now ! What was that ?
Jenny: WTiere ?
Jimmy B. : Out there !
Jenny: It was the rat!
Jimmy B. : No, it was n't.
Jenny: P'r'aps it 's Mamma!
Jimmy B., starting /or the door: Get away!
\^Door opens suddenly. John.n'Y Stout bursts in and
then stops^ astonished.
Johnny: Goodness, Jenny! What 's this mean?
Jenny : What ?
Johnny: Why this confusing scene?
Are you moving?
Jen.ny : No, I 'm going out to walk.
JoH.N.NY: Going out? Whom with? and where?
Je.n'ny, points to J. B. : Mr. Algernon St. Clair.
Jimmy B., loftily :
So don't keep us here, young feller, with your t.alk.
Johnny, suspiciously :
Jenny, who 's that party there? \_Points to J. B. ]
Jenny, pouting: Mr. Algernon St. Clair —
Mamma's cousin, who has come here from Nevada.
Johnny : From Nevada ! — How you talk !
\_Suddenly to Jimmy B.]
Well, my friend, you 'U have to walk!
Pretty quick, sir, too, before I make it harder !
Jimmy B. : Why ! You saucy little cub,
Why ! — I 'U have to thrash you. Bub.
Just you scatter, or I '11 help you with my toe, sir !
Johnny, quickly pulling out a pistol from the table-
draiuer, and pointing it at JiMMY B. :
Do you see this little toy ?
There 's six jidls for you, my boy.
Unless you drop that stuff at once and — go, sir!
JiM.MY B., to Jenny, appealingly :
Look here. Sis, this is n't square!
^■EimY, protesting : Mr. .\lgernon St. Clair!
Johnny, contemptuously :
Mr. .\lgernon St. Fiddlesticks, my Jenny !
Why, this sneaking fellow, here.
Is just out of jail, my dear !
He 's a tramp, without a single honest penny.
JiMMV B., stepping toward him:
That 's a lie !
Johnny levels pistol at him : Hush ! don't you talk.
Drop your bundle, sir, and walk.
Or I '11 shoot you like a dog, without objection.
Now, then — go, sir, or I '11 fire!
Put your hands up ! — higher ! higher !
Wait here, Jenny : I '11 just sever this connection.
[He backs J. B. out of the room at the muzzle of the
pistol : Jenny listens for a while, and then sinks on
a chair and cries.
Jenny : Just a horrid, dirty tramp !
What an .awful, awful scamp !
Oh, what shall I say to Mamma ? Dearie, dear !
If I 'd only minded her
Suc!i a thing could not occur,
.\nd she '11 tiez'er trust me so again, I fear.
l882.]
FOR VKKV 1. ITT 1,1-: I'oI.K.
575
[CV/« a Utile longer. Then jumps up, indignantly A
Oh, but what a horrid bear !
Mr. Algernon St. L'lair ! \_Contempl>iously.'\
What an awful, awful, awful wicked story !
[Enter John.ny.]
Oh, but Johnny, where is he ?
John.ny : He 's as safe as safe can be.
Fast in jail, now, all alone and in his glory.
I just marched him to the gale;
There I made him stand and wait
Till I saw a big policeman come along ;
Then, when I had told the tale.
He just walked him off to jail,
.•\nd so there your cousin 's locked up, good and
strong.
Jenny: Oh, don't say my cousin, please!
Johnny: Well, 'l-vns just the tightest squeeze!
But how ditl he, Jenny, get you in his snare?
Jknnv : lie was so polite and kind!
Oh, you goosey ! Oh, how blind !
Ha, ha, ha, ha I Mr. Algernon St. Clair!
Now, don't laugh, please ; for, you see,
It </;V/'seem all right to n\e ;
Johnny
Jenny :
And I thought he meant to do just what he said.
I )ear ! but what will Mamma say.
When she comes back home to-day ?
Oh, I wish, I wish that I could hide my head !
Johnny : Why, just tell the whole thing out,
.\nil s.iy how it came about.
Jenny :
Well, I will. And Johnny, I will tell her, too,
1 low you came, so bold and brave
Johnny, interrupting : Oh, no ! that '11 do to save.
Jknny:
But I should n't have been saved, dear, without you!
Johnny : Never mind, my Jenny, then ;
But I guess you 'II know again
That to mind what Mamma says, alone is good.
Jenny: Ves, I shall!
Johnny: .\nd, now it 's through,
I shall always think of you,
[ Taking her hand.']
Little Jenny, as the Nicw Ki;i) RiuiN(;-HOOD.
[CURT.MN.]
MASTER SELF."
" There was once a lit-tle boy," said Mam-ma, " and he loved Some-bod-y
ver-y much. It is n't a ver-y large Some-bod-y, but it has bright blue eyes
and curl-\- hair." " Why, it 's me ! " said Char-lie. " It 's me, my-selt."
"So it is," .said Mam-ma, laugh-ing. "And it's ' Mas-ter Self whom
Char-lie loves best. He even does n't love Sis-ter so much as ' Mas-ter Self.'
So he keeps all his pret-ty toys and does n't give them ;ip. He loves ' Mas-ter
Self bet-ter than Mam-ma, for when Mam-ma says ' Go to betl,' and ' Mas-ter
Self says ' No,' — Char-lie likes best to please that naught-y ' Mas-ter Self"
"I wont please 'Mas-ter Self " said Char-lie, and he ki.ssed Mam-ma,
and said "Good-night." Next day. Mam-ma gave Char-lie a bright, new
ten-cent piece, and .said he migiit go with Nurse to buy some can-dy.
When Nurse and Sis-ter were read-y, and Char-lie had taken his lit-tle
stick, they set out. Char-lie was think-ing. He was think-ing ver-y much,
and he was say-ing to him-self : " I don't love ' Mas-ter .Self "
He walked qui-ct-ly by Nurse's side. Now and then he looked at the
mon-ey in his hand; it was ver-y bright and ver-y white. It seemed a long
way to the can-dy store. "What will you buy, Char-lie?" asked Nurse.
" Some can-dy for my-self ' said Char-lie, as they reached the Park.
" Keep close to me while we cross the road," said Nurse ; but just then
Char-lie pulled her dress and whis-pered : "Look, Nurse! Look there!"
and Nurse saw a lit-tle girl stand-ing near a tree, a-lone and cry-ing.
576 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [May,
" What 's the mat-ter with her, Nurse ? " asked Char-lie.
" I '11 ask her," said Nurse. "What are you cry-ing for, dear? "
But the lit-tle girl on-ly cried the more, and Char-lie went close to
her and said : " What 's the mat-ter, lit-tle girl ? "
The lit-tle girl could not speak, she was sob-bing so much. " Don't cry,"
said Char-lie, in great dis-tress. " It makes me want to cry too."
" Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! " said the lit-tle girl. " I have lost my mon-ey \
All my mon-ey." But soon she be-gan to tell Nurse how it was. She was
go-ing to get some bread, and she had the mon-ey in her hand, — "and," said
she, "a boy pushed me, and I fell, and lost my ten-cent piece, and I can't
buy the bread, and Moth-er will be so an-gry."
" I 'm glad I did n't lose my piece," said Char-lie, squeezing it hard.
" I am ver-y sor-ry for you," said Nurse. " If I were you, I 'd run home
and tell Moth-er."
"I can't! I can't!" cried the lit-tle girl. " It was all Moth-er had, and
we 're so hun-gry ! "
Char-lie held his mon-ey tight-ly. What was he think-ing of all the
time ? He was say-ing to him-self : " I don't love ' Mas-ter Self " He pulled
Nurse's dress, and said: "Nurse, can't you give the lit-tle girl some mon-ey?"
" I have n't my purse, dear," said Nurse.
The lit-tle girl moved a-way, cry-ing. Char-lie walked on be-side Nurse.
They were near the can-dy store. He could see the sweets in the win-dow,
— sticks and balls and creams ! Char-lie turned his head. He saw the
lit-tle girl look-ing back too. She was still cry-ing. Char-lie pulled Nurse's
dress. "Nurse," he said, " I want to turn back."
"What do you want to turn back for?" asked Nurse. "Here is the store."
Char-lie raised him-self on tip-toe to get near-er to Nurse's ear, and
whis-pered :
"I want to please the lit-tle girl and not 'Mas-ter Self!"
Nurse knew what he meant. She turned back. Char-lie looked once
more at the can-dy store, then he ran a-cross the street. When he came
close to the lit-tle girl, he held out his bright ten-cent piece and said : " It is
for you, and not for ' Mas-ter Self !"
The lit-tle girl stopped cry-ing and be-gan to smile ; then she tried to say
" Thank you," to Char-lie ; but Nurse said : " Run, now, and buy your bread,"
and she ran off, aft-er look-ing back to nod and smile at Char-lie.
But Char-lie was even hap-pi-er than she. He walked brisk-ly home
and sat on Mam-ma's lap, and told her all a-bout it. Mam-ma kissed him,
and said: "Is n't Char-He hap-py now ? "
And Char-lie said : " Yes ; be-cause I did n't please ' Mas-ter Self "
I882.J
rOR VERY I ITTLE FOLK.
577
'it is for you, and Nor FOK ' MASTtK i,L:LF/ " SAID CHARLIE.
0/<
J A C K - I N - T II E - P U L P IT
[Mav,
JACK -IN -THE -PULPIT.
Hurrah ! May is here once more, my darlings,
and has gone to work at once, as we knew she
would, a-decorating this great, big, lovely Home
of ours. She is as busy an artist as you ever saw,
just at this present moment, for there are still a
good man\- April-y cobwebs to be swept from the
walls before the colors can be put on. But May
will make short work of that — bless her !
Yes, May is here — and not too soon for your
Jack ; no, nor for )ou neither, my hearties ! Here
vou are, too — the girls with new spring dresses
and their hands full of arbutus ; and the boys with
kite-strings instead of sled-ropes in their sturdy
grip, and a suspicious creak of marbles in their
pockets as they crowd close up to my pulpit.
Well, it 's a sight for any May to be proud of — and
we 're all ready for her. So we '11 begin with a
cheer all round, for the opening of the season.
And now for
THE BOTTLEFISH.
Not bottled fish, my dears, nor a fish made of
glass and sold in apothecaries' shops, nor a candy
fish shaped like a bottle. No, indeed, but a verita-
ble, live, sly fellow, who, it appears, contrives to
be either a fish or a bottle, or both, according to
the whim of the moment. Just hear this :
" One day, last summer, when I was fishing in Long Island
Sound, where the water was ahout ten feet deep, and so clear that I
could see the bottom perfectly well, a queer-looking fish came creep-
ing slowly up toward my hook. He moved very stupidly, but pres-
ently he took the bait and I caught him. He was about five inches
long, a little larger around than my thumb, atid very prettily colored
with green and yellow and black,
" -As I took the hook from his mouth he began to grind his teeth,
or rather his jaws, together, and at the same time his body was
swelling. I found that at each motion of his jaws he was drawing
in air, until, instead of being as large as my thumb, he was like the
largest orange you ever saw, with a slender bit of body and a tail
projecting from one side of it.
"The fisherman with me called him a ' Bottle-fish,' or as he
phrased it, a ^BottU-ey.^ When the fish was fully blown up, I laid him
on the water, where lie floated, back downward, as light as a bubble.
Forthwith he began to blow out the air, but before enough was gone
to enable him to go under water, I took him into my hand again. I
then held him just below the surface, and on my touching him lightly
he swelled as before, only that now he was filled with water instead
of air, and of course was now heavy, I took my hand from him,
and he came up spouting a stream of water from his mouth clear
above the surface -As soon as he had thrown it all out, he turned
head downward, went to the bottom, swam straight to my hook,
took the bait, and I caught him the second dme, apparently not at
all troubled by his past experience. W. O. \."
Queer fellow, Mr. Bottle-ey. Another queer
thing about him is that, according to all accounts,
he 's never found in the neighborhood of Cork.
Speaking of animated floating things, what do
you think of
A LIVING LIFE-BUOYP
Here is the story of it just as it came to me :
"A living life-buoy recently saved a sailor from
drowning. .-V seaman on board a British ves-
sel, sailing to Australia, fell overboard when the
vessel was crossing the Southern Ocean, and al-
though a boat was lowered immediately, a long
pull was necessary before reaching the sailor.
When the boat got near the man, he was seen to
be supporting himself in the water by clinging to
a large albatross which he had seized on coming t6
the surface after his plunge. Albatrosses in the
Southern Seas are, as a rule, most fierce, and
have, in several cases, killed men by blows from
their terrible beaks. But in this case the sailor
had evidently obtamed a good grip of the bird's
neck with both hands, preventing it from using its
beak, and converting a would-be foe into an unwill-
ing friend."
WATCH THE SATURDAYS!
Dear Jack; I heard something very singular about the weather
the other day. One Saturday, when it was raining, a lady who
lived in the country said to me, as we remarked about the rain :
"The sun jnjist shine some time to-day" "How so?" I askecL
" Why," she replied. " there is only one Saturday in the year when
the sun does not shine some lime in the day." .\fter the lady went
away, I laughed at what I supposed was a foolish whim, while I
watched the rain falling ever faster — but how surprised I was to
find, as the hours went on, that the clouds were dispersing, and
finally the sun came out bright — all fair at three o'clock Would
the readers of St. Nicholas notice the Saturdays and see if this
mystery holds good? Remember, the saying is, not that "it will
rain but one Saturday in the year," but that "there is only one Sat-
urday in the year when the sun does not shine some part of the
day." L. B. G.
Follow this up, my youngsters, — keep a record
of it, some of you, and report to me next May.
A TEN-LEGGED TORMENT.
You all have heard about the terrible floods in
the South and West, this spring, and how they
have made many families homeless, and caused
dreadful destruction and suffering. But you may
not have heard that lesser floods of this sort are
sometimes caused by a ten-legged torment.
My learned brother. Professor Froshey, of New
Orleans, calls it " a perpetual nuisance and damage " ;
and he ought to know, for he has had the honor of
its acquaintance during more than forty years. It is
the ten-legged craw-fish, or cray-fish, and it brings
destruction upon immense tracts of fertile country.
You know that for about three hundred miles of
the Lower Mississippi, the rich land at each side is
low and flat ; but that it h.as many lovely homes.
1 883.
JACK-IN-TII i:- I' r I.I' IT
579
broad cotton-fields, and gardens of sweetly scented
flowers; and the sunlight glitters and flashes from
acres and acres of satin-leaved sugar-cane. In the
early spring, when the great
stream is swollen with rain and
with melted ice and snow
from the far north, the water -
is several feet higher than
the land, and is
THE CRAW-FISH.
only prevented from overflowing by high side-
banks of earth, or levees, built for that purpose.
Well, it appears that it is through these walls of
defense that the craw-fish loves to drive his tun-
nels; and the earth being soft, the holes are quickly
enlarged by the running of the water through
them. The sides of some of these tunnels wash
away, and one large hole is made, through which
a strong stream pours itself upon the plain. .Sud-
denly, the bank caves in, the river plunges through
the gap, and the yellow floods spread out and la\'
waste the farms.
Then comes the long and toilsome labor of mend-
ing the levee, and all the while the yet unbroken
parts must be watched night and day, so that every
leak may be stopped as soon as it shows.
Of course, the river sometimes breaks through
its banks without the aid of mischievous Mr. Ten-
legs; but he so often is the guilty party, that it is
little wonder his victims call him hard names.
The craw-fish in the picture docs n't appear to
have ten "legs"; but that is what the naturalists
call them, saying there is a pair in front with large
nippers, — next, a very short pair with small nip-
pers,— then, a long pair with small nippers, — and,
lastly, two pairs of thin legs, each with a single
point.
FOR THE INQUISITIVE.
How does a cat come down a tree ? Why don't
cats and squirrels descend trees in the same man-
ner ? .And why can not animals of the dog tribe
climb trees ?
CAN'T HOLD A CANDLE TO HIM.
The other day, Deacon Green was poring over
a big book he has, and I heard him read, that m
old times in England it was the fashion for a scn--
ant or an inferior to stand and hold a candle for
his master to see by. Hence, the saying, "You
can't hold a candle to him," is as much as to say
you are so inferior to that person that you are not
fit even to ser\-e him in the capacity of candle-
holder.
THE OWL'S-HEAD BUTTERFLY.
In November last, my dears, I told you about
the curious Butterfly branch, and showed you a
picture of it; and now, here is another butterfly
picture, quite as curious in its way. The queer
creature shown in this picture is perched head-down-
ward on a branch, the undcr-part of him turned
toward you in such a way as to appear to be the
head of an owl peering at you over the branch. In
the dim forests of his South American home, this
butterfly might easily be mistaken for an owl, for
in this position his body outlines a beak, his wings
are like the
bird's feathers "^
in color, and
the big, dark-
blue spots that
form the
/
/
^r^
"eyes
shine al-
most as beauti-
fully as a dove's
neck. The width
across the wings
is about seven
inches, and to
think they sec
an owl with a
he.id of that size
must be disagreeable for small South Americans,
who may happen to be strolling in the woods at
evening.
IF SO-HOW?
L. M. D. S.WS, in answer to my January ques-
tion : " What becomes of all the old moons? "
" I think they turn to new moons."
But if so, — Iimu? — and lulien?
THE OWLS-HEAD BUTTERFLV.
58o
THE LETTER-BOX.
[May,
THE BABY ELEPHANT AT HOME.
i883.|
THE 1. 1: T T E K - B O X .
581
MOTHER, "can't VOU QUIET THAT CHILD !"
THE lp:ttp:r-box.
As MOST of our readers know, the St. Nicholas pages have to
be made-up far in advance of the date of pubUcation : and so it was
impossible for us to finish, in liine for the April number, the pictures
of the new Baby Elephant, which we present on the opposite page.
Many of our readers will have seen the delightful little creature him-
self before this number reaches them, but they will be none the less
interested in taking a second peep at him in the comical positions in
which our artist caught him. Further than this, all that need be
said of him is told in the following interesting letter from a girl cor-
respondent who lives in the city which was the Baby Elephant's
birthplace :
Brhxjeport, Conn.
Dear St. Nicholas: Having read all the interesting letters that
your contributors; have written about their pels, 1 thought perhaps
you would like to hear a little about Bridgeport, and its accompani-
ment, as you might njw call the *' Baby Elephant." We were so
fortunate as to receive a "permit" from Mr. Bamum (only a few
arc given), which admitted Mamma, a friend, and myself to see this
wonderful curiosity. We walked to the show building, and were
ushered in with about fifty others, among whom were professors and
scientists. The first room was filled with cages, in which were all
the animals you could think of We staid here but a few minutes,
being impatient to see the '* Baby Elephant," so we went ri^ht
through that room, to the next, where was a large ring, in which
were the "baby" and its mother. Ii is about the size of a large
Newfoundland dog, very playful, and ran all around the ring. I
felt of it. It is covered with coarse bl.ick hair, which felt just like
bristles. It did not know what to do with its trunk, sometimes tr>'-
ine to lift the hay to its mouth, like iLs mother.
The mother was much annoyed when the keeper touched it ; she
flapped her ears and trumpeted very loudly. After we had looked
to our hearts' content at them both, they were led out of the ring,
and ei^ht small elephants were called in. They drilled very nicely,
answenng to roll-call, lying down and snoring, standing on their
heads, and then on their hind legs, etc. After they had performed
as much as they knew, they were sent back to their sulls, and
eight large ones were led in. Then followed quite a scene. One
elephant turned a hand-organ, three teetered on a board, one stand-
ing in the middle. Sonic stood on barrels, — one sat in a big arm-
chair, rang a dinner-bell which stood on a table in front of him,
poured the contents of a bottle down his throat, wiped his mouth
with a napkin, and then fanned himself It was very fine, and very
funny. After we had seen all we could of the elephants, we went
to see the other animals fed. They made the most horrible noises,
jumping over one another, and fighting to get the first piece of meat,
as they are fed only once a day, and on Sundays not at all — which
they do not make any fuss about. I heard a hyena laugh. It was
terrible, so wc did not stay any longer. The hyena is the ugliest-
looking animal you can imagine.
Hoping you will give this a place in your letter-box, I remain, your
constant reader and admirer, Sallie E. H.
A Toy Symphony for children ought to he a timely recreation at
this season, when so many of the grown folk arc interested in the
May Music Festivals, with their mighty choruses and grand orches-
tras. So wc are glad to print the following little letter, which calls
attention to a toy symphony by Romberg. Some of our readers
will remember that St. Nicholas already h;is printed an article
concerning "Haydn's Children's Symphony" (see the number for
May, 1874), and we should be glad to hear that Rudolf Holtz's
note had caused both that pretty musical cvercisc and the one by
Romberg to be performed in many households:
Dear St. Nicholas: Romberg's toy symphony is more effective
than Haydn's, though Haydn's is quite as pretty. There are
eight toy instruments, first and second violins, a violoncello and
piano. It is better to have two first violins, as the toys overpower
the string instruments. The first and second movements are very
pretty and rather easy, but call for careful playing. The adagio is
difficult and not very pretty, but it is very short T'he rondo is gay
and effective, and is very pretty ; it is longer than the other move-
582
THE LETTER-BOX.
[May,
ments. The presto is also lively, and played very quick. The
eight toy instruments are the cuckoo, the triangle, the drum, the
quail, the schnarre, the trumpet, the rattle, the nightingale. The
cuckoo, the nightingale and the quail are the most difficult of the toy
instruments. Everything depends on time, because if you come in
a moment too early or a moment too late it spoils the effect. I was
one of the many performers ; we did it in a large room, and the effect
was beautiful. Rudolf Doran Holtz.
Those of our readers who remember the true story of *' Rebecca,
the Drummer," printed in St. Nicholas for July, 1874, will be
interested in the following item, which we clip from a newspaper:
Miss Rebecca Bates died at Scituate, Mass., Tuesday, aged
eighty-eight years. Miss Bates and her cousin, Abbie. were the
heroines in the British "scare," in 1812, when the two girls, hidden
behind rocks on the beach, with fife and drum sounded the rull-call.
and put to flight several boat-loads of troops from a British man-of-
war, who were about to make a landing. Miss Bates' cousin.
Abbie, is still living, and is eighty years of age.
The article in St. Nichgl.^s gave a full account of the two girls'
brave stratagem, and was illustrated with a frontispiece showing the
"American army of two."
down the hole together. This I know to be true. Can any of my
friends tell me how they communicate ?
Your constant reader, Geo. T. Cathell, Jr.
Here is a very interesting letter from a young correspondent in
Philadelphia :
Dear St. Nicholas: I had an incident told mc the other day,
which convinced me that dumb creatures have some mode of commu-
nicating. The house of Mr. C, a friend of mine, was troubled greatly
with rats, so he brought home a very large rat-trap, which he set
with cheese. The next day, Mrs. C. and her daughter saw .1 very
large rat walking up and down outside the trap. The trap hav-
ing a wire bent open a little, the rat stuck its head in : but he
could not reach the cheese, so he pulled his head out and went down
his hole, and in a few moments returned with a very slim rat. which
went into the trap and got the cheese; and then they both went
We gladly print the following quaint and charming little stor>',
just as it was told by a little girl five years old. It was sent to us by
her mamma, who wrote it down for her :
The Liox that Taight Singing-school.
A Linn wanted to teach singing-school.
They asked him what could he sing ?
And he said, " Roo-00-oo."
They asked him what else could he .sing?
And he said, " Roo-00-oo. "
They said they did n't want a singing-teacher who couldn't sing
nothing, but 'cept just one song.
Then the Lion went to a horse-race.
All the other animals were there: the mouse that squeaked, the
kitten that mewed, the puppy that bow-wow-ed, the Iamb that
baa-ed, the pig that yi-yi-ed, the colt that ha-ha-ed, the wolf that
boo-ed, and the bear that ur-ur-ed.
The prize of the horse-race was a russet apple.
The mouse thought he 'd e.\prise the other animals, so he ate the
apple up. Then all the other animals hollered out, " No fair ! No
fair ! " And the mouse was scared and ran round the track, and
the kitten that mewed ran after and ate the mouse up. and the puppy
that bow-wow-ed ate the kitten up, and the lamb that baa-ed ate the
puppy up, and the pig that yi-yi-ed ate the lamb up, and the colt
that ha-ha-ed ate the pig up, and the wolf that boo-ed ate the colt up,
and the bear that ur-ur-cd ate the wolf up — and the Lion ate the
bear up.
Then the Lion came around again and wanted to teach singing-
school.
They asked him what could he sing?
And he sang: '* Squeak squeak, mew mew, bowwow, baa baa,
yi yi. ha ha, boo boo, ur ur, and roo 00 00 ! "
Ihen they said, " Your voice has reproved."
And they all let him be their teacher. Mar!.\ M. C.
-- .-*;'«'. f [1111 ffl
KITTFN, who has BEEN TOLD NEVER TO BE AFRAID OF A RAT: " OW-W
I WANT TO STOP !
i883.]
THE R 1 U I) L E - B O X .
583
■Si-^-
ISTIIATED PIZZLE IN THE IIEAO- PIECE.
With the twcnty.one leltcrs on the five vases, form five words
descriptive of the month of May. Two of the words remain un-
changed. ''■ ■'•
NUMERICAL ENKJ.IIA.
I AM composed of forty-eight letters, and am a soldier's proverb.
My 9-14-25-4-7-28-13 is pursuing. My 30-ii-35-47-45-'9-8-2o-
38-12 has been called the "city of magnificent distances. My 34-
39-22 is color. My 48-24-23-36-43-13 is a ijarden vegetable. My
,. 21-18-10-37-31-25-32-40-29 is conversing in a low tone. My 41-
6-3-15 is a church dignitary. My 16-42-5 is the noise made by a
crow. My 2-27-44-46-17 is the joint on which a gate turns.
S. LIZZIE BARKER.
TRANSPOSITIONS.
Whrn the right word is set in one of the blanks, the letters of
that word may be transposed to fill each »f the remaining bl.inks, and
make sense
caught a snake which he put in an empty box, over
which he tied a of his mother's ; with the hope that the
creature would not survive to do . maggie philps.
DOI'BIiE DIAGONALS.
ANSWER TO KADBIT PUZZLt l.\ THE APRIL NU.MBER.
TWO WORD-SQUARES.
I. I. Important parts of a ship, 2. A girl's name. 3. To
breathe with a hoarse sound in sleep. 4 . Fatigued. 5. Parts of a
plant II. I. To make choice of 2. A large basin. 3. To escape.
4. Surrenders. 5. A ringlet. MABEL R., and " alcidiades."
3 3
I Across: i. A mineral salt. 2. A troublesome insect. 3.
Vessels for holding the ashes ol the dead. 4 Chnstmas tinie.
Diagonals, downward from right to left, and from left to right,
each name a queen of England.
n. Across: i. A dandy. 2. Sm.all round masses of lead. 3. A
piece of metal bent into a curve. 4. Period. Diagonals, downward,
from right to left, and from left to right, each name an article
neces.sary to pedestrians. " summer hoarder."
CENTRAL SYNCOPATIONS AND REJIAINDEKS.
Each of the words described contains five letters, and the synco-
pated letters, pLaced in the order here given, spell the name of a
celebrated Athenian who was twice banished, and who at length
died in poverty, 467 b. c. .
I. Syncopate a country of Europe, .and leave to revolve rapidly.
2. Syncopate fatigued, and leave fastened. 3. Syncopate 10 color,
and leave to gasp. 4. Syncopate a kind of cement, and leave the
top of the head. 5. Syncopate .an appellation, and leave a thin
piece of baked clay. 6. Syncopate a traveling tinker, and leave an
instrument for combing wool or flax. 7. Syncopate a Scotch penny,
and leave the body or stem of a tree. 8. Syncopate a n.Tine by
which the white poplar tree is known, and leave having ability. 9.
Syncopate speed, and leave to abhor. ernest b. cooper.
INVERTED PYIIAMID.
Across: i. A cluster of leaves. 2. A sheet of paper once folded.
3. Antique. 4. In spring. Downward: i. In foreign. 2. A
preposition. 3. Three-fourthsof a swimming and diving bird of the
Arctic regions. 4. What "flesh is heir to." 5. Succor. 6. I0
proceed. 7. In foreign.
MABEL white.
584
THE RIUDLE-BOX.
[May.
PROVERB REBUS.
The answer to this rebus is a couplet describing the fate which may overtake the heedless.
';ik<
^^rp
'%.^^^
> V - V
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER.
Illustrated Domino Puzzle.
To-bring-out the-flowers we-need good-showers of-April-rain,
Of-rain good-showers for-fragrant flowers we-must-obtain.
2. We-need good-showers of-April-rain to-bring-out the-flowers.
For-fragrant flowers we-must-oblain of-rain good-showers.
3. The-flowers to-bring-out of-April-rain we-need good-showers,
Good-showers of-rain we-must-obtain for-fragrant flowers.
Diagonals. — April Fool. Across: i. Ample. 2. SPoke. 3.
MeRle. 4. Frail. 5. PeriL. 6. CraFt. 7. FrOwn. 8. TOpic.
9. Lilac.
Easy Cross-word Enigma. — Music.
Transpositions. — Shakespeare, i. Disk — S-kid. 2. Shoe —
H-ose. 3. Daze — A-dze. 4. Leek — Keel. 5. Bone — E-bon.
6. Host — S-hot. 7. Neap— P-ane. 8. Tide — E-dit. 9. Rave —
A-ver. 10. Cork — R-ock. 11. Seat — E-ast.
Charade. — Mint-drop.
Inverted Pyramid. — Across; i. Partial. 2. March. 3. Pie.
4. P. Diamond. — i. L. 2. LAd. 3. LaTin. 4. Dig. 5. N.
Concealed Central Acrostic. — April Fools, i. rAFt. 2.
uPOn. 3. fROg. 4. fILI. 5. aLSo.
Shakespearean Enigma. — "This above all, — to thine own self
be true." Hamlet, Act i, Sc. 3.
Illustrated Puzzle.
Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard.
To get her poor dog a bone ;
When she got there, the cupboard was bare (bear).
And so the poor dog had none (nun).
Rhomboid. — Across: i. Cave. 2. Home. 3. Time. 4. Rede.
Metagrams. — I- B-ark. D-ark. H-ark. I^ark. M-ark.
P-ark. II. D-ine. F-ine. K-ine. L-ine. M-ine. N-ine. P-ine
T-ine. V-ine. W-ine. III. B-one, C-one. D-one. G-one.
H-onc. L-one, N-one. T-one. IV. B-ear. D-ear. F-ear.
G-ear. H-ear. L^^ar. N-ear. P-ear. R-ear. T-ear. W-ear. Y-ear.
Phonetic Spelling-lesson. — i. Ivy. 2. Piqu6. 3. Easy. 4.
Essay. 5. Empty. 6. Excel. 7. Essex. 8. Envy. 9. Obe.
10. Array, n. Aye-aye. 12. Ogee.
Rabbit Puzzle. — For answer, see preceding page.
The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
Answers to FEBRl^^RV Puzzles were received too late for acknowledgment in the April number, from " H. M. S. ' St. Vincent,' "
Portsmouth, England, 5 — Maggie Philps, Essex, England, 3.
Answers to all the Puzzles in the March number were received, before March 20, from "Fire-fly" — A. B. C. — Genie J.
Callmeyer — Bessie C. Rogers — Mama and Bae — Frary — Scrap — Effie K. Talboys — John Kirkman — Clara J. Child — Little John,
Kittie, and Minnie — Clara and her Aunt — Lyde W. McKinney — Aidyl Airotciv Trebor — Ernest B. Cooper — Engineer — Appleton H.
— Florence Leslie Kyte.
Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 20, from Little Ida Brown, 3 — "Greene Ave.," i —
W. P. B. Tr. , I — Helen Dexter, 3 — Cambridge Livingston, 2 — Maidie R. Lang, i — Somebody, 4 — Edward Lylton, 2 — Robert Hamilton,
1 — Walter A. Hopper, 2 — H. M. Folger, i — ^O'Flannigan and Huggins. 2 — Alice B. Summer, i — Harry A. Burnham, 2 — Jennie and
Bessie, 6 —V. P. J. S. M. C, 7 — Lillian Virginia Leach, i — Kittie Corbin, i — E. Y. Thorp, 2 — Weston Stickney. 7— Margaret W.
Stickney, 6 — G. H., 7 — Livingston Ham, i — Daisy, i — Warren, 5 — "The Blanke Family," 12 — Minnie B. Murray, 10 — Ernest W.
Hamilton, 3 — Grace and Blanche Parry, 8 — Mattie and Kittie Winkler, 4 — Ralph A. Hoffman, g — " Lode Star," 9 — Gilman S. Stanton,
2 — Amy and Edith, 9 — R. T. L., 12 — Mary B. Dykeman, 2 — Pollywog and Tadpole, 5 — " Alcibiades," 11 — .^nna and Alice, 9 —
Grahame Hume Powell, 2 — " Bun thorn e and Grosvenor," 3 — " Rory O'Moore," 2— "Celleta," 3 — Joseph Wheless, 2 — Nellie R.
Sandell, 13 — Allic C. Duden, i — Emma D. Andrews. 10 — Anna K. Dessalet. 3 — Nellie Caldwell, 5 — Virginia M. Giflin, 2 — Freda, 11
— "Shumway," 6 — Lulu Graves, 9 — Charlie Townsend, 4 — Ruble and Marion, 7- — Ray Thurber, 5 — Delaware and Mary, 7 — Harry
LeMoyne Mitchell, 3 — Ellle Suesserott, 5 — J. OUle Gayley, 2 — Algernon Tassin, 6 — B. B., 9 — Bessie Watson, 2 — Anna Clark, 2 —
J. S. Tennani, 13 — W. M. Kingsley, 11 — Busy Bees, 11 — Sallie Viles, 13 — Fred Thwaits, 14 — Charlie Power, 7 — Isabel Bungay, 6
— "Two Subscribers," 12 — Queen Bess, 13 — Professor and Co., 12 — " Pat and Kid," 6 — Maud and Sadie, 2 — Paul England and Co., 3
— Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., 14 — Tommy and Jack, 5 — Curdycle, 8 — Henry E. Johnston, Jr., 4 — Daisy and Buttercup, 9 — Mother and I, 6 —
L. F. Barry, 11 — H. M. S. "St Vincent," 11. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.
585
AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION— 'III I R F K K NT 1 1 R i; I'O RT — A 1' R 1 1.
Tmk Swiss cross pn>p4jsed by Kenneth Hrown meets with univer-
sal favor, and is hereby adopted as the badge of the Aga.ssiz Asso-
ciation. (See St. Nicholas for February, page 342- » It may be made
of any metal preferred, and worn with or without a ribbon. It may
be of any desired size, and plain or with engravings of fern, butterfly,
and crystal; but it must bear the letters A. A. and the name ornum-
lier of the Chapter.
IvKi'ORTs OF CuArrKRS.
Manhattan CnArrnK. N. V. (B).
Since its organization, .Nfay 15. 1881, our Chapter has been very
prosperous. Beginning with five members, wc now number seven-
teen, and other names are l>efore our committee for consideration.
Wc have a cash balance of $18.05.
Our cabinet is nuiic extensive, and wc have started a library.
All our meetings have been full of interest; sometimes reports are
read ; :md wc have had cimposiiions. lectures, and discussions. He-
sides the members of the .\ssnciaii<>n, a number of persons have
become interested in our project, and several donations have been
received from them. Edward B. Miller.
[The Manhattan is one of the banner Chapters. |
Onr line of wrtrk has been chiefly in answering questions. At
every meeting each member is to bring in at least two questions. The
answers are filed monthly.
Wc are going to celebrate Aga.ssiz's birthday. Would it not be
a good plan for all the Chapters to do this?
Ueo. Tf.kencb Makston, Deperc, Wis.
{A most excellent plan, and one adopted last year by only a few
Chapters. Accounts of Agassiz's life should be read, poems recited,
an excursion and picnic, perhaps, taken. We hope to hear reports
from all the Chapters, of some such obser\'ance of the 28th of May.]
We have added to our collection a Taratt/n/a and its house;
gold ore from Colorado: some rubies and pottery from Aztec ruins
in Mexico. Nellie Hi/ghes, Cor, Sec., Fairfield, Iowa.
Notes by Members and Friends.
Dkwitt, Mich.
I have kept three caterpillars ; one was gray, one white, black, and
yellow, and one yellow. No. i, 1 found on a cucumber vine ; 2, on
a milkweed ; 3, on a rag-weed. No. 1 ate up No. 2, and the yellow
one got away. After the gray one had eaten up the black one, he
began to spin a cocoon, but a neighbor's little boy spoiled it.
I found four cocoons, but they all died. Harry Townse.md.
[Truly, the way of the young naturalist is hard! Try again,
Harry. If you once succeed in seeing a butterfly come oiit from
his chrysalis, you will be repaid for all your misfortunes.]
Do -spiders change their color? Sometimes I see a yellow spider
on a yellow lily, and once Mamma found a snow-white spider on
white paper. I have found six kinds of snails. One of them lies on
bits of coal in the cellar. I call it a coal snail. The only time I saw
it move it put out two little black horns. I have seen mosquitoes
leave the water a good many times, but I never saw a dragon-fly do
it. Irene Pi'tnam, Bennington, Vt.
[Most boys'and girls grow old and die without seeing either mos-
quitoes or dragon-flies leave the water; yet how many millions of
them leave it every summer ! Who next will catch them at it ?]
1 have several tadpoles changing tfo frogs.
v.. C. Brown, Angola, Ind.
[Then, please tell us what becomes of the tadpoles' tails.]
Exchanges Desired.
The I.*nox Chapter has for exchange geodes, crystals of tour-
maline, quartz, cryolite from Orecnland ; woods, eggs, and shells,
for which are especially desired four or five ounce, labeled specimens
of diorite, dolomite, labradorite. and the ores of tin, zinc, and gold.
Peacock coal and Florida moss, for sea-side specimens, insects,
or minerals. — K. S. M., Box 98, Wilkesbarre, Pa.
Clear vHnged sesia, phanaeus carnifcv. Misippus butterfly, and
glass threads, for sea-weed, rare shells, or siar-fish. — Inez R,
Knowllon, Hope Villa, Kast Baton Rouge, La.
Labeled minerals and mosses, for good sea-shells. I will send
'lirections for photographing ferns and leaves cheaply at home, if
desired. — Catherine R. Way, liast I-empstcr, N. H.
Birds' eggs. — Fred H. Clark, Box 113, Pouliney, Vt.
Correspondence and mineral exchanges. — J. V. Glosscr, Cor.
Sec, Berwyn, Pa.
Bird's-eye maple, white holly, black-walnut, oak, a.sh, red cedar,
butternut, and birch-bark, for other sorts of woods. — Frank Rama-
ley, Sec. St. Paul {A), 595 Cedar St., St. Paul, Minn.
I have a lot of geodes, from two to five inches in diamclcr. which I
should like to exchange for marine curiosities, sea-shells, corals,
whales' iccth, etc. — L. L. Goodwin, Waverly, Bremer Co., Iowa.
[A rare opportunity for tho.se who can offer ^001/ specimens in
exchange, as we know by experience. The geodes arc fine. By
the way, what arc geodes, and how are they formed? We are sure
that not all can tell.]
Drawings of snow- crystals, with accurate record of temperature,
wind, etc., for tiic same. — H. H. Bice, Utica, N. V.
Petrified shell.s, for quartz cr^-stals, agates, or tounualine. Cor-
respondence desired on geological subjects. Ellington (A), N. Y.
— W. H. Van Allen, Sec.
P. S. — Evcrj'body here sceins to like the Agassiz Association.
[Sensible people *.\
Fossil shells and grapliiie, for other minerals and ores, except
iron.— W. H. Van Allen. Ellington, N. V.
Fossil coral, kianiie, pyrites, cujJiKrr, for fossil ferns, amethysts,
crystals, and red corals. — H. W. DuBois, 1527 N. aoih St, Phila.
Eggs and minerals, — Chas. G. Carter, Titusville, Pa.
Soil, stones, and wood, from noted parts of Phibdelphia, for gyp-
sum, birds' eggs, and tin ore. — R. P. Kaighn, 2014 Ridge Avenue,
Phila.
Water-color paintings from nature, for labeled sea-weed (pressed
but not mount<fd), and Libeled biras' eggs.— John L. Hanna^ 319
Madison St., Fort Wayne. Ind.
Flicker's egg for a snow-bird's, I also wish a humming-bird's
egij. I can f^iimish excellent specimens of plumbago and iron.—
Ellis P. Oberholtzer. C'ambria Station, Pa.
Minerals. I especially desire a moss-agate. — E. S. Foster, 18
Chestnut Sl, Boston.
A sand-dollar and a shark's egg, for good specimens of insects.
— Frank C. Baldwin, 17 Montcalm St., Detroit, Mich.
Birds' eggs. — Robert Beach, Albion, Orleans Co., N. Y.
Eggs. Aurora, III., Chapter (.'\). — Lilian Trask.
Mmcrals and curiosities. — F. H. Dodge, 590 Huron St.. Toledo,
Ohio.
Answers to Ql'Estions in Report No. 10.
1. A fly has two compound eyes, each containing about four
thousand facets, or simple eyes.
2. The Vervain humming-bird ( AfrUisftga minima), of Jamaica.
Stripped of feathers, its body is not much larger than a hickory-nut.
3. The lizard has three movable eyelids.
4. The spenn-whale (Physeter macrocephalua) has from forty to
fifty teeth, all in the lower jaw. The true whale has no teeth.
5. *' Quadrumana" means four-handed, and is a term applied to
monkeys, apes, etc.
6- Zoophyte means "animal plant-" The name has been given
to minute animals which bear a strong resemblanct to plants.
7. Quartz, feldspar, and usually mica.
8. Crystallized carbon.
9. Leontopodtum Aipinum, or Gnaplialium Lcoiiiopodium. Lit-
eral meaning of JuM-weiss, " nobly white." The flower belongs
to the Gnnphalium family.
10. Clove is from I^L clavis — a nail, from the shape.
Best answer, Frances M. Healon.
Questions.
1. How do bees carry their honey ?
2. What is the Aptery.v, and where found?
3. How do pea-nuLs grow ?
4. What is the season in Brazil, Nov. 3d?
5. Why is a leopard spotted?
6. How docs an ostrich hide itself?
7. Name five amphibious animals.
8. Name five useless things.
9. Where do flies go in winter?
10. Describe a beaver's house.
11. How many mouths has a spider?
12. How many degrees of heat arc needed to melt copper, lead,
and silver?
13. At what point does salt water freeze ?
14. What do sponges feed on?
[Best set of answers will be noticed.]
This has been by far our most prosperous month. We now num-
ber over one thousand nine hundred, and have one hundred and
si.\ty-three chapters. This great number of correspondents neces-
sarily demands much time. Wc are compelled again to remind our
young friends to be concise. We are also compelled to insist rigidly
upon the following rules :
1. Inclose in each letter a self-aJdrcssed and stamped eni>elope.
[Hitherto wc have answered all letters, whether their authors have
complied with this nile or not. But our numbers have so increased
that this is becoming impossible. A little reflection will show that,
to answer e.ach of our one thousand nine hundred members once,
costs fifty-seven dollars, without taking account of paper or envel-
opes. Recollect that we charge no fee for membership in our C'hap-
ters, and herciifter none can expect to receive answers unless this rule
is obscr\'ed. ]
2. Use note paper — ;/*>/ letter paper.
3. Write on only one side of your paper.
4. Give your name and full .iddress in each letter.
5. Whenever you send specimens, state from whom they come,
and what you wish in exchange.
6. Address — not St. Nicholas — but Harlan H. Ballard,
Principal 0/ Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.
586
Nkw Chapters.
No, Chapter. Members. Secretary* s Address.
143. E. Bridgewater, Mass 6.. Geo. S. Young.
144. Mt. Vernon, N. Y 12. .Aubrey Tyson.
145. Indianapolis, Ind. .... 6. . Frank Bildenmeister,
265 E. N. Y. St.
146. EHington, N. Y 20. .W. H, Van Ailen.
147. Cleveland, Ohio — . . F. Kendall, 768 Harkness Ave
148. De Pere, Wis. (B) 10. . Mrs. R. W. Amdt.
149. Abington, Mass 6. .Geo. C. Eeal, Bo.\ 16.
' 150. Flushing, L. 1 4 , . Frances M. Heaton.
151. Brooklyn, N. Y. (B) 6. .Ernest Osbume,
761 DeKalb Ave.
152. Wilmington, Del 6. .John H. Rollo, 10 E. 7th St.
153. Chicago, 111. (D) 4 . . Frank Wentworth,
1337 Michigan Ave.
154-
I55'
156.
159
160.
161.
163.
Chapter. Members. Secretary's Address.
Jefferson, Ohio 20. .Clara L. Northway.
Heyworth, 111 7. .Samuel E. Low.
Peoria, 111. 12. .Tobey Van Buskirk,
104 Pennsylvania Ave.
Detroit, Mich. {C» 7.. A. T. Worthington,
44 Marion St.
Davenjjort, Iowa 5 . . Edwin K. Putnam.
Greenville, 111. 7. . Frank Tathan.
Toledo, Ohio 7. . Fred. Dodge, 590 Huron St.
New York, N. Y. (D) 4..C. R. Burke,
224 West 34th St.
Boston, Mass. (B) 4..A. C. Chamberlain,
99 Revere St.
Hartford, Conn. (C) 4. .H. M. Penrose.
AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION — FOURTEENTH REPORT— MAY.
Very cheering are the reports this month. It might have been
feared that, after the novelty had woni off, many Chapters would
quickly have fallen to pieces. But, on the contrary, the oldest Chap-
ters are the most active and wide-awake, and nearly all report addi-
tions in membership, while never were so many new branches fonned
in a single month. We now number more than two thousand one
hundred, and more than twenty letters have been received in a
single day.
I Reports from Chapters.
We have four new members this month. A scrap-book has been
bought, and we are collecting clippings to fill it. Our meetings
have been held regularly. Wm. Carter, Waterbury, Conn.
Chicago (C) has two new members. We have held our meet-
ings every Saturday, and have had our badges made. We have
some new books for our library, one of which is " Woods's Natural
History." Nelson Bennett, Chicago, 111.
(Many Chapters have begun to form libraries — a most excellent
plan.]
At one of our late meetings a paper was read, descriptive of the
manufacture of sleel rails at the Edgar Thomson Steel Works, in
Allegheny County. With the paper were samples of the various
kinds of ores, coals, coke, lime-stone, etc., used. The reading and
examination of specimens occupied the entire evening, and wa.s in-
teresung to young and old. J. F. Glosser, Berwyn, Pa.
We can not organize a Chapter here unless you will accept our
family as such. We number si.v, and all are interested in natural
history. We live in the vicinity of extinct volcanoes. Here are
hills of lava, and others of ancient ashes, with pieces of obsidian.
In the mines we found round balls of hardened clay, or, sometimes,
partly iron ore. These are hollow, and filled with ashes. We call
^them volcanic geodes. Mrs. E. H. K.
[You are heartily welcome as a Chapter, and are number 166.
We have several such family chapters, and they are one of the
most delightful features of the Association, Obsidian is a word
calculated to arouse the curiosity of our Eastern friends. Will some
one write a report on it ?]
Chapter 138, Warren, Maine, Miss J. L. Crocker, Sec, has
now nineteen members. By an error we gave this Chapter credit
for a dual existence, at Orono, Me., as No. 122, as well as at War-
ren. There is no Chapter at Orono.
NORRISTOWN, Pa.
We have organized a Chapter with seventeen members. The
principal of the High School is our president. The directors have
given us the use "of one of the school-rooms in the evening, with
gas and fire. We meet once in two weeks. Anna Schall, Sec.
Notes by Members.
I think the wasp described by W. R. Edwards in the February
report was Crabro cribarius. It feeds its young with the larvae of
the leaf-rolling caterpillar C 7>?ri?r£r chiorana), which lives in the
oak. Will anybody tell me what the food of the caterpillar is ?
Clarence L. Lower, Denver, Col.
For the past month we have been assigning questions to members.
For instance, " Take twenty insects, give their scientific names, and
tell alt you know about each. Get twenty different kinds of woods
and give their names." The members also take turns in preparing
papers to read. We have two papers every meeting. The last
ones were on "Ants and their Habits" and " Snakes."
Walter S. Slagle, Sec, Fairfield, Iowa.
I have a piece of oak containing a bullet which must have been
shot into it more than forty years ago, for there are forty-three rings
between the last trace of a scar and the bark.
Fred. C. Ransom, Jackson, Mich.
Exchanges Desired.
Birds' eggs. — V/m. G. Talmadge, Plymouth, Conn.
We have a fossil found thus far inland. We will exchange it for
a lizard. — Warrick R. Edwards, Hillsboro, III.
Coral limestones, autumn leaves, and ferns, for marine curiosi-
ties. Vpsilanti, Mich., Chapter A.— E. R. Shier, Sec.
[We have seen some of these "coral limestones." They ar«
beautiful.]
Fossils of Lower Silurian, for marine curiosities, or for such
specimens of walking fern, traihng arbutus, or ground-pine as
would live after they reached us, if properly cared for. — L. M.
Bedinger, Greenwood Lake, Ky.
Minerals, woods, and photographic views, for United States and
foreign exchanges. — Ledru Lewis, Box 174, Copenhagen, N. Y".
Eggs, bird-skins, woods, and minerals. — Chas. C. Carter, Sec,
Titusvilie, Penn.
Mounted birds and eggs of this locality for sale. Send for price-
list. — A. B. Averill, Colfax, Washington Ter.
Minerals, calamites, bird-skins, eggs, nests, corals, algae, in-
sects, lichens, ferns, and grasses. — H. G. White, Taunton, Mass.
California specimens for specimens from Palesdne. — Lenox
Academy, Lenox, Mass.
Clay stones, for pressed and labeled sea-weed, or a star-fish. —
C. H. Mc Bride, Rextord Flats, N. Y.
Shells, sea-mosses, and marine curiosities, for minerals. — Howard
Cook, 21 Harbor St., Salem, Mass.
Suggestions for Work.
And now the snow-flakes have taken their northward flight, and the
singing birds have come back from the south. " The winter is over
and gone," and the *' A. A." is out-of-doors.
I wish every member of our society would catch one bee, and
steal the pollen from his thighs. Examine this pollen under the mi-
croscope, and make accurate drawings of the grains. Examine also
the pollen from some one flower, and make drawings of it in the
same way, writing underneath the name of the flower. Then send
the drawings to me. and we may thus ascertain, perhaps, some facts
regarding the number and variety of the flowers diat furnish the
honey which the Queen in her chamber eats on her bread.
Additional Chapters.
No.
164.
165,
166.
167.
l6q
170.
171
172,
1 73'
174
I75'
176.
177-
178.
179.
180.
181
182,
183.
Chapter.
Jackson, Mich. (B.). . .
Plymouth, Conn- (A).
St. Helena, Cal. (A) . .
Rochester, N. Y. (A) .
Members. Secretary's Address.
16 . . Mrs. Norah Gridley,
cor. Main & Fourth.
.... 6. . Wm. G. Talmadge.
.... 6.. Mrs. E. H. King.
... 4. .Miss Monica Curran,
2 Prince St.
Buffalo, N. Y. (C) 5. .Miss Claire Shuttleworth.
35 North Pearl St.
Norristown, Pa. (A) 17. .Miss Anna Schall.
No. Brookfield, Mass. (A) . 6 . . H. A. Cooke, Box 610.
New London, Conn. (A). . 7. .R. L. Crump.
Hoosac, N. V. (A) 14. . Wm. C. Langdon, Jr..Box53.
Fitchburg, Mass. (B) 14 . . Miss Mary L. Garfield.
Easton, Pa. (B).... 10. .Frank Starr, 60 So. College.
Easton, Pa. (C) 14. W. F. Kennedy,
122 North 2d St.
12.. Fred. A. Burke, Box 1063.
6..N. H. Douglass.
8..H. N. Wing.
15. .Harry Larkin. P. O,
II.. Miss S. E. Frisbie.
6.. Geo. M. Tinker.
5. .H. L. Warren.
Nashua, N. H. (D).
Andover, Mass. (A)...,
Farmington, Minn. (A) .
Sacramento, Cal. (A) . . .
Milford, Conn. <A). . . .
Nashua, N. H. (E) ....
Warren, R. I. (A)
Salem, Mass 5 . . M. E, Burrill, 4 Cherry St.
I.mportant Notice.
Hereafter, Chapters number 1-50 are requested to send their
repois to W. P. Ballard, Easton, Pa.; Chapters number 51-roo, to
M. J. Taylor, Lenox, Mass. ; 101-130, to Mr. John F. Glosser,
Berwyn, Chester Co., Pa. All other letters, including requests for
exchange, will be received, as before, by Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox
Academy, Lenox, Mass.
MR, LONGFELLOW AND HIS BOY VISITORS.
[See page 642. J
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX.
JUNE, 1882.
No. 8.
(Copyright, 1882, by Thb CENTURY CO.]
THE GREAT TLTH-RACE AT POINT NO-POINT.
BV ICl.I.EX \V. Ol.NKY.
Any one might have thought, that summer
morning, that all the summer boarders at Point
No-Point were ambitious to do their week's
washing at once. From the time breakfast was
over until the first dinner-bell rang, at half-past
twelve, the boys at Mrs. Crane's were rushing
about in every direction in couples, vanishing down
the road or up the lane, to rc-appcar, after an
inter\al, carrying tubs between them. Tliesc tubs
were deposited on the tennis-ground, where they
immediately became a center of general interest,
and were inspected by a committee of critics, who
discussed their merits, and decided whether or not
they might be called "sea-worthy." There were
new tubs and old tubs ; painted tubs and un-
painted tubs; tubs with rusty iron hoops and tubs
beautifully bound in brass and shining with fresh
nails. Some of them suggested the excursion of
the famous three men of Gotham, and in view of
the disasters of tliat melancholy voyage were at
once set aside and labeled " dangerous."
But, finally, eleven were pronounced fit for use,
and were marshaled into rank and file like a fight-
ing regiment.
By this time the second liell had rung, and din-
ner was ready. Although intense excitement pre-
vailed, dinner seemed by no means a matter of
indifference to any of the boys. Fifteen of them
had a table together at one end of the long dining-
room which accommodated Mrs. Crane's houseful
of Ijoarders. It was always a noisy table, but
Vol. I.X.— 38.
to-day, with so much to talk about, there was a
perfect babel of voices discussing the coming con-
test, until Mr. Long, the lame gentleman with
spectacles, limped over and sat down among them,
and talked so pleasantly that they were all glad
to be quiet and listen. In fact, all the boys felt
that he was a person worth propitiating, for he
was to be umpire of the great tub-race coming off
at three o'clock.
It was not quite two when they arose from the
table, and, as a great deal remained to be accom-
plished during the next hour, and no more minutes
could be wasted in mere forms and ceremonies,
the boys trooped out. In the first place, it was
necessary that they should all change their ordi-
nary dress for bathing-suits ; then the tubs had to be
carried to the river-bank ; finally, Mr. Long was
to meet the contestants there, and settle certain
questions concerning the management of the race,
— questions which could l)e decided only on the
spot.
Frank Sedgwick and his brother Will were the
first to come forth, fully equipped. They were the
best swimmers, cricketers, and ball-players, and the
handsomest fellows at Mrs. Crane's that summer.
Their mamma had no daughters to make beautiful,
so she spent all her pains on Frank and Will, and
their bathing-suits were liandsome — of white flan-
nel, with blue trimmings, cut short in the arms,
and ending at their knees, displaying the well-
rounded, muscular limbs of the wearers. Each
588
THE GREAT T U B - R A C E AT P ( 1 1 \ T X ( J - P U I N T ,
(June,
of the brothers seized his tub — the best of the lot,
you may be sure — and carrying it aloft at arms'
length, as if it had no weight whatever, strode
rapidl>' down to the water's edge.
Next scrambled along Jo Paddock, dragging his
tub behind him. There was nothing of the dandy
about Jo. Although only fifteen, he was already
within an inch of being six feet tall, and it was
no easy matter to cover his long neck and arms and
ankles, all of which protruded from his rusty, gray
flannel suit, making him look like a disjointed
jack-doll.
Following him were the Holt boys, all neat,
sober, trim little fellows, each — like the affectionate
brothers they were — helping the other to carry his
tub. Then, racing down, appeared Lemuel Shep-
herd, rolling his tub before him like a hoop, and
after him came Sam Tyson, m.unching an apple at
his ease, while Timothy, Mrs. Crane's man,
ambled behind, carrying his burden for him. It
was always Sam Tyson's wa)' to escape the trouble
of things ; somebody seemed always at hand to
look out for his comfort. He had a knack of get-
ting twice as much at table as the other boys, and
he always kept a supply of dainties besides, bought
with his pocket-mone)', which he thought was well
spent in luxuries for himself. He was no favorite
among his mates. Before he reached the river-side
the two Crane boys passed him, with Jack Loomis.
" Why don't you take it as easily as 1 do ? " cried
out Sam, who was in an excellent humor. " 1
gave Tim ten cents to get my tub this morning,
and five more to bring it down here for me."
" Why not send him out in it ? " asked Jack
Loomis. '■ I would n't have the bother of paddling
myself, if I were you."
"When the race really begins, 1 '11 take care of
myself," returned Sam, who, it must be confessed,
excelled in all athletic exercises. " I have been in
these races before, and know a thing or two about
them. 1 might let you into the secret of winning,
boys, but I prefer to keep it to myself"
He looked around at the others with a quiet
smile of superiority. They all knew that smile and
what it meant, and they did not like him for it.
He was not a good-looking boy ; he had yellow,
freckled, flabby cheeks, which hung down, and
small eyes, with an expression of lazy scorn in
them, and a wide, disagreeable mouth. As he
stood there boasting of his skill, ev-ery one of the ten
who listened had but one feeling in his heart, and
that was — no matter who won the race, it must
not be Sam Tyson. They all felt an antagonism
against him, remembering affronts he had put
upon them at tennis, cricket, and base-ball.
Mr. Long now appeared on the long bridge
which led out to the floating dock, followed by
twentv' or thirty boarders, who had come to look
on and sec the sport.
And with the Sedgwicks and the Crane boys he
fell to discussing the points still unsettled.
It was decided that the boys were to set out
from the bank, among the rushes, and paddle
to a certain buoy, an eighth of a mile down the
stream, go around that, then return, and land at the
floating dock. They were to start when he should
give the word. Each must keep five feet clear of
his rivals, and must on no account jostle his neigh-
bor. In gaining the goal, it was enough to touch
the planks of the dock with the hand.
"It is five minutes to three," said Mr. Long. "To
your tubs, boys, and be ready to start promptly."
The boys all dashed to their places, took their
tubs, and held them over their heads, ready to
plash them into the water when Mr. Long should
give the word. As they stood waiting, a faint
cry arose among the spectators. A speck of blue
had appeared in the distance.
" It is little Teddy Courtney," said somebody.
" He seems to be pushing a tub along."
"Teddy Courtney!" cried Jo Paddock, and
throwing down his own tub, he set off up the bank
like a long streak of lightning. Yes, there came
Teddy, in a bright blue boating-dress of the dainti-
est cut and fit, dragging, with enormous difficulty,
an old, rusty, battered tub. The little fellow was
alternately red and pale, his lip was trembling, and
t«o or three great tears rolled down his cheeks.
He was only nine years old, and had been sent
down to Mrs. Crane's, with his French nurse,
while his father and mother were in Europe.
Everybody petted and made much of the young-
ster, but to-day he had been overlooked.
"Oh, Jo !" he cried, trembling with joy, as his
friend appeared. "1 was so afraid I could n't get
here in time ! Marie would n't hurry, and this tub
is so heavy."
"1 should think it was." growled Jo. "Poor
little Ted ! " He took the battered old thing in
his own hands. "The worst of the lot," said Jo.
" However, my baby, you shall have mine. This
will do well enough for me."
There was no time to be wasted. Everybody
was impatient. All the boys were drawn up in
line, holding their tubs ready to be launched. Jo
led Teddy down the bank and gave him his own
place ; then he went to the end of the row with the
little fellow's battered hulk.
There was a pause. Then, "Are you ready?
Go ! " cried Mr. Long, and the boys were off.
That is, of course, they had waded out half a doz-
en feet from the shore to a spot where they could
clear bottom, and had got into their barks — that
is to say, I mean some of them had got in. Until
1' HE C; K E A T T U B - R A C E A I" 1> ( ) I N l' N ( ) - P () I N l" .
589
one tries, he does not know how difficult a matter
it is to get into a floating; tub successfully, and to
stay there. A few had contrived to keep up ; the
others had keeled over. But those who went
down came up manfully, turned their tubs upside
down to get the water out, righted them, and
tried again.
Frank and Will Sedg%vick had had their usual
good luck. They sat well into their tubs, their
legs astride, and were now paddling along with
short, clean strokes, which at once carried them
briskly in advance of the rest. Everybody looking
on at once declared that one of the two was sure
doing very well indeed. He had seemed to be afraid
of being upset by somebody, so he had steered
his craft far to windward, but was now nearing the
buoy, which he promised to round almost at the
time the Sedgwick boys would reach it.
His chances grew better antl better every
moment. He was almost as much of a favorite as
the Scdgwicks, and there could be no chagrin at
his good luck. Yet it was, nevertheless, a melan-
choly thing to see Frank reach the stake at the
very same moment as his brother. Then, as they
paddled around it, how could he avoid jostling
Will ? Then what hindered his getting upset
II 1-- L>IIH'
INTO A FLOATING TfB SfCCESSFULLV, AND TO STAY THERE.
to win. The pretty young lady who had made
the badges for the gainer of the race looked with
satisfaction at the handsome lads, and thought
how well cither would wear her blue-and-cardinal
ribbons.
.After the Sedgwicks came the two Cranes —
stout, manly fellows, used to all sorts of exploits on
sea and land, but rather too heavily built for the
present race ; for, no sooner had they got forty or
fifty feet from the shore, than at the same moment
down went their tubs, and both were lost to sight.
They came up, spluttering and laughing, and,
drawing their perfidious tubs after them, waded
back to begin again. Meanwhile, Jack Loomis was
himself, and, in going down, carrying his brother
along with him ?
The SedgAvicks for once were thrown out of a
competition. They were so used to success that
they could hardly believe in their present ill-luck.
But, having to confess it, they took it good-nat-
uredly, and, feeling sure that their chances were
over, and that Jack Loomis had won the day, they
waded to the dock, climbed up the sides, and sat
on the edge, ready to cheer and applaud him when
he should make the goal.
Jack was now indeed monarch of all he sur-
veyed. But unseen dangers lurked ahead. All
at once, without any premonition of disaster, fate
590
THE GREAT TUB-RACE AT POINT NO-POINT.
[June,
overtook him ; down went his tub ! Twice he was
soused from head to foot before he could find bot-
tom and recover himself. Emerging finally, he
looked dazed, confounded, at such an overthrow
of all his hopes.
While a race is going on, however, one has no
time to waste pity on fallen heroes. For a good
while, now, nobody had thought of watching any
of the competitors save the Sedgwicks and Loomis.
After their mischances, the spectators simultane-
ously turned to see if anybody else was coming
up, like the tortoise, to claim the victory lost b\-
the hare. There soon arose a loud murmur of
discontent. Mr. Sam Tyson followed the three
who had gone down, and now was first in the pro-
cession.
Jo Paddock was nowhere; he had, in fact,
gone back and sat down resignedly on the bank.
Even if he had had a good tub, his long legs put
out of the question any sort of successful paddling.
The two Crane boys sat beside him, one of them
trying to mend his tub, which had started a hoop.
Lemuel Shepherd was still trying to get into his.
He was a roly-poly sort of a boy, so round that
there was no more chance for him than for an
apple-dumpling. The three Holt boys had gone
on very well, and might have held their own, had
not Sam Tyson run them down. One after another
each had drifted in his way, and when the question
arose in his mind whether his chances or theirs
should suffer, he had not hesitated for a single
moment, but devoted them to destruction by an
adroit kick of his foot.
A trifle behind Sam w'as Teddy Courtney, float-
ing beautifully. Now and then he leaned over
and paddled a httle with his baby-hand, but in
general he was happy enough that he was up-
borne, and did not get overturned ; so he made
no effort to get on. He looked like a Cupid, with
his golden curls, blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and
smiling lips.
There could now be no sort of doubt in any-
body's mind that Mr. Sam Tyson not only in-
tended to beat, but was certain to do so. He made
progress very slowly, as he had declared he under-
stood the secret of winning a tub-race. He knew
that by eager paddling the tub constantly shipped
water through the holes in the handles, and that
thus becoming "swamped,'' it was ready to go
down at the least jar. This danger he avoided,
keeping his lower edge well above the ripples. No-
body wished him well, yet, as" if wafted by the most
earnest good wishes, he sailed on serenely. Every
other boy at Mrs. Crane's had friends, but he had
none. Yet he was not more than half a bad fellow,
if he could have been less selfish and greedy.
And now, with a long sigh, they all whispered to
themselves he was going to win. He had made
the buoy easily. He was well on his way back.
He was not inore than three yards from the goal.
His heavy face had not for a moment lighted up
with hope or expectation. He bore his honors
calmly so far. He always took everything calmly,
which made it all the more exasperating for those
whom he conquered.
He was within four feet of the floating dock.
Every one watched him, feeling more or less un-
happy. The pretty young lady with the badge of
crisp blue-and-cardinal ribbons, had seated herself
on a camp-stool, and Avas fanning herself, with an
air of indifference and patience. Apparently the
results of the race were not to justify her disinter-
ested efforts for it, since Mr. Sam Tyson was to
have the badge.
All at once, however, while the crowd looked on,
muttering wrath in whispers, Sam was seen to
move convulsively ! A sneeze burst from him in
spite of all his efforts to suppress it. The tub turned
over and sank, carrying him down with it.
Ah, the cruelty of it all ! For a triumphant cheer
burst from the party on shore ! Victory had been
almost in Sam's grasp, but he had lost it. Alas !
alas ! And there was no sympathy for him. All
the others who went down had had the grace of a
kind " Poor fellow ! " but not a word for Sam. He
took his reverse coolly, however, as he took every-
thing else. He scrambled to his footing, got into
his tub, and began to paddle himself back.
And was everybody out of the race ? Was no
one to have the bluc-and-red ribbons ? Why, yes !
There was Teddy Courtney, who had, by this
time, passed the buoy.
"Carefully, Ted! Paddle carefully!" shouted
Jo Paddock, from the shore. " You '11 beat us all
yet."
Teddy looked up in amazement. A winning
smile broke over his face. He leaned over, and
did paddle carefully. And a wind came up out of
the south, and floated him straight toward the
dock. His little hands seemed to work wonders,
but, besides, as if some irresistible force bore him
along, his tub went straight toward the goal.
" Touch it, Ted, touch it ! " cried Will Sedg-
wick, as he got alongside. And the little fellow
leaned out and touched it.
Then w^hat a cheer broke forth, and how pretty
the young lady looked as she put on his blue-and-
red ribbons !
i882.)
THE BEE-CIIARMEk.
591
111 I HEE-CIIARMER.
By M. M. D.
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A FRISKY liulc faun of old
Once came to charm the bees — •
A frisky little faun and bold,
With very funny knees:
You '11 read in old mythology
Of just such folk as these,
Who haunted dusky woodlands
And sported 'neath the trees.
Well, there he sat and waited
And played upon his pipe.
Till all the air grew fated
And the hour was warm anil ripe, —
When, through the woodland glooming
Out to the meadow clear,
A few great bees came booming,
And hovered grandly near.
Then others, all a-listening,
Came, one by one, intent,
Their gauzy wings a-glistening.
Their velvet bodies bent.
Filled was the meadow sunny
With music-laden bees.
Forgetful of their honey
Stored in the gnarled old trees,
Heedless of sweets that waited
In myriad blossoms bright.
They crowded, dumb and sated
And heavy with delight ;
When, presto ! — with quick laughter
The piping faun was gone !
And never came he after,
By noon or night or dawn.
Never the bees recovered ;
The spell was on them still —
Where'er they flew or hovered
They knew not their own will ;
The wondrous music filled them.
As dazed they sought the bloom ;
The cadences that thrilled them
Had dealt them mystic doom.
And people called them lazy.
In spite of wondrous skill.
While others thought them crazy,
And strove to do them ill :
Their velvet coats a-fuzzing
They darted, bounded, flew.
And filled the air with buzzing
And riotous ado.
Now, when in summer's season
We hear their noise and stir.
592
MARY JANE TELLS ABOUT THE SPICERS COWS.
[June,
Full well wa know the reason
Of buzz and boom and whirr -
As, browsing on the clover
Or darting in the flower,
They hurii it o'er and over.
That charm of elfin power.
Dire, with a purpose musical
Dazing the sultry noon.
They make their sounds confusical.
And try to catch the tune.
It baffles them, it rouses them.
It wearies them and drowses them ;
It puzzles them and saddens them.
It worries them 'and maddens them:
Ah, wicked faun, with funny knees,
To bring such trouble on the bees !
MARY JANE TELLS ABOUT THE SPICERS' COWS.
By a. G. Plympton.
Dot
I '11
They had lots of cows, the Spicers had, — and
they passed most of their time in our garden.
The reason they did n't stay in the pasture was
because the fences were all broken down ; for the
Spicers were the most shiftless folks in Tucker-
town. \\'hy I cared about the cows was because
1 had to drive 'em out.
It was the summer that Lucy was sick, and
and I were sent to Grandpa's.
Well, one day. Grandpa said :
" If those cows get into my corn again,
drive 'em up to the pound."
" What 's the pound ?" asked Dot.
"It 's a pen," said Grandpa, "where you can
drive any cattle you find on your land ; and the
owner can't get them out without paying a fine."
" Oh, 1 think that 's elegant ! " said I. " I
know lots of people's cows I should like to get
into the pound."
When Grandpa went out, I said I would go and
tell Sarah Spicer just what he had said.
" Now, Mary Jane, you just stay where you are.
You want your fingers in everybody's pies." It
was Aunt Jane — you might know — who said
that.
I might have answered that she was so sparing
with hers (especially mince) that I never could
touch tkem. But I did n't. I often think of real
smart things, and it 's mean that I can't say them.
But, I declare, there is never any use at all in my
arguing with Aunt Jane ; for, when I get the best
of her, she always stiffens up and says: "There,
that will do, Mary Jane ! Not another word ! "
Besides, it is n't right to answer back. So I
just said nothing, but took Dot and marched
straight off to the Spicers'.
We found Sarah and Sam playing in front of
their house. Mercy me ! I never saw such a gone-
to-wreck-and-ruined place. Half the window-panes
smashed, and the shingles coming off, and the wall
broken down, and not so much as a path up to the
front door ! I suppose that is so that folks will go
to the back door, as Aunt Jane did that day I
went there with her and found the hens picking
up the crumbs in the kitchen. 1 should have
thought Mrs. Spicer would be ashamed of that ;
would n't you ? But, la, she was n't ! She said
the hens were company for her, and, besides,
they "saved sweeping."
Aunt Jane says Sarah Spicer 's " not a pretty-
behaved little girl," and I should n't think she was.
So saucy ! And she swings her skirts when she
walks, and it 's real aggravating. Besides that,
she makes up faces at real nice folks. Beth Hall
and I turned round quick once, and caught her
at it.
I thought she was looking more saucy than ever
on this particular day, and I determined to be very
dignified and distant.
" How d' ye do, Mary Jane ? " said she.
" How d' ye do, Miss Spicer?" said I.
" Mercy me, Mary Jane ! what airs ! " said she.
" It 's no use to put 'em on here in Tuckertown, I
can tell you, for folks know all about you."
" There, that will do," said I, as like Aunt
Jane as ever I could. " I only came over here to
i883.|
MARV IAN1-; TELLS AliOUT THE SPICERS COWS.
593
tell you that we arc going to have your cows put
in the pound, the very next lime we tind 'em in
our garden."
" Poh ! " cried out lli.it llop-o'-my-tlunnb of a
Sam. " Your grandfather has said so, lots of
times, but he never does."
" Does n't dare to ! " snapped Sarah.
I was just boiling mad. The idea of my being
treated so by those low Spicers !
" Dare to .' " said 1. "1 wonder who you think
would be afraid of such a poor, shiftless set as you
are.' My grandfather says your farm does n't
raise anything but weeds and potato bugs. Hut
I '11 tell him it raises plenty of ' sarce ' besides."
And then I took Dot's hand, and just ran for
home, so as not to gi\e Sarah a chance to ha\e
the last word.
Oh, but don't 1 'spise her !
Well, that afternoon, Dot and 1 went into the
barn to play. We played that we were angels,
and made the loveliest crowns of burs, and real
nice wings out of newspapers. When we wanted
to fly, we went to the top of the loft, and flew down
the fun with all our might, when Aunt Jane
screamed out :
" Mary Jane ! Mary Jane ! The cows are in the
garden. Run and drive them out."
"Isn't that mean!" said 1. ''The idea of
asking an angel to drive cows ! "
" Play they are evil sperits," suggested Hiram,
who was cleaning out the stalls.
"No, they're not," said I. "They arc just
nothing but cows. Besides, it makes me hot to
run after them, and angels ought never to be hot."
Then Aunt Jane began to scream at me again,
and, of course, 1 had to go.
"It's too bad!" cried Dot. "Those Spicers'
cows spoil all our fun."
" 1 '11 tell you what," said 1, after 1 had shoo'd
them into the road. " 1 'm going to drive 'em
right up to the pound. 1 '11 show that Sarah
Spicer ! "
" Why, Mary Jane Hunt ! " cried silly Dot.
"What '11 Grandpa say ? I wont go."
"Say? Why, that he is much obliged tome,
to be sure. And if you don't come right along.
HOW d' YK do, ^!AKV JANE?'
to the hay on the barn-floor ; but we did n't care
to fly much, it was so much nicer to bounce up
and down on the clouds — I mean the hay — and
play on our harps and sing.
We were just in the midst of it, and enjoying
I '11 take off my little crown and stick the prickles
into you. Miss ! "
That 's what 1 said, but I knew 1 could n't get
the crown out of my hair — the old burs stuck so.
I got some out, though, and tied my hal on, set
594
MARY JANE TELLS ABOUT THE SPICERS COWS
[June,
my wings against the wall, and got a stick to
drive the cows with. Dot trotted after me,
as meek as a lamb.
It was n't far to the pound; l^ut there was
one cow and her calf that would n't hurry,
and, besides, we walked very slowly along
the sunny parts of the road, and rested every
time we came to a shady place ; so it was late
in the afternoon when we left the pound, and
turned to come home.
" Let 's go 'round by the Spicers'," said 1.
" I don't care if it is farther. Perhaps wc
shall see Sarah."
" I don't want to see Sarah," answered
Dot. " 1 saw 'nough o' her this morning.
'Sides, Aunt Jane said, if we got through
supper in time, she would take us to see Mrs.
Green, you know. And she is going to give
us some pears."
But I was bound to go past the Spicers' ;
so I said: "We '11 hurry, and go 'cross-lots,
and I know we sha'n't be late." And 1
had my way.
We went quite a distance by the road, and
then through Mr. Hall's corn-field and the
woods beyond, and came out right
in the Spicers' pasture. The
sun had Just gone down,
and there was a bright
light behind the row of
old, jagged apple-trees
along by the stone
wall, which was so
broken down in
places that it was
an easy matter for
the cows to stray
away. Dot and I
noticed that there
was only one left
now in the pasture.
" I hope Sarah
and Sam will have
a good time hunt-
ing after the oth-
ers ; and good
enough for 'em,"
said I. "Perhaps
her father is just
scolding her now
for letting 'em
stray away."
"Well, he is n't,
for there he is
now." Dot point-
ed, and I saw
Sarah in the swing
'WE PLAYED WE WERE ANGELS, AND MADE CROWNS OF BCRS AND WINGS OUT OF NEWSPAPERS.
i883.]
MARV JANE TKLLS ABOUT THE SPICERS COWS.
595
on the butternut tree in front of their house, and
her father was swinging her, up ever so high.
When she saw us she jumped out and ran to
the fence.
" Hope you '!! find ynur cows to-night, Sarah,"
said I.
" You liad better go for 'em," chimed in Dot.
" Hope you '11 tind yours" retorted Sarah. " If
you don't keep 'em out of our garden, we arc going
to drive 'em to the pound."
" Te, he," giggled Sam.
What could they mean ? I wondered, as I hur-
ried on, if our cows had got into their garden ; and
it worried me so that I told Dot.
" But, la, it 's no use to wait any longer. I '11 use
morning's milk."
" Yes," said Grandpa, who w.is washing his
hands at the sink. " Uo let 's have supper. Chil-
dren, have you seen the cows?"
"Why, no," I answered, "not ours; but Dot
and I drove the Spicers' cows up to the pound."
"Those that were in our garden?" demanded
Aunt Jane, looking straight at me.
I nodded.
"Well, of all the little mischief-makers ! Those
were our cows."
" My gracious, goodness me ! " said 1 ; " and
Grandpa 's got to pay a fine to get his own cows out
ON THE WAV TO THE POUND.
"I don't believe it, at all," said Dot. "They
Just wanted to scare us and get even with us."
Although we hurried so, it was late when we got
home. We were afraid that supper would be all
over, and Aunt Jane would scold us for being late.
But though the table was set, and Grandpa was
home from work, no one had sat down to it.
" Been waiting for the milk," said Aunt Jane.
of the pound ? Oh dear ! I do hope Sarah .Spicer
wont find out about it."
Dot and I did n't go to Mrs. Green's for pears
that night, I can tell you. Instead, we went to bed
an hour earlier than usual ; but Sarah Spicer
does n't know anything about it ; and after Aunt
Jane went down-stairs. Dot and I had a real good
time playing angel.
596
THE WITCH-TRAP.
[JlNE
THE WINGS OF THINGS.
Bv Katharine Hanson.
As Molly sat by her mother,
She heard of some curious things,
For one lady said to another :
"Yes, money has certainly wings."
'Oh, has it?" thought little Molly,
" I never knew that before ! "
And, questioning, looked at her dolly.
Who calmly sat on the floor.
Then entered a breathless caller.
With shawl hanging quite unpinned ;
Lest a thunder-storm should befall her,
She had come "on the wings of the wind.'
'I u-onder where she would leave them,"
Thought Molly, and looked about ;
From the window she could n't percei\e them —
They had flown right along, no doubt.
Two facts quite reconciled Molly
To this confusion of things :
She was safely tied to her dolly.
And her mamma had no wings.
THE WITCH -TRAP.
By Felix L. Oswald.
"There she is!" cried Bennie Ruan. "She
was in that patch behind the mulberry-tree when
I saw her first ; but I am going to cover the patch
with that big fish-net of Father's, so that she can
not rob us any more."
"Oh, it 's not about the pine-apples I mind," ex-
claimed Mrs. Ruan, "but her wickedness is enough
to make anybody cry ! — the miserable witch!"
" What witch ? " I asked. " Who is it ? "
"There she is again!" cried Bennie, before
anybody could answer my question. " I believe I
heard her chattering near the big fig-tree ! "
We all ran out on the porch, Mrs. Ruan with a
kitchen-knife, Bennie's brother Carlos with a stick,
and his sick father with his crutch. They were
poor Mexican farmers and had no fire-arms. On
the porch, Martin, an old negro servant, was husk-
ing corn, but when the boys ran toward the fig-
tree, he got up and followed me into the garden.
"What is all this about?" I asked him, as we
reached the orchard. The old negro put his finger
to his mouth, to enjoin silence, but when we got
behind the copse of currant bushes, he stopped
and began to chuckle.
" Well, sir, to de best ob my knowledge, it 's
nothing but a common monkey." said he.
" What monkey ? "
" De witch, as dey call her. Dere wuz a Miss
Gonzales used to live down in Benyamo, an' dey
tried to arrest her for witchcraft, and she has been
missin' ever since. Dey hev got a notion dat she
changed herself into a monkey — de one dat 's
robbin' us all de time. Hush ! Here comes that
boy Carlos."
"Come over this way. Doctor," whispered Car-
los— " we shall have some fun now; she 's at the
lower end of the corn field, right where my father
put up the trap. Father is behind the mulberries
back there. Take care — we must keep on this side
of the trees, where she can not see us."
The old farmer was sitting on a wheelbarrow
behind a clump of leafy mulberry-trees, while his
wife was peeping through the branches.
"There are four or five in the weeds, over yon-
der," said she; "they are near the trap right now."
"The witch, too?" 1 asked.
" Yes, sir," said the farmer — "she 's somewhere
in the corn field."
" Where 's the witch ? " asked Bennie.
"Keep still," whispered his mother. "There
she is now, at the end of the fence there ; look ! do
you see her red necklace? Here she comes ! She 's
going for the trap. "
I could see her, too. \ lean, long-legged capuchin
monkey, with a sort of red collar around her neck,
went skipping along the fence till she reached the
top of the corner rail, where she stopped, and rose
on her hind legs to get a view of the field. Find-
ing the coast clear, she hopped down and slipped
behind a pile of boards at the end of the furrow.
iS8}.J
r in; w rr c 1 1 - r k a v .
597
"Oh, Father!" cried Carlos, "quick, quick I
Let 's get the dog ! She 's coming this way — I saw
her just now in the melon patch."
" Here 's de dog," said the negro. " Come on
— if he does n't get her, she knows more about
witchcraft than I do. Let 's head her off."
Our plan was to take the dog to the lower end
of the orchard, where he could intercept the witch
on her way to the high timber, while Carlos was
w*^?H
o
MOMENT TOO 1_'\TH."
to watch her
movements from
behind the bake-
house, to let us know
when wc ought to slip
the dog. The farmer was
too lame to join us, but his wife brought with her
a club and a twisted rattan.
" 1 '11 teach her manners, if wo catch hor," said
she, with a flourish of her weapons.
We had already reached the outskirts of the
wood, and passed the first tall trees, without any
signal from Carlos ; but when we were in the act of
climbing the fence a little below the log-trap, the
farmer on the porch gave a great shout, and, at
the same moment, we saw the capuchin dash out
of the melon patch, with Carlos at her heels. He
was driving her straight toward us, and through
the middle of the corn field, when the dog suddenly
broke away before Uncle Martin could grab him.
He had caught sight of her and she of him, for
she turned sharp around, passed Carlos like a flash,
and disappeared in the copse of currant bushes.
In the next second, the dog reached the thicket,
but while he was racing up and down with his nose
on the ground, the sly
witch slipped out at the
other end, and made a
break for the high lim-
Ijer. Our shouts and yells
brought the dog on her
track, and, spying her in
the open field, he came
sweeping down the furrow
like the wind, and went
over the fence w^ith a fly-
r 4,i; ing leap, but a moment
^^ too late. The capuchin
had reached the first tree,
and mocked him with
chattering grimaces from
a height of si.\tcen feet.
"Just look at her!"
laughed Uncle Martin.
" She 's too smart for us,
ma'am."
" Yes, she has fooled
us again," groaned Mrs.
Ruan. " Oh, what a
shameful crime is witch-
craft ! "
"Too bad, "said I. "It
seems these monke\s bother you
all day, madam ? "
'■ Yes, Doctor, she keeps worrying me from
morning till night ; yesterday evening we had to
turn out at half-past seven to drive her out of the
orchard. Just think of that ! Getting on top of a
tree at that time of the day — a person in her cir-
cumstances ! She has n't the least bit of self-
respect, sir."
When we returned to the cottage yr.rd, Mrs.
Ruan's eldest daughter came running out of a side
building. "Oh, Mamma," cried she, "Miss
C.onzales was in our bakehouse last night!"
" Why, what has she been about, now?"
"Cook made a dozen dough-dumplings," said
the girl, " and there are only ten left, now. They
were covered up in a dish on the oven-bench, and
Bennic says he never came near the oven, and I 'm
sure I did n't, either, so it must have been Miss
("lonzalcs. "
"Oh, the wretch ! Oh, mercy, what shall we do
598
THE WITCH -TRAP.
[June
about it ? This must be stopped, somehow ! Why,
she is robbing us night and day ! "
"What!" cried the farmer, "you do not be-
lieve that she would eat raw dough, do you ? "
" Oh, you do not know her yet," wailed the
good wife ; " there 's nothing too wicked for her —
nothing too wicked. A person that will resort to
witchcraft is capable of anything. "
" Why don't you borrow a gun and shoot her?"
I asked.
"Bless you, no, sir!" said the farmer; "they
would discharge me right off."
" Who would?"
"The gentlemen in the convent, sir; all this
land belongs to their game-preserve, and they do
not permit their tenants to use any kind of fire-
arms."
"Oh, Doctor," said Mrs. Ruan, "could n't you
be kind enough to send us some kind of a charm —
a witch-charm, I mean ? We would pay you the
full value of it, and be ever so much obliged to
you. If you say so, we can send Uncle Martin
along, and pay you the next time you "
"Never mind," I interrupted, "but let me tell
you what 1 can do. I will see Mr. Cardenas, and
borrow his American steel-trap for you."
" Will that do any good against a witch ?" said
the farmer, doubtfully.
" Indeed it will, senor," said Uncle Martin. " I
saw them catch wolves and bears with such traps
down in Texas, and a witch does n't know more
than a cinnamon bear does, I don't care how smart
she is."
" It will cripple her if she puts her foot in," 1
added. " Judge Cardenas lives somewhere out in
the country, and I shall have to hunt up a guide
in San Juan to find his place, or 1 would get you
the trap before night."
"Judge Cardenas? You mean Judge Pedro
Cardenas?" asked the negro. "Well, seiior, you
need n't go very far for a guide, den : he lives on
dis side of de river, an' I can take you to his place
in about three-quarters of an hour. Start now,
ef you say so, sir ? "
" Yes, let 's go right now," I said; " we should n't
find him at home after three o'clock. Come on."
We passed the convent hill and a thicket of tali-
pot-palms, and then entered a caucho grove. The
tropical forests are strangely quiet during the noon-
tide heat ; every living thing seeks the shade, and
even the parrots sit under the thick foliage, or hide
in hollow trees, like owls, and do not stir till the
day cools off. The air was so still that we could
hear the buzz of a gnat, and the rustling of the
small lizards that skipped from tree to tree through
the dry leaves, but when we entered the caucho
grove we suddenly heard a piercing scream from
the depth of the woods — a curious shrill and long-
drawn screech, like the yell of a big tomcat, and
soon after the deep-mouthed bark of a hunting-
dog.
" Listen 1 That 's Mr. Cardenas's deer-hound,"
said the old negro. " The judge must be some-
where in that thicket down there. Let 's hail
liim."
Our call was answered by a loud halloo from a
wooded glen on our right, and, before long, a
hunter stepped from the thicket, and waved his hat
when he recognized us.
" Hello, Judge," I called out, " what 's the
matter — have you been cat-hunting on that creek
down there ? "
" No, 1 was hunting pheasants," cried the Judge,
'■ and what do you suppose I caught ? "
" What was it — a wild-cat ? "
'" No, no," said he. " Come along — I '11 show
\ou ; it takes three witnesses to prove it."
" My wood-choppers captured a sloth this morn-
ing," said the judge, as we walked toward the
ravine — "a big black sloth — a 'bush-lawyer,' as
the Indians call them. They tied him to the
stump of a tree, and what do you suppose I found,
when 1 came out to fetch him ? Here we are !
Just look at this happy family ! "
The old sloth lay on his back, near the stump
where the wood-choppers had left him, but in his
claws he held the strangest animal I ever saw in
my life — a black, hairy little brute, about the
shape of a young bear, but with a big tail that
turned and twisted left and right like a snake.
" What in the world do you call that? " 1 asked
— "a monkey or an overgrown squirrel ? "
" No, it 's a honey-bear," laughed the judge —
•' a kinkayou, as we call them. Just look up
— there 's half a dozen of them in that tree ! "
On a catalpa-trec, near the stump, a whole fam-
ily of the strange long-tails were eating their
dinner, not in the least disconcerted by our pres-
ence, as it seemed, though two of them eyed us,
with outstreched necks, as if they desired us to
explain the purpose of our visit.
I stepped back to get a better look at them.
They had snouts and paws like fat young bears,
but in their movements they reminded me of a
North American opossum ; they could hang by
their tails and use them as rope-ladders in lower-
ing themselves from branch to branch. Now and
then, one or two of them came down to take a
look at their captive comrade, but the least move-
ment of the old sloth would send them scainper-
ing up the tree with squeals of horror.
" That lawyer of yours has taken the law into
his own hands," said I.
" Yes, I suspect those little imps kept fooling
1 882.)
THE WITCH -TRAP.
599
"ON A CATALPA-TRKE A WHOLE
FAMILV OF THE STRANGE LONG-TAILS WERE EATING THEIR DINNER.
6oo
THE WITCH -TRAP.
[June,
with him until he grabbed one of them," said the
judge. " Let 's set that thing free, or he will
squeeze it to death."
The old sloth held his prisoner as a spider holds
a fly, encircling him completely with his long-
clawed legs, and while the captive mewled and
snarled, the captor uttered grunts that sounded
like inward chuckles. It needed our combined
efforts to unclasp his long grappling-hooks, and
we were afraid the prisoner would die before we
could liberate him, but as soon as his feet touched
the ground, he bounced up the tree as if the fell
fiends were at his heels.
" That fellow wont forget the day of the month,''
laughed the judge; "he will know better than to
meddle with a lawyer the next time."
I explained to the judge that we had come to
borrow his trap, and he told Uncle Martin to go
and fetch it.
" Well, Judge, I 'm much obliged to you," said
the old negro, " but I guess we had better try dis
four-legged trap first. You may call her Miss
Gonzales or whatever you like, but if dis here
lawyer would n't squeeze de witchcraft out of her,
we might as well give it up for a bad job. Why,
I could hardly get his claws off at all; I nexcr
saw the like before."
" It 's only the old males of the black variety
that will do that," explained the judge; "the
brown ones are almost helpless, if you turn them
over on their backs. Well, 1 must go along and
see the fun," said he, "but if you catch that
monkey, please do not kill her; if she can dance,
I should like to take her home, and let my chil-
dren make a pet of her."
The afternoon was far advanced ; so when we
reached the farm, all hands were promptly set
to work to get the witch-trap ready without loss
of time.
Near the log-trap, and just below the place where
the monkeys used to cross the fence, we drove
four short stakes into the ground and fastened the
old sloth securely, but in a way that did not inter-
fere with the upward and sideward movement of
his arms and legs. All around him we strewed
the ground with raisins and bits of bread, and
Mrs. Ruan added a large slice of ginger-cake,
which we fastened on a separate stake behind the
living trap.
" We might as well try a wood-lawyer, since the
other lawyer would n't help us," Mrs. Ruan told
me. " Here 's my neighbor, Mrs. Lucas, she
knows a recipe for curing such hags : You must
make them drink a quart of boiling pepper-sauce,
with sulphur and garlic. I 've got a potful on
the stove there, and if we catch her, she will ha\-e
to swallow every drop of it. I '11 hold her nose
and make her do it. Yes, sir, witchcraft must be
suppressed."
" Here, Carlos, you take this ax," said his
father, "go to the wood-shed, and make all the
noise you can. That witch has a way of turning
up as soon as she hears us chopping wood," he
added. " I suppose she calculates that we can't
watch her as long as we are hard at work."
Mr. Ruan then tied the dog to the bed-post, the
good wife went to the bakehouse, and the rest of us
marched to the south corner of the garden, where
llnclc Martin posted us behind a clump of banana-
trees.
Carlos, in the wood-shed, kept up a noise as if a
company of lumbermen were at work with axes
and cudgels, and, before long, the judge tapped
me on the shoulder and pointed to the farther end
of the fence. " There 's one now," said he — "a
raccoon or a young monkey."
" Hold on ! Dat 's de witch herself," whispered
L'ncle Martin. " 1 can see her now — she 's peep-
ing over de top rail. Dere she comes — do you
see her collar? "
The old capuchin took a good look at the trap,
and then raised herself to her full length and
surveyed the garden silently and carefully. Some-
how, the prospect did not seem satisfactory, for
instead of jumping down, she jogged along the
top rails to the next corner and peered about the
field once more. The coast seemed clear, and,
after a last furtive glance in the direction of the
cottage, the old marauder leaped down and disap-
peared in the weeds. Was she going to content
herself with corn-ears ? She could not possibly
have overlooked the tidbits near the trap.
No, she had n't, nor forgotten them neither, for,
tu(i minutes later, she re-appeared at the right
place, took up a piece of bread, e.\amined it care-
fully, and then ejed the prostrate sloth with e\i-
dent surprise.
" She does n't know what to make of all that,"
whispered the farmer.
" She will find it out mighty suddenly, if she
aint kerful," chuckled Uncle Martin. " De lawyer
is getting ready for her."
The "witch" approached the trap with great
caution, peeped under the boards, smelled them,
and looked thoughtfully in the direction of the
cottage.
" What if it should be some new trick? Mon-
keys can not be too careful nowadays — farmers are
so cunning; that poor fellow on his back, there,
seems to have fallen a victim to their wiles," she
appeared to be saying to herself
She tapped his head and stole a look at his face.
The lawyer never budged. She went around
and examined him from the other side. " Where
i883.]
THE WITCH-TkAl'
601
did he come from? Is he dead? Why docs n't
he try to get away ? "
The lawyer hi)' low.
" A queer customer ! How did he get fast
there, anyhow ? What keeps him down ? " She
nosed around the strings, scrutinized the stakes,
and tried to step over the corpse, or whatever it
might be, in order to acquaint herself with the
interior mechanism of this novel kind of trap.
Perhaps she imagined it would take her only a
moment, but in that moment the four arms
clasped her like the fangs of a steel-trap, and a
horrified screech announced the success of our
stratagem. The lawyer had her.
Uncle Martin started ofl" with a whoop, the boys
H
THE TRAP.
broke from the cottage with a simultaneous rush,
and, a second after, the population of the farm
galloped toward the trap, like race horses on the
home stretch.
When the witch saw us come, the recollection
of her sins made her redouble her shrieks and
struggles, but she might as well have tried to
break out of a straight-jacket and a pair of iron
handcuffs: the old sloth neither stirred nor made
the slightest noise, but held her with the merciless
grip of a boa constrictor. Before we liberated her.
Uncle Martin slipped a stout leather strap through
her collar, fastened it with a triple knot, and
opened a big linen flour-bag, to have it ready for
use. When we got her free, she leaped backward
with a sudden jerk, but finding she could not
break the strap, the poor creature crept into the
sack of her own accord, glad to get out of sight
at any price; but in the bottom of the bag we
could hear her teeth chatter with fear, as if she
expected every moment to be pulled out and shot.
" We have got her!" Mrs. Kuan called to the
cook, who had watched us from the porch. " Run.
Carlotta ! Cet the pepper-sauce ready ! "
" 1 believe she is going to burn her alive,"
laughed the farmer, who had hobbled out with the
help of a crutch.
"No, no, my friends; that would never do,"
said Mr. Cardenas. "You can not burn a witch
that still has the form of a monkey — it would be
cruelty to animals, and that 's against the law."
" You hear that ? " said the farmer. " The judge
is right; we must n't get ourselves into trouble.
We 'd better sell her, or set her free on the other
side of the river; witches can not swim, you know,
so she would never get across the Rio Lerma."
"No, sir; that would n't do, neither." said the
judge. "She can not be permitted to run at
large. We must teach her a useful trade, and keep
her locked up for the rest of her hfe."
"That's right! Lock her up and keep her
hard at work, the miserable huzzy ! " cried Mrs.
Ruan, shaking her fist at the bag.
"Yes," said the judge; "but she must n't be
maltreated, and I '11 see if I can take her to board
in my family. Look here, my friends, suppose I
pay you four dollars for the damage she has
caused you, and engage that she shall bother you
no more ? Will that be satisfactory ? "
" Why, certainly," said the fanner. " I am
much obliged to you, Judge."
" You are kind, sir," said Mrs. Ruan ; " Ijut "
"But — what?"
" Step this way, sir, please," said Mrs. Ruan,
with an uneasy glance at the bag. " I want to
talk to you privately, where that creature can not
overhear us." Then, stepping aside with the judge,
she whispered : " You know more about law busi-
ness than we do, but I must warn you that you
must keep your eye on her. And it is not enough
to lock the doors — the likes of her find other ways
of escape. If they get hold of a broom, they make
a rush for the nearest chimney, and off they go,
whistling before the wind."
" Make your mind easy, my good woman,"
laughed the judge. " I am going to watch her
closely. The first time I catch her on a broom-
stick, I shall turn her over to the police."
602
THE MAID OF HONOR.
[June,
aUWu
Iky Yy^l^O^^^^'
isH^ WAS plNNI Na -THl^ TABJ.6-
PcJwOTH jASr TO THi JLlN^,
UHl^NACKpSSTK^ Qar^N ^
OV^R^TH^ Cl-OTH^S,
Hnd SNipp^^D ofK "TWft "T'P OF
)^^J?OR^, yOu'D HAV^ SAID, IT
J*J ^ WOULD S.Ua^)vy B^
AN iMpROVI^AA^NT; BUT ATT^R^
.vi^AR^ — OH.D^AF^ /nE.'
TH^ }<iNa.^l,AUC;H^D HARD k. TH^
/ V (ju^^N V-auGhCd^too,
\a/hil^ th^ P°9,^yyVAiD OV
k ONOR^C KJJD '^ y;(^HAr SHA Ut. I DO?'
"Rut xH^y toj^d h^R^to Go to th^
/^ V/jJ^H iNTH^V/OOD,
r °^ SHi^ Q Know how to cur^
.A / H^R^i)? AWy ON^ COULD.
■H-A^-^^'. so youV^ lost thi$
-AA-AA
|D TH5 Witch .""^Co To
LkOShj^n,(Sc STAy riLi. it cf^ws,'
e;iD
Q) r:
[.jiTH A pAlNT^D J?AN Si A pARASOL
^Nd A GOWN ^MBR^ID&R^^D WITH
n GOLD STORXS all,
n NO AN OLD/^OTH^R^ HuBDAR^^
iV C).OaK AROUND H(;R^,-
"T^HAT V^ASTH^ WAy SH^ LOCKUP
lust ABOUT NOON
r^i Of^^ DAy IN e)uN^,
V_yN TH^ OJ-D,OJ-D -ROAD TO (>OSK^/vl .
I 883.]
TlIK MAID OK HONOR.
603
\flK ^^ TH^ WA/ To Qc^'i/?'^
fHAV^ SoUQVtr IT K^AK^ Sl HAV^ souCsHT \J a/AR^
^a /^e TMC WA/ 70 (^SH^^t/'^'^
\0L. IX.— 39.
6o4
THE MAID OF HONOR.
(June,
7;
' 'y\k s/Aiu^B & H^ SIGHED 8a ni shook' his H^AD.
.^^'t V/O^Vs^^ 0^^ TH^ RIGHT PvOAD", H^ THOUCMT;fULL.y SAID .
,./ ^C'k-^Q/ 'PwUr WH^tJ SH^ THANKED HiM &i Kg^S^ TO GO,"
/t^^ /0\ HURRy>" H^ SAip^^^soUy^ofB^i
OVs/ALK^SkOW
N THIS 9U^^R^ OLD RQAI
/ad^N ^WITH Sc^NT Oy N^w-
, -^ rnov/iJ HAV. ' / , ,.
J \J\^^^\ BR^^Zy ,fRAG.RA.hlT, B(/UJTlfyL l^M!
TO
^TH^ BRJ^DQ^ WH^Rd TH^ RiV^R^I^l^W^D
'Sparkling , across th^ na/ay of th^^r^ad '
0 N By TH^ -Riyi^R-ZA^A D OWS A-i-»&HT > ' J
(l)lTH daisies SwAVlNa TH^II\ -^[f'':)^-/^ y'j
j^ CROwrvJS oj \X/HIT^j,"='
SofTi,y, HAp[3ILy,TO &: fRO ,
TilU TH^ MEADOWS S^^AA^D A\ASS^S
^ oy v/AviHa snow! .-— ^.^-t^t:
^,TH^ SUNNy , ROW ^R- STREWN
]3^\f CCT RpAD !
' '^ "'"' OLD ROAD TO
t\ I i
iil
5tr
Jl«/I l-w
pLUTT^RfLl^S HOV^RINQ tH^^*«^TH^R|
/cyjiXe riow^Rs cur U)^t^Rp/v\
TH^IR^ ST(MS Ihl TH( AIR^, '
^(S HUAAAmHCn ^ BUZZiNa TO &,yKP,
IRDS GHlRplNG &. TWITTERING '
SOJ:t ^ kOW,
\riu)as SurJSiHG th((^s^
Ji -JL_ TH^ BRpoK;c?
^JTTU R^D SC^UIRRiLST;
p^- TO kooK^ /-
H,TH^
(uNning
11/ ^ M ; -ROV/D^D
LOV^Ly OLD R5Ab|T0(j^<N|
THK MAID OF HONOR.
605
1
■^IRyT^IDS CHURJfJiriG TH^^i^LLOW
0" ' ' C(^A^
\r\ STKl?ArA >
H^Aj^^S r^bbimCk th^ soxid old
0 TABLES V/ITH WAX
P^Cf^ONlKC OlD SorlcS AS TH^y
C^ Spuri THllR FLA^,
HiUDf^^N Hi/NTiNCv^ Wild Stra.w-
STRA.W-
' BURROS ALUTH^ yi^DS OV^K^ ,
"YaI^^R^S RAKihlC (S- HEApiNC TH15
H,TH15 ROAD V^Hi^R.11 AU- Wi(r4 §^t7-N
Oeusy &i CAy! ^-y , <i/
H,7fie: ipvHuy o),d r^d to(.o5h^n !
\ysyiTH SALT-A\^AD0WS STR,<TCHJH^C or/ ^ITH^R^ HANdJ^/'^^
"R I a Hr ACROSS THP; v/Avi - ~'->^r^!l^^^;^^'fc
'^ THAT k^D To(a3MS;K! > /# 1>2<. cI./t*-
'6?
^OSH^ TooK^A SHipTHAT
^ WAS l./)Wc TH^R.^ ,
/yJd sailed on, STia
"•^ y SEARCH I rJa ^R/WH^R^
yolR TH& RpAD THAT HAD
/ ^NDI^D TH^R^AT TK^
|h6
|h6 kOY^Ly OJ,D ROAD
THAT-U^D^O QbSHfilN I
\
?:
'■'All-
?
6o6
THK MAID «iF HONOR.
[June,
/
'/
['"■r
M--
^-■^"LE-—
ID SHl^^l^V^R^ G^T TH^P4 ? How CAN I SAy
7
)^'
m
SH^ K'<Y^R CA/A^ ,BACK^ again, ANVWAy,
|UTTH^'';0JAT5'R^CJirCH WITH A STiyflSK BJ^^Z^ ^
OSaiLIjVg AVpT^a THROUGH /oRjH^^ S?AS ,
A/n^ OK A CUR^US CRAVr OT^^DAV.
At tH)^ pARTl^/'a. o^r 7x^ WAys it \^y
JqA IHi Top oy A WA/1^,V/(TH Ati. SAII, S^T ,
rv\AiD o)r HoNoR^ KN^gr o/j o;^^ kK^^
, O^^ TH^V^lty Top oy TH$ to)0-gaiXant tr^ ,
P^l) DO^n JROtA yHAT height. THROUdK THl^ AMSry AlF^,
v;'^^ A VOlciJ liK'lS: A, SU;><e^AM BRIGHT & CK'kAH^
T '"'"Ah ^ VAt^r^ VvItch
IS TH^ H'C^^^T KoAD TO (j^^5hi^yiV
oof^ OiJ3 (a)3TA|;/! H^ DIDN'T >^OW,
I^LTT H^ WAV^D HIS HaWd toward /Vl^xiCO^
^0(
kOWj
VAoat^d )3Ac><^1,iK1^ a )a^RKuME THRgUCH Th^ aiR^,
_j!/-1s,VVITH SAII^ SHOWlr/G CREy 'gaiJx/st THt; CRl/ASO^^S^<y,
It-It SHip WITH TH^ A\AIDM Sw^)3T HIA\ B/,
r)ovv/>l TVI^ BILIJ? C^'vy^ RtK^AM with Al^i, SAll, S^'T.
AJ^D J^\UCH I f^ARj^THOOGH j K'^^OW ;soT WHV,
r\ "F*^^)90°R /^AIP Oy HOr/o)^ )S SAiUH'a y^T
QK THAT WA-jtRy Road to (^osh^nJ
7^^ ^/p.
i882.]
DESIGNS FOR L 11' T L E AKTISI'S.
607
AF^
4fMtK
'V
DESIGNS FOR LITTLE ARTISTS TO COPY.
THE WHIRLIGIG CLUB.
By L. a. B.
The Whirligig Club had been in existence more
than two months, and the citizens of West Ridge,
one and all, had several times called it a nuisance,
although they could not help smiling with admira-
tion at the boys as they whizzed past the houses
and street-corners on their " bikes."
.\s for the mothers and sisters of the mcmljcrs,
they had gradually become reconciled to it, and
were no longer in hourly expectation of having the
youngsters brought home insensible on shutters or
cellar-doors, nor in dread of having to reach out
and pick them off the iron fence, on the sharp
points of which they had seemed detennined to
impale themselves at first, so wildly had their
uninanagcable steeds wabbled about.
Johnny had just joined the ranks. He had been
an honorary member ever since the Club started ;
but now, the ownership of a machine made him at
once a most actixe working member.
It was a proud day for Johnny when he found
himself the possessor of a bicycle. He was a favor-
ite with all the " Whiriigiggers," so, when he came
into view, mounted on his new "steed," the group
greeted him with a hearty cheer, and he was taken
into full membership on the spot.
" It 's even taller than mine, too," said Hob, as
they all gathered around to admire it ; and he said
it so unselfishly that Johnny inwardly resolved to
be his friend as long as he lived ; for Bob had
until now enjoyed the distinction of having the
largest bicycle in the Club.
"We ought to do something to celebrate his
initiation," said Frank, after each member had
taken a trial trip on the new machine, and ex-
pressed an opinion on the working-powers.
"We must have a grand ride all together,
some day soon," suggested Bob.
This proposal met with instant favor, and re-
ceived the approbation of the entire Club ; but
when Joe suggested that they should go at night,
and that nobody should know a word about it,
some demurred. The proposal was rather start-
ling. But the more they talked it over, the bet-
ter they liked it ; and even those who had at first
6o8
THE WHIRLIGIG CLUB.
[June,
objected, came at length to the conclusion that it
was the one proper way to have a celebration. So
the Club stifled any whisperings of conscience
about the propriety of going without leave, and
unanimously declared the matter settled.
It took a great deal of talking to arrange the de-
tails of the plan ; but it was finally decided that
they should go out on the Mill road, and then
cross over and come in on the West road, and that
Thursda)- evening, at ten o'clock, would
be the best time for the start.
Johnny and Ned, because the windows
of their rooms were not adapted to a silent
departure, were to get permission to spend
the night with Bob and Joe, who possessed
windows opening upon low roofs, which
made a cjuiet exit easy. They were to
meet at the cross-roads a little before ten,
and to start as near that hour as possible.
When the evening came, the roads were
found to be all that the most exacting bi-
cycler could ask. Joe and Ned were the
first at the place of rendezvous, but they
had not long to wait until all the others
came speeding up to them, either singly or
in pairs.
" Call the roll ! " said Hen, as the last
two rolled into the circle — for the Club,
although it numbered only seven members,
never started on any expedition without
attending to this important duty.
" Ned Alvin, Johnny Ellis, Joe Caddis,
Frank Long, Ben Webster, Davie Faxton,"
called Bob Gridley, just above a whisper,
and so rapidly that the owner of a name
had barely time to answer before the next
was called.
" Now we 're ready," added Bob ; and
on the instant the entire seven mounted
their machines, and as Bob, who was leader
for the evening, blew three notes softly on
his whistle, away they flew.
Their place of meeting had been just on
the edge of the town, and a few minutes'
ride took them past the last house and
out upon the country road.
They had not gone half a mile when two
notes from Bob's whistle made them slacken
speed, and, as they drew up in a group
around him, BoIj suggested that when they
came to the Mill road, which was only a
little way ahead, they should turn off, and go
around by Long Pond. The proposal took away
their breath ; but finally Davie found enough to
exclaim : "Why, that is fully an eight-mile trip ! "
" What is eight miles? " asked Bob ; " there is
n't one of us but can do it. To be sure, it is a
little farther than we ever have been, but of course
we can make it."
"But how long will it take?" "More than
twice as far ! " " There '11 be a hill to go over,"
came from several members at once. But these ob-
jections were followed by an instantaneous " Let 's
go, any way," from the entire Club. .-Xnd they
filed into line again.
The road was smooth, and away they glided.
■'"-^^f'^
"they all gathered around to admire it."
Bol] leading and the others following, two and
two. Their course laj- straight ahead for a few
paces, and then they turned squarely to the right,
and on again. The moon was shining brightly, and
hundreds of stars twinkled down on them through
the tree-tops which leaned over the road. It was
Till-; wiiikmgk; ci.ld.
609
just the evening for such a trip. They did not
stop a minute to rest, but wheeled industriously
on, sometimes in single file, when the road was
not so good, then again two and three abreast.
Many a clear, boyish laugh and Umd halloo echoed
through the woods.
Johnny and Bob regaled them with the air
of '' Row, brothers, row," sung to words like :
"Wheel, brothers, wheel; the night goes fast.
The rond is long and the bridge not p.ist,"
which was received with much admiration by the
other members, although the singers' voices were
rather gaspy, owing to their being somewhat out
of breath from a short race.
" Let 's stop at the split-oak for lunch," called
Frank, who was in the rear.
" All right ! " came from the others, and they
made their wheels spin until they came to the split-
oak, full five miles from their starting-point.
There the brigade stopped ; the " bikes " were
stood up against trees, and the boys settled down
in a grassy place by the oak, where the moonlight
«as brightest, and where they applied themselves
vigorously to demolishing the cheese and crackers
which they had brought with them.
" Say, boys, do you know it 's almost twelve ? "
said Joe, lookingat his watch, which was the pride
of his heart. The bright moonlight shone full on
its face, and left no doubt of the time.
" Well, we ought to start," said Ned. " We 'vc
been nearly half an hour eating our lunch and
talking."
" I tell you, boys, we have got to make pretty
good time the rest of the way," said Johnny, as
each rider brought up his steed and prepared to
mount.
" Oh, we can easily be home in an hour and a
half; we did n't start until after ten, and the oak
is more than half-way," said Bob.
The road lay straight for the next mile ; then
came the hill, up which the Whirligiggers found
it much the easier plan to walk. On the other side,
the hill sloped by an easy grade to the foot, where
the road crossed the pond by a long bridge. So
they mounted again at the top, and made a quick
run to the bottom, their speed increasing every
moment, until, when they reached the foot, they
were going so fast that they rushed across the
planked bridge with a rumbling like distant
thunder.
The Club was at length beginning to feel the
effects of the unusually long ride ; and, as the
party came to the railway, Ben said :
" Let 's rest here until the expresses pass."
'■ Agreed ! " said Bob. " W'hat time is it, Joe ? "
"After one — ten minutes after. It must be
time for the train now," he answered, looking down
the track.
The up-express was due at fifteen minutes after
one, and the down-express at almost the same
hour, but they seldom were on time. In a few-
minutes the trains would surely pass the spot
where the boys now were, and they thought the
sight worth waiting for, because the trains were
through expresses, and always dashed along as if
speed was the only thing cared for.
The boys agreed to wait. Two of them stretched
themselves on the ground by the side of the
wagon-road, and the others sat around on logs,
glad to take a breathing spell, as Joe called it.
" I say,"said Davie, suddenly," the railway would
be a splendid place for our machines to run on."
" So it would," said Bob. " The places between
the ties have been filled and packed, and so many
people use it as a foot-path, that it 's as smooth
and solid as a floor."
Just then, the up-express came whistling and
roaring along the track, and dashed past them at
tremendous speed, raising clouds of dust, twigs,
and dry grass. The boys held their breath as the
monster swept by them, without slackening speed
even to cross the long bridge over the creek and
the trestle-work beyond.
And then followed a strange crashing sound, as
of earth and rocks rolling down-hill ; but soon all
was still again.
"Where are you going, now?" asked Ben, as
Johnny and Ned suddenly Jumped up, moved by
the same impulse.
" To see how the track will do for our ' bikes,'"
answered Johnny, as they trundled their machines
toward the railway.
Bob had his mouth wide open to suggest that
all the Club should follow, when a startled call
from Johnny, echoed by one from Ned, caused
ihem to rush down to where the two boys were.
Their faces turned as pale as were Johnny's and
Ned's, when, in answer to their "What 's the
matter?" Ned pointed to a dark heap across the
track, close to the bridge. A moment's glance
showed them that one of the great rocks from the
hill, no doubt shaken loose by the train which had
Just thundered past, had rolled down upon the
track, carrying with it a mass of dirt and gravel.
The rock was so large that the boys could not
move it, although they at once tried their best.
" It 's of no use," said Joe, as they gave u]),
panting.
"We must do something: it 's time the down-
express was here, now," cried Davie.
"We must signal them in some way. If we
only had a lantern ! " cried Frank, breathlessly.
" There is no time to lose ! " cried Bob.
6io
THE WHIRLIGIG CLUB.
IJLNE,
" Hay ! " and with the word Ben and Ned were
off, and, before the others could think what they
meant, they weie back \\ith their arms full of dry
hay, from a little shed which they had remembered
seeing a short distance up the hill.
" We had better tjo beyond the fallen rock.
"the loose boards rattled as the wheels spun ovp:r them.
and then, when we see the train coming, we '11
set fire to the hay," said Joe, as they hurriedly
divided the hay into several small bundles.
They had just started up the track, when there
came a sound which made them stop. It was a
faint whistle, far away around the curve.
" The train is coming now, and, besides, our
light wont be seen from around the bend ! " cried
Xed, as the boys stood staring blankly at one an-
other, for at last they fully realized the danger.
■' Some of us must cross the bridge and signal
them from the other side of the river," said Joe.
'■ The ties are out from
some places, and we should
have to jump the gaps. Men
were setting blocks under the
rails when 1 came past there
this evening ; they were then
going to leave the gaps, and
replace the ties to-morrow,"
said Johnny.
" There wont l^e time to
climb down and up the banks,
and cross on the little foot-
bridge, nor to swing across
the gaps by holding to the
rails," said Bob, his voice
shaking as he talked.
"There were boards laid
lengthwise across. I '11 go
over on them," cried Johnny,
remembering that he had
seen men wheel gravel, from
the hill on the other side,
along the whole length of
the bridge, on a narrow path
made of two boards ; and he
determined to cross by it,
mounted on his wheel ; there
was not time for running.
"Get out all your handker-
chiefs, tie 'em together, and
put them in this pocket. Give
me some matches, Davie —
here, in my mouth. Hurry !
hurry ! " he went on, his fin-
Ljers trembling as he looped
his own handkerchief around
a bundle of hay, so as to carry
it on his arm and leave both
hands free.
" You must n't go! " "You
'11 be killed!" "You can't
cross on 'cm ! " they cried,
trying to dissuade him while
yet they went on doing as
he told them.
It was a perilous undertaking; but the need was
urgent, — not a second was to be lost ! As Johnny
reached the bridge, he felt like giving up ; but the
thought of what would happen if he should not go,
gave him fresh courage.
"Tell 'em at home that I tried to do the best I
Ill E \V 11 1 K 1.1 i; 1 G C I.U li.
6ii
could, if " he shouted, but a choke in his
voice would not let him finish. And he was oft".
The loose boards rattled and shook as the wheels
spun over them, and where the lies
were out they seemed to bend be-
neath the weight. Johnny could
hear the sound of the water far be-
low hiin, but he did not dare to
look down. When he was half-way
over, he could hear the roar of the
train as it echoed back from the
hills, and he «as almost afraid to
look toward the turn of the track,
for fear he should see the head-light
of the engine gleaming around the
cur\e.
If he could only get over in time !
Faster and f;isterspun the wheels,
and faster and faster beat Johnny's
heart, as he reached the end of the
trestle-work, and turned the bend.
The head-light of the coming
train shone bright and clear up the
track.
•'Oh, why do they go so fast?"
said Johnny to himself, as he stopped,
and leaped from his bicycle to light
his signal. He crouched down beside
the track and struck a match against
the rail ; but his hand shook so that
the head of the match flew off. The
next one burned, and he sheltered
the flame between his hands until
the hay and handkerchiefs were in
a blaze. It seemed a long time to
Johnny, but it really was only a
moment until he was up and away
again, on a run along the track,
waving the flaming bundle back
and forth.
'■ They must see it I Ves, they
are whistling. They '11 surely stop,
now ! " cried Johnny, half .aloud, still
waving the fiery signal. The flames
blew against his hand, but he was
too excited to mind the heat. The glaring eye of
the engine grew brighter and brighter. But not
until the train was close enough for him to see the
anxious face of the engineer looking out from his
window, did the brave boy jump from the track.
" They 're stopping," was the last thing he
thought, for he heard them \vhistle " down brakes,"
as he Jumped ofi" the track ; and he knew nothing
more until some men raised him in their arms and
asked him if he was hurt. Then he opened his
eyes to find his head on some one's shoulder, and
a crowd of strange faces around him.
" Here, little chap, what did you stop us for? "
asked an important man in blue uniform and brass
buttons, coming up to the grouj) around Johnny.
I 1 AND AWAY AGAIN, WAVING THK FI-AMTNG UrNDI.K.
" Rock 's tumbkd down just across the bridge,"
answered Johnny, wondering why he felt so tired
and weak. " Where is my machine?" he added,
trying to look around.
The conductor looked puzzled.
" Reckon this is it," answered the engineer,
coming up with the bicycle and standing it against
a tree.
" Well, he 's a plucky chap, sure 's I 'm a-livin',
an' 1 can tell you some of us came pretty near
gettin' dished," went on the engineer, who had
been taking a view of the situation, and had
6l2
A PROBLEM.
[June,
learned from the other Whirligiggers what a nar-
row escape the train had had ; for the boys had
run swiftly across on the foot-bridge, and had now
reached the scene, out of breath from their rapid
climlj up the steep bank.
"If it had n't been for him, we 'd all 'a' been
down there," finished the engineer, with an ex-
pressive wave of his sooty hand toward the creek,
and a nod to the crowd of passengers.
Johnny did not hear the words of explanation
and praise which followed, for when the conductor
tried to help him to his feet, he fainted away again.
■' Let me see — I am a doctor. He has had a
rough tumble, and 1 am afraid he has broken
some bones," said a passenger, stepping forth from
the crowd.
The doctor was right ; for Jolinny's ankle was
badly sprained, and one arm had been broken by
striking against a stump as he fell.
But Johnny knew nothing more of what went
on around him, until he opened his eyes again in
his own room, in his own bed. The first thing he
saw was his mother's face bending over him, and
the first thing he heard was old Dr. Clark's voice
saying, " He '11 do now."
"I know we ought n't to have gone without
asking leave," said Johnny, at the end of a confi-
dential talk with his mother, a few days later, when
he was beginning to feel better. " 1 '11 never go
again, that way, but I 'm glad I was there then."
" I 'm not afraid of my boy breaking his prom-
ise," said his mother, "but proud as we are of
your courage, there are two kinds of bravery,
Johnny, and it may be harder for you to keep your
promise than it was to cross the bridge."
" I don't know," said Johnny, shaking his head,
doubtfully. "I was badly scared, and my heart
just thumped all the time I was going over. It 's
a good thing I practiced so much at the gymna-
sium, ancf walking beams and things, or I could
not have done it," added Johnny, hoping to recon-
cile his mother to the ruinous wear and tear his
clothes suffered from athletic performances.
It was weeks before Johnn)- was able to be out
again ; for the ankle got well slowly, and for a time
he had to use a crutch, even after his arm was well
enough for him to leave off the sling.
The members of the Club were faithful in their
visits, and came every day to see him, as soon as
he was able to have company. They brought him
all the school news, and did everything they could
think of to make the time pass more quickly.
One day, about two weeks after their e\entful
ride, a box came by express, marked "John R.
Ellis." When it was opened, there appeared a
great roll of pink cotton, and nestled snugly in
this was a solid silver cup, quaintly shaped and
daintily engraved; but what gave it its greatest
value was the inscription on the plain oval front :
"A testimonial to John R. Ellis, from the pass-
engers who owe their lives to his bravery."
A PROBLEM.
By Bessie Chandler.
Sandy and Ned were brothers ;
Ned was older than Sandy ;
And they were busy dividing
A stick of peppermint candy.
Ned was earnestly trying
To make the division true,
And he marked the place with a fish-hook.
Where the stick ought to break in two.
But, alas, for little Sandy
And his poor painstaking brother !
'T was a long and short division —
One piece longer than the other.
Ned gravely looked at the pieces
And their quite unequal length,
And he wrestled with the problem
With all his mental strength.
.And, at last, he said: "Oh, Sandy!
1 can make it come out right,
If I take the piece that 's longest,
And bite off just one bite."
Their four eyes beamed and brightened
At this plan, so very handy,
Of disposing of the problem
And distributing the candy.
So Ned ate the pieces even —
'T was the simplest way to do it ;
And he cheated little Sandy —
And they neither of them knew it!
i88>. I
l' \V I N E ( ; R A M S .
613
TorI-jhaj -"
M
''|^1y- CAT- ALAS. SHE -XArJ -Aw^y
"^^c.fv^A'y ' COME -
TWINKGRAMS.
r. \- Mrs. I-; . C . Gibson.
" Wkll, Miss Tragedy ! What 's happened
now?" exclaimed Stevie. He was busy over his
table and tool-chest in the piazza, near the library
window, where his mother sat reading the morn-
ing paper. He had stopped in his merry whistling
at his work when he had seen his sister come into
the room with a very downcast face, and, throwing
her hat on a lounge, sit down dejected beside it.
" Well, you may stop working at that trunk,"
she said. " She wont want it."
" Goldilocks not want her trunk ! What ails
her? — prostrated by the heat? — nose melted off?
— collapse from loss of saw-dust? Ho tell a fel-
low! 1 'm her uncle, you know."
" Miss Bailey has shut May up in her room, and
locked her in. I 've been over there, and Miss
Bailey says she 's got to stay there all day."
" What has the little witch done, this time ? "
"Why, coming home from school, yesterday,
she wanted me to go with her to Nelson's bird-
store, to look at the parrots and squirrels. I said
no, for 1 knew Miss Bailey would n't like it, — and
do you know, after she left me here, she went
straight to Nelson's, and staid there till the clerk
6i4
T W I X E G R A M S .
(June
brought her home at dark. He was afraid she
might get lost. Miss Bailey means to punish her.
So our fun 's all over."
" Did you see May ? " asked Stevie.
"No ; Miss Bailey would n't let me. I begged
her to let May off this time ; but, dear mc ! there
was no use in my saying anything to her."
" Suppose I go over and try," said Stevie, his
eyes twinkling. " I '11 make my best bow, you
know ; and " — turning quickly as his mother sud-
denly appeared at the door — " Mamma ! Let me
go over to Miss Bailey's, please.'"
"Mamma! Would you go yourself?" asked
Gracie, pleadingly. " We can't take our new dolls
with us on Wednesday, unless we finish their things
to-day. They have n't enough to go visiting with."
" Gracie, I don't like to ask Miss Bailey not to
punish May. She 's an unmanageable little thing,
and a great charge. She 's been perfectly spoiled
at her grandmother's while her father was abroad ;
allowed to stay home from school whenever she
liked, and to grow up an ignoramus. She does n't
know what obedience is, and it is best she should
learn it. Miss Bailey is strict, but she is kind,
and it 's May's own fault if she has to be shut in.
But I '11 go over and ask if you may take your
work and stay with her, if you like. Will that do ? "
" No, Mamma, it would n't. I have to show
May so much about sewing, and it takes time: and
we could never finish without my little machine:
besides "
"Stevie, what in the world ails you ?" inter-
rupted his mother. "Are you in pain? — and
what are you upsetting all those boxes for? "
" Oh, I was spoiling for the chance to put in a
word," said Stevie. "There 's an idea got hold
of me, and it 's tearing me all to pieces. Now
Gracie, look here: all you 've got to do is to run
up to your room, and get to work as soon as >ou
please. Leave all the rest to me. 1 '11 have you
and May fixed in no time."
" What do you mean ?" asked Gracie, wondering.
But Stevie was hurriedly poking into the recep-
tacles in his tool-chest. "I mean," he said —
"1 mean to set up a line of communication be-
tween the outposts. I 'm going to work a charm
for the princess in prison (here is n't twine
enough, either) — Gracie, does Miss Bailey go
into the kitchen, mornings? Does she keep in the
back part of the house, doing things? "
"Yes; why?"
" Is May's room the one over the porch, «ith
the wistaria round it ? "
"Yes; why?"
" Stevie ! What arc you going to do ? " asked his
mother. " I can't have any mischief going on,
you know — any annoyance to Miss Bailey."
"No, Mamma, indeed," said the lad, feeling in
one pocket after another. " 1 would n't do Miss
Bailey the least harm in the world, and 1 'm only
going to comfort May's little soul and keep her
from crying her eyes out "
He emptied his pockets inside out, and began
selecting some small change from the miscellany
usual in such depositories.
"Five, seven, nine," he murmured. "Mamma,
lend me ten cents on next week's allowance? — Oh,
please, do ! "
"Tell me what you want it for?"
"Oh, 'never mind the why and wherefore,'
Mamma. There is n't a minute to spare — and
1 'm not going to do the least mischief in the
world, 1 promise you."
" 1 'm to be the judge of that, Stevie. You and
1 might not think alike about it. 1 certainly shall
not give you the money till I know what you are
planning to do with it."
"Well, then; see here," said the boy, and he
began a description to his mother and sister, illus-
trating it with various motions and gestures, which
seemed very amusing to them.
"But, after all," objected his mother, when he
had finished, "is it worth while? Perhaps 1 had
better try to get May excused this time. It will
be such a trouble, Stevie ; you wont ha\'c it ready
till noon."
"Oh, no, Mamma! Don't say a word to Miss
Bailey ! " exclaimed Gracie. " Why, we '11 be
glad May 's shut in, now. This '11 be such fun ! "
"And 1 '11 have everything ready an hour after
1 begin," urged Stevie. "Oh, thanks," he said,
taking the change his mother handed to him.
" Now, Gracie, fly up to your room, and cut out
your knife-fixings and what d' ye call 'ems. I '11 be
back in no time."
And Gracie ran gleefully upstairs, while Stevie
caught his hat and dashed out into the street. As
for Mamma, she sat reflecting a moment, and then
she put on her bonnet, and stepped quietly over to
Miss Bailey's.
In a few minutes Stevie came hurrying back to
his sister's room. He hastened to her window and
began operations there — boring two gimlet holes,
one a few inches above the other, and into these
firmly fastening two pulley-screws. " Now, 1 'm
off — to May's," he said, and was gone.
Mischievous May had flung herself down on her
bed, when Miss Bailey had locked her in, and had
cried, mightily. But this was dull business, and
did no good. Then she began to cast about for
something to do to amuse her solitude, and she
thought she would play baby-house. She was
busily engaged with her dolls, when suddenly
Goldilocks and her young lady friends tumbled
t\vink(;ram.s.
615
in a promiscuous heap, one over another. May flew to the window, hearing a familiar whistle. There
stood Stevie, looking up at her. He checked her by a rapid sign, n.s she was going to call out eagerly
in her joy, and began to climb to the roof of the porch. She watched him with wild delight, clap])ing
her hands noiselessly, till soon lie came close to where she stood.
He shook his head gravely, looking at her, and
" M.^y, May, the run.iway 1
( ;nt to slay in her room all day
"'Cause she went to see the squirrels play," added
May, laughingly, and in a loud whisper.
"Aren't you sorry.'" asked Stevie. "Will you
ever do so any more ? "
May nodded her curly he;id many limes,
roguishly. " .A.nd I wish I
had some of 'em here to play
with this morning," she said.
"But what are you going to
do ? " she asked,
wonderingly, see-
ing Stevie
bore into
her window
gimli
He sighed —
and made no
reply.
"Tell me,"
she said, as he
fastened in a
pulley-screw.
" What are
you doing ? "
"Why, you
see, it 's so
hard to make
a good girl of
you, we "
he sighed and
looked at her
mournfully ;
" there 's go-
ing to be a
cord fastened
to this."
"What for?''
asked May, with intense inter-
est, as Stevie carefully set the second
pulley-screw perpendicular to its mate.
He then drew a ball of twine from his |)()cket,
and held it gravely before her.
May giggled softly. " .-Vnd what are you
ing out another cord for? " she asked, as .Stevie eontinvied liis work.
" Now do tell me, please."
" Yes, I '11 tell you." Passing two ends of the balls over the
pulley-wheels, Stevie firmly knotted them together. " Now," he said,
" stand here at the window, and don't let the twine slip off the wheels ;
be sure you keep it in the grooves of the pulleys ; when I draw on it, let it run freely, but always
keep it on the wheels. That 's all you have to do till you hear from me again. It wont be long."
6i6
r w I X E ( ; R A M s .
IJlNE,
He let himself down to the ground, and walked
fast toward his own home, the balls meanwhile
unwinding themselves in his hands, till, when he
came opposite his sister's window, only a yard or
two remained. He whistled his signal, and called
to her to lower a string, by which he sent them up.
In a moment more he had joined her. There was
little left to do. The ends were passed through
the pulleys, and then both lines were shortened till
they rose high in the air, floating between the two
windows. Still they were tautened till they could
be drawn no tighter. Then they were tied together,
and the work was done.
" Hooray ! " cried Stevie. " Now, let 's send the
first twinegram across — high and dry. Talk of
cablegrams ! Who wants a thing after it 's been
drowned? Where 's your parcel, Gracie ? — and
the note? I want to add a postscript."
He fastened them to one of the cords, and, draw-
ing the other toward him, the little roll rapidh-
began its transit and was soon at its destination.
May could hardly believe her eyes, as she stood
wondering to see it coming nearer and nearer, till
it was stopped against one of her pulleys. She un-
tied it in excited haste, and eagerly read the note :
" Is n't this as good as Ijeing let out ? Now, May, we can get the
things done just as if you were over here. There 's a lot of work all
fixed for you in the parcel. Make another of your stuffs for nie to
cut out, and send it over. Tie it to one of the cords and draw the
other one toward you."
Stevie had added :
*' Dear Madame. Your patronage is respectfully solicited. .\ll
parcels and dispatches safely delivered. Orders promptly attended
to. Terms, one cent for each twinegram. Payable on dem.and.
Your obedient ser%-ants,
" The Stevens' Twinegraph Co."
May flew to make up her return parcel and write
her reply. She fastened them to the twine, and
hardly had it begun to move when she felt it
hasten under her fingers, impelled from the oppo-
site side. Soon it had disappeared.
There was a good laugh at the other terminus
when her note was read :
"It 's like farie storys. It 's the best fim in mi life. I w.is dread-
ful lonesum, an cride and cride. Now I don't care a bit. mister
twinegraph, did yoo think it up yoorself 1 think yoor the smartes
boy 1 ever noo. I don't U'J abowt those turnis. yoo must e.xkuze
mi riting, fur I kant stop to think how to spel it. I wish wurds
dident hav to be spelt only wun wa. if yoo no wot thay meen wi
isant wun wa as good as another. I wos so glad I jumped wen
I herd steevy wissle we sale the oshun bloo. I noo it wos him then.
Send me another note pritty soon."
Work \\ent bravely on. Parcels and messages
passed to and fro, and Stevie went down to finish
his carpenter-work, for he saw Goldilocks would
want her trunk.
After a while he appeared at his sister's door.
" Want something nice ? " he said ; and, behold —
pleasant sight to a busy little sewing-woman on a
hot May day — a glass pitcher, with great lumps of
ice tinkling against it, floating about in lemonade.
" Oh, is n't it good? " exclaimed Gracie, tasting
it. " How I wish May could have some ! "
•'A bright idea!" shouted Stevie, promptly.
"Happy thought! May shall have some," and
he rubbed his hands merrily together.
"What!" says Gracie. "Lemonade! On the
twine ? "
" Lemonade, on the twine," he replied. " Wait
a minute and see." He darted out and down
the stairs, returning shortly with his hands full
— a dish with large pieces of ice in one, a bowl
of sugar in the other, and a lemon, with some of
his father's lined envelopes held under his arm.
On one of these he wrote :
" Have some fresh water brought to your room. We 're going to
send you some iced lemonade."
Then he filled it with sugar, and, pinning it
firmly round the twine, sent it over.
Haidly, in her amazement, had May taken it oft",
when the cord moved again. The next arrival was
a row of envelopes, containing the lemons, rolled
soft, and lumps of ice.
By and by came May's answer :
"I never laft so in oil mi life: the lemonade is bewtiful:
thares a pitcher full, an don't yoo beleeve I ges Mis Bailey noes. I
powndid on my dore fur Soozun to cum. She wos sweping. I told
her to fech me a picher, an wen she brot it she was lafing. I made
her wate an hav sum. an i told her not to tel Mis Bailey, and she
sed she gest thare wosent much to tel, fur yoor mama an Mis Bailey
wur standing by the parlor windo a wile ago, an looking out an
lafing an wispring abowt sumthing. Ant it fun. send me sum more
work."
The next note was from Stevie :
" Gracie is n't up from lunch yet. I 'm afiraid she 's eating more
berries and milk than is good for her. When she comes she will
send you the work: you must puff the basque, and put on a shirred
fold. Have a Pompadour kilt-pleating, and tnm it with lace fichus.
Take your time; we shall get through nicely, and I "ve finished
Goldilocks' trunk. I 'm glad the lemonade was good. You see
I 'm runnmg up a big bill. Don't forget the terms."
Next came a note from May, and one of Stevie's
envelopes filled with chocolate creams. She wrote :
■' Ime real glad to have sumthing to send yoo, Cappen Bailey gav
them to me. don't yoo beleeve Ive been to lunch an i ges thay noe.
wen I went in Mis Bailey was saying, ' now, father, don't ilood to it
before the child : you musent kowntnuns her * — wot doos that meen.
Mis Balee dident say ennything to me abowt it: she kep her lips
the wa Ste\-y ses as if she sed prizzum. hut her izelookt as if thay
was lafing: an sumtimes Cappen Bailey I'^okt at me and laft : he "s
fat an shakey all over, but he dident say ennything, an wen he went
awa he put a big paper of choklit creems bi mi plate, an sed thare
was too menny fur nie to ete all bi miself, and he gest Ide hav to giv
awa sum an wen he got behind Mis Bailey he kep pointing his thum
over yoor wa, an Laft all over. I ges if Mis Bailey noes she dont care,
becoz it kepes me out of mischeef, an wen I wos going to pore out
a lot of the choklits bi her plate, she sed, ' no, ml deer. Ime not
edicted to sweets.' but her ize lookt as if she wantid to laf tel
stevy yes ; weel make the things as he ses. an then tel peepl thats
the wa Ihare unkle wantid it. ask him if I don't pa the tvirms, if
He hav to go to jale."
i883.|
I W 1 N E C. U A .M S .
617
Rosalie, Gracie's new doll, was worthy to be an
example, that busy day, to all little girls in dress-
making time. She had no rest, so to speak. So
many things had to be fitted and tried on ; and as
she was the same size with Cloldilocks, she had to
do double duty. Hut her face kept all its sweet-
ness through the long ordeal. The smile never
left her lips; and she merely opened her large
blue eyes every time she was lifted, and closed
them tranquilly again when she was laid down.
.Vt last all the cutting and fitting and sewing were
done ; and work was laid aside.
Stevic brought up a light basket, filled with
great red and golden raspberries, bordered with
green leaves. He carefully tied soft paper over
basket and all, and fastened it to the cord. The
twine sank downward with its weight, and the
basket began to swing back and forth like a tra-
peze performer. People at the windows stared.
People in the street looked up in wonder, and
stopped to see what that strange thing might be.
Still it moved on, more steadily, however, as Stevie
drew the cord more slowly, and at last it safely
reached May's hand.
■And now came one and another of the chil-
dren's neighboring school-mates to inquire how
they, too, could have twinegrams and express
lines. Captain Bailey looked on, laughing, from
his easy chair in the porch.
" Why," he said to a lad, "' I expect you '11
have as much rigging overhead in a week's time,
among you, as there is in my ship. Ho ! ho ! "
Tlierc was no question about Miss Bailey's
" noeing" now, — as May would have written it, —
for when May took down her basket of beautiful
fruit at dinner, and laid at each plate a saucerful,
with a smile and a kiss for Miss Bailey, that lady
returned both affectionately, and said :
" I think these must be a kind of enchanted
raspberries, that climb into little girls' windows
without coming up from the ground. Don't you.
P'ather ? "
And then she inquired of May if she had passed
a pleasant day, adding that, as for herself, she
did n't know when she had had such an enjoyable
Saturday, with no wild little runaways to be
anxious about.
Gracie was sitting on her father's knee, in the
library, chatting with him, after they all had left
the dining-room. Stevie had gone down street
only a few minutes before, with a school-mate who
had called for him.
When he came back he found Captain Bailey
and May upon the piazza with his father, mother,
and sister ; and to them he imparted the news
that many more of the twine arrangements were
going up in the village.
" Why, Charlie Morse is rigging one between
his window and Dick Leslie's, and Harry Barnes
says Kmma wont give him any peace till he has
put one up for her and Bessie Denison. I 've
been showing half a dozen fellows how to do it,
and the clerk at Steel & Cutter's wants to know
what 's up, with all this demand for twine and
pulley-screws. And we told him there were three
or four hundred yards of linen twine up, already,
and there 'd be several more hundred yards wanted
pretty soon."
And then May, with the Captain's aid, settled
her account for the day with the Stevens' Twine-
graph Company, by handing to Stevie the sum of
eighteen cents in silver and copper coins. Where-
upon that young gentleman immediately returned
them all to her, telling her to present them to Miss
Bailey, with his compliments, as payment of dam-
ages to her property.
1 am sorry to say, however, that May never gave
the money to Miss Bailey, preferring to return
it to the Captain, who had given it to her. And
the business of the Stevens' Twinegraph Company,
as well as of all the other companies, soon after
came to a disastrous failure on account of the
powerful opposition which suddenly developed
among the grown people of the village.
But Stevie was always proud of his invention,
even although its success lasted only one day.
■• When my ship comes in from over the sea,
Such wonderful things it will bring to me ! "
So he launched his shoe in the water-pail,
And over the sea his ship set sail.
6i8
MAGIC CLOVERS.
[June,
MAGIC CLOVERS.
Bv Margaret B. Harvey.
\
From time imme-
morial it has been
• considered good luck
to find a four-leaved
clover. Some have
> .^ said that the discov-
:;}f erer of one was cer-
tain to become wealthy
and wise ; others, th;'t
the fairies would grant
him every «ish ; and
others, that the little
magic leaves could
show where gold was
lying buried in the
earth. And certainly
there does seem to be something very wonderful in
the fact that, in a large field containing millions of
little plants furnished
with groups of three
leaflets, there should
be only one or two of
the four-leaved vari-
ety. 1 do not mean
that some varieties of
clover bear leaves all
in groups of four or
five, for this is not
the fact. Perhaps one
four-leaved clover will
grow upon a plant that
has fifty threes, although occasionally several fours
or fives will be found in a bunch on the same plant.
If the finding of
four-leaved clovers is
a sign of good luck.
I, truly, am verj-
lucky, for I have
found more than
anybody 1 know.
And I am of the
opinion that very few
persons are aware of
the variety of forms
in which they are
sometimes seen.
Figure No. I shows
the usual type of a
four-leaved clover. As a general thing, three lea\es
are nearly of a size, while the fourth is somewhat
smaller — though this does not always follow. I
f-1^
i^l.,..
m
^.ufM
^•:
r
ha%e seen several like
Figure No. 2, in which
the fourth leaflet is borne
out on a separate stalk.
Figure No. 3 shows it
growing on the" stem, a
considerable distance be-
low the other three. Fig-
ure No. 4 represents it
\ery much smaller than
they; Figure No. 5.
smaller still, and grow-
mg directly upon one of
the larger ; Figure No.
6, as set upon a distinct
stem above the main
leaves ; while Figure No. 7 depicts a four-leaved
clover with two leaflets grown into one.
The clovers
shown at Fig-
ures Nos. 8 and
9 are quite un-
common. The
former specimen
has four leaflets,
one rolled in-
ward, and borne
on an upright
stem, at the base
of which is a lit-
tle bract. The
latter has three leaves of ordinary size ; a fourth,
smaller and turned upward ; and a
ed inward,
and spring-
ing upon a
tiny stalk
from the un- - ~
der side of
the fourth.
Five-leaved
clovers, like
Figure No.
10, occur al-
most as often
as four. Fre-
quently fours
and fives are found growing together. Some say
that you must not pick a five-leaved clover — it
will neutralize all the good luck brought by a four.
Others assert the direct contrary, and say that it is
i
fifth, roll-
l882.|
MAGIC CLOVERS.
619
I
very much more potent
for good than the four-
leaved stalk. Accord-
ing to one legend, only
the holder of a five-
leaved clover can be ad-
mitted to the fairy-court.
Several pretty stories de-
scribe the fortunate one
as standing out on the
grass at midnight, hold-
ing up the magic wand, and presently finding
himself wafted away on invisible wings to Elf-land.
Once 1 found a scvcn-leaved
clover, like Figure No. 11.
The leaflets were arranged
in two rows, three growing
upon four. 1 have heard of
fifteen-leaved and seventeen
leaved clovers, — and seein.;
as many as I do of the won-
derful freaks of nature, 1 do
not doubt that there are such
things.
Aside from the wide-spread
interest attaching to the duplication of the leaflet,
clovers seem special favorites of poets and ro-
mancers. It is said that, when St. Patrick was
preaching to the uncon-
tj ' i verted Irish, some of them
ridiculed the idea of the
Trinity. For answer, he
caught up a trefoil from
the sod, and told them that
' r'y here was a leaf exemplify-
ing three in one. Hence,
the three-leaved clover, or
shamrock, was adopted as
the national emblem of
Ireland. Some say that the
common wood-sorrel (Oxalis acetoscUa) shares
with the white clover the credit of being the true
shamrock. One authority says that this oxalis is a
native of Ireland, while the clover is of compara-
tively recent introduction. In a song by the Irish
poet. Thom.is Moore, the shamrock — whether
oxalis or clover he does not say — is mentioned
as " Old Krin's nalh'L' shamrock."
/
FIG. 9.
Ji'^
The scientific name of clover is Trifoliiim, or
■■ three-leaved."' The most familiar varieties are
the pink, or field-clover, noticeable for its full,
rich heads and large, dark green leaves, with a
light green crescent in the center of nearly every
leaflet : the white, or
shamrock, with its
smaller, white heads.
and plain, green
leaves ; the rabbit-
foot, with its long-
haired, silky heads
and narrow, folded
leaves : and thr
larger and- smaller
yellow clovers, eacli
with bright, goldep
heads and small,
dark leaves. 1 can
not say whether the
leaflets of any of
these latter are ever grouped in fours or fives or
not — but these varieties, so far as 1 know, are to be
found mostl)' among the red and the white clovers.
As I said at first, the discovery of .1 four-leaved
clover was regarded,
even centuries ago, as
an omen of good luck.
Hut in a poem by
Robert Hcrrick, who
wrote a short time
after Shakespeare, is a
mention of "lucky four-
leaved grasse " ; and,
in another very old
\olumc, it is soberly
stated that, "if a man
walking in the fields
finds any four-leaved
grass, he shall, in a
small while after, find
some good thing." Several mentions to the same
effect are made in the writings of other poets.
I hope you will have many a hunt for magic
clovers in the sweet-smelling summer fields ; for I
find, in that charming occupation, "luck" suffi-
cient,— even- when no "lucky four-leaved grasse"
rewards m\- search.
Vol.. l.\.— 40.
620
SILVERHAIR S QUEST.
(June,
SILVERHAIR'S QUEST.
By Ruth Hall.
I.
Down in the meadow-land, far and fair,
I met, this morning, sweet Silverhair.
" What do you here?" I asked the small rover.
" Oh, I am seeking a four-leaved clover!"
II.
"What will that do for you, little one?"
"Give me all good things under the sun, —
Not me, only, but Mother, moreover:
That 's why I look for a four-leaved clover ! "
III.
" Would not your service, these morning hours,
Do her more good than a field of flowers ? "
Ah, she but murmured over and over :
"No, 1 must find her a four-leaved clover!"
IV.
All about us the larks were singing,
Roses their sweet warm breath were flinging:
Heedless of duty, and pleasure, moreover,
Silverhair looked for a four-leaved clover.
Ah, older seekers, the broad land over,
Are looking, to-day, for a four-leaved clover !
1
THE \
WISE PROFESSOR.!
^ » A L' c) ^sp ■ ] 1 1
I here was i an ola rrofessor "who "was vk-ondTous wise £; i
Atii "notetl for his recipe to -make the festless sleeiji—;
«v v'^ T«'9ht 1 when in your Uttlfe h&i , SaiolK
rr
hujn oVr 8r ©"er ^;>
iJo,Te,mi,fe.,sol,la,SL,iio.unUlyQTs»s«' J
^pfm3 lKa.t sleep is s-upe tocoiaieJ
ror,Wes&Tnfc,t}iere issoTnethmc
t -. \ [huja ■''' —
-And. if , you II persevere , you II </
1882.1
JANE AND ELIZA.
621
JANE AND ELIZA.
Ma.NV of our readers, doubtless, remember .1 very
entertaining paper by Mr. Horace E. Scudder, printed
in St. Nicholas for January, 1S77. It was entitled
"Great tiranilfather's Hooks ant! Pictures," and was
illustrated with payes taken from the New England
Primer and Webster's Spelling-book. .Ml who reatl
the article, we are sure, must have enjoyed the absurd
little pictures and Mr. Scuddcr's interesting account of
the school literature of those days.
Now we propose to co[)y, word for word, a little book
l>rinted in Newark many years ago. It hears the
romantic title of "Jane and Eli/a," and has a picture
on every page. Doubtless, it was considered ([uile a
delightful little work by many a girl and boy of that day.
The art of engraving on wood has advanced very
rapidly of late, but in the days of our grandparents and
great-grandparents it seems to have not been considered
worthy of attention. Certainly, in those times, the
illustrations of cheap books for little folk were ex-
tremely crude, as you will see by the specimens shown
on this page and the two that follow.
We now leave you to enjoy llie thrilling story, with
all its sore temptations, punishments, and repentances ;
and you surely will hope, with the distinguished author
of " Jane and Eliza," that
Ever since, as he has heard,
Elka faithful kept her word.
J.\NE AND Eliza.
Come, children, come, the mother said,
Let 's wash your face and comb your head,
For as it is the first of May,
Yuu both must go to school to-day.
Jane and Eliza, 'though yet small.
Obedient to their mother's call,
Were wash'd and dress'd all in a trice
From head to foot, in clothes so nice.
Now hand in hand together walk
Of school and Madam sprightly talk:
New frocks, new gloves and aprons too.
New shoes, new capes and bonnets blue.
And as the school would last 'til night.
That they might stay their appetite ;
Two little baskets were well stor'd
With what the pantry could afford.
Fresh bread and butter and smok'd beef,
But apple-pie it w.ns the chief.
They on their arms their baskets hung,
Then round their mother's neck they clung;
Each kiss'd good bye, nor sullen pout
Mark'd either face as they set out.
But as they wend their way along
Some Butterflies a puddle throng,
622
JANE AND ELIZA.
[June,
These caught Ehza's wand'ring eyes,
" Oh ! sister, see those Butterflies ;
" Let 's catch them," eagerly she cried.
" Xo ! sister, no," Jane stern repUed,
' Let 's go to school as good girls should,
'Nor stop to play along the road."
' O yes I will ! Sweet Butterflies ! "
' I '11 go and leave you," Jane replies.
" Go ! " said Eliza in a pet.
And on the grass her basket set.
Then slyly crept to seize her prize,
But as she crept she saw them rise
And fly a little further on,
And there again they settle down.
To catch them she seem'd fully bent,
And in pursuit again she went,
And that she might the more command,
She took her bonnet in her hand.
And when within her reach she thought,
Her bonnet quickly o'er them brought,
But soon to her surprise she found.
Her bonnet only caught the ground.
The Butterflies again took flight.
And very soon were out of sight.
Nor was it all she thus was foiled,
Her bonnet with the mud was soiled.
For Jane she called in sad affright.
But Jane alas ! was out of sight.
With saddened heart her steps she traced
To where her basket she had placed :
When lo ! a hog with muddy snout.
Had turned her basket inside out ;
Her bread and butter, beef and pie.
All scattered on the ground did lie.
Jane! O! sister Jane! she cried —
Jane had beyond her hearing hied.
In spite of all could do or say.
The hog, her dinner bore away.
Sobbing and crying now she stood
When trav'ling along the road,
A gentleman saw her distress
And ask'd her what the matter was ?
She told as plain as she could tell,
The mishaps on her way befel.
Ah ! naughty girl ! the good man said.
This had not happ'd haj you not play'd
The truant, like a little fool.
Instead of going straight to school.
But as it is your first oflTence,
1 hope you '11 learn a lesson hence.
Eliza owned she had done wTong
In staying from her school so long,
And freely promised o'er and o'er
That she would never do so more.
" Here," then said he, " this sixpence take,
"And buy yourself some ginger cake,
".•\t old Dame Goodie's on the green,
"Which from your school house door is seen.''
Eliza, thankful, curtsied low,
Whilst he returned it with a bow ;
She onward skipp'd with new delight.
And he soon gallop'd out of sight.
But as the school house now- she viewed.
The anguish of her heart renewed.
An angry Madam fancied there,
iSSi.]
JANK AND Kl.lZA.
623
And little school-mates' scornful sneer.
At length she gain'd the school house door,
Where many a truant stood before ;
Trembling she stood nor ventured in,
So great she thought her crime had been.
Her little heart went pitty-pat.
Thinking of this and now of that,
'Till Madam came to chide her stay,
.•\nd heard what happen'd on the way.
■ Vou sec, my child," the good dame said,
Mliza trembling with dread,
' How naughty children arc repaid,
' Who have their mother disobey'd ;
■ Hut as you seem repentant now,
' I will your punishment forego."
So saying, she with tender look.
Seated Eliza at her book.
Nor long she sat ; for very soon
The school was out, for it was noon ;
And all in playful sports are seen
.■\mong the trees upon tlie green.
F.liza now old Goodie's sought,
.\n(l with her sixpence cookies bought,
Koiuid hearts, long cakes and cookaroos,
.A.nd many others which she chose.
Then seated at her sister's side,
She freely did her cakes divide.
Some she exchang'd with a little Miss
For apple-pie, brown bread and cheese.
Thus did the cakes her sixpence cost
-Supply the dinner which she'd lost.
.Vmidst the rambles on the green
I'^liza now is foremost seen.
'Till old (lood Dame does loudly call
To school ! to school ! when one and all
With one accord are ciuickly seen
To leave their sports and quit the green.
Now all are seated at their book.
Nor does the one at t' other look.
Nor can you hear a whisp'ring sound,
Such perfect stillness reigns around.
They conn'd their lessons o'er and o'er,
V'ntil the X'illage clock struck four;
W'hen all again from school are free,
.\nd hie them home right merrily.
Jane, as she entered, 'gan to tell
Her mother, what mishaps befel
Eliza on her way to school.
Eliza look'd like little fool.
Nor could she now from tears refrain,
To hear her faults rehearsed by Jane.
She sobb'd as if her heart would break:
Her motlier now did pity take.
And kindly said "come, my dear child,
Thougli you have thus \our buniut ^noiTd
' And truant 'long the road have play'd,
■ Dry up your tears, Ije not afraid ;
■ Your first offence I '11 overlook,
' If you 'II hereafter learn your book,
' And always mind what I shall say-,
■ And ne'er again the truant play,
' Nor let your little wand'ring eyes
' Be gazing after Butterflies."
'■ I will, dear mother, as I live,
' If you will only now forgive."
Her mother clasp'd her to her breast.
And on her lips sweet kisses press'd :
And ever since, as I have heard,
Eliza faithful kept her word.
624
SEALS AND SEAL-HUNTING
(June,
SEALS AND SEAL-HUNTING IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC.
By Ernest Ingersoll.
ARDLY five years ago
I knewablue-eyed,
brown-haired, and
peach-cheeked lit-
tle girl, just now
beginning to read
in St. Nichol.\s,
whom her father
used to call his
"harbor-seal." If
you had ever seen her
lying face down in the
cradle, — her favorite posi-
tion,— holding up her
round, fuzzy little head,
Aip-*"^*S«_^" " ^; you would have understood
UIJSI— sia^^MaiiiMl at once why he called her
so ; for that is precisely the way a seal looks,
when he is resting on a rock or a piece of ice.
Scores of years back, before the settlement of
North America by Europeans, seals were wont
to come to its shores even as far southward as
the Carolinas, and were common visitors from
New Jersey northward. Robin's Reef, in New
York Bay, passed by all the Coney Island steam-
boats, gets its name from the Dutch word robin or
robyn — "seal," because those animals used to
resort there in great numbers. To-day they are
uncommon even along the coast of Maine, scarcely
abundant in the (julf of St. Lawrence, and are
slowly being driven inside the arctic circle.
Now, this disappearance of the seals from our
own coast has been brought about by incessant
persecution, and it seems to me very unfortunate.
How much it would add to the pleasure of a
voyage down the bay, or a ramble along the
weedy and wave-polished beach, if we could see,
here and there, trim, brown animals creep up
fronj the water on some projecting rock, and gaze
at us with no fear in their mild eyes, while
shaking the drops of water from their coats ! But
sadlv for our amusement, and for the seals them-
selves, their bodies have a value in the market —
and great fleets every year are fitted out to engage
in this fishery.
The word " fisher>- " ought to imply a "fish" to
be caught ; but the term has become perverted :
for instance, we speak of whale, sponge, coral, crab,
and oyster, or clam fisheries, yet none of these
animals is in the least a fish. Neither is the seal,
although it lives in the water, swims and dives.
It is, indeed, nothing but a warm-blooded, fur-
coated mammal, with all the internal organs and
outside structure of a quadruped.
" What ! " you exclaim, " 'all the outside struct-
ure ' of an otter, for example ? "
Yes, but not the same appearance. Let me
explain to you how this is : If we study the outhnes
of the two heads, and the pictures of the two skulls
— the first, those of the common harbor-seal, and
the second those of the otter, — we shall see at once
how the bones, and the shape and arrangement of
the teeth in one, resemble those in the other. And
if we had also a picture of the skull of a cod-fish,
we should see how different from it are the skulls
of the otter and seal.
Now look at the limbs. I have heard of a boy
who defined a quadruped as an animal having a
leg at each corner. Perhaps that would fit the
otter, but you think that, certainly, it would not
describe the seal, "which has n't legs at all," you
say, " but fins or 'flippers.'"
If I had the time, I could prove to you that
the difference between the fin of a fish and the
bone-leg of an otter or of a dog, or your own arm,
is not so very great ; and it would be easy to show
how nearly alike the flipper of the seal and fore
leg of a land mammal really are. On examining
diagrams of the bones in a seal's flipper and an
otter's fore leg, you will find that you can match
every bone of the one by a similar bone of the
other. The shapes of the bones, to be sure, are
altered to suit the varied uses of swimming in the
water and walking on the land ; but all the parts
of the arm and hand (or fore foot) of the otter, or
any other mammal, are seen also in the flipper of
our subject — only there they are shortened, thick-
ened, and covered with a membrane which con-
verts them into a paddle instead of a paw.
The same comparison will hold good for the
hind feet of the otter and the hind flippers or
"tail" (which is twt a tail) of the seal; and it is
equally true of the walrus and of the whale, por-
poise, grampus, blackfish, and other cetacea.
Of course, being mammals, these animals must
breathe air. You could drown any of them by
forcing it to remain under the water too long.
Whales can stay down an hour or more, if neces-
sary, and seals can hold their breath for fifteen or
twenty minutes, though they do not like to be
under as long as that. Of course, it is necessary
for seals, therefore, in the arctic seas, where mainly
IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC
62:
is their home, to be able to reach the air, even in
spite of the sheet of thick ice which for half the year
covers the whole ocean. But in large bodies of
ice there always are some holes, no matter how
cold the weather may be ; and these holes afford
the seals of that region an opportunity to come to
the surface to breathe. There are some species,
however, that keep round, smooth-ed^ed air-holes
open for themselves by continually breaking away
the young ice as fast as it is formed ; these holes
are never very large at the surface — sometimes
only big enough to let one animal poke his nose up
through ; they are much like chimneys, indeed, for
the ice may sometimes be a hundred feet thick.
Before 1 go further, let me say that the
word " seal " applies to several families of
Pinnipeds, only one of which concerns us
at present. This is the Phocida:, or family
of earless seals, of which the common har-
bor-seal, the ringed seal, the harp, or Green-
land seal, and the bearded, or hooded seals.
are chiefly to be remembered. Concerning
the gigantic sea-elephant of the antarctic
pole, the huge sea-lions of the Pacific, and
the various "fur" seals, we have no occa-
sion to speak. All our subjects inhabit thi
arctic zone, and principally the coasts of
Greenland and Newfoundland, — washed b\
the North Atlantic.
While the breathing-holes in the ice afford
the seals their only possibilities of life, thc\
often prove to be death-traps, since nian\
foes lie in wait near them.
The enemies of seals, other than man, are
not a few, Ijoth on land and in the water.
The polar bear, finding their holes, watches
as quietly and vigilantly as a cat for a mouse,
and leaps upon them as they rise to breathe,
or even chases them into the sea, and so capt-
ures a great many. The arctic wolves and
foxes, the raven, and probably also the great
snowy owl, attack the young before they an
.ible to defend themselves or escape. The^i
enemies arc so active that the heavy ami
awkward parents have hard work to defemi
their babies. The full-grown seals, as will
as the yoimg, are seized in the water b\
sharks and sword-fish, and also by killer-
whales, which, though of small size, arc
able to murder the monstrous right whale
by biting out his tongue.
Travelers say that when a sword-fish sees a seal
upon a floating "pan," or cake of ice, he will get
on one side and tip the pan down to such an angle
that the seal must slip off, and then will devour
it. So great is a seal's terror of these water-foes
that, should a man be on the pan when sword-
fish and sharks are after him, the seal will run
between his feet for protection. Many seals are
killed, too, by fighting among themselves, and by
the fierce storms of the frozen zone.
The most ingenious and dreaded enemies of the
seal, however (leaving out of sight for the pres-
ent the white men), arc the Eskimos. To them
seals are of the utmost impor ance, and we may
say that in many parts of the arctic world men
could not live without these animals. The Eski-
mos' methods of hunting this game, and the hun-
dred ways in which they utilize its body, will be
interesting matters to look into.
The harbor-seal [see page 627] is, perhaps, the
A SEAL SEEKING A MAN S PROTECTIO.N FKU.M .V SWUKD-Hsli.
least serviceable of seals, since he is not common
very far north of Labrador ; but his flesh is consid-
ered the best, and on the Pacific coast the Indians
take whole herds at once, by stealing upon them
when they are basking on the beach or in shallow
bays, and drawing a seine around them. The hides
626
SEALS AND SEAL-HUXTING
[June,
\
*-«<' V
^^*^^^^,
A HARP-SEAL MOTHER AND HER BABV.
of the old ones are good only for tents, but those
of the young are highly prized ; and no present is
more acceptable to a Greenland damsel than the
prettily mottled skin of a iassigiak (as she would
call it), out of which she will make the wide, warm
trousers that serve her in the place of petticoat.
Another seal, of which the Greenlanders do not
get many, — the bearded seal, — is ver)- large, and is
especially prized on account of the thickness of its
skin. Out of it they make not only the slender-
pointed canoe-like boats, called " kayaks," in which
they chase this and other wandering species, but
also the stout lines to which their harpoons are at-
tached. It makes durable soles for their boots, too,
and strong harnesses for the dogs, besides which the
flesh is sweet. It is one of the most easily killed of
all seals, because it is not watchful. The harp-seal
is also readily killed along the edges of the ice-floes,
by the kayaker, but he values it little, excepting to
eat; the hooded seal or" square-flipper," on the con-
trary, shows fight, taxing the courage and skill of
the bravest of those hardy natives to overcome its
fierce resistance and avoid its terrible bite.
The one seal useful above all others to them,
and eagerly pursued, is their favorite nctsick, one
of the smaller species. It is the one called in our
books the ringed seal, or floe-rat.* It is confined to
the polar seas, rarely wandering south of Labrador,
but it belongs also to the arctic shores of Europe,
Asia, and .-Vlaska, so that not only the Eskimos
proper, but manj- arctic Indian tribes, regularly
hunt it.
•Although it is hunted throughout the year, the
most profitable time for killing the netsick is in
April, when each mother seal is accompanied by a
young one. Here, perhaps, I may digress a little
in order to tell you something of the babyhood of
the Greenland seal.
Of the different sorts of seals I have mentioned,
all but two are migrator)' — that is to say, the
whole body of them move from north to south
each autumn, and back from south to north each
spring. Upon this important fact the great fleets
of fishermen, of which I shall give an account
presently, depend for their success. The annual
southward journey of the restless harp-seal fur-
nishes a vivid picture of these great migrations
wljich are so prominent a feature of polar history.
Keeping just ahead of the "making " of the ice,
or final freezing up of the fiords and bays, at the
approach of winter they leave Greenland, and begin
their passage southward along the coast of Labra-
dor, freely entering all the gulfs and bays. They
appear first in small detachments of half a dozen
to a score or more of individuals ; these are soon
followed by larger companies, until in a few days
they form one continuous procession, filling the
sea as far as the eye can reach. Floating with the
-Arctic current, their progress is extremely rapid,
and in but one short week the whole multitude
has passed. .Arriving at the Straits of Belleisle,
some enter the gulf, but the great body move on-
ward along the eastern coast of Newfoundland,
and thence outward to the Grand Banks, where
they arrive about Christmas. Here they rest for
a month, and then they turn northward, slowly
struggling against the strong current that aided
them so much in their southward journey, until
they reach the great ice-fields stretching from the
Labrador shore far eastward — a broad continent
of ice.
During the first half of March, on these great
'A field of floating ice, in the arctic phrase, is a "floe," so long as it remains a firm sheet; when it breaks
up it becomes a "pack," or "pack-ice."
•882.]
IN TIIK NORTH ATLANTIC
627
floating fields of ice, are born tlmusaiicis of baby
seals — only one in each family, to be sure, but
with plenty of play-fellows close by — all in soft
woolly dress, white, or white with a beautiful golden
luster. The Newfoundlanders call them "white-
coats." In a few weeks, however, they lose this
soft covering, and a gray, coarse fur takes its place.
In this uniform they bear the name of "ragged-
jackets " ; and it is not until two or three years
later that the full colors of the .adult are gained,
with the black crescentic or harp-like marks on
the back which give them the name of " harps."
The st[uealing and barking at one of these im-
makcs a mistake nor feeds any bleating baby
until she has found her own. If ice happens to
pack around them, so that they can not open holes,
nor get into tlie water, the whole army will labori-
ously travel by floundering leaps to the edge of
the field ; and they show an astonishing sagacity
in discerning the proper direction. It is supposed
that they can smell the water at a long distance.
Sometimes great storms come, breaking the ice-
floes in pieces and jamming the fragments against
one another, or upon rocky headlands, with tre-
mendous force. Besides the full-grown seals that
perish in such gales, thousands of the weak babies
mense nurseries can be heard for a very king dis-
tance. When the babies are very young, the
mothers le.ive them on the ice and go off in search
of food, coming back frequently to look after the
little ones : and although there are thousands of
the small, white, squealing creatures, which to you
and me would seem to be precisely alike, and all
are moving about more or less, the mother never
[see i-age 625.]
are crushed to death or drowned, notwithstanding
the dauntless courage of their mothers, in trying
to get their young out of danger and upon the
firm ice. And it is touching to watch a mother-
seal struggling to get her baby to a safe place,
"either by trying to swim with it between her fore
flippers, or by driving it before her and tossing it
forward with her nose." The destruction caused
628
SEALS AND SEAL-HUNTING
[June
by such gales is far less when they happen after
the youngsters have learned to swim.
Does it surprise you that seals, which are con-
stantly in the water, have to h-ani to swim ? Well,
it might stagger the phocidae to be told that men
have to be taught to walk. The fact is, a baby seal
is afraid of the water ; and if some accident, or his
mother's shoulder, pushes him into the surf when
he is ten or a dozen days old, he screams with
fright and scrambles out as fast as he can. The
next day he tries it again, but finds himself very
awkward and soon tired; the third day he does
better, and before long he can dive and leap, turn
somersaults (if he is a bearded seal), and vanish
under the ice, literally " like a blue streak," the
instant danger threatens. But he had to learn
how, to begin with", like any other mammal.
It is when the seals are busy in caring for their
helpless babies and giving the better-grown young-
sters their early lessons, that the Eskimo hunters
seek most diligently to kill them. This is not
merely for the pleasure of it, — not that at all, per-
haps,— but because their flesh and skins are im-
peratively needed. Those pursued by the Eski-
mos, however, are not the species that make the
great southward migrations which I ha\-e just
described, but the ringed seals (Phoca fa'tida)
which remain on the far arctic coasts all the year
round. Upon this animal the Eskimos place
almost their entire dependence for food, fuel, light,
and clothing. Its capture is therefore exceedingly
important to every family.
At the end of winter each of the female seals
creeps up through the breathing-hole (which is
named athilc) ; and under the deep snow overlying
all the ice-field she digs a cave, eight or ten feet
long and three to five feet wide. At one end of the
excavation is the breathing-hole, aftbrding a ready
means of retreat in case of danger. In this cave
the young seal is born, and though protected from
the sight of its enemies, here it is often captured.
About the first of April the Eskimo hunter
leaves his winter encampment, taking his family
and a few bits of furniture on his dog-sledge, and
goes to some locality where he expects to find seals
abound. Arrived there, he cuts out square blocks
of hard snow, piles them up into a round hut with
a domed roof, clearing away the snow from the
inside, down to the hard ground or ice-surface.
Over this hut he throws water, which, in freezing,
cements all the blocks together ; and then he has
a good tight house — as warm as though made of
stone, as soon as he has built his fire. This done,
he and his family are as comfortable as if they
were at their winter home, and if his hunting is
successful, he is contented and happy.
The old-fashioned native manner of hunting —
some of the Eskimos now have guns, and this
spoils the interest — called for much skill and
patience. In it, each hunter has a trained dog
which runs on ahead, but is held by a strap around
his neck from going too fast and far. The dog
scents the seal lying in its excavation under the
snow (the level surface of which of course gives
no sign of the cave), and barks ; whereupon the
hunter, who is close behind, hastens forward, and
by a vigorous jump breaks down the cover before
the young seal can escape. If he succeeds in cut-
ting off" its retreat, it is an easy prey, for he simply
knocks it on the head ; otherwise he must use his
seal-hook very quickly or his game is gone.
" It sometimes happens," says Mr. L. Kumlien,
"that the hunter is unfortunate enough to jump
the snow down directly over the hole, when he gets
a pretty thorough wetting. The women often
take part in this kind of sealing, and become quite
expert. The children begin when they are four
or five years old : the teeth and flippers of the
first catch are saved as a trophy, and are worn
about the little fellow's neck ; this they think will
give him good luck when he begins the next year.
" As the season advances and the young begin to
shed their coats, the roof of their igloo or cave is
often or perhaps always broken down, and the
mother and young can be seen on sunny days
basking in the warm sunshine beside their atluk.
The mother will take to the water when the hunter
has approached within gunshot, and will leave the
young one to shift for itself, which generally ends
in its staring leisurely at the hunter until suddenly
it finds a hook in its side. A stout seal-skih line is
then made fast to its hind flipper and it is let into
the atluk. It of course makes desperate efforts to
free itself, and is very apt to attract the attention
of the mother if she is an>'vvhere in the vicinity.
The Eskimo carefulh- watches the movements of
the young one, and, as soon as the mother is
observed, begins to haul in on the line; the old one
follows nearer and nearer to the surface, until, at
last, she crosses the hole at the proper depth, when
the deadly harpoon is planted in her body and she
is quickly drawn out. If, however, the mother
has seen the hunter approaching the atluk, she
will not show herself."
If you were to examine the weapons by which
the Eskimos manage to capture these and other
seals, — specimens of them are in the National
Museum at Washington, — you would be aston-
ished at their roughness. It is very difficult, espe-
cially for the northern bands, to get any wood,
excepting sticks that are washed ashore, and a
piece long enough to make a good spear-handle is
extremely rare. In most cases, therefore, they are
obliged to splice two or three short pieces together,
iSSz.]
I .\ TIIK NORTH ATLANTIC.
629
and this they can only do by slanting both ends,
and binding the pieces at their juncture with
strings of raw-hide or strips of intestine. The
striking end of the spear usually consists of a long
and pretty straight piece of bone, such as can be got
from a whale's or walrus's skeleton, and this is
tipped with a sharp point of bone, or flint, or
(nowadays generally) of iron. Sometimes this tip
is movable, so that when it penetrates the prey it
will come off and only be held by the line, while
the handle floats, secured by a loop. Other spears
have each a skin buoy attached, this making it
up and the Eskimos can go out in their kayaks,
the crankiest of primitive craft, on the ugliest of
voyages ; but this is an adventure they never shirk,
and one that their acquaintance with Europeans
has not changed at all. The kayak is eighteen
or twenty feet long, but is so light that it can be
carried by the one man who forms the crew. It
is all decked over, excepting a little round hole
through which the young Eskimo squeezes his
legs and sits down. Then he puts on a tight oil-
skin coat over his garments, and ties it down to
the deck all around him, so that no water can pour
^^^^^:^^l;^c?^
HEAD OF THE HOODED SEAL, OR " SQUARE-FLIPPER," —
more difficult for the poor animal to swim .away, and
also helping to float the weapon if the hunter misses
his aim. The stout lines are made of seal-hide, or
sometimes of braided spruce roots. The "hooks"
mentioned above have wooden or bone shafts, to
the end of which a curved and sharpened hook of
bone is firmly bound. Besides, there are other rough
weapons, and a kind of net, in all of which the seal's
hide and bones contribute to his tribe's destruction,
and which are mangels of savage ingenuity.
Manv of them are used later when the ice breaks
'THE SPECIES WHICH SHOWS FIGHT." [sEE PAGE 626.]
in " 'tween decks." But, on the other hand, he
must untie the knots before he can get out ; so if
by chance he capsizes, he must either be content
to navigate head down and keel up, or else must
right himself by a sort of somersault, which shall
bring him up on the opposite side — and this he
often actually does.
When the kayaker catches sight of a seal, he ad-
vances within about twenty-five feet of it, and hurls
his harpoon " by means of a piece of wood adapted
to support the harpoon while he takes aim. " This
630
SEALS AND SEAL-HUNTING
[June
is called a throwing-stick, and curiously enough the
Australasians had a similar contrivance for hurling
their javelins. As he throws, the kayaker loosens
the bladder and tosses it off. The animal struck
dives, carrying aua)- the coiled-up line with great
speed ; if in this moment the line happens to
become entangled, the canoe is almost certain
to be capsized and dragged away with no chance
of rising again, and many an Eskimo has lost
his life through a similar mischance. But if the
attack has been successful, the bladder moving on
the surface of the water indicates the track of
the frantic animal beneath it, and the hunter fol-
Late in the summer, when the young seals have
grown able to take care of themselves, and the
herds are away enjoying the open sea and getting
fat on the abundant food they find at that sea-
son, the Eskimo has to pursue them with great
caution, crawling over the ice face downward, and
imitating their awkward, tumbling play until near
enough to hurl his spear : or he must get into his
frail kayak and chase the herds far up glacial fiords
and away across the rough and chilling sea, where
they are living on the floating ice.
The food of seals is various, but consists chiefly
of fish, though the young ones, when companies
SEALS IN SIGHT ! — RACING TO THE FLOE.
lows with the large lance, which, when the seal
re-appears, he throws like the harpoon. This he
does again and again, the lance always disengaging
itself, until the poor seal becomes so weak that it
can be overtaken, and killed by a lunge of the knife.
The flesh of the netsick serves for food all
through the summer, and is "cached," or concealed,
in the snow, or dried for winter use. From the
skins of the old seals the arctic natives make their
summer clothing, while under-garments are fash-
ioned from those of the young netsick. Children
often have entire suits of the white skins of the baby
seals in their first fuzzy coat. With the flesh and
skins of the netsick, too, the Eskimo travels south-
ward to the Danish settlements, and trades for
such civilized articles as he is able to buy.
of them first begin to hunt in the shallow water
near shore, seem to like crabs better than anything
else ; and to several species of shrimps, abounding
in northern seas, the obser\ant sailors have given
the name "seals' food." Shell-fish of various
sorts, too, are cracked in their strong jaws and
devoured — especially the arctic mussels. They
swallow many pebble-stones also, not for food, but,
it is supposed, in order to aid digestion.
Now I must force myself to leave this hasty
sketch of the natural history of these most interest-
ing and ser\'iceable animals, regretting that I can
not dwell longer upon many of its features, and
turn to the exciting incidents of the chase con-
i882.)
I N 1 1 1 E N CRT II A T 1. A N T I C .
631
ducted against them every spring by ships and crews larger in point of numbers than any that go out
from America and Kurope. In this case, however, now, consisted wholly. of sailing vessels, many of
I am obliged to say that 1 must not go greatly which were of small size, notwithstanding the long
A SEAL AFLOAT ON AN ICE-i'AN.
into details, since they would present a horrible
picture of blood and cruel warfare against one of
the most innocent and child-like creatures that
ever breathed. But 1 suppose that, much as we
might wish it, it will be impossible always to keep
out of our sight objects and acts that make us
shudder ; that is, if we arc to know what is actually
going on in the world.
The phocinc seals of the Atlantic are not hunted
for their fur, as are their Alaskan cousins, but
chiefly for their oil, and secondarily for their skins.
It is an industry which profitably employs hun-
dreds of ships and thousands of seamen, and it
receives the name of "scaling." The principal
sealing-grounds are Newfoundland, Labrador, and
the islands which lie between, but especially the
ice-floes off the coast of Western (Greenland, the
Spitzbergen and Jan Mayen seas ; Nova Zenibla,
the White Sea, and the Caspian Sea. Of these the
most important is that first-named, where, as long
ago as half a century, three hundred and seventy-
five vessels assembled annually, and, twenty-five
years ago, five hundred thousand seals were taken
in a single season. These early fleets, which were
and tempestuous voyages they had to endure. The
most of them hailed from Newfoundland. .All
these were concerned in " ice-hunting." which is
the most extensive and protitable. though by far
the most dangerous, of all the methods in vogue
for capturing seals.
You will remember that at the end of winter
enormous herds, chiefly of the harp-seals, come
down and congregate upon the floating fields of
ice eastward of Newfoundland, where the young
are born in March. These are the place and sea-
son of the largest fishery, but the locality is never
fixed nor certain ; the fields, approached simulta-
neously by sailing fleets and steamers from New-
foundland, Nova Scotia, Scotland, England, France,
(Germany, .ind Norway, must be sought for every
year as though for the first time. This is in the
icy, tempestuous North Atlantic, at the most
stormy period of the year. Dreadful gales may
drive the ships anywhere but where they seek to
go, bergs may be hurled against them, the ice
may jam them between its ponderous edges and
crush the doubly braced hulls into splinters, or
cleanly cut away parts of the bottom, and leave the
632
SEALS AND S K A I, - H U N T I N G
[June,
STEAM-SHIP DASHING INTO THE ICE.
vessels to sink and the men to save themselves as
best they may upon broken and drifting ice.
Strange to say, steam-ships are more liable to
harm from the ice than sailing ships, which will
path. Then the ship dashes into it as far as its
power can force it. When it sticks, the crew leap
overboard, chop and break the field into cakes
which are shoved under the floe or hauled out on
top: or, if it is too thick to be broken, saws are
brought out, and a canal is slowly made for the
ship's progress. This is a time of great desire
for haste, and you may well believe that every man
works with all his might.
"Sometimes," writes an eye-witness, "a crowd
of men, clinging around the ship's bows, and hold-
ing on to the bights of rope . . . would jump and
dance on the ice, bending and breaking it with
their weight and dragging her on over it with all
their force. Up to their knees in water, as one
piece after another sank below the cut-water, they
still held on, hurrahing at every fresh start she
made, dancing, jumping, pushing, shoving, haul-
ing, hewing, sawing, till every soul on board was
roused into excited exertion."
Well, when all this toil and danger are passed, —
sometimes greatly prolonged, and in the midst of a
frozen sea and the most violent storms, — and the
ship has the good luck to sight a herd, then begins
for the crew of hardy sailors a season of about the
most arduous labor that one can imagine.
If the weather permit, the vessel is run into the
ice, and moored there; if not, it sails back and
forth in open spaces, managed by the captain and
one or two others, while the remainder of the crew,
sometimes sixty or seventy, or even more in num-
ber, get into boats and row swiftly to the floe. The
-^■- V
^a-.-«l«iUm^^ ' I _^
A "SEAL-MEADOW," OR A HERD OF SEALS UPON AN ICE-FLOE.
be lifted up instead of crushed. Often a field of young seals lie scattered about here and there, bask-
thin "bay-ice," or a solid floe, will lie right in the ing in the sun or sheltered under the lee of a hum-
i882.)
IN Till-: NORTH AILANTIC.
^33
mock, and they lie so thickly that half a dozen
will often be seen in a space twenty yards square.
endurance, his nerves to peril, and his heart to
bitter cruelty ; — but every pelt is worth a dollar !
By night, after a "seal-meadow" has
been attacked, the decks of the vessel arc
hidden under a deep layer of fat, slippery
pelts. After these have lain long enough
to get cool, they are stowed away in the
hold in pairs, each pair having the hair
outward. The hold is divided by stout
partitions into conipartments,or"pounds,"
in order to prevent the cargo from mov-
ing about and so rubbing the fat into oil,
which would speedily fill every part of
the hold and the cabins, spoiling all the
provisions. A vessel once had to be
abandoned from this accident, because it
had not been " pounded. " The European
ships, however, generally separate the fat
at once and stow it in casks.
Sometimes, instead of bringing the
pelts to the ship as fast as they are ob-
tained, the hunters pile them up and
AN ESKIMO IN HIS KAVAK, ABOUT TO HARPOON A SBAU [SEB PACE 630.]
They can not get away, or at most
can only flounder about, and their
plaintive blcatings and white coats
might almost be those of lambs.
The old seals are frightened away
by the approach of the sailors, and
never show fight, and the young-
sters are easily killed ; so tlic men
do not take guns, but only clubs,
with which they strike the poor
little fellows a single blow on the
head, usually killing them at once.
Having struck down all they can
see within a short distance, the
small squad of men who work to-
gether then quickly skin, or (as
they call it) "sculp" them, with
a broad clasp-knife, cutting clear
through the thick layer of fat
which lies underneath the hide,
and so leaving a surprisingly small
carcass behind. Bundles are then
made of from three to seven
"pelts," and each man drags a
bundle toward the boat. This is
sometimes miles distant, the ice is
rough and broken, he must leap
cracks, trust himself to isolated
cakes, and often he falls into the
freezing water, or loses his way in
a sudden squall of snow. It is limb-cracking
and life-risking work, and, to accomplish it suc-
cessfuUv, a man must school his muscles to
SAILOKS DRAGGING BUNDLES OF
'pelts" over the ice to their boat.
place a flag on the heap, so that no other crew-
will take them, for there may be a score or two of
vessels all attacking the herd at once ; and this
634
SEALS AND SEAL- IIUNTIXG
[June,
claim is respected. But in very many cases a snow-
storm hides these heaps, or they break away from
the floe, or the ice "jams" and crushes them, or
the ship itself is driven too far oS' to return, so
that they are lost and wasted ; hence the practice
of thus piling up the pelts is ceasing.
Perhaps I have given you the impression that it
is only the young seals
that are taken on these
expeditions, but that is
not wholly correct. Two
voyages are ordinarily
made, each lasting
about two weeks. The
first voyage brings
home few old seals, but
on the second voyage
the sealers find the
youngsters pretty well
grown, and as well able
to escape as the old
ones. They must there-
fore use guns somewhat,
and otherwise manage
to secure adult, or near-
ly full-grown seals, if
they are to get an\- at all.
Besides the skins and
the fat, parts of the flesh
are preserved for food,
and those who are ac-
customed to it recom-
mend it highly. The
flesh is a ' ' universal
remedy " among the
Eskimos. When the
"Pandora" left Eng-
land on her arctic ex-
pedition in 1874, her
interpreter, Joe, an Es-
kimo, had a bad cough,
but he refused all medi-
cine, saying, "Bimeby,
eat seal, get well." And,
sure enouglj, his cough-
ing was heard no more
after he had feasted on
his favorite food for a
few days. " For young
ladies and gentlemen
who can not succeed in making their features suffi-
ciently attractive on chicken and cheese-cakes, no
diet is likely to succeed so well as delicate cutlets
from the loin of a seal."
There are se\eral methods of capturing these
animals along the shore, by driving companies of
them into nets, set among rocks or spread under-
neath the ice at their breathing-holes ; by surpris-
ing them asleep on the shore and cutting off their
retreat; by shooting, harpooning, and so on; but I
can not weary you in detailing them, although they
are exciting and picturesque.
When a cargo of pelts is brought home, the fat
is carefully removed and converted into oil, either
THE SEALING-GROUNDS. — LEADING THE FLEET.
by the sun or, in less time, by the aid of steam ;
but the latter produces a quality poorer in some
respects both for lamps and for the lubrication of
machines. The skins are salted and packed, and
become cured in three weeks, finding ultimate use
as shoe-leather, and as covering for knapsacks,
valises, small trunks, etc. It would be interesting
8=.)
TIIK CORRECTION lioX.
63 =
to enlarge on this point, too, but readers must be
content with only a skeleton of a history of seals
and the seal industries, which they can t"ill out with
all the more pleasure to themselves by independent
reading in books of arctic travel, of zoology, anil of
the fisheries.
The sealing in the North Atlantic alone gives
employment every spring to, say, twenty-five steam-
ers from Newfoundland, built expressly for the pur-
pose, besides unnumbered sailing vessels ; the crews
of this fleet making a navy of about ten thousand
eager young men. The starting is a scene of the
greatest bustle, and «hen the men return with rich
cargoes, and get their pockets full of money, there
is great hilarity around the usually dull towns of
that far-northern island. It is said that in one year,
recently, a round million of seals were taken in the
North Atlantic alone. Yet there seems to be httle
or no diminution in the crowds that throng the
ice-floes as each March comes round.
THE CURRKCTION BOX.
Hv Krrrv White.
Ykstf.rDjW morning a missionary man came to
our Sunday-school, and told us all about the little
heathen. They don't have to be dressed up, nor
learn the catechism, nor sew patchwork, nor be-
have, nor do anything disagreeable. And they
don't know the value of money ; they 'd a great deal
rather have a bright button than a gold dollar.
In the afternoon, when we were ready for church,
Mother gave us each a five-cent piece. "That 's
to put in the correction box," says she. "The
missionary is going to preach, and your father and 1
want you to give him something for the heathen."
On the way to church, Johnny said : "It is n't
the least use to send five centses to the heathen.
They 'd rather have a bright button than a gold
dollar, and of course they would n't care about five
cents. .\nd there 's no candy in heathenland, so
what do they want of money, anyhow ? "
Then I said: "If I only had my button-string,
we could each give a button, and spend the five
centses for candy, and so we 'd be pleased all
'round." Johnny said that was a good idea ; and
"there 's a button loose on my jacket this minute;
and if I can twist off another before the correction
box comes 'round, I 'U give it to you, Kitty."
1 thought it w;is a lovely plan, for Johnny's but-
tons are just beauties. I heard Mother tell sister
Em that they cost two dollars a dozen. They look
like gold. But when we got to church, they made
me go into the pew first, and Father put Johnny
beside him next the door, so 's we could n't talk.
The missionary talked a long time, and then
they sang " Greenland's Icy Mountains," and then
they went 'round w ith the correction boxes. Father
takes one of them, and they 're on long sticks
like a corn-popper, and deep, so 't other folks
can't see what you put in. I had to drop in my
Vol. IX.— 41.
five cents, and then Mother and Em put in their
money, and last of all Johnny put in his button.
He held his hand close to the box when he did it,
and then he looked at me behind the others, and
nodded, so I 'd know he had his five cents all safe.
This morning we bought five lovely squares of
taffy. We did n't have time to eat it before school,
and when \vc were gt>ing home, Johnny said : "Let
us wait till after dinner, and then give everybody a
piece ; and then I '11 tell Father what the mis-
sionary said, and may be after this he '11 give but-
tons, and it '11 save him a great deal of money."
So we waited, and after dinner, just as we took
out the candy to divide it, Father pulled something
bright out of his pocket, and rolled it across the
table to Mother. She thought it was money, and
said, "Just what I wanted!" But it was n't
money; it was a brass button.
" How did you come by this? " said she.
" I found it in the correction box, yesterday
afternoon," said Father. "Some little rascal put
it in. 1 suppose, and spent his money for candy,
and whoever he is, he ought to have a wholesome
lesson. Ifhewasmyson "
And then Mother said, "Why, it is just like
Johnny's buttons! " And sister Em said, "Well,
there 's one gone off his Sunday jacket. I noticed
it this morning, and meant to speak about it."
Everybody looked at us. Father asked what we
had in that paper, and "John, is this your but-
ton ? " And what could we say but yes ? They
called us unhappy children, and sent us upstairs.
We 've both had a wholesome lesson. I had
one 'cause they said I put it into Johnny's head.
For two weeks, Father is going to put our pennies
away for the heathen, to make us remember.
Johnny says he wishes he was a heathen.
636
IN THE GARDEN.
[June,
'^^-^'..^;M^^^<-^ W^;
]^esLde t])a Trjo^svy ^ardep -waU,
,^ ^. }jer)A dowT) wd}) glepdev gterr) "to nje
iir^.%^X?\ [hat I your crimcor) cuDo ttjow ^ee ,
'- ix-Sf'^i:TMii~ ( ) holly nocKr xhcL-t ^ovv/ go ■colll;
fvi^A^^^t^)\ mS^ «;^^ w^e A/^IL or)& cVJTiniT)er cla>^
ov/p
X~"9^ Vv/up^orrjo reel xnac ^.un^Trj&r ctoy.
"V-
i882.|
l.UNGl-ELLOW AND Till:: C 1 1 1 I. D K i: N .
637
LONGFKLLOW AND THK C I ! I I.l ) R K N .
By Lucy Larcom.
The poets who love children are the poets whom
children love. It is natural that they should care
much for each other, because both children and
poets look into things in the same way, — simply,
with open eyes and hearts, seeing Nature as it is,
and finding whatever is lovable and pure in the
people who surround them, as flowers may re-
ceive back from flowers sweet odors for those
which they have given. The little child is born
with a poet's heart in him, and the poet has been
fitly called " the eternal child."
Not that all children or all poets are alike in this.
But of him who has just gone from us — the hon-
ored Longfellow — we think as of one who has
always been fresh and natural in his sympathy
for children, one who has loved them as the)-
have loved him.
We wish he had given us more of the memories
of his own childhood. One vivid picture of it
comes to us in ".My Lost Youth," a poem which
shows us how cverjthing he saw when a child
must have left within him a life-long impression.
That boyhood by the sea must have been full of
dreams as well as of pictures. The beautiful bay
with its green islands, widening out to the Atlantic
on the east, and the dim chain of mountains, the
highest in New England, lying far away on the
north-western horizon, give his native city a roomy
feeling not often experienced in the streets of a
town ; and the boy-poet must have felt his imag-
ination taking wings there, for many a long flight.
So lie more than hints to us in his song:
*' I can sec the shadowy lines of its trees.
And catch, in sudden gleams.
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas.
And islands that were the Hcspcrides
0( all my hoyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
' A boy's will is the wind's will.
And the thoughts of youth arc long, long thoughts.' "
" I remember the black wharves and the slips,
And the sea-tides tossing free :
.And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
.-\nd the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
.\nd the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
' .\ boy's will is the wind's will,
.•Vnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.' "
Longfellow's earliest volume, "The \'oices of
the Night," was one of the few books of American
poetry that some of us who are now growing old
ourselves can remember reading, just as we were
emerging from childhood. " The Reaper and the
Flowers" and the "Psalm of Life," — I recall the
delight with which I used to repeat those poems.
The latter, so full of suggestions which a very
young person could feel, but only half understand,
was for that very reason the more fascinating. It
seemed to give glimpses, through opening doors,
of that wonderful new world of mankind, where
children are always longing to wander freely as
men and women. Looking forward and aspiring
are among the first occupations of an imagina-
tive child; and the school-boy who declaimed the
words :
" Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,"
and the school-girl who read them quietly by her-
self, felt them, perhaps, no less keenly than the
man of thought and experience.
Longfellow has said that —
" Subhn;ity always is simple
Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning,"
and the simplicity of his poetry is the reason why
children and young people have always loved it ;
the reason, also, why it has been enjoyed by men
and women and children all over the world.
One of his poems which has been the delight of
children and grown people alike is the " X'illage
Blacksmith," the first half of which is a descrip-
tion that many a boy might feel as if he could
have written himself — if he only had the poet's
command of words and rhymes, and the poet's
genius ! Is not this one of the proofs of a good
poem, that it haunts us until it seems as if it had
almost grown out of our own mind ? How life-like
the picture is ! —
" And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
.■\nd hear the l>cllows roar.
And catch the bunting sparks that fly
Like chaff from a thn»hing.floor. "
No wonder the Cambridge children, when the old
chestnut-tree that overhung the smithy was cut
down, had a memento shaped into a chair from its
boughs, to present to him who had made it an
immortal tree in his verse ! It bore flower and
fruit for them a second time in his acknowledg-
ment of the gift ; for he told them how —
6.^.8
LONGFELLOW AND THE CHILDREN.
[June,
'* There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street
Its blossoms white and sweet,
Enticed the bees, until it seemed aUve.
And murmured like a hive.
" And when the winds of autumn, with a shout
Tossed its great arms about.
The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath.
Dropped to the ground beneath."
In its own wild, winsome way, the song of
''Hiawatha's Childhood" is one of the prettiest
fancies in poetry. It is a dream of babyhood in
the " forest primeval," with Nature for nurse and
teacher; and it makes us feel as if — were the
poet's idea only a possibility — it might have been
very pleasant to be a savage baby, although we
consider it so much better to be civilized.
" At the door on summer evenings
Sat the little Hiawatha ;
Heard the whispering nf the pine-trees,
Heard the lapping of the water,
Sounds of music, words of wonder:
Light me with your little candle,
Ere upon my bed I lay me,
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids ! '
********
" Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets.
How they built their nests in summer,
Where they hid themselves in winter,
********
" Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets.
How the beavers built their lodges,
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid ;
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them 'Hiawatha's Brothers.'"
How Longfellow loved the very little ones can
be seen in such verses as the '* Hanging of
the Crane," and in those earlier lines *'To a
Child," where the baby on his mother's knee
gazes at the painted tiles, shakes his " coral rattle
HOISE — ONCE WASHINGTON
\MhKlUt.l-.
' Minne-wawa ! ' said the pine-trees :
' Mudway-aushka ! ' said the water.
Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee,
Flitting through the dusk of evening.
With the twinkle of its candle
Lighting up the brakes and bushes.
And he sang the song of children,
Sang the song Nokomis taught him :
'Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly.
Little, flitting, white-fire insect,
Little dancing, white-fire creature.
with the silver bells," or escapes through the open
door into the old halls where once
"The Father of his country dwelt."
Those verses give us a charming glimpse of the
home-life in the historic mansion which is now so
rich with poetic, as well as patriotic associations.
Other glimpses of it he has given us also. Some
LOXGFEI.I.OW AMI rilK CHII.DREX.
639
years ago, many households in our land were made
happy by the pictured group of Longfellow's three
children, which he allowed to be put into circula-
A CORNER IN LONCFELIjOW S STUDY.
tion, — three lovely little girls, who became known
to us through the poet's words as —
'Grave Alice, and Iniighing AUcgra.
And Edith with golden hair."
How beautiful it was to be let in to that twilight
library scene described in tlic '' Children's Hour " :
" A sudden rush from the stair- way,
A sudden raid from the hall !
By three doors left unguarded,
They enter my castle wall !
" They climb up into my turret.
O'er the arms and h.ack of my chair ;
If I try to escape, they surround me ;
They seem to be everywhere.
" Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old moustache as 1 am
Is not a match for you all?
" - have you last in my fortress.
And will not let you depart.
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
" And there will I keep you foiever.
Yea, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crtimblc to niin
And moulder in dust away ! "
Afterward, when sorrow and loss had come to
the happy home, in the sudden removal of the
mother of those merry children, the father who
loved them so had a sadder song for them, as he
looked onward into their orphaned lives :
" O little feet, that such long years
Must wander on, through hopes .tnd fear^.
Must ache and bleed beneath your load,
I. nearer to the wayside inn.
Where toil shall cca.>e. and rest begin,
\m weary, thinking of your n)ad I "
.\nd later, as if haunted by a care for them that
would not lea\e him, he wrote the beautiful sonnet
beginning :
" I said imto myself, if 1 were dead,
What would befall these children ? What would be
Their fate, who now arc looking up to me
For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said,
Would be a volinne wherein I have read
But the first chapters, and no longer sec
To read the rest of their dear history.
So full of beauty and so full of dread."
\'ery sweet to those children must be the
memory of such a father's love !
Longfellow loved all children, and had a word
for them whenever he met them.
At a concert, going early with her father, a little
girl espied .Mr. Longfellow sitting alone, and
begged that she might go and speak to him. Her
father, himself a stranger, took the liberty of intro-
ducing his little daughter Edith to the poet.
" Edith y " said Mr. Longfellow, tenderly. '" .Xh !
I have an ICdith, too ; but //// baliy Edith is twenty
years old.'' .And he seated the child beside him,
taking her hand in his, and making her promise
to come and see him at his house in Cambridge.
"■ What is the name of your sled, my boy ? " he
said to a small lad, who came tugging one up the
road toward him, on a winter morning.
"It 's ' Evangc////f.' Mr, Longfellow- wrote
' Evange//«f,' Did you ever see Mr. Longfellow?"
answered the little fellow, as he ran by, doubtless
wondering at the smile on the face of the pleasant
gray-haired gentleman.
Professor Monti, who witnessed the pretty scene,
tells the story of a little girl who hist Christmas
inquired the way to the poet's house, and .asked if
she could just step inside the yard ; and he relates
how Mr. Longfellow, being told she was there,
went to the door and called her in, and showed her
the "old clock on the stairs," and many other
interesting things about the house, leaving his
little guest with beautiful memories of that Christ-
mas day to carry all through her life. This was
characteristic of the poet's hospitality, delicate and
courteous and tliouglitful to all who crossed his
threshold. Many a trembling young girl, friglit-
ened at her own boldness in having ventured into
his presence, was set at ease by her host in the most
genial way ; he would make her forget her-
self in the interesting mementos all about her,
devoting himself to her entertainment as if it were
the one pleasure of the hour to do so.
640
LONGFELLOW AND THE CHILDREN,
[June,
It is often said, and with reason, that we Ameri-
cans do not think enough of manners — that
politeness of behavior which comes from genuine
sympathy and a dehcate perception of others' feel-
ings. Certainly our young people might look to
Mr. Longfellow as a model in this respect. He
was a perfect gentleman, in the best sense of that
term, always considerate, and quick to see where
he might do a kindness, or say a pleasant word.
A visitor one day told him in conversation of a
)oung lady relative or friend, who had sent to Mr.
Longfellow the message that he was the one man in
the world she wanted to see.
" Tell her," said the poet, instantly, " that she
is the one young lad)- in the world whom I want
to see."
Some young girls, from a distant part of the
country, having been about Cambridge sight-see-
ing, walked to Mr. Longfellow's house, and ventur-
ing within the gate, sat down upon the grass. He
passed them there, and turning back, said :
" Young ladies, you are uncomfortably seated.
Wont you come into the house ? "
They were overjoyed at the invitation, and on
entering, Mr. Longfellow insisted upon their tak-
ing lunch with him. They saw that the table was
set for four, and were beginning to be mortified at
finding themselves possible intruders upon other
guests. They so expressed themselves to their
host, who put them at ease at once, saying that it
was only his regular lunch with his children, and
that they would be happy to wait.
One of a group of school-girls whom he had
welcomed to his house sent him, as a token of her
gratitude, an iron pen made from a fetter of the
Prisoner of Chillon, and a bit of wood from the
frigate " Constitution," ornamented with precious
stones from three continents. He wrote his thanks
in a poem which must be very precious to the
giver, — "Beautiful Helen of Maine," — to whom
he says of her gift that it is to him —
" As a drop of the dew of your youth
On the leaves of an aged tree."
Longfellow's courtesy was as unfailing as the
demands upon it were numerous and pressing.
Ver)- few imagine what a tax it is upon the time
of our more prominent authors simply to write
the autographs which are requested of them. He
almost invariably complied with such requests, when
made in a proper manner, wearisome as it must
often have been to do so. Not long since, he had
a letter from a Western boy, who sent his name.
desiring him to translate it into every language he
knew, and send it back to him with his autograph !
The poet was much amused at the request, but it
is doubtful whether he found time to gratify that
boy.
Still another incident related of him is that he
was one day walking in a garden with a little five-
)ears maiden who was fond of poetry and occasion-
ally " made up some " herself.
"I, too, am fond of poetn,-," he said to her.
" Suppose you give me a little of yours this beauti-
ful morning ? "
"Think," cried he, afterward, to a friend, throw-
ing up his hands, his eyes sparkling with merri-
ment,— " think what her answer was ! She said :
' Oh, Mr. Longfellow, it does n't always come when
you want it ! ' Ah me, — how true, how true ! "
The celebration of Longfellow's seventy-fifth
birthday by school-children all over the country
is something that those children must be glad to
think of now — glad to remember that the poet
knew how much they cared for him and for what
he had written. Even the blind children, who
have to read with their fingers, were enjoying his
songs with the rest. How pleasant that must have
been to him ! Certainly, as it seems to me, the
best tribute that the young people of the country
can pay to his memory is to become more familiar
with his poems.
Of our older poets, whose greatness time has
tested, only a few remain. One of them, writing
of Longfellow's departure, says sadly : " Our little
circle narrows fast, and a feeling of loneliness
comes over me."
We should not wait until a great and good man
has left us before giving him honor, or trying to
understand what he has done for us. A dreary
world ours would be, if there were no poets' songs
echoing through it ; and we may be proud of
our country that it has a poetry of its own, which
it is for us to know and possess for ourselves.
Longfellow has said :
" \Vhat the leaves are to the forest
With light and air and food.
Ere their sweet and lender juices
Have been hardened into wood.
That to the world, are children " :
and something like this we may say of his songs.
There is in all true poetry a freshness of life which
makes the writer of it immortal.
The singer so much beloved has passed from
sight, but the music of his voice is in the air, and,
listening to it, we know that he can not die.
1882.1
I.ONGKKM,0\V S LAST A I'T E R N ( )( ) N WITH CIIIl.DREN.
641
LCINGFIC LLOW'S LAST AFTP:RN00N' \\'\T
CH ILDRKN.
Bv Hezekiah Butterworth.
* He is dead, the sweet musician !
He the sweetest of all singers !
He has gone from us forever:
He has moved a little nearer
To the Master of all music,
To the Master of all singing."
In the early part of March, some lads belonging
to the Dwight School, Boston, \vished to visit
Professor Longfellow, with whose poems they were
becoming familiar.
" Let us write to him," said one of the boys,
" and ask his permission to call on him some holi-
day afternoon."
They consulted their teacher, who favored the
plan, and the following note was sent to the poet;
"Henry W. Longfellow — Dear Sir : Would it be agreeable
to you to receive a call from four boys of the Dwight School ? . . ."
Four names were signed to the note.
In a few days the following answer was returned :
" Mr. Longfellow would be pleased to meet the boys of the
Dwight School on Saturday afternoon. "
The boys were delighted. They procured a
choice bouquet of flowers to give to the poet, and
on Saturday afternoon, March i8th, went to Cam-
bridge, and made the last visit to Longfellow that
he ever received. Soon after they left him, he
walked on the piazza of the ancient house, and
being there exposed to the raw March winds, he
contracted the sudden illness that ended his life.
On their way to Cambridge, the boys left Boston
by the Charles River bridge, over which inces-
santly day and night a procession of footsteps
goes and returns, as restless as the tide that ebbs
and flows among the wooden piers and there
makes its ceaseless murmur.
Many years ago, in loneliness and despondency,
the great poet himself had been accustomed to go
over the wooden bridge in the same place ; and
often he went at night, w-hcn the city clocks around
Beacon Hill solemnly announced the hours. There
was a great furnace then on the Brighton Hills,
and its red light glowed weirdly in the shadowy
distance. That sad time and lonely scene were
in his mind when he wrote :
" I stood on the bridge at midnight.
As the clocks were striking the hour,
.And the moon rose o'er the city.
Behind the dark church-tower.
" I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under mc.
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.
" And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon."
A horse-car ride of half an hour took the boys
past Harvard College, where the poet had spent
many happy years as a professor, to his home — the
mansion that Washington made famous in history
■as his head-quarters. It resembles the one de-
scribed in '■ The Old Clock on the Stairs":
" Somewhat
b.ick from
the village
street
Stands the old-fash
ioned countrj'-scat.
Across its antique
portico
Tall poplar-trees their
shadows throw :
And from its station in
the hail
.*\n ancient timepiece says to
all,—
' Forever — never!
Never — forever! ' "
THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.
This poem
was suggested
by the French words, " Toiijours .
mais ! toujours ! "
In that house the " Psalm of Life " was written.
This poem, which to-day is known and admired
wherever the English language is spoken, was at
jamais .' Ja-
642
LONGFELLOW S LAST AFTERNOON'
[June,
first not intended for publication, but was merely
an expression of the poet's own views and purposes.
Longfellow once told the writer of this article the
story of the composition of this poem, and added
the following pleasing incident :
" As I was returning from my visit to the Queen
M lA^Vl^V" t . ^iO-,'>-C^.
in London, a laborer came up to my carriage and
extended his hand. ' I wish,' he said, ' to shake
hands with the author of " The Psalm of Life ! " '
Few incidents of my life have been more pleasing.
That was a compliment I could appreciate ! "
In this house, too, "Evangeline" was written,
the story being given to the poet by his friend,
Nathaniel Hawthorne. Here, also, was written
" E.Kcelsior," after the poet had been reading
a letter, from Charles Sumner, full of noble
sentiments ; here, besides, Longfellow wrote the
" Wreck of the Hesperus," when the sad news of
the loss of the Gloucester fishing-fleet, and the
mournful words " Norman's Woe," so haunted
him that he could not sleep. Here were produced
nearly all of his poems that have become house-
hold words in many lands.
The poet received the boys most cordially and
graciously, accepted their present of flowers, and
expressed his pleasure in it. He then showed them
the historic rooms, and the articles associated with
Wcishington's residence there. He was accus-
tomed to exhibit to older visitors a piece of Dante's
coffin, Coleridge's inkstand, and Thomas Moore's
waste-paper basket.
The old poet, crowned with his white hair, chat-
ted pleasantly awhile with the four boys, whose
faces wore the beauty and inquisitive intelligence
of the years that had vanished from him forever.
One of the lads, a Master Lane, then asked him
a question which must have revived tender memo-
ries: "In your poem on the River Charles," he
said, " there is a stanza beginning in some books
with the line ' Four long years' of mingled feeling.'
In other books it begins with ' For long years with
mingled feeling.' Will you please tell me which
is right?"
" ' Four long years,' " answered the poet,
thoughtfully.
'• Is that the River Charles ? " asked one of
the boys, pointing outside.
The poet looked out on the flowing stream. It
was almost the last time that he gazed upon it ;
perhaps the last time that his attention was directed
to it. '' Yes," said he, mournfully, in answer,
" that is the Charles."
Years before, when his manhood was in its
prime, he had sung of this river :
"Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long :
Thou hast been a generous giver:
I can give thee but a song.
" Oft in sadness and in illness,
I have watched thy current glide.
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me, like a tide,
•'.\nd in better hours and brighter.
When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter.
And leap onward with thy stream.
" Not for this alone I love thee.
Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee
Take their own celestial hue.
" Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
.\nd thy waters disappear.
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,
And have made thy margin dear.
" .More than this : — thy name reminds me
Of three friends, all true and tried :
And that name, like magic, binds me
Closer, closer to thy side.
" Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start.
When I fan the living embers
On the hearth-stone of my heart ! "
And again, after the death of his friend Charles
Sumner, when age had silvered his hair :
i882.]
Wnil I 11 I I. I) REX.
643
** River, that steale>t with such silent pace
Amund the City of the Dead, where lies
A friend who bore thy name, and whom these eyes
Shall see no more in his accustomed place.
Linger and fold him in thy soft embrace
And say good-night, for now the western skies
Are red with sunset, and gray mists arise
Like damps that gather on a dead man's face.
Oood-night ! good-night ! as wc so oft have said
Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days
That arc no more and shall no more return.
Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed :
I stay a little longer, as one stays
To cover up the embers that still buni."
The poet bade the lads an affectionate farewell,
;in(l for the last time he saw the forms of children
depart from his door. He ga\c them his au-
tograph, and copies of the pt>em he had written
for the children of Cambridge, after they had pre-
sented to him a chair made from a tree that stood
near the shop of the village blacksmith, whose
honest histor)' he had taken for the subject of one
of his poems.
The last view of the River Charles and of happ)
children ! How the scene must have awakened in
the poet's mind memories of the past, even al-
though he could not then know that the shadow of
death was so near !
The hand that wrote "The Children's Hour"
now rests in sweet Auburn, Boston's city of the
dead. The River Charles flows by, and its banks
will still grow bright with every spring-time.
Charles Sumner, for whose name the poet loved the
river, sleeps there, and Ct)rnclius Fclton, of Har-
vard College, whom also the poet loved. There,
too, rests the universally loved and honored Louis
.-Vgassiz, another of those "three friends," each of
whom left him for years but a " majestic memory."
The birds will come there in summer, and sing
among the oaks and the fountains. The children
will go there, too, and never by them will their
own poet be forgotten. They may love to remem-
ber that his last reception was given to children,
and that with them, when the friends of other
\ears had passed away, he looked for the last time
upon the River Charles.
•* Come to me, () yc children !
.And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.
■' For what arc all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of <)ur books,
When compared with your caresses.
And the gladness of your looks ?
' Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said :
For ye .ire living poems,
And all the rest are dead."
:ANCE OF l_OM.) I 1
KIVEK CHAKLbs,
\ THtiF.E IS
HILt-S.)
A \IEW OF THE
644
D (J N A L D A N D D O R O T H V
[June,
DONALD AND DOROTHY.*
By Mary Mapes Dodge.
Chapter XIX.
THE " G. B. c."
Dorothy was made very happy one day by
Uncle George handing her the httle copy-book
diary, and saying that she and Donald could
read as much of it as they wished.
"Oh, Don; see here ! " she exclaimed, holding
up the book as Donald, by invitation, joined her
in the Cozy Corner. " It 's all right. Uncle says
so. We '11 begin at the first page and read ever)-
single word ! "
The diary, it seemed, contained nothing start-
ling, but it gave them an excellent idea of Aunt
Kate's happy girlhood. She spoke of many things
familiar to them, and above all they were interested
in her frequent allusions to "our new dog, Nero,"
evidently her own special pet.
Poor Nero! So young then, and now so very
old ! This was his last winter. He had become
blind of late and very feeble ; but, nevertheless,
when the end came, it was a shock to all, and a
sore trial to Don and Dorry. Many a time after
that day they would stop in their sports to bend
beside the little head-stone under the evergreens
and talk of him — the faithful friend they had
loved all their lives, who had reached his prime
and died of old age during their own youth.
We must pass rapidly over the next few montlis,
only pausing to say that they were busy ones for
the D's. In the first place, the new tutor, as Don
expressed it, was "worked by steam" and was
" one of the broad-gauge, high-pressure sort '^ ; but
Uncle George noted that his nephew and niece
made great advancement under what he called
Dr. Sneeden's careful and earnest teaching.
But they had, too, their full share of recreation.
Don and Ed found the gymnasium not only a
favorite resort in the way of pleasure, but also a
great benefit to their physical development. After
a few weeks' exercise, their muscles began to grow-
stronger and harder, and the startling climbs, leaps,
tumbles, hand-springs, and somersaults which the
boys learned to perform were surprising.
When the summer came, Don and Ed Tyler
secretly believed themselves competent to become
members of the best circus troupe in the country,
and many a boy- visitor was asked to "feel that,
will you ? " as each young Hercules knotted the
upper muscles of his arm in order to astonish the
beholder. Even the girls caught the spirit, and,
though they would not for the world have had
the boys know it, they compared muscle in a mild
way among themselves, and Dorry's was declared
by admiring friends to be " awfully hard."
Little Fand)- Danby, too, became so expeit that,
after giving himself numberless bruises, he finally
attained the summit of his ambition by hanging
from the horizontal ladder and going hand over
hand its entire length, though not without much
puffing and panting and a frantic flourishing of
little legs.
Don and the boys had great fun in " stumping "
each other, which consisted in one performing a
certain feat and challenging the others to do it,
and if matched in that, then daring them to some
bolder and more difficult attempt.
Uncle George himself took part in these con-
tests, and, though often beaten, threatened to
distance them all after a few- months' practice.
"There 's a plentiful share of limberness tied up
in these old muscles," he would say, "and when
it 's set free, boys, look out for your laurels ! "
Well, the spring passed away and no bones were
broken. Boating and bathing, berry-ing and other
sports came with the advancing season ; but
the great feature of the summer was the G. B. C,
or Girls' Botany Club, of w-hich Dorry was presi-
dent, Josie Manning secretary, and Dr. Sneeden
inspirer, advisory committee, and treasurer, all in
one. Nearly all the nice girls joined, and boys
were made honorary members whenever their
scientific interest and zeal in hunting for botanical
treasures entitled them to that distinction.
Ah, those were happy days ! And if the honor-
ary members were troublesome now and then,
scaring the girls half to death with lizards, toads,
or harmless garter-snakes, why it was only " the
boys " ; and after all it really w-as fun to scream a
little by way of lightening the more solid pursuits
of the club. Besides, the boys often were a real
help, especially in rocky plr.ces and in the marshes,
and Well — it was fess troublesome to have
them than to do without them.
So far, only one real shadow- had fallen across
the sunny hours, and that was when Dorry had
proposed Charity Danby as a member, and some
of the foolish girls had objected on the plea that
the Danbys were "poor folks."
"Poor folks," indeed! You should have seen
* Copyright, 1881, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reserved.
i382.]
DONALD AND DORoTHV
645
their president then ! You should have heard her
spirited remarks, her good, wholesome arguments,
and seen her glowing, indignant presidential coun-
tenance ! The opposition had been stubborn at
first, gathering strength in secret and losing it in
public, until at last good sense and kindliness pre-
vailed. The motion to admit Charity as a mem-
ber of the (i. B. C. was carried unanimously, and
almost the first she knew about it she was a full
member, eagerly searching hill-side and meadow
with the rest, and wondering deep in her inmost
soul whether she ever, ever could "catch up" to
the other girls. They knew so much from books,
and she had been able to study so little !
Poor Charity — she was wiser than she knew.
Her habit of close observation, and her eager desire
to learn, soon made her a valuable addition to the
club. She knew where to find e\ery wild flower
of that locality in its season, from the trailing
arbutus in the spring to the latest bloom of the
autumn, and "Charity Danby says so" soon
became a convincing argument in many a dis-
cussion.
But we must now go back for several weeks, and
learn how it happened that our busy Charit)' was
able to accept the invitation of the C H. C.
picturesky, which I '11 keep to my dying day.
There, Dan Uave, you don't need no more slats on
that side ; take this broken one out here, that 's a
good child ; it scrapes the old hen every time she
goes under. Look out! You '11 break the whole
thing to pieces if you aint careful. My ! How
strong boys are ! "
Meantime, Dorry, as we know, had entered.
The house 'iuas out of order, but Charity was doing
her best to improve matters. With one hand she
was " picking up and putting away," and with the
other stroking the bumped head of baby Jamie.
Though now able to w-alk alone, the little one had
just experienced one of his frequent tumbles, and
was crying and clinging to Charity's skirts as he
trotted beside her. N'o one else was in the room,
%.^.
It was early in July ; remnants of exploded fire-
crackers still lingered in the trampled grass near
Mrs. Danby's white-washed fence. She — busy
soul! — was superintending the mending of her
home-made chicken-coop, now trembling and
quivering under the mighty strokes of Daniel
David. With one breath the mother was making
suggestions to her young carpenter, and with the
next screaming to Helen and Isabella to be careful
or they would tumble into the pig-pen, when,
suddenly, she saw Dorry at the back gate.
" Massy ! Here comes Dorothy Reed, looking
like a fresh rose, as she is, and not a thing in the
house to rights. Well, I can't help it — ten chil-
dren so, and everything to — Ah, Dorothy ! " con-
tinued Mrs. D.anby, exchanging her silent thoughts
for active speech, " walk right in, dear, and do
please excuse everything. Charity 's in the house,
picking up and putting away ; I 'd call her out,
but "
No need to finish the sentence. Dorry, with
a cheery: "Oh, no, indeed, thank you!" had
already vanished under the morning-glor)- vines
that shaded the door-wav.
" Bless her heart ! " pursued Mrs. Danby, now
talking to Daniel David, " but she 's a beauty!
Not that mv own are humly, either. Charity 's no
fright, by ..., means, and there 's your sister
Amanda — why, only last summer Master Donald's
teacher drew a picture of her, because she was so
* so PICTURESKY ! '
and perhaps this was why the busy sister was softly
saying to herself, as she worked :
"Queen Elizabeth was one, William-and-Mary's
Mary was another, and Lady Jane Grey and
Queen Victoria— Oh, do hush, Jamie, dear, I 've
kissed it twice already — there ! "
Suiting the action to the word, she pressed her
lips of healing once more upon Jamie's yellow
hair, and lifting her head again, she saw Dorry in
the door-way, laughing.
" Oh, Dorothy, how you startled me ! I did n't
hear you coming at all. I 'm so glad ! But you
need n't laugh at me, Dorry — 1 'm only trying to
retnember a little hist'ry."
"1 'm not laughing At ycu," Dorry protested,
merrily. " But it was so funny to hear you put-
ting the English queens into the pots and pans;
that was all. Here, let me help a little. Come,
Jamie, sit on Dotty's lap, and she '11 tell you all
about Bluebeard."
" Oh, no; that 's too old for him. Tell him
646
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[June,
about the chickies," suggested Charity, in a busi-
ness-lilce way, as, disengaging her gown from his
baby clutch, she sprang upon a chair, in order to
put something away on the highest shelf of the
dresser.
" It 's no use," she said, jumping down again,
almost angrily, and raising her voice to be heard
above Jamie's outcry. " Oh, dear, what doi-s
make you so naughty, Baby ? "
" He is n't naughty," said Dorry, soothingly;
"he 's only tired of being indoors. Come, Jamie,
we '11 go out and play chickie till Charity gets
through, and then we '11 all take a nice walk."
Jamie seized Dorry's hand instantly, and out
they went.
" Be careful ! " called Charity, after her, setting
a chair down hard at the same time. " Look out,
or he '11 get right under the cow's feet ; he always
does."
" I '11 be careful," sang out Dorr)-. " Come as
soon as you can. This delightful air will do you
COMPLAININ .
good." Tlicn, seeing Ellen Eliza, the ten-year-old
Danby girl, standing not far from the house, she
led Jamie toward her.
Ellen Eliza had a very tender heart. Every one
who knew Mrs. Danby had heard of that tender
heart more than once ; and so Dorry was not in
the least surprised to find Ellen Eliza in the act
of comforting a draggled-looking fowl, which she
held tenderly in her arms in spite of its protest.
■' Is it hurt ? " asked Dorry.
Ellen Eliza looked up with an anxious counte-
nance as she murmured :
"Oh, no, not exactly hurt; he 's complainin'. 1
think he 's hungry, but he wont eat. "
" Dear me ! " was Dorry's unfeeling comment ;
"then 1 'd let him go hungry, I declare if I
would n't."
" Oh, no, you could n't be cruel to a poor sick
rooster ? " Here Ellen Eliza pressed the uneasy fowl
to her heart. "May be, he 's got a sore throat."
" Do you know what/ think?" said Dorry, quite
disregarding the patient's possible affliction.
"What?" asked Ellen Eliza, plaintively, as if
prepared to hear that her feathered pet was going
into a rapid decline. And Dorry went on :
" / think that if people with tender hearts
would remember their sisters sometimes, it would
be "
"What do you mean?" interrupted the aston-
ished Ellen Eliza, releasing the now struggling
bird as she spoke.
Dorry laid her hand kindly on the little girl's
shoulder.
"I '11 tell you," she said. " If I were you, I 'd
help Charity more. I 'd take care of this dear
little brother sometimes. Don't you notice how-
very often she is obliged to stay from school to
help with the work, and how discouraged she feels
about her lessons ?"
" No ! " answered Ellen Eliza, with wide-open
eyes. " I did n't ever notice that. I think it 's
nice to stay home from school. But, anyhow.
Charity would n't trust me. She dotes on Jamie
so. She 's always been afraid 1 'd let him fall."
Dorry smiled.
"Oh, that was long ago, Ellen. Jamie can
walk now, you know, and if you look after him
sometimes, you '11 soon be able to help Charity
wonderfully."
"All right!" was Ellen Eliza's cordial answer.
" 1 '11 do it. Somehow, I never thought of it.
But I often help Mother. She says I 'm the best-
hearted of all the children, and so 1 am. You
see if 1 don't help Charity after this."
The conversion seemed too sudden to be ver\-
lasting ; but Ellen Eliza, who was really sincere,
proceeded at once to put her new resolution into
practice. To be sure, her renowned tender heart
did not make her all at once an experienced house-
niaid, seamstress, and nurse, as Charity was; but
from that day it made her, at intervals, a willing
little hand-maiden, and so gave her sister many a
DON A I, D AM) DOR O 1' 1 1 \
647
leisure hour for reading; and study. More than
this, Ellen Eliza anil Dorry became close friends
ill Charity's behalf, and one thing led to another,
until Charity actually attended school regularly.
She was behind most of the scholars, of course ;
but many a day she spent an hour in the Cozy
Corner, where Dorry helped her to study her
lessons. Her progress was remarkable.
" You inake everything so beautifully plain,
I can't help improving," she would say to Dorry.
And Dorry would laugh and protest that the
toachcr was learning as much as the pupil, and
that they were a wonderful pair, any u-ay.
All this while. Charity, bright and hopeful, w.as
doing a goodly share of house duties, and making
the Danby home more sunny with her happiness.
Little Jam.ie was her delight, as she was his ; but
she was no longer jaded and discouraged. Ellen
Eliza looked at her with pride, and willingly sub-
mitted to the school-teaching that Charity, in turn,
was able to give her.
" I can't bear'rithmetic," was the tender-hearted
one's comment, " but I have to learn my tables,
else Charity 'd worry and Dorry would n't like it.
And jography 's nice, 'cause Pa likes me to tell
him aljout it, when he comes home. Soon 's I
get big, I mean to make Helen and Is'bella learn
their lessons like everything."
Ahis ! The new educational movement met
with a sudden but temporary check in the shape
of the measles. One fine day, that unwelcome
visitant came into the house, and laid its hand on
poor little Helen. In a few days, Isabella and
Jamie were down beside her — not very ill, but all
three just ill enough to require a darkened room,
careful nursing, and a bountiful supply of Dorry's
willing oranges.
This was why Charity, for a time, was cut off
from her studies, and why she was cjuite taken !)>■
surprise when word came to her of the G. B. C,
and that she was to join it, as soon as the little ones
could spare her.
You have seen Charity botanizing on the hill-
side with the other girls, but to understand her
zeal, you should have heard her defend the science
against that sarcastic brother of hers — Daniel
David. In vain that dreadful boy hung dried
stalks and dead branches all about her room, and
put dandelions in her tea-cup, and cockles in her
hair-brush — pretending all the while that he was
a good boy bringing "specimens" to his dear
sister. In vain he challenged every botanical re-
mark she made, defying her to prove it. She
always was equal to the occasion in spirit, if not in
knowledge.
One Saturday morning, though, she had her
triumph, and it was an event to be remembered.
Daniel David had listened, with poorly concealed
interest, while Charity was describing a flower to
Ellen Eliza, - how it has calyx, corolla, stamens,
and pistils ; how some flowers have not all these
parts, but that all flowers have pistils and stamens,
— when he, as usual, challenged her to " prove it."
■' Very well," said Charity, with dignity, and yet
a little uneasily; "you bring the flowers, and I
think I can satisfy Your Majesty."
Out he ran, and in a moment he came back,
bearing defiantly a fine red-clover blossom.
"Ha, my lady !" he said, .as he handed it to
her. "There's the first flower 1 came to; now
let 's sec you find your pistils and stamens and
thingamies."
Instead of replying at once, Charity looked in-
quiringly at the pretty flower in her hand. She
seeined rather puzzled and crestfallen. Daniel
David laughed aloud; even Mrs. Danby and
the poetic Amanda smiled.
"Oh!" said Charity, at hist, with an air of
great relief. " I see it now. How funny ! I
never thought of it before ; but the clover-blos-
som isn't one flower at all — it's a good many
flowers ! "
"Ho! ho!" cried Daniel David. " That 's a
good one ! You can't get out of it in that way,
m\- lady. Can she. Ma ? "
Ma did n't know. None of the rest knew ; but
they all crowded about Charity, while, w-ith trem-
bling fingers, she carefully pulled the blossom to
pieces, and discovered that every piece was a
flower. " See ! " she exclaimed, eagerly. " Doz-
ens of them, and every single one complete. Oh,
my ! Is n't it wonderful ? "
"I surrender," said Daniel David.
" But you 'vc helped me to find out something
that 1 did n't know before," said the enthusiastic
sister, forgiving in an instant all his past taunting.
" 1 wonder if Dorothy knows it. Let 's go right
over and ask her."
" Agreed," said Daniel David. " Wait till I
slick up a bit." Off he ran, whistling, and in
fifteen minutes he and Charity were with Dorry in
the Reed sitting-room, examining the separated,
tiny clover-flowers through Donald's microscope.
Dorothy explained to them that the clover-blos-
som or head is a compound flower, because a head
is tnade up of many flowerets, each complete in
itself.
But when she went further, and told them that
not only the clover, but every dandelion and daisy
in the field is made up of many flowers, even Char-
ity appeared incredulous, saying: "What! Do
)ou mean to say that the daisy, with its yellow
center and lovely white petals, is not a flower? "
" No, I don't mean that," said Dorry. " Of
648
DONALD AND DOROTHY,
tJlNE.
course, the daisy is a flower. But it is a com-
pound flower. What you call white petals are
not exactly petals. Anyhow, the ) ellow center is
made up of hundreds of very small flowers. That
's what I mean. I have seen them magnified, and
they look like yellow lilies."
Daniel David hardly dared to say "prove it " to
so elegant a creature as Dorry, but his looks were
so expressive that the president of the G. B. C. at
once proposed that he should go and gather a dan-
delion and a daisy, for them to pull to pieces and
examine the parts under the microscope.
All of which would have come to pass had not
Donald rushed into the house at that moment,
calling ;
" Dorry ! Dorry ! Come up on the hill ! We 're
going to set up the targets."
Chapter XX.
THE SHOOTING-MATCH.
The targets, eight in number, which had been
made by the boys a few days before, were really
fine affairs. They were painted on sheets of
strong pasteboard, and were each about eighteen
inches in diameter. Every circle from the bull's-
eye to the outer ring was carefully made out, and
all the targets were of exactly the same measure-
ments. Eight rough tripods already awaited them
at the shooting-range, and each tripod had its
upright piece of eighteen-inch plank at the top, to
which a pasteboard target was now to be firmly
fastened.
On any ordinary occasion one or two tripods
would have been considered sufficient, but on
this special day there was to be a real " match,"
and a target to each man would be required, so
that the contestants could show a clear record of
every shot. Experience had proved this to be the
best plan.
The spot selected for the shooting-range was
well adapted to the purpose. It was a plateau or
broad strip of level land, forming the summit of the
long slope that rose from the apple-orchard back
of the Reed mansion. At the rear or eastern limit
of this level land was a steep, grass)- ridge, called
by the D's the second hill.
Perhaps you will see the plateau more clearly if
you read this description which Dorry afterward
wrote to a friend at boarding-school :
" * * * Don .and the boys have m.ide a lovely summer-
house by an apple-tree on the second hill, back of the house. It 's
so high up that you can look across our place from it, and see the
lake in front and the village far down at the left. It is beautiful,
looking from the summer-house at sunset, for then the lake some-
times seems to be on fire, and the trees in the orchard between us
and the road send long shadows that creep, creep up the hill as if
they wet« alive. You see we really have two hills, and these are
separated or joined, whichever you please, by a long level strip
more than a hundred feel wide, forming a grassy terrace. I often
imagine a long row of enormous giants resting there on the grass
side by side, sitting on the great wide level place, with their backs
leaning against the second hill and their feet reaching nearly to
the edge of the first hill. Now. I hope you understand. If you
don't, you will when you come here to visit me this fall. Well, it
was on this level ground that we had the shooting-match I 'm going
to tell you about, and where something happened that I '11 never,
never forget as long as I live. ■* * "" "
While Don and Ed, assisted by the doughty
Daniel, are at work setting up the row of targets
close to the base of the second hill, so that stray
bullets may be safely buried in the soft earth-
wall, and while Dorry and Charity are watching
the boys from the shady summer-house, we may
look into Mr. Reed's study.
He is sitting in his arm-chair by the window,
but the warm breeze steahng through the closed
blinds is not lulling him to repose ; his face is
troubled, and he holds something in his hand
which he is studying intently, though it seems to
give him no satisfaction. It is a small gold chain
or necklace, with an old-fashioned square clasp.
On a graceful mahogany stand near by are several
articles carefully laid together beside an open box,
as though he had been examining them also. They
were there when Donald knocked at the door, a few
moments ago, to ask his uncle to come up later and
see the completed arrangements for the shooting-
match. But Mr. Reed, without unlocking the
door, had said he was very busy, and begged Don
to excuse him.
" Certainly, Uncle ; but I 'm sorry," Don had
replied, and even while trudging up the hill with
the targets his mind had been busy :
"What is the matter? Something is troubling
Uncle George yet. I 've noticed it very much of
late. There 's more to be told, and I must soon
have a good square talk with him about it.
There 's no use in putting it off forever. I can't
excuse him from the match, though. Why, it
would spoil the whole thing not to have Uncle
see it. Would n't it. Dot?" he asked aloud, as
Dorrv at that moment joined him.
"Would n't what?"
" Why, not to have Uncle here at the match."
" I don't understand," she said, looking puzzled.
" Why, the study door 's locked and he 's very
busy. I was just thinking it would be a pretty go
if he should n't come up this afternoon at all."
"What a ridiculous idea!" said Dorry, with a
laugh. " Why, of course, Uncle will come there.
I '11 bring him myself"
And she did.
Of all the company of boys and girls that came
trooping up the green slope to the shooting-range
that afternoon, not a brighter, happier-looking pair
■ 883.)
DONALD AND DOROTHY,
649
of faces was seen than Mr. Reed's and Dorry's.
The little maid evidently had chased away his
troubles for that day.
Donald was too busy to do much more than
glance at them, but that glance did him good ; his
hearty " Ho, Uncle! " did Mr. Reed good, too.
After a careful inspection of the arrangements.
and a few words with Uon and the other boys con-
cerning the necessary rules and restrictions for the
general safety, Mr. Reed retired to the grassy seat
of honor that had been prepared for him. The
other spectators stood beside him, or settled them-
selves comfortably upon the turf near by.
Sailor Jack stood at a respectful distance with
the smallest youngsters about him, explaining to
them '• as to how they 'd best stand close, and keep
a sharp lookout, for dry land was a pesky dang'rous
place at all times, and now, with bullets flyin'
about, there was no tellin' what might happen.
But if they wanted to see right clever shootin',
they could just wait a bit, for Master Donald had
the sharpest eye he ever seed in any youngster on
sea or shore."
There were to be eight contestants. All had
arrived excepting Ben Buster. He had been in-
vited to shoot, but had loftily replied that he had
other affairs on hand, but he 'd come if he could.
.Anyhosv, they 'd best have a substitute ready.
Mr. Reed's two rifles and Don's and Ed Tyler's
were the only arms to be used ; for Mr. Reed had
objected to a fully equipped party of young gunners
ranging across his estate. But they were not like
Creedmoor shooters, who must not only use their
own special rifles, but must clean them after every
shot. The Nestlctown boys were used to trying bor-
rowed weapons, and though a few had grumbled
at a fellow not being allowed to bring his own gun,
the spirit of sport prevailed, and every face wore a
look of eager interest in the occasion.
Ben Buster was missing, but a substitute was
soon found, and the match began in earnest, four
on a side, — -the Reds and the Blues. — each wear-
ing ribbon badges of their respective color.
Dorry had made the four red rosettes and Josie
Manning the four blue ones. Besides these, Josie
had contributed, as a special prize to the best marks-
man, a beautiful gold scarf-pin, in the form of a tiny
rifle, and the winner was to be the champion shot of
the club, ready to hold the prize against all comers.
P!;d Tyler had carefully marked oft" the firing line
at a distance of forty paces, or about one hundred
feet from the targets, and it was agreed that the
eight l)oys should fire in regular order, — first a
Red, then a Blue, one shot at a turn, until each
had fired fifteen times in all. This was a plan of
their own, " so that no fellow need wait all day
for his turn."
As Ed Tyler was a " Blue," and Don a " Red,"
they found themselves opponents for once. Both
were considered "crack shots," but Don soon dis-
covered that he had a more powerful rival in
another of the " Blues" — one Barry Outcalt, son
of the village lawyer. It soon became evident that
the main contest lay between these two, but
Don had gained on him in the sixth round by
sending a fourth bullet, to Barry's second, into the
bull's-eye, when Ben Buster was seen strolling up
the hill. Instantly his substitute, a tall, nervous
fellow, who had outgrown his strength, proposed to
resign in Ben's favor, and the motion was carried
by acclamation, — the " Blues " hoping everything,
and the "Reds" fearing nothing, from the change.
Master Buster was so resolute and yet comical,
in his manner, that every one felt there would
be fun if he took part. Seeing how matters stood
as to the score, he gave a knowing wink to Barry
Outcalt, and said he "did n't mind pitchin' in."
He had never distinguished himself at target
practice, but he had done a good deal of what
Dorry called "real shooting" in the West. Be-
sides, he was renowned throughout the neighbor-
hood as a successful rabbit-hunter.
Shuffling to his position, he stood in such a
shambling, bow-legged sort of an attitude that
even the politest of the girls smiled; and those
who were specially anxious that the "Reds"
should win felt more than ever confident of success.
If Don flattered himself that it was to be an
easy victory, he was mistaken. He still led the
rest ; but for every good shot he made after that,
Ben had already put a companion hole, or its
better, in his own target. The girls clapped ; the
boys shouted with excitement. Every man of the
contestants felt the thrill of the moment.
The Blues did their best ; and with Outcalt and
Ben on the other side, Don soon found that he
had heavy work to do. Moreo\er, just at this
stage, one of the Reds seemed to contract a sudden
ambition to dot the edge of his target with holes.
This made the Blues radiant, and would have dis-
concerted the Reds but for Don's nene and pluck.
He resolved that, come what might, he would keep
cool, and his steadiness inspired his comrades.
" Crack ! " went Don's rifle, and the bull's-eye
winked in response. A perfect shot !
"Crack! " went Ed's, and his bull's-eye did n't
wink. The second ring, however, showed the bul-
let's track.
" Crack ! " The next Red left his edge-dot on
the target, as usual.
" Crack ! " went Outcalt's rifle, and the rim of
the bull's-eye felt it.
Another Red went straight to the left edge of the
center.
6 so
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[June,
The third Blue sent a shot between targets, clean
into the earth-wall.
" Crack ! " went the next Red. His target made
no sign.
Ben Buster, the Blue, now put in his third center
shot. He was doing magnificently.
In the next round, and the next, Donald hit the
center, but it was plain that his skill alone would
not avail to win the match, unless his comrades
should better their shots ; so he tried a little general-
ship. He urged each of the three in turn not to
watch the score of the enemy at all, nor to regard
the cheers of the Blues, but to give attention solely
to making his own score as high as possible. This
advice helped them, and soon the Reds once more
were slightly ahead of the Blues ; but the ad-
vantage was not sufficient to insure them a victory.
As the final rounds drew near, the interest became
intense. Each marksman was the object of all
eyes, as he stepped up to the firing-line, and the
heat of the contest caused much wild shooting ;
yet the misses were so evenly divided between the
two companies that the score remained almost a
tie.
Don stepped to the firing-line. Bull's-eye again !
Ed Tyler next. He gave the Blue's score a lift.
Now for the rim-dotter. He pressed his lips to-
gether, braced every nerve, was five minutes taking
aim, and this time put his dot very nearly in the
center !
Outcalt was bewildered. He had been so sure
Jones would hit the rim as usual, that now he
seemed to feel bound to do it in Jones's stead. Con-
sequently, his bullet grazed the target and hid its
face in the earth-wall.
The third Red fired too hastily, and failed.
Third Blue — a bull's-eye !
Fourth Red — an "outer."
Ben Buster stepped to the line. The Blues
cheered as he raised his gun. He turned with a
grand bow, and leveled his piece once more. But
triumph is not always strength. His previous fine
shooting had aroused his vanity, and now the
girls' applause quite flustered him. He missed his
aim ! Worse still, not being learned in the polite
art of mastering his feelings, he became vexed,
and in the next round actually missed his target
entirely.
Poor shooting is sometimes "catching." For
a while, neither Reds nor Blues distinguished them-
selves, until finally only one shot was left to be fired
on each side ; and, so close was the contest, those
two shots would decide the day.
It lay between Ben Buster and Donald.
Each side felt sure that its champion would score
a bull's-eye, and if both should accomplish this, the
Reds would win by two counts. But if Ben should
hit the center, and Don's bullet even should fall
outside of the very innermost circle, the Blues
would be the victors. It was simply a question of
ner\'e. Ben Buster, proud of his importance,
marched to position, feeling sure of a bull's-eye.
But, alas, for overconfidence ! The shot failed to
reach that paradise of bullets, but fell within the
first circle, and so near the bull's-eye that it was
likely to make the contest a tie, unless Donald
should score, a center.
Don had now achieved the feat of gaining nine
bull's-eyes out of a possible fifteen. He must make
it ten, and that with a score of voices calling to
him ; " Another bull's-eye, Don ! " " One more ! "
" Don't miss!"
It was a thrilling moment, and any boy would
have been excited. Don was. He felt his heart
thump and his face flush as he stepped up to
the firing-line. Turning for an instant he saw
Dorry looking at him proudly, and as she caught
his glance she gave her head a saucy, confident
little toss as if sure that he would not miss.
"Aye! aye! Dot," said Don under his breath,
as, re-assured by her confidence, he calmly raised
the gun to his shoulder and took careful aim.
It seemed an age to the spectators before the
report sounded. Then, those who were watching
Don saw him bend his head forward with a quick
motion and for a second peer anxiously at the tar-
get. Then he drew back carelessly, but with a
satisfaction that he could not quite conceal.
A few moments later, the excited Reds came run-
ning up, wildly waving Don's target in their arms.
His last bullet had been the finest shot of the day,
having struck the very center of the bull's-eye.
Even Ben cheered. The Reds had won. Donald
was the acknowledged champion of the club.
But it was trying to three of the Reds, and to the
Blues worse than the pangs of defeat, to see that
pretty Josie Manning pin the little golden rifle on
the lapel of Donald's coat.
Little he thought, amid the cheering and the
merry breaking-up that followed, how soon his
steadiness of hand would be taxed in earnest !
Mr. Reed, after pleasantly congratulating the
winning side and complimenting the Blues upon
being so hard to conquer, walked quickly home-
ward in earnest conversation with Sailor Jack.
Chapter XXI.
DANGER.
The company slowly dispersed. Some of the
young folk cut across lots to their homes ; others,
remembering errands yet to be attended to in the
village, directed their course accordingly. And
i383.]
I ) I > \ A 1 . 1 ) AND I ) I > R () r 1 1 Y
651
finalh, a group of tivc boys, includinj^ Donald and
Ed Tyler, started off, being the last to leave the
shooting-range. They were going down the hill
toward the house, talking excitedly about the
match, and were just entering the little apple-
orchard between the hill and the house, when
they espied, afar off, a large dog running toward
them.
The swiftness and peculiar gait of the animal
attracted their attention, and, on a second look,
they noted how strangely the creature hung its
head as it ran.
'• Hello ! " exclaimed Don, " there 's something
wrong there. See I He 's frothing at the mouth.
It 's a mad dog! "
" That 's so ! " cried Ed. " Hurry, boys ! Make
for the trees ! "
.•\ glance told them plainly enough that Don
was right. The dog was a terrible foe, indeed, for
a party of boys to encounter. But the apple-trees
were about them, and as all the boys were good
climbers, they lost not a moment in scrambling up
to the branches.
All but Donald ; he, too, had started for one of
the nearest trees, when suddenly it occurred to
him that the girls had not all left the second hill.
.Most of them had ciuitted the range in a bevy,
when the match was over ; but two or three had
wandered off to the summer-house, under the
apple-tree, where they had been discussing the
affairs and plans of the Botany Club. Don knew
they were there, and he remembered the old step-
ladder that leaned against the tree ; but the dog
was making straight for the hill, and would be
upon them before they could know their danger !
Could he warn them in time ? He would, at least,
try. With a shout to his companions : " The
girls ! the girls ! " he turned and ran toward the
hill at his utmost speed, the dog following, and
the boys in the trees gazing upon the terrible
race, speechless with dread.
Donald felt that he had a good start of his
pursuer, however, and he had his gun in his hand,
but it w;is empty. Luckily, it was a repeating-rifle ;
and so, without abating his speed, he hastily took
two cartridges from his jacket and slijiped them
into the chamber of the gun.
" I '11 climb a tree and shoot him ! " he said to
himself, " if only 1 can warn the girls out of the
way."
" Girls ! Girls ! " he scrqamed. But as he
looked up, he saw, descending the hill and saun-
tering toward him, his sister and Josie Manning,
absorbed in earnest conversation.
At first he could not utter another sound, and
he feared that his knees would sink under him. But
the next instant he cried out with all his might :
Vol.. I.\.— 42.
" Back ! Back ! Climb the tree for your lives !
Mad dog ! Mad dog ! "
The two girls needed no second warning. The
sight of the horrible object speeding up the slope
in Donald's tracks was enough. They ran as they
never had run before, reached the tree in time,
and, with another girl whom they met and warned,
clambered, breathless, up the ladder to the shel-
tering branches.
Then all their fears centered upon Donald, who
by this time had reached the plateau just below
them, where the shooting-match had been held.
He turned to run toward the apple-tree, when, to
the dismay of all, his foot slipped, and he fell
prostrate. Instantly he was up- again, but he had
not time to reach the tree. The dog already was
over the slope, and was making toward him at
a rapid, swinging gait, its tongue out, its blood-
shot eyes plainly to be seen, froth about the
mouth, and the jaws opening and shutting in
vicious snaps.
Dorry could not stand it ; she started to leave
the tree, but fell back with closed eyes, nearly
fainting, while the other girls clung, trembling, to
the branches, pale and horrified.
To the credit of Donald be it said, he faced the
danger like a man. He felt that the slightest
touch of those dripping jaws would bring death,
but this was the time for action.
Hastily kneeling behind a stump, he said to
himself: " Now, Donald Reed, they say you 're a
good shot. Prove it ! " And, steadying his nerves
with all the resolution that was in him, he leveled
his rifle at the advancing dog and fired.
To his relief, the poor brute faltered and dropped
— dead — as Don thought. But it was only
wounded ; and, staggering to its feet again, it
made another dash toward the lad.
Don was now so encouraged, so thankful that
his shot had been true, that, as he raised his gun a
second time, he' scarcely realized his danger, and
was almost as cool as if firing at the target on the
range, although the dog was now barely a d<5zen
feet away. This was the last chance. The flash
leajjed from Don's rifle, and at the same moment
he sprang up and ran for the tree as fast as his
legs would carry him. But, before the smoke had
cleared, a happy cry came from the girls in the
tree. He glanced back, to see the dog lying flat
and motionless upon the ground.
Quickly reloading his gun, and never taking his
finger from the trigger, he cautiously made his
way back to the spot. But there was nothing to
fear now. He found the poor brute quite dead, its
hours of agony over.
The group that soon gathered around looked at
it and at one another without saying a word.
652
DONALD AND DORUTHY.
[June,
Then Dorry spoke ; " Stand back, everybody. It's Uncle know. Ask him if we shall bury it right
dangerous to go too near. I 've often heard that." here." "That 's the best," cried Dot, excitedly,
THE GIRLS LOOKED ON, TREMBLING AND HORRIFIED,
" Yes," said Don,
posed of at once."
" Bury it right here where it lies," sug-
gested Ed ; and Donald nodding a silent
" Certainly," added, aloud : " Poor fellow !
Whose dog can he be ? "
"Why it 's our General!" cried one of
the boys. "As sure as I live it is! He
was well yesterday." Then, turning pale, he
added: "Oh, I must go right home "
" Go with him, some of you fellows," Don said, as she started off. " Jack and 1 '11 bring spades."
gravely; "and Dot, suppose you run and let "Yes; but tell Uncle !" Don shouted after her.
(To be contiinicti. J
'DON LEVELED HIS RIFLE, AND
A CL'KIdUS Rol.l.lNC; liKlUGli.
6S
3J
A CURIOUS ROLLINC. URIDU,!-:.
Some of our readers may remember that in
Robert Browning's famous poem of " Hcrve Kiel,"
which was reprinted in our " Treasure-box of
Literature" for September, 1881, the poet men-
tions the town and roadstead of St. Malo. This
old sea-port town of Normandy is situated upon a
made up his mind to be buried on it. At the
extreme end of the rock, so close to the edge that
it is a wonder how the grave was ever dug, stands
a plain granite cross, — his only monument.
" 1 had often admired the pretty bay, and won-
dered to see so man}' islands near the land; but
lovely little bay, and the curious contrivance shown
in the above picture was used as a bridge across
part of this bay.
We do not know whether this queer bridge still
exists or not, but you will be interested in the fol-
lowing description of it by an English traveler :
" A little after midday, our vessel steamed into
the bay so famous for its beauty and its oysters.
"Just before we entered it, we had passed a
French lightship, and 1 had been much amused
by watching our union jack being hauled up and
down, to say 'Good-morning' in nautical language
to our foreign friend.
" The bay is studded with islands of various
sizes and forms, the largest of all Ijcing surmounted
with a fort, while another, near enough to land to
be reached on foot at low water, contains the
grave of the great French writer Chateaubriand.
" He was born at St. Malo, and the towns-
people presented this rocky island to him.
" It was rather an awkward present, after all
too small to live upon, and too large to carry
away and put in a museum ; so Chateaubriand
now for the first time I learned the cause of this,
Ijeing told by a Frenchman that formerly there
was no bay, but that centuries ago the main-
land had been split by a great earthquake, which
had let in the ocean.
" 1 was interested by this account, and was
wondering over it, when the sight of a ghostly
looking machine, creeping along across our path,
roused me.
" It was the rolling bridge that plies between
St. Malo and St. Scrvan. The 'bridge' is a sort
of railed platform, bearing a small covered cabin,
and supported high in air by slender trestle-work ;
beneath the trestle are set the wheels, which run
on rails laid upon the bottom and visible at low
water. The passengers being all on board, a man
sounds a trumpet, and then the machine glides
silently and swiftly across, worked by a little
engine on one side of the harbor. When it is
high water, and the lower part of the bridge can
not be seen, it is most peculiar to watch the
spidery-looking contrivance making its way across
without any visible propeller."
654
THE i;i)V IX THE iMUON.
[JlNE,
THE BOY IN THE MOON.
By Clara L. Burnham.
I
:iSS^ ^^\0
J*
^•.
</'
«W
A WEE baby boy sitting up in his cradle,
With fleecy cloud-curtains draped high o'er his head. —
He blinks at the "dipper," that big starry ladle.
Nor fears that the "great bear" will tread on his bed.
But night after night, as he sails through the heavens,
His cradle is changed to a golden balloon.
And baby, grown older, leans out and looks earthward,
Where children hail gayly the Man in the Moon.
1 882.]
A r RLE STORY A b o U T A (2 U E E K K L Y
^00
A TRUE STCIRV ABOUT A QUEER FLY.
Bv L. H.
It was on Little Snake River, near the Colorado
line, that I saw my queer fly, one bright, sunny
day, in the early summer, when the vegetation was
just blossoming in that high latitude, although
much further ad\anced in more favored regions.
On a wcU-beaten path in the alkaline soil, which
the sun had warmed and dried, the fly was hurry-
ing along, dragging, with its slender legs, another
insect, apparently dead, which seemed a heavy bur-
den for it. The little creature would stop every
few minutes to take a breathing-spell, and at these
times it would spread its wings upon the ground
and lie perfectly motionless ; then, as if receiving
increase of strength from contact with the earth,
it would shake itself, and return to its wearisome
task. We soon disco\ered that its purpose was to
find a perfectly dry and safe spot in which to bury
its burden, until the occupant of the egg that she
was about to lay in it should come to life, feed on
the entombed insect, and at last rise from its
grave, expand its iridescent «ings, and fly away.
There were four of us, officers of the army,
watching the performance, which was new to all.
and, as the sequel proved, very interesting. After
a few moments, the fly dropped her burden and
went ofl" to select a spot suitable for her purpose.
But, in a short time, apparently fearing that her
treasure might be disturbed during her absence,
she started to fly back. While she was gone, how-
ever, one of us moved her prey a short distance
away from where it had been left, and when she
returned and did not find it, she fell into a flutter
of excitement. She flew swiftly about in circles,
widening at every round, until she became wear-
ied, when she spread herself prone on the ground
until rested, and then retraced her path, lessening
the circles and never becoming confused. Soon
the insect was placed where she could find it, when
she seized it with unmistakable pleasure and bore it
away to the site of the grave, and, after resting a
second or two, began to dig with might and main.
Her manner of excavating was peculiar ; she stood
on her head and, spinning swiftly around like a
top, bored into the ground like an auger, making a
humming noise with her wings. When exhausted
by this violent exercise, she was not satisfied with
merely resting on the ground, but sought the shade
cast by a blade of grass or a leaf of a tiny shrub,
which afforded a cool retreat to her slender body.
The hole was soon bored out, and smoothed to
exactly the right width and depth to receive the
seemingly dead insect, although no measurements
had been made by this Lilliputian engineer, who
had worked with unerring skill, unheeding the
giants watching her. Having completed her task,
she took a good rest within the shadow of her
favorite leaf, and then sought her burden. But,
again, it was gone !
At this, she acted precisely as if she were say-
ing : "Oh, dear, dear ! I laid the thing there, close
by the grave, as sure as sure. And yet I must be
mistaken ; for I had paralyzed it with my sting so
that it could neither fly nor walk ; and those hulk-
ing giants standing around here would not be so
mean as to steal it from me. Oh, fie ! There it
is. 1 fear my brains are in a whirl from overwork
in this hot sun. I could have sworn I laid it on
//lis side, instead of on /7ia/." (One of us had
moved the insect again.) Then she laid an egg
in the insect.
The burial did not take her long ; deftly she
patted down the dust, and butted at it, using her
small head as a battering-ram ; but before she had
half finished, she was forced from sheer weakness
to seek again the shady covert of the leaf
And during this interval, — so eager were we to
observe the little worker's queer ways, — we took
advantage of her absence to remove the insect from
its hole and lay it on the ground alongside. When
she returned, she looked at it intently for a mo-
ment, and then patiently went to work to put it
back ; and this was repeated twice, with the same
result. Finally the patient fly, after resting a longer
time than usual, returned to give the finishing
touches to the grave, and finding it again despoiled,
seemed to become terribly enraged, as if convinced
that the insect was trying to make a fool of her.
She fell upon it and stung it again and again, and
finally destroyed it by repeated blows.
.•\t this unexpected dnwucmcn/, we walked away
to our tents, amazed that so small a head should
contain such a \ olume of wTath.
656
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[June,
By Aunt Fanny.
"What you fink 1 dot in dis box?" asked Ma-yo, hokl-ing out a lit-
tle yel-low pa-per box that once had held ice-cream.
" I don't know," said Aunt Ni-na.
"Well, you dess," said Ma-yo.
" Oh, must I ? I guess it is ice-cream ! "
" No ! " shout-ed Ma-yo. " It is two 'it-tie mous-ies." And o-pen-ing the
box, he dropped in his aunt's lap two ti-ny mice, quite dead.
" Where did you get these ? " asked Aunt Ni-na.
" Mar-gy gave dem to me. She shaked 'em out of a 'it-tie red box."
i882.) FOR VICKV l.ITTI.E FOLK. 657
"Oh, poor lit-tle thin_<js ! That red box was a trap; it killed them, and
now their moth-er is look-in^ for them. Poor mam-ma mouse!"
" Tell me 'bout it," said Ma-yo, ea-ger-ly, and he climbed to his aunt's
lap and jiut the mice back in the box. Aunt Ni-na began :
" Once up-on a time, there lived un-der the pan-try floor a brown mouse,
and she had two lit-tle mous-ies named Brown- ie and Black-ie. They \vere
ver-y hap-py. They played hide and go seek, and they had plen-ty to eat,
for the serv-ant let ma-n\ crumbs of bread and cake fall on the floor. The
moth-er mouse was al-ways tell-ing her chil-dren nev-er to go near a big
creat-ure that lived in the house, and that had great green eyes and fierce
whisk-ers, and would pounce up-on them and eat them up, if he should
catch one of them.
"So, when Brown-ie and Black-ie came through the lit-tle hole in the
cor-ner of the pan-try, just a-bove the floor, their bright black eyes looked
right and left, and up and down, to see if that dread- ful creat-ure was
a-ny-where near.
" Some-times the pan try door was o-pen, and they would see the creat-ure
sit-ting close b)-, and then, whew ! they would rush back through the hole,
their hearts beat-ing fast be-cause they were so fright-ened. Do you know
the name of that big creat-ure ? "
" I dess it was a nor-ful bear," said Ma-yo.
" No ; it was a CAT !" said .Aunt Ni-na. " Let us look at the poor little
mice in the bo.x. Don't you see that a cat is twen-ty times big-ger than
one of these mice? A cat seems as big to a lit-tle mouse as an el-e-phant
seems to you.
" Well, one day the pan-try door was shut, and out came Brown-ie and
Black-ie to hunt for a break-fast. It was not a dark pan-try, for there was
a little win-tlow in the side of the wall. They whisked and frisked a-round,
and soon saw in one cor-ner a great ma-ny bread-crumbs. In an-oth-er was
a lit-tlc heap of su-gar, a-bout as large as a sil-ver dol-lar, and at least half a
crack-er lay near it. Here was a splen-did feast! — too much, in-deed ;
so the good lit-tle things car-ried the crack-er to the hole and pushed it
through, so that it might be hand-y when sup-per-time should come.
" ' Let 's play hide and go seek,' said Brown-ie, who could not work
for long with-out hav-ing a game of play.
"'Oh, yes!' cried Black-ie. 'And I '11 l)e the one to hide first — why,
what 's that? ' he asked, point-ing with his sharp nose at a small red box
un-der the shelf
" ' Let 's go and see,' said Brown-ie. ' Oh, how nice some-thing smells ! '
And he went sniff, sniff, sniff-ing, close up to the box. ' Look ! There is a
658 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. (J™e,
round hole in it ! ' — sniff, sniff. ' I do de-clare, it is that ht-tle yel-low lump,
in-side, that smells so sweet ! Dear me, Black-ie ! It makes me feel so
hun-gry that I '11 have to go and try a bit of it.'
" ' No ; let me go ! ' cried Black-ie.
" ' No ! I found it first,' said Brown-ie.
'•'Well, so you did,' an-swered the good lit-tle broth-er ; 'but don't you
eat it all, will you ? '
" ' Why, no ! I would n't be so mean.' Then Brown-ie ran quick-ly and
put his head through the hole.
" ' Click ! ' went some-thing, and a shin-y wire hoop, that was ly-ing on
top of the box, flew up and made an arch. Brown-ie's legs kicked a lit-tle,
and then he was quite still.
" ' Dear me, how long he stays ! ' thought Black-ie, quite read-y for
his bite of the yel-low lump. ' I do be-lieve he means to eat ev-ery sin-
gle bit. I think it is too bad of him.'
" He went to his broth-er, and tried to pull him out by his legs, but
Brown-ie did not stir. At this, Black-ie be-came ver-y an-gry, and said :
' I '11 just go home and tell my moth-er how mean he is ! ' Then he ran
a-round the red box, and what should he es-py but an-oth-er hole, and
in-side of it an-oth-er yel-low lump !
" ' O-ho ! ' he cried, ' I can have a feast, too ! What fun ! '
" He poked his head, in a great hur-ry, through the hole, and the next
in-stant that sound came a-gain — ' Click !' And an-oth-er wire hoop flew up
on top of the box.
"And oh, what a pit-y ! Both lit-tle broth-ers were 'caught, and killed
in the cru-el trap — and here they are, dead, in your box. Are n't you
sor-ry ? "
" Yes," said Ma-yo. " Poor 'it-tie mous-ies ! 'at was a jef-ful bad t'ap to
kill poor fings ! " and he took them up gent-ly and smoothed their soft fur.
Then, what do you think that lit-tle boy did ? He slid down from his
aunt's lap and went to Mar-gy, the cook, and begged her to give him the
red box ; and at last she gave it to him. Then Ma-yo went in-to the gar-den
and poked the trap a-way un-der a cur-rant-bush, where no-bod-y would ev-er
think of look-ing for it. " Bad box ! " he said, shak-ing his fing-er at it ;
"you s'ant kill a-ny more poor 'it-tie mous-ies!"
He car-ried Brown-ie and Black-ie 'round the house all that day. He
showed them to the gar-den-er, and the coach-man, and the cook; and in the
af-ter-noon his aunt coaxed him to dig a hole un-der a rose-bush, and there
they bur-ied the two lit-tle broth-er mice.
Ma-yo still feels sor-ry for the "poor 'it-tie mous-ies." I do, too. Don't you ?
I882.I
FOR VERY MTTI.1-: I'ULK.
659
THF LETTER • B."
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66o
JACK-IN'-T HE-PULPIT.
[Jl'NE,
^<''?! JACK-IN-THE-PULPTT.
HOW DO BIRDIES LEARN TO SING?
How do birdies learn to sing?
From the whistling wind so fleet,
From the waving of the wheat,
From the rustling of the leaves,
From the rain-drop on the eaves,
From the tread of welcome feet,
From the children's laughter sweet,
Little birdies learn their trill
As they gayly float at will
In the gladness of the sky,
When the clouds are white and high.
In the beauty of the day
Speeding on their sunny way,
Light of heart, and fleet of wing —
That 's how birdies learn to sing.
Jack says so, any way.
HO. FOR A NEW CANDY !
Dear Jack: Having just seen a curiosity, one which 1 am sure
will be found very interesting to many of your readers, I thought 1
would write to you about it. It is " Violet Candy," made of violets
groxvn in Paris. It was given to my uncle in New Orleans, by a
gentleman who had just received it from France.
It is beautiful as well as delicious, for it retains its shape and
color, and, wonderful to say, its Jfa^'or also, if I may so express it.
The whole violet, with its stem and every petal perfect, is conserved,
and in both smell and taste it is as fragrant as a freshly plucked
flower. Yours truly, Frank Bethlne.
Poor violets ! What are they coming to ?
THE ORIGIN OF THE NAIL MARK.
There is a mark of a finger-nail minted on a
certain Chinese coin, and it originated, 1 'm told,
in the time of the great Queen Wentek. A wax
model of a proposed coin was brought to her for
inspection, and in handling it she happened to
leave upon it the impression of one of her finger-
nails. Nobody dared to efface it, and for hundreds
of years the curious nail-mark has appeared on
that Chinese coin. And it has even been copied
in those of Japan and Corea.
SOME QUEER FACTS ABOUT CHICKENS.
*' Humph ! a pretty pass things have come to,
when people must know everything about every-
body," said a timid feathered friend of mine when
I told him of a letter 1 had received, detailing some
particular secrets of Mr. Chanticleer and his family,
and I sympathized with him. "The interests of
science, you know," was all 1 could say. And
here is the letter :
Dear Jack: A gentleman friend of mine, who is very familiar
with the habits of chickens, says that the rooster, when danger ap-
proaches, almost always gives a peculiar warning cry of alarm. It
is not noisy, like the crow of defiance or triumph, but when the
human ear has once observed it, it does sound very strikingly like
an alarm. It has a guarded "Look out — something is wrong! "
sound, and is given whenever the rooster is startled, or sometimes
when he is suddenly disturbed.
If there is no rooster about, the hens will sometimes make the
sound described ; and the mother-hen will always do her best for her
chicks in time of danger. i have known them to so thoroughly
hide themselves, under her instructions, on the approach of a hawk,
that I did not dare step about in the half-grown clover for fear of
treading upon them: yet she had not staid by them. I found her
near by, under some tall bushes, the clover probably being too short
to hide her.
My friend raises many chicTiens, and whenever an egg is near
hatching he can tell, by placing it suddenly close to his ear, whether
the chick inside is a rooster or not ; for it will give an alarm note
resembling the one I have told you of.
I suppose he would not be absolutely certain that silence meant a
cunning little Dame Pullet inside, but he says that he has very often
heard Master Chanticleer declaring in advance, while not yet out of
his shell, his determination to protect himself and his friends.
Yours truly, W. A. P.
A VILLAGE CAPTURED BY BEES!
If you don't believe it, just read this item from
a trustworthy newspaper:
"The village of West Fair\^iew, Cumberland County, Pa., has
been afflicted with a plague of bees. Two of the citizens keep
some one hundred and thirty hives, and as bad weather made other
food scarce, the interesting insects invaded the stores and houses in
quest of sweets. Half a liushel of them swarmed in one man's
kitchen, of which they remained sole tenants for a week. In that
house, on their account, all fruit canning and preserving had to be
done at night, and for many days all the family had to climb out
and in by the windows, the bees laying siege to the doors. In addition
to this, whole orchards of fruit and arbors of grapes were devoured
by the bees. Dozens of persons were badly stung while passing
along the streets, and a reign of terror was established."
Your Jack has nothing to say for those bees
— excepting that when men *' invade" the bees'
homes "in quest of sweets," we seem to see no
newspaper notices of "a reign of terror" ! But
the bees may take account of it, perhaps, in some
way of their own.
MUSIC LOVING RATS,
Dear Jack: In the December number of the St. Nicholas I
read about a music-loving squirrel, which made me think of a story
my mamma often tells us. When she was a little ^rl, she used to
stand in a window near a stable, in the yard of which there were a
great many rats. As soon as she began to sing, one rat after another
would stick his head out of a hole; but as soon as she stopped, away
they would go. In a house we used to live in, there were a great
many rats, which made such a noise in the garret that it sometimes
frightened strangers who came to stay all night. We had a bag of
chestnuts on the stairs. One night the rats discovered them, and we
could hear them pitter-patter up and down the stairs, scamper across
the floor, and then drop the nuts down between the walls. This
they kept up until we spoiled their fun by taking the nuts away.
Your faithful reader, Blanche McCokmick, 12 years old.
i883.]
JACK- l.N- T II K-1>U I.riT
661
SIDE-SADDLES FOR MEN.
Wonders will never cease ! Who would believe
that in any part of the world men would ride on
ladies' saddles? Hut an English gentleman, — Mr.
Palgrave, — who has been to Arabia, says that it is
all the fashion in one part of that country, where
both men and vsimien ride their donkeys with side-
saddles.
THE SPERM WHALE.
Hl.Rl-: is a letter, my friends, which to a land-
lubber, like your Jack, is very interesting, and 1
am sure it is true. So let 's read it together, and
take a good look, too, at the picture.
As I am an honest Jack, the enormous, finny.
Ash-tailed fellow shown here looks very like a fish.
and dragged up high and dry for inspection. He
reminds me, somehow, of a story about one (lulli-
ver that the Little School-ma'am tells. But here
is the letter:
Dear jACK-iN-THF.-riLriT: Here is a picture of a "grcil big
fish " thai is not a fish at all : and you therefore m.iy be pleased to
show it to your young friends. 'I hout^h whales live in the water,
you may ^ay, they are not really like fishes. They can not breathe
under water, and would be drowned, ju^t aswc should, if kept there
too long. They h<»ld their breath while below, and when they conic
to the surface they blow out the used air through blow-holes near
the tol>of the head.
The two kinds of whales are called Boned whales and Toothed
whales. The boned whales have no teeth, but have instead a mass
of what is known .xs "whalebone," hanging down from the roof cf
the mouth at each side of the tongue. By means of this whalebone
they secure their food, which consists of very small, soft, floating
creatures. The t<iothed whales, on the contrary, have stout_, strong
teeth, and with these they kill and tear to pieces the great animals on
which they feed. The sperm-whale is the largest of the toothed
But the letter says he is not a fish. .And 1 am told
that Mr. IngcrsoU says the same thing about those
queer creatures, the seals, in this very number of
St. Nicholas.
By the way, Jack does n't quite see how that
whale ever got upon the shore so nicely. It is n't
enough for some of you clever youngsters to say
that the artist (//vri' him up there. We want some-
thing more scientific. May be, the huge creature
has been thrown up by some terrible storm. — and,
may be, he has been caught by whale-fishermen
\.tricly. atui it is a sperm-whale which is represented in the picture I
send. Some of them grow to be si.\ty-five and even seventy feet in
length. The sperm-whale is killed not only for the sake ol the oil
or blubber which it yields, but also for the spermaceti — a material
which is found in the head of the whale, and which looks something
like camphor gum and is used for making candles and other things.
Another curious product, which is sometimes found in the body
of the sperm-whale, and which is worth more, even, than the sperma-
ceti, is called ambergris. It is a substance used in tlie manufacture
of perfumery, and brings a very high price.
The sperm-whale feeds chiefly on cuttle-fishes, which it e.isily
destroys with its very strong teeth, sometimes killing cuttles that are
nearly as long as itself. It is found mostly in the seas near the
equator, unlike some of the other species, which seem to love the cold.
Will you tell your children all this, with my compliments, and be-
lieve me, dear Jack, Yours truly, W. O. A.
662
THE LETTER-BOX.
[June,
THE LETTER-B(3X.
Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be
examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with con-
tributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.
As A great many of our new subscribers may nut ha\e seen the
earlier volumes of St. Nicholas, they may be glad to read here
one of Mr. Longfellow's contributions to this magazine, — the fine
poem of "The Three Kings," originally printed in the Christmas
St. Nicholas for 1877.
THE THREE KINGS.
By Henry W. Longfellow.
Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Caspar and Baltazar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they.
And they traveled by night and they slept by d:iy.
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.
The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere.
And the Wise Men knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince fofetold in the prophecy.
Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.
And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of night over hills and dells,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at the way-side wells.
' Of the child that is bom," said Baltazar,
" Good people, I pray you, tell us the news,
For we in the East have seen his star.
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews."
And the people answered: *"You ask in vain;
We know of no king but Herod the Great!"
They thought the Wise ISfen were men insane.
As they spurred their horses across the plain
Like riders in haste who can not wait.
And when thej' came to Jerusalem, '
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing.
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said : " Go down into Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king."
So they rode away ; and the star stood still.
The only one in the gray of morn ;
Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will.
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David where Christ was bom.
And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard :
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred.
And only a light in the stable burned.
And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay, —
The child that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human but divine.
They laid their offerings at his feet;
The gold was their tribute to a king;
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body's burying.
And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone;
Her heart was troubled, yet comforted.
Remembering what the angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne.
Then the Kings rode out of the cit>' gate,
\\"ith the clatter of hoofs, in proud array ;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.
In connection with the mention of " The Old Clock on the Stairs,"
in the two articles concerning jMr. Longfellow, given in the present
number, it should be said that the clock upon the stairs in his house
at Cambridge was not the one mentioned in his famous poem. That
special cluck stood in the house of Mr. Longfellow's father-in-law,
at Pittsfield, Mass. But the poet was in tlie habit of pointing out
particularly the favorite old-fashioned clock on the stairs of his Cam-
bridge home, and naturally visitors sometimes made the mistake of
supposing this one to be the old clock of the poem.
His mother, Mar^- of Nazareth,
Sat watching beside his place of rest.
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.
Dear St. Nicholas: You asked in the rtpril number who could
say more about " El Escurial." I think, as I have seen it, I shall
be able to do so. It was built by Philip II., king of Spain, three
centuries ago, in memory of a battle fought on the day dedicated to
San Lorenzo, who was martyred on a gridiron, for which reason
the palace is built in the shape of a gridiron. By some it is called
the eighth wonder of the world. It is situated about two hours'
ride from Madrid, and on the edge of a hill, in a prominent position.
It is comparatively plain on the outside, but very handsome in the
interior. There is a church in the center, under which is a grand
and beautiful mausoleum, built of marble from all parts of the world.
Many kings of Spain are buried there and several niches are empty,
waiting for future kings. The walls of some of the rooms are inlaid
with woods which came from South America and cost seven million
francs.
I am always very anxious to receive St. Nichol.\s, and all the
time I was abroad I watched for it with as much interest as we did
for letters. Yours truly, Emm.\ W. Co.mfort, 12 years.
Mr, Willson's article in the February St. Nicholas, on "How
to Run," has, it seems, proved very popular among the boy-readers
of St. NiCHOL.'^s : and the following, which is one of the best letters
that we have received, shows how practical and useful Mr. Willson's
hints have been :
Dear St. Nicholas ; We read that article in your number for
February on running, and we tried breathing through our noses.
Though not able to run a quarter of a mile before, yet the first time I
tried it I ran nearly three-quarters of a mile, and I can now run a
mile and a half without any difficulty, and my sister, who is writing
with me, ran a mile the first time she tried.
Margaret W. Sticknev.
Weston Stickney.
In connection with this article, also, we must add the following
newspaper items concerning two famous runners, which have been
sent to us by kind correspondents :
" Count Eugene Kinsky, of the old Czechian nobility, was noted in
Austria as an athlete and runner. A friend of his in Pesth was the
other day singing the praises of the 'Orloff' trotters, which at one
rime did excellent work in the trotting races in ^'ienna. The Count
made a large bet that he would beat this pair on foot at a short-
distance race, viz., half a length of the Pesth Rondeau, some two
iSSi.]
TIIK LETTER- I'.OX.
663
hundred yards. The race ciimc nff promptly, the Count getting well
away at starting and coming in some fifteen feet Ixiforc the hon^cs,
much to the disgust of their owners."
" The pedcstrun feat; of the present day are cast into the shade by
the recorded exploits of Kmst Mensen, a Norwct^ian sailor in the
Knglish navy, early in the piesent centurj-. Menscn first attracted
attention by running from London to Portsmouth in nine hours, and
soon after he ran from Londun to Liverpool in thirty-two hours.
Maving distinguishetl himself at the battle of Navarino, in 1827, he
left the na\'y and became a professional runner. After winning a
number of matches he undcrt(.K>k the feat (.>f r\nining from Paris to
Moscow. Starting fr.tni the Place Vendome at 4 o'clock in the
afternoon of June 11, 1831, he entered the Kremlin at 10 o'clock a.m.
on June 25, having accomplished the distance, 1,760 mites, in thirteen
days and eighteen hours. The employment of Mensen as a 'courier
extraordinarj' ' soon became a popular amusement in Kuropcan
cjurls. He ran from country- ic» country, bearing messages of con-
gratulation or condolence, and despatches, and always beat mounted
couriers when matched against them. He never walked, but inva-
riably ran, his only refreshment being one biscuit and an ounce of
raspbcny syrup per day, and two short rests of ten or fifteen
minutes each in twenty-four hours. I'hesc le^is he took standing,
and leanin;;; against a tree or other support; at such times he
covered his face with a handkerchief and slept. .*\ftcr the nap, he
pursued his way as much refreshed ;ls though he had slept for hours.
In 1836, while in the employ of the East India Company, Mensen
was charged with the conveying of despatches from Calcutta to Con-
stantinople through Central Asia. The distimce is 5,615 miles,
which the messenger accomplished in fifiy-nine days, or in one-third
of the time made by the swiftest caruvan. At last he was employed
to discover the source <if the Nile. Setting out from Silesia on May
II, 1843, he ran to Jerusalem, and thence to Cairo, and up the
western bank of the nvcr into Upper Kgypl. Here, just outside the
village of Syang, he was seen to stop and rest, leaning against a
palm tree, his face covered with a handkerchief. He rested so long
that some persons tried to wake him : but they tried in vain, for he
was dead. He was buried at tlic foot of the tree, and it was year^i
before his friends in Europe knew what fate had befallen him."
The author of "The Children's Fan Brigade" (printed in
St. Nichol.\s fur Januar>-, 1881) writes to us to say that repeated
trials have shown that the Urilt Prompter, suggested in that article,
is rather a hinderancu than an aid, as it is confusing to have a voice
break in when the drill must go bar by bar with the music, and each
bar brings the next m.ivement to mind. 'I'he drill is asseniially a
silent one, as e:ich child carries the movements mentally, and the
music itself is the prompter.
She calls attention also to an error in one of the illustrations of
the article. In the picture entitled "Gossip," there should be only
one straight line of girls, instead of two. The directions concerning
this movement are correct, as they include but one row of girls.
The Fan Brigade has proved to be one of the most popular enter-
tainments ever printed in St. Nicholas, and we gladly make room
for these corrections for the benefit of any persons who are thinking
of performing this entertaining and picturesque drill.
AGASSIZ ASSOfl A 1 ION — I" I FTi:iCNTII RICPORT.
.-\t the time of making our latest report the Highest number on our
register was 2143. Now we number 2630— making a gain, in two
months, of nearly 500. At this rate, we may hope for a membership
of 5000 before Christmas.
Exchanges Desired.
Minerals. — H. E. Sawyer, 37 Gates St., So. Boston, Mass.
Other flowers, for any violets excepting I'/o/^i cucn/lata, 6lntu/a,
/viiiita, f>ubescrns, sagittate, and liciphim/olia. — F. T. Griswold,
Columbus. Wis.
Foreign and native woods, sea-mosses, wood-mosses, shells, ferns,
flowers, and minerals, — Wm. C. I'hiilips, New Bedford, Mass.
(ieodes, from the size <<f a walnut to the size of a water-bucket. —
/ T. Snively. Wayland. Clark Co., Mo.
"The Mysterious Island." " Propped from the Clouds," and
" Abandoned," by Jules Verne. — Russell D- Janncz, Marietta, O.
Birds' eggs and woods, for eggs. — I . B. Russell, 05 Belleville Ave..
Newark, N.J.
Encrinite stems for sea-shells. — JohnT. Nixon, Osage City, Kan.
A great variety of minerals, for others or Indian relics. — A. J.
Martm, Jr., 1914 Spring Garden St., Philadelphia, Pa.
Sea-shells and sand-dollars, for ores. — Phihp C. Tucker, Jr., Gal-
veston, Texas.
Insects— G. W. Pepper, Taunton, Mass.
Five cocoons of Attains Cecropia, for one living cocoon of ./^/Z-
/ticiis Luna. Also, ores and pearl shells for exchange. — Thomas B.
Emery, 3238 Dearborn St., Chicago,
Rei-orts from Chapters.
OrTL'MWA, Iowa, Feb. iS, 1882.
Within the year we have added to our cabinet many specimens of
minerals and precious stones; 175 species of fossil .shells, corals, and
woods ; 20 species of river shells (Vuio); 15 land shells and 50 sea
shells : and about 100 miscellaneous specimens. The entire collec-
tion is now valued at more than $250.
Late in the fall, my brother and I found in the river a very large
chrysalis. At first I thought it was dead, but when I got home and
was showing it to .Mother, it moved, and I am now anxiously wait-
ing for the appearance of the moth. It has a curious stem-like
appendage growing from the head, curved backward, and fastened
to the middle of the back. I inclose a drawing of it.
WlI.L A. LiGHTON.
[Questions for the A. A. : I. What will the moth be ? II. What is
the appendage ? III. How did the chrysalis get into the river?]
Nevada Citv, Cai..
Our collection is rapidly increasing ; an interesting feature of it is
a tarantula's nest. It is made of mud and clay, and has a trap-
door, apparently on hinges. The spider enters, closes the door,
and it is impossible to open it. The only visible fastening is a small
white spot, just inside the door ; but the manner of holding it closed
is a puzzle, as yet unsolved. Can any one throw light on it? We
wish to exchange Califomia flowers for sea-weeds and mosses. We
will mount them, and wish others to do the .same. Please reprint the
secretary's address, gixing the name of Yours truly,
Maide Smith.
LocKPORT, N. v., Feb. 27, 1882.
This branch was organized on Wednesday, the 25th of January-,
1881, and although the society is only a year old, in the treasurer's
book are recorded the names of one hundred and twenty-five mem-
bers. We have a cabinet filled with specimens, fifty dollars' worth
of which we purch.-ised.
We have a small library- of volumes by the very best authors in
natural history*. We have cver\-thing we need, excepting a micro-
scope, and we intend to purchase one some day. We have a
picture of Louis Aga.ssiz hanging over our cabinet.
Geo. W. PorND, Sec.
[I'his letter is tnily inspiring. It is an illustration of what might
be done in hundreds of towns if young and old, school committees
and teachers, parents and children, would all unite. Not much sale
for dime novels in Lockport !]
Pigeon Cove, Mass., Feb. 27, 1882.
We now number nine active and two honorary members. We
formed in February-, 1881, and now our cabinet overfl'jws with valuable
specimens. We have most of the common minerals in our vicinity.
[Good^l We have for exchange marine curiosities and Cape Ann
mineral, some of which arc found nowhere else. Please refer us to
Chapters in the West and South.
Chas. H. Andrews, Ciuator.
Will you admit us as a Chapter of your Association ? I am a
tj-pe-setter, and work ten hours in the office, and walk four miles
besides, every day. (Think of that, boys, who think you " have n't
time!" This is a young lady, too — you must know!] Three
others arc my sisters, from nine to nineteen. Seven others are bright,
664
THE LETTER-BOX.
[June,
hard-working, economical German boys and girls, and the rest are
Americans. We none of us know anything, in a systematic way,
about natural hislor>', but some of us know all about where the ear-
liest flowers grow, can tell ever so many different kinds of wood
in the lumber, and all know marvelous stories of the instinct and
"human ways" of domestic animals. Wc have few books and
almost no books of reference. We have little time, and less money
to spend. Now, do you want us ? We arc ready to do our best.
[Thrice and four times welcome I A Chapter after our own heart.]
Chicago, Feb. 25, 1882.
We have ten members. Our aim is not to have a large num-
ber, but to have a few good workers. We have honorary" mem-
bers, among whom are Prof. Bastin of the Chicago University, and
Prof. Delfontaine of the High School. Prof Kastin recently gave
us a lecture on the "Motions of Climbing Plants." We use
Geikie's Geology, printed in the Science Primer edition, and assign
passages to be elaborated by our members. One of our number was
lately fortunate enough to win a $110 microscope, in a prize exam-
ination in microscopy open to the students of any incorporated col-
lege in this city. C. S. Brown, Sec-, 117 Park Place.
[The whole " A. A." will feel pleased that one of its members has
won this fine instrument. The adjective "fortunate" is entirely
too modest.]
Geneva, N. Y., Feb. 27, 1882.
The scholars and teachers of the *' Quincy School " have been much
interested in the Agassiz Association. We haveformed a Chapter under
the name " Geneva A. A.," with twenty-five members. Our first
meeting was held last week. We talked about sponges. Six boys
took part- At the close of a very interesting discussion, a Venus
basket-sponge was presented to us. Our next talk will be on game-
birds. We shall be glad to correspond and exchange with other
chapters. Miss N. A. Wilson, Sec.
[These school Chapters constitute one of the pleasantest features
of the A. A. Teachers and scholars work much more frequently
side by side than formerly, and it is an excellent thing for them
both.]
CoLiMBUs, Wis., Feb. 26, 1882.
Our time has been divided among flowers, insects, and minerals,
and we have good collections of each.
We consider our seventy-five specimens of flowers as only a begin-
ning. We have them nicely mounted, with a full analysis of each, and
we are very anxious for spring, that we may again search the woods
and meadows. There are so few of us, that we think of having
painted badges. Yours for the cause, F. T. Gkiswold, Sec.
Depere, Wis., Feb. 27, 1882.
We have eleven new members, making twenty in all, to which num-
ber we have limited our Chapter for the present. Our badges are of
double-faced satin ribbon, pink on one side, and blue on the other.
They are stamped with A. A. in gill, and painted, on the blue side,
with trailing arbutus. The pink side, being used to distinguish the offi-
cers, is painted with wood violets and grasses. At our last meeting,
some very convincing evidence of animals' counting was given, in
the case of a water-spaniel. If his master, while hunting, drops two
birds, he will not return to the boat without both, and if only one
has fallen, he returns satisfied when he has found that one.
Mrs. R. W. Arndt, Sec.
West Medford, Mass.
At first we were six, but we now number twelve. There is not a
boy among us, and we are going to see what the girls can do alone.
We are making mineralogy a study. We have a very simple
method for making spirit-lamps : Take a glass bottle with a wide
mouth, a cork to fit it tightly, a thimble without a top, and some
cord wicking or piping cord. The thimble must be forced through
a hole in the cork, and the wick drawn through the thimble. With
alcohol in the bottle, the lamp is ready for use. For a blow-pipe,
we use a common clay pipe, placing the bowl at the mouth to blow.
Edith Samson.
6 Ave. de Chateau, Neuillv, France.
I notice, in my letter printed in St. Nicholas, it says that Agassiz
was bom by Lake tieneva. 1 should have written Neuchatel Lake.
We have to pay a good deal, because almost ever>'body sends a
postal and no stamp. Kenneth Brown.
New Bedford, Mass.. Feb. 28, 1882.
I collect caterpillars and keep them under glasses, feeding them
until they change. I sometimes have a hundred glasses at a time. I
learn what they eat, and their habits. My two sisters are interested
alike with me, and assist in getting specimens. W'e have Edwards's,
Harris's, and Packard's books, yet we often have great difiiculty in
finding the right names. Are there catalogues of butterflies and
moths, with descriptions of Massachusetts insects? Last July,. I
found near a pond what looked Uke a caterpillar covered with chin-
chilla feathers. Its body was a beautiful pink underneath. Black
head, and some black lines on the body. The most beautiful colors
I have ever seen on a caterpillar. In less than half an hour it went
into a pink cocoon, half wrapped in a blackberry leaf The cater-
pillar was about three Inches long. The moth came out yesterday.
It measures about two inches from tip of wing to tip. It is of a
dusky reddish brown. There are zig-zag lines of darker shade, blend-
ing into white. On the upper wings a sort of diamond spot which
looks like a Polyphemus. Both upper and lower wings scalloped ;
the edges white, with a line of black inside. Under the magnifying
glass it is just the color of a fox with snow dusted o\er it. I wish to
learn its name. Willie C. Phillips.
[Here is a fine opportunity for a little study. Who will be the
first to send me the name of this beautiful insect, and the name of a
satisfactory and exhaustive insect manual? — H. H. B. ]
Some people have spoken of the wisdom of bees and wasps in
constructing their cells in a hexagonal shape. Now, on the con-
trary, others believe, and 1 have been taught, that their wisdom has
nothing to do with it. If a bee begins to build around himself as a
center, he naturally makes a cell in the shape of a cylinder. As the
different bees build, and their cells press against one another, they
will be crowded into tlie form of a hexagon. A good way to illus-
trate this is to take a small tube and some not too soapy water, and
blow air through the tube so quickly that the bubbles formed on the
surface will be crowded together. They will be pressed into hex-
agonal shape. A. E. G.
[A. B. G.'s reports are always very suggestive and intereshng.
The Chapters may like to discuss this question. If the above theory
is correct, the outer row of cells should be cylindrical, since they are
not subjected to pressure. Is this so? Will a bee make a cell if
placed alone in a glass case ? Let this be tried, and if he makes a
hexagonal cell, the pressure theory is disproved; and vice vcrsa.'\
190.
191.
192.
^93-
195.
196.
197.
199.
200.
201.
202.
203.
204.
207.
208.
209.
210.
211.
212.
213.
215
216.
217.
218.
223.
224.
225,
New Chapters.
Name 0/ CJtapicr. Members. A ddrcss.
Peoria, 111. (B) 10. . Eddie Smith,
1143 So. Adams St.
.Ashtabula, Ohio (A) 15. .Mav H. Prentice.
Geneva, N. Y. (A) 25. .Nellie A. Wilson,
Albany, N. Y. (A) 7.. J. P. Gavit, 3 Lafayette St.
Newport. R. I. (A) 5..R. S. Chase.
West Medford, IVlass 15.. Edith Samson, Box 175.
Duncannon, Pa. (A) i2..AnnieJ. Jackson.
New York, N. Y. (E) . . . . 4 . . Harry L. Mitchell,
23 W. 12th St.
Waterbury, Conn. (B) 5. .Charles Merriman.
Providence, R. I. (A) 7 , . Florie E. Greene,
261 Pine St.
Minneapolis, Minn. (B) 7 . . Burtie W. McCracken,
1016 Western Ave.
Rutland, Ind. (A) 5 . . Birdie Blye.
Dayton, Ohio (A) 24..AbbieL. Dyer.
Philadelphia, Pa. (G) 6. .Geo. Cittrell,
1934 Jefferson St.
Philadelphia, Pa. (H) 6..W. R. Nichols, 2016 Arch St.
Wellsboro, Pa. (A) 11 . . Margaret S. Potter.
Germantown,Pa. (B) 4. .Frank Brown, 123 Price St.
Fitchburg, Mass. (C) 12. . Ellen Snow.
St. Louis, Mo. (C) 10 Letty M. Follett,
3014 Cass Ave.
Framingham, Mass. (A).. 4..C. F. Cutting.
San Francisco, Cal. (C) . . . . 5. . Bert. W. Stone,
2104 Jackson St.
Waco, Texas (A) 23. .Jennie Wise,
(care Rev. S. P. Wright).
State College, Pa. (A).. 5.. Geo. C. McKee.
Bowling Green, Ky. (A) 5. .Jessie P. Glenn.
Washington, D. C. (D) . . 6. .W. B. Emor^-,
1234 6th St, N. W.
Brownville, N. Y. (A) 7. .John C. Winne.
Lowell, Mass. (B) 7.. Geo. A. Whitmore.
Piitsfield, Mass. (B) 5..R. H. Peck.
So. Boston, Mass. (B)... 8. .Homer C. Clapp. 79 E. 4th.
Fort Wayne, Ind. (A) 13 . .John L, Hanna,
2ig Madison St.
Austin, Minn. (A) Please send address.
The Oaks, Tioga Center,
N. Y. (A) 4 . . Angie Latimer.
Allegheny City, Pa. (A).. 7.. David K. Oft,
138 Jackson St
Hyde Park, Mass. (A) 11 . . Lillian E. Rogers.
Clinton, Mass. (A) 6. . Gerald Alley.
Taunton, Mass. (B) 10. .A. C. Bent.
De Pere, Wis. (C) 14. Jessie R, Jackson.
De Pere, Wis. (D) 7. .Carrie Dubois.
Highgate, Eng. (A) . . 4.. Geo. S. Hayier. Gleuggle,
Woodlane. Highgate, N.
Cambridge, N, Y. (A).... s-W. J. B. Williams, Box 33.
Cambridgeport, Mass. (A). 5.. Frank T. Hammond.
Buriington, Kansas (A).. 7.. P. M. Floyd, Lock-box 9.
i883.J
THE RIDDLE-ISOX.
665
k i^]jo\i appears i^ Jtiije.
It.MISTRATED Pl'ZZI.E IN THE HEAD-PIECE.
The above should first be read as a rcbvis. The answer will be a
six-line stanza, which forms a cross-word enigma. This should, in
turn, be solved as if it were printed like similar enigmas.
GEOKGE FOI^OM.
PI.
From what poem by a leading American poet is the following
stanza?
Tinsa agticsttiin ! Lewi hats tnuh dais,
Hiat fo rnu cevis ew nca farme
A delard, fi cw lilw tub dreat
Thenbc.'i nni efte ache eded {^^ mashe.
TWO EASY rKO!^S-\VORI> ENICi«AS.
I. Mv first is in com, but not in sheaf:
My second in mutton, but not in beef;
My third is in school, not in vacation;
My fourth i-i in speech, nut in oration;
My fifth is in bad, but not in good ;
My sixth is in victuals, but not in food;
My seventh in period, not in time ;
My whole is a flower almost in its prime.
II. My firet is in taper, but not in torch;
My second in bum, but not in scorch;
My third is tn wren, but not in lark;
My fourth is in flame, but not in spark;
My fifth is in court, but imt in yard;
My sixth is in minstrel, hut not in bard;
My seventh in sweet, but not in sour;
My whole is a little woodland flr}wer. dvcie.
T\M-:i.VK CO\('EAI.EI> <'ITIES.
AiJ, was quiet on the ship. "A risky piece of business," mur-
mured the steward. "Over the side with you," said the mate;
" the best way is to wait until the captain takes his nap on the sofa ;
then sec if he 's fast asleep; he 's usually dozing in a niinute. Now,
-ail on ; do nothing rashly, though." The steward entered through
ihc port, and, obeying the instructions of the mate, he ransacked
the cabin thoroughly. From each locker he took bags of silver.
On a small table he found a jewel-box. " Here *s a picnic ! " ejacu-
lated the steward, as he took the contents for his part, and kindly
resened the box for the mate. H. T. j.
ACROSTIC.
Each of the lines describes a word, and the initial letters of the
-eventeen, placed in the order given, spell the name of a ruined city
>f Syria, and that of the place m which it stood.
The wealth which God bestows upon the pour.
Temptation, which the strongest may allure.
A burden which weighs down the purest hearts.
A gift which to the giver most imparts.
The truest sacrifice of piety.
The sure reward of good society.
The genius that insures all true success.
A numeral than which none is reckoned less.
The trade tliat vainly seeks to make a man.
The trait that brings the soldier to the van.
The home alike of beggar and of king.
The door through which life botli begJus and ends.
A treasure one acquires but never lends.
That which the foolish duellist tries to gain.
A mysterv' which time can not explain.
What batl men fear, and for which good men hope.
The topmost burden laid upon a Pope.
ARTHUR T. PIERSON.
ST. ANDREWS CROSS OF niAI>IONDS.
This cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated by the dia-
:iram, the outer letters of the central diamond being used also in
forming the adjacent diamonds, which would be incomplete without
them. F-ich of the four points of the central diamond is used three
times: once as a point of its own block of stars, and once as a point
of each of the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each dia-
mond read the same across as up and down.
I. Upper Left-hand Diamond : i. In appears. 2. To view. 3
Fruit. 4. A period of time. 5. In appears.
II. Upper Right-hand Diamond. 1. In soon. 2. A unit. 3.
A spectacle. 4. A termination. 5- In need.
III. Central Diamond: i. In host. -2. An animal. 3. Scanty.
4. To blunder, 5. In keep
IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: i
dess of revenge. 3. To gaze intently.
V. Lower Right-hand Diamond :
3. Earnest. 4. Damp. 5. In root-
i. The god-
In stone.
In space. 2. Uncooked.
GEORGIA HARLAN.
In summer.
4. Before. 5.
NOVEI> CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
Mv first is in January; my second is in October: my third is in
April: my fourth is in June; my fifth is in November; my sixth is
in February ; my seventh is in August ; my eighth b in September;
my ninth is in March.
My whole is the name of a patriotic maiden who was put to a
cruel death on the 30th of May, 1431 m. c. d.
666
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
[June.
TWO EASY AVORD-S<ilTARE»,
I. I. A kind of grain. 2. A trembling fit. 3.
4. Observed. II. 1. A time of blossoms, z. Employed.
sity. 4. A current.
A melody.
3. Neces-
WESTON STICKNEV.
54-26-22-29-36-18 discovered the satellites of Jupiter. My 45-8-40
_55_56-i5-23 is a castle rendered famous by Byron. My 2-54-10-
12-9-1 is the hero of one of Shakespeare's plays. My 43-22-20-6
-33-37 is a number. My 27-4-19-43-41-54-21-48-47 is the name
of a battle which occurred in 170S, in which the French were de-
feated by the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene. My
25-54-25-34-49-50-51-25 is the name of a famous battle fought in
1066. My 6-54-21-3-13-19 was killed in the latter battle. My 46-
49-17-35-7 is a number. My 53-11-42-24-30 is a nickname some-
times given to a naval officer. My 46-52-14-47-44 name one of
Queen Elizabeth's favorites, who was beheaded in 1601. My 45-11
-39-45-^2 was an enchantress. My 26-27-50-38-16-9-56-12-3-28
is the name of the poet who adapted from the German the stanza
from which my whole is taken. lila.
AN AVIARY.
Each of the following puzzles may be answered by the name of
a bird. E-varnple : A consonant and a rank or file. Answer :
C-row.
I. A time of darkness, a preposition, and a high wind. 2. A
metal, part of a fish, and one-half of a word meaning idle talk. 3.
A consonant and a place of safety. 4. A beverage and a consonant.
5. The young of a fowl, a vowel, and a consonant. 6. Fruit,
and the cover of an opening in a ship's deck. 7. A boy's nick-
name, a vowel, and part of a chain. 8. A sound made by a bird,
and a consonant. 9. A fowl, a vowel, and a number. 10. To cut
quickly, and a vowel. 11. A scourge, impecunious, and a nick-
name. 12. A girl's nickname, and an article of food. 13. A man-
ner of drinking, and a side-building. 14. One-half of a word
meaning a diagram, and above. 15. A monarch and one who
angles. 16. Three-fourths of a word meaning a slender cord, and a
snare. 17. To disfigure, and a metal. 18. To box, and to impel
by means of oars. ig. A number, and a tin vessel. 20, One-third
of a word meaning a royal seat, and to move with rapidity.
CLARA J. CHILD.
NOVEL ACROSTIC.
SUNFI^OW^ER MAZE.
Enter at'one of the openings In the stem, and trace a path to
the center, without crossing a line. e. k. s.
MJ3IERICAX. ENIGMA.
I AM composed of fifty-six letters, and form one line of a short
stanza.
My 1-9-41-23-31-52-15-23 is poet laureate of England. My 5-
The initial and central letters, when read downward, form three
words; these name a famous event which took place on the i8th
of June, less than one hundred years agn.
Across: i. An arbor. 2. To degrade. 3. An appellation.
4, Something given for entertainment. 5. A kind of tree. 6. A
girl's name. 7. Oxygen in a condensed form. 8. To scowl.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER.
Transpositions. Levi — live — veil — vile — evil.
Central Syncopations AND Remainders. Aristides. i. Sp-A-in.
2. Ti-R-ed. 3. Pa-I-nt. 4. Pa-S-te. 5. Ti-T-le. 6. Ca-I-rd. 7.
Bo-D-le. 8. Ab-E^le. 9. Ha-S-te.
Inverted Pyramid. Across: i. Foliage. 2. Folio. 3. Old. 4. S.
Proverb Rebus.
He that leaves certainty, and sticks to chance.
When fools pipe, he may dance.
Two Word-squares. I. 1. Masts. 2. Annie. 3. Snore. 4.
Tired. 5. Seeds. II. i. Elect. 2. Laver. 3. Evade. 4. Cedes.
5. Tress. Illustrated Puzzle in the Head-piece. A month
of bright flowers.
Numerical Enigma. W'hat weighs an ounce in the morning,
weighs a pound at night.
Double Diagonals. I. i. AluM. 2. GNAt. 3. URNs. 4.
YulE. II. I. SnoB. 2. SHOt. 3. HOOk. 4. TimE.
J. F. B. and others: Answers to puzzles should be addressed to "St. Nicholas Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East i7[h
Street, New York City. The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in whichthe puzzles appear.
Answers to all the Puzzles in the April Nl'mber were received from " Mama and Bae."
Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received before April 20th. from ''North Star" and "Little Lizzie," 8 — "Sun-
flower," 6— Myra Doremus, 3 — Alise M. Ballou, i—" Warren." 4 —V. P. J. S. M. C, 6— Genie Callmeyer, 12 — Severance Burrage,
2_NelIie Elodgett. 5 — Arthur, 4 — Emma Drake, 3— Annie Falge, 7— Edith M. Bradley, i— G. L. and J. W., 5— Florie Baker, 7 —
Seyon, 4 — May Beadle, 8 — Anna Guion, 2— "Bantam," 5 — Joseph H. Targis, 3— Minnie B. Murray, 12— E. F. G.,i— "Rory
O'More," 8— Florence E. Pratt, 11 — Everett Lane Jones, 3 — Jesse S. Godine, 2 — Camilla W. Mansur, 8 — Jenny Noyes, 5 — Robert
Hamilton, 3 — C. F, Home, 13 — May L. Shepard, 5 — Willie Walker, 8 — Edith Balifington Dalton, 5— "Two Cousins," 5 — Stella E.
Goodlett, I —George A. Joplin, 3 — Bessie H. Smith, 7— Nellie Mott, i— Anna Clark, 6 — Effie K. Talboys, n — Henry L. M. Mitch-
ell, 5 — Lizzie \>. Fyfer, 5— "Gnffin," 8-^" Alcibiades," 13 — John W. Garv, 3— Helen Philips, 3— "D. and D.," 5 — Josie Mitchell,
i_" Partners," 10 — May, Bessie, and Jennie, 8 — George F. Hall. 6— "Professor 8: Co.," 13— "H. F. and B. B.," 8 — Mary D.
Reeve, i— James R. Moore, 5 — Eliza L. McCook, 5 — Katie L. Robertson, S— Amy Mothershead. 9— Paul England & Co., 12 —
Zaita, 4 — Raymond t>. Thurber, 10— Eleanor Telling, 7— D. B. Shumway, 8 — Anne Lovett, 12 — Sallie E. Hewit, 10 — Lalla E. Croft,
I— Carrie H. Wilson, ;• — Sidney and Charlie Russell, 2 — Bertie Bushnell, 12— Marguerite, 7— Mamie Baker, 1 — Ariana Moore, 11 —
Edith McKeever and Amy Elliott, 7 — C. O. B., 7 — Grace and Blanche Parry, 12 — Nellie Caldwell, 5 — Ethel and Oscar Weekes, 11 —
E. F. Biddle, 9 — Charles H. Parmly, 9— Louise Kelly, 5— Algernon Tassin. 8— Frank and Maud, i — Virginia Crater. 6— Maud and
Sadie, 6 — Lena. Elsie, and Luzia, 6 — Emma D. Andrews. 8 — Clara and her Aunt, 13 — Bessie C. Rogers, 12 — Vin and Alex, 8 — Louise
Gilman, 9 — Kittle, Mary, Flora, Dora, and Birdie, 4— Appleton H., 13 — The Two Millies, 4 — Carrie L. and Anna C. Lindholm. 3 —
Julia T Pember. II — Louis F. Zimmerman, 8 — Livingston Ham. 2 — Hugh Bums, 11 — Busy B"s, 13 — James H. Strong. 10 — Fred.
Thwaits, 13 X. Y. Z., 10 — T. W., 8— "Queen Bess," 12 — Sallie Viles, 10 — B. B.. 7 — Robert C. Steams, 6 —Madge Tolderlund, 4
— Adele, 5— Emilie and Rosa, 8 — Mar>' Ann and Susan Jane, 5 — Lyde W. McKinney. 10— Lottie A. Best, 12 — Vema Barnum, 4 —
Helen E. Mahan, 10 — Florence Leslie Kvte, 12 — Maud Badlam, 1— J. S. Tennant, 10— M. W. and W. Sdckney, 3 — R. Kilboume, i —
F. P. Jones, 1 — Eirie, 6 — G. E. M., 2 — D. F. and E. B. Barr>-. 7— R. S. and H. Lowrie, i — M. D. and Polly, 3— A., M., and F.
Knight, II — S. R, Marshall, i — Clara J. Child, 12 — Frederick Pember, i.
THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S RIDE.
I Sec page 700. 1
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX.
iri.w 1SS2.
No.
ICopyrighl, 1882, by Tjik CF.NTURV CO.]
INSIDI-: A
!SI[-\ \V
li\' Sarah |. I'kichakd.
Of all the stories which have been written since
the world was made, it is safe to say that this oiif
is the first written inside a tish-net.
There are three of them, — nets and reels, — and
all of them stand about two himdred feet from
land, by the side of a pier that heads out into the
sea full one hundred feet beyond the reels. With
its lonely and almost desolate surroundings it is,
indeed, a curious place in which to write a story.
The net was bought only last summer, and it
cost of somebody's money eight hundred dollar^;
But the story itself is now to be told.
Three or four winters ago, when the ice began
to grow along the shores of Cape Cod, and grew
so fast and so strong that it shut up all the fishing
ships before they could get to land, the " Little
Katie " was caught in its grasp. On the "Little
Katie " was Captain John Rose, and in Province-
town, on the Cape, were his wife and Wild and
Johnn)-, the girl and boy who saved their father b)'
building a big kite and flying it out to the ship
when all Provincetown was trying, in vain, to
devise some manner of getting food to the boats.
That blessed kite carried the string that carried
the line that carried the bread that carried life to
the starving crew of the " Little Katie."
After that hard winter, Captain Rose said that
he would not go to the "Banks" any more for cod-
fish, but would catch menhaden along the shores of
the ocean and in the bays and inlets of the coast,
while the fishing season should continue, and then,
when the very cold weather should come on, he would
stay in his house and let Cape Cod sands IjIow all
over it and pack it down as solidly as they might.
And this is what came of that venture :
The first season, everything moved along hap-
pily, and the fish came to the seine, or rather
the seine went around the fish, so that the Rose
family began to sec prosperous days and to dream
of a time when they might move from Cape Cod
and live somewhere upon the " Main."
The first summer, Captain Rose was only a mate,
.iiid the fishing gang to which he belonged carried
their menhaden to a floating fish-oil mill, anchored
in one of the inlets on the coast of Maine.
Before another summer came, the oil ship
burned, and everything in and upon it was utterly
destroyed. Captain Rose, his wife and children
heard the bad news with dismay in their hearts.
It was Wild who said : "' Never mind, Father:
there are more oil-ships and more nets, and more
lish in the sea a-growing every single minute."
"And more fishermen a-growing to use them,
too ! " groaned Captain John, with a wild look of
despair in his face at the thought that the oil-
ship owner might not be able to pay him for his
last season's labor. Captain Rose had been living
on credit until the oil should be sold, and now the
oil ha'd ascended to the sky in flame ; and it might
be that no man would trust him with food ; for the
news of his loss was abroad in Provincetown.
That was a dark day in the sand cabin, and
many a bright and long-cherished hope of good
things to come turned to leaden facts.
670
INSIDE A F I S n - X E T .
[JLLV,
A week went by, and there was no word of
news from the oil-ship owner. Meanwhile, Cap-
tain John and his son John (Johnny's first trip)
went to the Banks on a fishing schooner, for. come
what would, bread must be won.
When they were well away, and the topsails of
the schooner had slipped down almost out of sight,
Wild said to her mother : " We may as well go on
fixing up the clothes, for clothes will be needed,
fishing or no fishing." And so they worked while
they waited.
It was in the spring, in March, that Captain
Rose and Johnny went. They had been a week
gone when one of the fiercest gales that ever blew
on any coast, since coasts were made, blew down
from the north, and shouted in from the cast, and
tore fearfully through the sands of Cape Cod. It
was during this storm that a letter for Captain Rose
was carried to the cabin by a brave neighbor lad,
who struggled with it through the shifting sands,
with a vague feeling that it might have in it good
news; and the lad — it was he who had helped
Johnny to build the famous kite — was ver)' glad
to fetch any good news to Wild Rose. A rush-
ing blast swept in at the door as he opened it
and panted into the kitchen, closing the door
with his foot as he sank into a chair, the letter
standing well out of his Jacket pocket.
" Peter Petit ! " exclaimed Mrs. Rose. '■ What-
ever in this world sent you over here in such a
storm ? "
"Nothing sent me. I just came," answered the
boy, rising and drawing the letter forth. " 1 was
down to the post-office when the mail came in, and
the post-master took notice of this letter, and says
he: 'I hope,' says he, 'that this here letter 's got
some good news in it for John Rose, 1 do. It
comes from the owners of that oil-ship that burned
up his summer's work ! ' When he said that, says
I, ' Give it here, and I '11 take it over,' and here it
is," — handing the envelope to Mrs. Rose.
" Open it. Mother, do ! " pleaded Wild, with
flushed face. "Who knows but that it ought to
be answered?"
" Course ! That 's what made me fetch it," said
Peter. "It would keep jest as well in the post-
office as 't would here."
" I never open Father's letters," said Mrs. Wild;
" he would n't like it."
The sand just then beat in showers against the
cabin, and the sea sound came raging ov^er the
Cape from the Highland Light.
"I wish you was over in the town to-night,
where there 's more folks to hear it blo«' with you,
and I 'm just sorry I came, if 1 have n't got any
good news inside that letter," said Peter ; and then
he rose and bade them " Good-nieht."
He went away, feeling disappointed; for Peter
had a vague feeling that things were going all
right whenever Wild's eyes gleamed with happi-
ness,— but to-night there was no happiness shining
in them.
Wild took a dozen good hard looks at the big
envelope before she went to bed, and thought it
too bad in her mother not to open it.
Ten days later, — the storm having blown out
itself and ships and souls together, — a letter, ad-
dressed to the oil manufacturer in Wild's peculiar
handwriting, was mailed at Provincetown. This
was the letter :
"Cape Cod, March 15, 1870.
"Mr. Washington Wiles; Father went off to the banks a week
ago afishing and your letter is come, but nobody has opened it,
cause mother says father 'don't want anybody to.' Please, if it 's
good news, wont you keep it for father, cause we all need good
news so much — vwre 'n you can teli. Wild Rose."
Wild's letter went over the distance between the
sand cabin of John Rose and the pleasant village
home of Mr. Wiles, and' chanced to be given into
his hands just at the moment when his neck was
clasped about by the arms of his daughter Maud,
a young girl as old as Wild Rose herself; and Maud
was saying, in her most entreating tones :
" Papa, dear! Don't you remember, you prom-
ised me a new piano this spring? .And I want it
now, before my new teacher comes."
" Let me read my letters first, Maud, and then 1
will tell you."
Maud's gray eyes penetrated to the very heart of
Wild Rose's letter as she looked at it.
"Tell me. Papa, all about it. Who is she, and
« hy do they need good news ? "
"I have never seen the child," said Mr. Wiles,
" but 1 have heard how Captain Rose's children
saved him and his fishing crew from starving, by
getting a kite-string out to the boat, across the ice,
where no man could go; and this letter is from
Wild, the girk"
" But w'hy do they need good news? Does she
want a new piano, I wonder ? "
Mr. Wiles siniled. He had once seen the sand
cabin, as the neighbors called John Rose's habita-
tion. Presently, his face grew \ery grave, as he
said; "Maud, this Wild Rose means that they
have no money to live upon ; that all her father's
summer work was burned up in the oil-ship. Per-
haps they have no bread in the house. 1 am very
sorry for him, my child."
"So am 1, Papa. When you get me my new
piano I '11 send this Wild my old one. She will be
glad to get it. What makes you look so grave.
Papa?"
" Maud," said her father, " I did promise you a
new piano, but I have been thinking a good deal,
lately, of Captain Rose and his hard lot, and I
iSSi.]
INSIDK A KISH-.\ ET.
671
know of but one way to help him. If you will give
up the new piano for this year, I will take the
money it would cost, and with that buy a new
seine, and jjive Captain Rose the new yacht, ' Rose-
mary,' and let him have a chance this summer."
'• Why can't you do both, Papa? "
'• Because I h.ave not the money. 1 lost a great
deal of money when the oil-ship burned."
"Then, what did you write about.'"
"1 told him that there was no money for him,
and that I could not give him work this summer.
I w.-is very sorr>- to write it, Maud, and 1 am very
glad his poor wife did not open the letter when he
w;is away."
.Maud inserted a quick little kiss just above the
sharp edge of her father's collar, and said, verj-
swiftly : " I won/ have any piano ! 1 want Captain
Rose to have the ' Rosemary.' "
•■\'er)- well, my child. Write, yourself, to this
Wild Rose, and tell her the good news."
Maud wrote :
"Dear Wild Rose: I don't know you, but Papa got your
letter, and he says he wrtile your father that there was n't any
boat, nor any seine, f >r him : but since your letter got here, there is
a yacht, the ' Rosemary." and there is going to be a new net for him,
too, just as soon as he gets back from fishing. Papa says so. and
he told me I might write the letter to you and tell you the good
news. I hope he "11 take you up here in the boat some time. 1
want to see you, and have you tell me all about that kite you and
your brother made. I wish you would write me a letter, and tell
me all about Cape Cod and everything you do down there.
** Vour friend, M.vi'D WlLRS."
Everybody knows just how anxious and worried
and agonized all the fisher folk of Cape Cod were,
that spring-time, when the great gale had blown
over, and the boats did not get home. When the
days came one after another, and families looked
their eyes dim with peering past the Highland
Light to catch the first glimpse of the inward-
bound sail, that might mean great joy to some one
of their number. Wild Rose was there early and
late.
" He will come ! He must come ! Oh, 1 know
he will come back to us, and Johnny with him ! "
she kept saying over and over to herself, as she
went her way across to the light-house in the
morning ; and, in the evening, as she turned her
back upon the wild, tossing sea, she still repeated
the comforting assurance to herself; and she whis-
pered it to her sorrowful mother as she bade her
■• gooti-night " after each dreary day.
\\. length, the clothes they had made ready
were put out of sight, and the waiting became full
of pain.
A week went by, .tnd then it was Peter,
again, who fetched Maud's letter to Wild — Peter
kept careful watch over the sand cabin in those
da\s. Wild was just setting forth to take one
more look at the spread of ocean, from the High-
land itself, when Peter shouted to her from afar,
holding up the white envelope.
Wild ran, as fast as the sands would let her, to
meet him. Had her father reached some port,
and sent them word of his safety ?
With panting heart, and fingers all in a flutter
of eagerness, she reached out to receive it.
" It 's something so out of the ordinary for a
letter to come for Miss Wild Rose, that 1 thought
1 'd just come right ahead with it. Provincetown
watches all its letters mighty close just now, you 'd
better believe. Wild, and if there 'sany news, let 's
have it right off, and I '11 run back with it."
Peter went on talking, whilst Wild got inside the
envelope with all speed.
" Oh, Peter ! Peter ! " she cried, as she read.
" Father 7ui7/ come now, — I 'm sure he will, — to
get the good news. He 's going to be captain of
a yacht, and have a new net all to himself, and
we '11 have such times ! "
At any other period in her life — excepting when
her father w;is caught in the ice — Wild would
have been gladdened to the utmost of joy. Now
she ran with the letter to her mother, and then,
holding it fast, she made her way to the High-
land once again, to search for the sign by which
she should know her father's sail. Wild was the
only watcher that day, and, when the light was
trimmed and the keeper gone, she had the place
to herself Poor, young, faithful Wild, with such
good news for a father wIk) might, at that \ery
moment, be lying beneath the ocean !
Wild leaned forth from the tower, and looked
northward. She opened wide Maud's letter. She
shook it as a signal. She cried out: "Oh,
Father, Father ! Come ! Come I Come to your
new sloop and your new net ! Come home, j'ou
and Johnny ! "
Four sails came into sight during the watch, but
not the sail for sight of which her eyes ached.
Wild went down and homeward, meeting, as she
went, the housewives whose svork-day at home was
over, and who might, in the afternoon, take the
dreary march across to the Light.
Wild had folded away her good news, and it
lay in her pocket as she passed one and another.
It was Peter whom she saw, when about half-way
home, plodding valiantly through the yielding
sands to come to her in haste.
" There 's somebody a-waiting. Wild, to see
you to home," said Peter, from afar, the words
brimming from his heart tlirough his lips and
flowing onward to Wild, who responded :
" Who is it ? "
" It 's a man and a boy : it 's Captain Rose and
Johnny — it 's your father and brother. Wild Rose,
672
INSIDE A FISH-NET.
[July,
it is ! " and Peter laid hold on Wild's hand to pull
her onward.
•' Peter Petit ! You 're not cheating, are you ?"
gasped Wild, feeling with her free hand for the
good news in her pocket.
" Cheating you. Wild ! Did 1 ever cheat you
in my life ? They are there, safe and sound ; but the
batteredest-looking things ! When the bark came
to dock, the old sails were nothing but string strips,
and they just whipped around the mast ; the wind
went through and through everything like a chop-
ping-knife. But every man is safe."
•' Oh, Peter ! " cried Wild, — her feet never did
seem to sink so deep in the sand before, — " I think
I 'm the happiest girl ! I 'd rather be just Wild
Rose than anybody else in the whole world ; God
is so full of goodness to me. Peter, are any other,
boats safe, did they say ? " And so talking they
came to the sand cabin, which, for that night, held
within it as much joy as a palace could contain.
The next two weeks found the Rose family pack-
ing up their effects and flitting from Cape Cod to
Long Island.
A small house on its northern shore was taken
for a temporary home, for it was within the waters
of Long Island Sound that the new yacht was to
cruise for fish. Captain Rose went over to Connec-
ticut to take command of the " Rosemary." and back
to Long Island to gather his crew, and it was
there, within sight of his new home, that the seine
was to be made ready.
It was brought, a huge bundle of netted twine,
and opened in the presence of all the family.
When its grand length was outspread over a wide
field. Wild went about it with intense joy, and
begged her father to let her help to finish it; for it
had to be tarred, lined, corked, and leaded before
it was ready for use.
Neither her father, nor Johnny, nor even Peter —
for Peter was to be one of the crew on the '' Rose-
mary"— despised her deft helpfulness, and the end
of May found everything ready for the first start.
Mrs. Rose and Wild went down to see the seine
put into the boats and the yacht sail away over
the blue in search of menhaden. Three hours
later, Wild had the happiness to see the two seine-
boats row from the yacht and pay out the net, half
of it from one and half from the other boat, as
they described a huge circle in the water, in which
circle were imprisoned thousands of white-fish.
Two months went by, and not once had the
yacht returned to the place whence it had sailed.
The soft summer days slipped into the beginning
of July, and then Captain Rose wrote that he should
run over to spend the Fourth at home. He had
only pleasant things to relate of his summer, thus
far. Half a million fish had come into the new
seine, and, if all went well, last year's misfortune
would be more than made good.
On the morning of the fifth, the " Rosemary" was
to set sail in the early dawn. That all might be in
readiness. Captain Rose and Peter slept on board,
while Johnny, who said he should not fail to hear
the horn-call, staid at home.
We who live within sight of Long Island Sound
all remember how the thunder called to us that
night ; how the peals of sound rolled from cloud to
cloud, following the lightning flash ; how we seemed
wrapped in a blaze of light and crash of thunder.
The " Rosemary," lying at anchor, lay in the light-
ning's way. A ball of fire shot through the cabin
— and lo ! the fishing yacht flashed into flame!
Wild and her mother and Johnny saw it together,
as the yellow fire wrapped it about.
Half-dressed, they got down the oars and made
haste to the dock. There was no time to summon
the nearest neighbor to the rescue, and they must
do what could be done, with speed.
As they got into a great row-boat, Johnny saw,
for the first time, that Wild carried an ax. " What
in the world did you fetch that for ? " he questioned.
" May be we can cut a hole in the yacht and
so save her," said Wild, obeying her brother's
instructions to herself and her mother in regard
to their combined management of one oar.
They worked with courage undaunted, pushing
out, by the lightning's blaze, over the white-caps to
the burning yacht. The seine-boat was awkward
and heavy, and the great oar was hard to hold.
At last a shout was heard. Somebody was
alive on the burning boat.
"Coming! Coming!" called Johnny, rowing
harder ; while his mother gazed wildly at the
flames, and clung with both hands to the big oar.
On the bowsprit stood Captain Rose and Peter.
They were cut off by the fire from everything that
could aid them. Even the boat, anchored at the
stern, they could not reach.
" Father ! Father ! Let us save the new net,''
called Wild, as Captain Rose and Peter dropped
into the boat. " And see ! I 've fetched an ax to
scuttle the yacht," she added, as the boat pushed
off to avoid tha fire.
It took but a moment to row around and cut
loose the other seine-boat, in which lay fully half
of the great net.
While Johnny and Peter, Wild and her mother
dragged at the other half of the seine, which
lay on deck, and was surrounded by flame, to get
it into the water, anywhere away from the burning.
Captain Rose wielded the ax against the side
planks of the "Rosemary," that he might sink her, if
possible, and thereby save something for her owner.
The planking gave way and the water poured in.
1 883. J
I \ M I ) i: A 1- 1 s 1 1 - N I-; I'
673
but the flames pourctl up and over and drove both
boats away. With scorched hands, the net bein^
saved, they sorrowfully left the pretty " Rosemary"
to her fate and pulled away to witness the burning.
•' She 's sinking ! " cried Peter, as they watched.
"' She 's surely going down ! " echoed Johnny.
•• She is !" confirmed Captain Rose, as the mast
with llames curling about it swayed and swayed
and sh>wly settled down, lower and lower, until the
cooling sea surged into the flame on deck and put
out the fire.
The crew had been aroused, in their boarding-
house, and had made haste to the shore ; but the
brave " Rosemary " could cruise no more for them.
" Misfortunes never come single," said the mate,
as t'.iptain Rose reached llie wharf
to learn the full e\ieni of ilie loss. It chanced that
only Wild was at home when he arrived, and thus she
had opportunity to tell the story in her own words.
'■ 1 know," said Wild, "that my father tells the
truth always, and he says a ball of fire came right
into the cal)in and set everything into a blaze, and
he would have sa\ed the jiretty yacht if he could.
1 'm very sorry for you, Mr. Wiles," she added,
"to lose so much money; and for my father, too,
and for ever\l)ody ; but it is a comfort to know that
Ciod took it all, is n't it? I believe He 's going to
send us back something a great deal better in its
place, don't you ?"
The oil manufacturer turned awa) , not know-
ing what to say to the girl who held such faith
111 t)ic all-goodness nf the Power tli.il rules our
•■with courage undaunted THEV KOWED OVEK IHE WHllE-CAl'S TUWAKD THE BUKNlNo ^.\l.Hl.
"Soinething better than the ' Rosemary ' is com-
ing for my father," said \\ ikl. " 1 kiimt) there is;
but 1 am glad we 'vc saved the new net with nnU
one edge burned a little — see."
It was in the dawn, and the blackened edge of
the netted twine lay on the water between the two
boats that had brought it to shore.
The telegram sent over to Connecticut in the
early morning of the fifth of JuK contained the
words :
*' The ' Rosemary * was struck by lightning and burned to tlie
water's edge last night. Net saved. "
The saine day, Mr. Wiles crossed to Long Island
lives ; nor do we know what 10 say more than
that the seine saved from the burning yacht has
been brought across the Sound and reeled here, to
await the finding of a new fishing-boat for its
captain, John Rose.
P'or dear Wild Rose's sake we pat its brown
meshes softly as we write the last words, and hope
that her faith may grow and grow until it blos-
soins in the good times, and even better times,
that she dreams of; for this is a real net and a
real reel, and this story has really been written
here, and the pretty yacht was struck by lightning
and burned on the night of the Fourth of July.
674
T I N K E V
IJDLY,
TINKEY.
Bv S. A. Sheilds.
" School-time, Tinkey ! Nearly nine o'clock ! "
Tinkey was in the attic, stretched out at full
length upon some sacks of potatoes, reading a
fairy story. His Latin grammar lay in front of
him, open at the lesson he should have been
studying. Tinkey really had intended to divide
the hour before school-time between Latin gram-
mar and fairy tales, but when his mother called,
he found the hour was over, and the fairy tales
had had the whole of it.
"Oh, dear !" sighed Tinkey, looking up from
his book, and putting his fists under his chin.
"Oh, dear!" He kicked up both feet, byway
of a preparation for changing his lazy position,
5ind said, wistfully :
' ' I wish there were fairies nowadays I ' '
"And who told you there were not?" cried
a very sharp, thin voice that came from close
before him, right under his nose, it seemed to
Tinkey. He looked up quickly. Was that a
fairy? It was certainly unlike anything Tinkey
had ever seen before, and a sight to startle any-
body. A little old woman in a scarlet cloak, a
black pointed hat, and tiny high-heeled shoes,
leaning upon a crutch, and standing upon the
pages of Tinkey's open Latin grammar.
" Who told you there were no fairies ? " she
repeated, thumping
/^ / her crutch upon
the book, and
looking into
Tinkey's
Dear me, boy, don't stare at me so ! The eyes
will drop out of your head. You don't believe
me, eh ? "
"who told YOi: THERE WERE NO F.^IRIES ? SHE REPEATED.
bewildered face. " There are just as many fairies
now as ever, and they are just as powerful, too.
"'I WISH I WAS THAT CALF AND NEED N-'t GO TO SCHOOL.'"
"lam sure, ma'am." stammered Tinkey, "1
did not say "
"No, but you thought! Nobody need ever
speak to a fairy. You do not believe 1 am a
fairy. ^^'ell, perhaps you will, before the day
is over, for 1 mean to grant the very first
wish \ou make. Be careful, now, what \'0U wish
for first ; for, as surely as 1 am a fairy, what-
ever it is, you will get it ! "
Then the funny little old woman made one
jump on to the sill of the attic window; and
Tinkey, looking after her, saw a tiny carriage,
with sails like a boat, and ten butterflies harnessed
to it, waiting for her. She sprang into it, took
a seat, waved her crutch to the astonished boy,
and the butterflies carried her up and up in the
air until she was quite out of sight.
Wondering, yet half inclined to think he had
been dreaming, Tinkey took up his grammar,
tucked his fairy-tale book under a potato-sack,
and went slowly down the stairs. There was no
one in the entry as he took his hat from the rack
i882.]
T I \ K !•: \-
675
and sluggishly dragged his unwilhng feet across
the garden walk into tlic road.
Not one single lesson had Tinkcy studied, and
he was half tempted to wish he knew them all.
But, no ! He would not waste a fair)- wish upon
one day's lessons ! Perhaps he would wish for a
bicycle, or a new fishing-pole, or, better still, for a
million million dollars, and then he could buy any-
thing he wanted.
It was a scorching day in June, and the road to
school was very hot and dusty, excepting at one
spot, where a little wooden bridge crossed a narrow
creek that crept through the meadows on each side
of the road. The water rippled by with a cooling,
musical gurgle, and Tinkey stopped to rest his chin
on his hand, his elbow on the railing, and follow
the stream with his eyes, into his father's meadow,
till it wound around under a clump of large trees.
"ME TKIEO TO FIND HIS I'OCKET-HANDKEKCHIEP.
where a group of cows and their babies stood knee-
deep in the water, under the cool, shading branches.
The school-bell was clanging noisily : the sun was
pouring its hot rays on Tinkey's head ; punishment
was in store for neglected lessons ; and reality for a
moment was stronger than hope. Quite forgetting
his fairy visitor, Tinkey cried, aloud:
"Oh, dear, 1 wish I was that red-and-white calf
under the willow, and need n't go to .school! "
In one second there was a cool rippling of water
around Tinkey'sfeet, and, instead of two legs clothed
in dusty trousers, there were four covered with hair,
in the running stream, while something went flop-
ping on one side and the other, keeping away all
obtrusive flies.
Tinkey turned his head, and took a long look at
his hairy sides, his long, awkward legs, and the
reflection of his face in the clear water. Then he
burst out into one long, wailing cry, the well-
known bleat of a distressed calf.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" cried Tinkey. But it
sounded like " B-a-a, b-a-a." " I have made my
wish, and wasted it by turning mvself into a hate-
ful, ugly calf. Oh! Oh!"
/^&t;i
"sent him Sl'KAWLING I I'ON THE GRorND."
Here a motherly old cow lifted her head, and
tossing it up, said :
" Be quiet ! Don't make sucli a row ! "
But, as Tinkey had not yet learned the cow
language, it only sounded to him like " Moo-0-0,"
and he paid no attention to it. The old cow
low'ered her head, and gave him a sharp dig with
her horns, which made his tears flow faster than
ever. But not being accustomed to weep over a
brook, Tinkey wanted his pocket-handkerchief,
and, forgetting he no longer possessed pockets, he
reared up on his hind legs and tried to find his
pocket with his fore legs ; he strained his neck in
looking up and down his sides, and cut up such
antics in the water that the cows became quite
indignant at having their quiet so disturbed, and
fairly drove him away.
" Mrs. Whiteface always did spoil that calf,"
said one old cow, pettishly; "he is really too rude
to be in decent society, making such a noise and
commotion ! Just see how he has muddied the
water with his capers ! "
" Let the little plague amuse himself in the
"'TOM BATES, YOIT 'RE CHEATING!*"
sun awhile, until he learns to behave himself
properly," grumbled another.
Hut Mrs. Whiteface, the molherly old cow who
676
r 1 N K E V .
[JlLV,
had first spoken to the distressed calf, was sure
something dreadful must be the matter with her
baby. Never before had he acted so strangel)-,
and, full of anxiety, she slowly waded to the bank
" • HERE I AM, PAPA," SAID TINKEV, TRYING TO TAKE A SEAT.
and followed him across the meadow. He was
seeking a shady spot under a great spreading oak-
tree, walking slowly and clumsih' along, his head
and his tail hanging down in the most disconsolate
wa\-.
"What is the matter with \uu?" asked Mrs.
Whitcface, kindly.
" Moo-o-o," sounded in Tinkey's ears; and,
afraid of feeling the old cow's horns again, he
tossed up his head, and trotted away as fast as his
awkward legs would carry him.
He ran across the meadow, through the corn-
field, around the duck-pond and into the yard ad-
joining the school-house, a bare stretch of ground
without shade or shelter. He was all out of breath,
and trembling from head to foot, as he stood for a
moment's rest under the school-room window-.
The voice of the school-master came through the
open window, calling out the names of the boys.
Now Tinkey's proper name was Frank Kirke,
but the school-boys had each a nickname, and
were known at home and in play-time quite as
well by such names as Tinkey, Bobo, Fuzzy, or
Tip, as by their proper names of Frank, Harry,
Tom, or George. But Tinkey knew very well
who was meant \\ hen the master asked :
"Where is Frank Kirke this morning?
" Here I am, sir," said Tinkey. thrusting his
head in at the open window.
" B-a-a-a," said the calf, and all the boys
shouted, and the girls giggled, making a great
commotion in the school-room. Even the master
felt a little twitching in the muscles about his
mouth, but he only said, ver)' sternly:
" John Smith, drive that calf away ! "
Tinkey looked around for the calf, and then
suddenly remembered that he. Tinkey Kirke, was
the animal to be driven away.
" John Smith," thought Tinkey, scornfully ; "he
had better try it. I can lick John Smith any day."
So, when John Smith iazily sauntered into the
school->ard, he was amazed to see a calf bristling
all over with fight, that, before he could make an
effort to drive it away, rushed forward, thrust a
hairj' head between his legs, and sent him sprawl-
ing upon the ground.
But Tinkey had forgotten that he could not
throw stones, and, before he could make another
charge, John had pelted him so rapidly with
heavy stones that he was glad to run away,
bruised and sore all over. As he stood in the hot
June sun, afraid to venture near the water, or
into the meadow, Tinkey thought, mournfully,
that it was not much fun to be a calf, after all.
He wandered about sore and sorry, until, sud-
denly, with a rush and loud shouts, the boys and
girls came pouring out of the school-house.
'• Recess ! Hurrah ! " thought Tinke)-, hurrying
to join his school- fellows, and quite forgetting he
was a calf, as he trotted into the play-ground.
Here were boys eating luncheon, boys playing
marbles, boys spinning tops, boys swapping pen-
cils and jackstones, boys whittling " pussy " sticks,
but not a boy, no, not one, reading or studying.
Tinkey ambled up to one group after another,
but none of the boys noticed him, except to shove
him away, if he came too close. His especial
" HE DREAMED OF COOL WATERS AND SHADY LANES.
friend, Jim Jones, was one of three boys playing
marbles, and Tinkey, unrecognized and unnoticed,
stood near, sadly conscious that he could not use
any one of his four long, clumsy legs to join in
the game. But as no one drove him away, he
stood watching the pky until Tom Bates cheated.
There was no doubt about it, and Tinkey thrust
his head into the group, crying :
r I \ K !•: \- .
'/ /
"■ loni bates, you re clicatinj; ! " At least,
that is what he thought he said. What he really
did say, was — " B-a-a-a ! "
Never was a game broken up more quickly 1
Every boy was on his feet, with a stick or a stone,
and, in an instant, every other game was aban-
doned to make general war upon poor Tinkey.
Driven away, he found two boys strolling down
the road, talking, and heard this sentence :
■' He 's only playing off sick, I know. Tinkey
Kirke is the laziest boy in school : he never knows
his lessons."
•' 1 'm no lazier than you are. Hobo Wells,"
cried Tinkey, in a prolonged " B-a-a-a ! " at the
same time giving Hobo a vicious dig in the ribs
with his head.
" Jiminy ! " screamed the boy. ■■ What 's that!'
Hey! Here's a young mad bull, boys I Hey!
.At him ! "
Kvery boy in the play-ground answered the
loud call, and Tinkey, with a wholesome fear of
stones and sticks, galloped away, followed by a
shower of boy ammunition.
He was very sore all over, very weary, very hot.
and there came over him a great longing to put
his aching head down into his mother's lap to be
petted, and have a good cry. He was very hun-
gry, too, and the attempt which he made to eat
grass proved a miserable failure. " It is too nasty
for anything," Tinkey decided. Just as he reached
home, the fainily were sitting down to dinner, and
Mr. Kirke asked :
" Where is Tinkey ? He is always late ! ''
" Here I am. Papa," said Tinkey, in his long
'• B-a-a-a," walking in at the door and trying to
take his seat.
With laughing shouts, ttie whole family sprang
up to drive him away, and Tinkey ran to his mother
for protection. Surely, surely, his own dear mother
would know him !
But Mrs. Kirke ran scrcammg .nvay. Something
was the matter with the calf, she thought, and she
was afraid of it. Mr. Kirke caught him at last, but
not until every chair was upset, the table-cloth
pulled off, the dishes smashed and scattered, the
dinner a wreck, and the room in direst confusion.
Well belabored with a heavy stick, Tinkey was
led to the barn and tied up, to think over the de-
lights of being a calf and the misery of being a
well-fed school-boy with a happy home.
He was horribly hungry, and made several at-
tempts to eat the hay and oats before htm, but he
could not swallow them.
On a level with his head there was a kitchen
window, plainly visible through the gfreat space left
by the barn doors standing wide open. It was
baking day, and loaves of bread stood on the table;
three large, teniptnig pies were cooling on the win-
dow-sill, while a pitcher of milk was just behind
them on the table. Tinkey tugged and jerked,
until he succeeded in breaking the rope holding
him, and was once more free. He trotted oft" to
the window-, only to meet a new difficulty. It did
not occur to him that he could cat a pie in any way
but with plate, knife, and fork, or, w ithout these,
by taking it in his fingers. His hands, or fore
legs, would not reach up to the window-sill, try as
hard as he would to make thein, and, in his efforts.
•■ALL HIS EFFORTS FAILED TO GET EVEN ONE HIND
LEG INTO THEM.*'
he knocked two of the pies to the ground, breaking
them to pieces. Only one remained, and, inspired
by hunger, Tinkey at last put his nose down to the
plate and ate up the pie. By a great effort of
stretching he got the pitcher over on its side, and
eagerly lapped the milk as it ran out. But, sud-
denly, a most tremendous blow fell upon his head,
as his tnother shouted :
" Get out ! Go away! Father, the calf has Ijroken
loose ! "
Quite sure that his father would find a stronger
rope the next time, Tinkey ran away as fast as he
could, through the cabbage-patch, over the flower-
beds, around the house, from the kitchen window
to the front porch, where he stood panting and
listening as his father hunted in the barn and at
the back of the house for him. The front door
was standing ajar, and as Tinkey looked at it a
Ijrilliant idea rushed into his head — he would go
into his own room and take a nap.
His head ached, and every bone in his body
seemed to be sore with the variety of hammering
he had received. Nobody was about. Indeed,
the confusion in the dining-room was likely to
keep everybody busy for one afternoon, and
678
TIN KEY
(July,
nobody saw Tinkey as he made frantic efforts to
walk upstairs on his hind legs, and hold the bal-
usters with his fore legs. By and by it occurred to
him to try the ascent with all his legs down, and at
last he accomplished it in that way.
Getting into bed presented another difficulty, as
his legs would not go up high enough to scramble
in, in his usual fashion, but, after many efforts, the
desired result was gained by standing sidewise and
rolling himself over. Then a long sleep fell upon
the weary little boy-calf, and he dreamed of cool
waters, of shady lanes, of refreshing drink, until a
welcome sound awakened him — the tea-bell.
But he was confused by his nap, and he mis-
took the bell for the summons to breakfast. Upon
a chair were thrown his best suit and some clean
underclothing that his mother had been mend-
ing ; and, knowing he would be late, as he must
have failed to hear his mother's usual morning
summons, Tinkey scrambled awkwardh- to the
floor and took up a shirt.
By a great effort he reared up, and tried to lift
this garment over his head. All in vain ! Strug-
gle as he would, it only hung upon the hoofs that
had no fingers to grasp it, until it fell upon the
floor. Perhaps he could do better with the trou-
sers ! At least he could try.
But the trousers were still worse. He braced
himself against the wall, and hung the waistband
upon his fore legs, but all his efforts failed to get
even one hind leg into them. He reeled over, he
fell upon the floor, he reared up, and tipped over.
He even tried to crawl into his clothes, after push-
ing them into place upon the floor.
But it was of no use, and, while he was still
working over this problem, harder than any sum he
had ever puzzled out in school, the door opened.
Again that dreadful shout, now so familiar to
him, fell upon his ears, as Bob, his )Ounger
brother, rushed into the room.
"Oh, Papa! Mamma! Here 's fun. Here 's
that calf in our room, pulling Tinkey's clothes all
over the floor! "
"You just shut up!" said Tinkey, in a terrific
" B-a-a-a ! "
" Sho ! Get out of my room ! " shouted Bob.
" It is just as much my room as it is yours,"
cried Tinkey, angrily, dashing at Bob and driving
him against the wall. " Oh ! Oh I Papa ! Come !
He 's killing me ! " yelled Bob.
" You big baby," sneered Tinkey, in calf lan-
guage. " I have n't touched you ! "
But while he spoke, Mr. Kirke and two hired
men were coming up the stairs, and another chase
ended in poor Tinkey's defeat.
But it was not until the neat, pretty bed-room
of an hour previous looked as if there had been
a whirlwind through it. Everything that could be
knocked down was knocked down ; everything
that could be smashed was smashed ; and from
the dire confusion he had made, Tinkey was at
last led out, and tied, very strongly this time,
with these words of his father's to comfort him :
"I can't imagine," said Mr. Kirke, " what ails
that calf; but I will send him to the butcher's in
the morning ! "
Tied up securely, the barn doors closed and
fastened, Tinkey had plenty of time to think over
his day's experience.
The butcher ! Cold chills ran over him, as he
thought of the long, bright knife he had seen
many times in the hands of the butcher. Great
tears ran down his face, and he was bitterly regret-
ting his rash wish, when there was a soft whirr in
the air, and the fairy car, drawn by butterflies,
floated down upon a corn-bin. The wee woman
stepped daintily down, and walked along the edge
until she stood in front of poor, shivering Tinkey.
"So," she said, "you don't like it! You are
tired already of being a calf ! "
"Oh, yes! yes! Very tired! Please, dear
Mrs. Fairy, make me a boy once -more, and 1 will
never, never be so foolish again ! "
" 1 'm not so sure of that ! You don't like
Latin grammar."
"But I like it better than being stoned and
beaten and driven about. Oh, please, please don't
go awa)- and leave me a calf, dear Mrs. Fairy."
" Oh, ho ! So you do believe I am a fairv ? "
" I am sure of it."
" I will not be a cruel fairy, then. You shall
have one more wish. Be a boy again ! "
She waved her wand as she spoke, and a queer,
numb feeling crept over Tinkey. The barn faded
.iway ; the fairy car floated up out of sight: for a
moment all was black, and then he found him-
self lying on the potato-sack, in the attic, with the
Latin grammar still open before him.
With a joyful shout he sprang to his feet, very
glad to be a boy once more !
1 883. J
Tin-: CONSCI KNTIDUS COKREGGIO CARoTHEkS.
679
THE CONSCIENTIOUS CORREGGIO CAROTHERS.
Bv Malcolm Douglas.
CoRREGGIo CAROTHERS was a man of much rinown :
The dolls he made and jjainted were the talk of all the town;
In a room half shop, half study, he would gayly work away,
Completing, by his diligence, one dozen dolls a <.lay.
If it chanced to be fine weather, every Monday he would go
With a number to the toyman's, where he 'd lay them in a row
And some would be so beautiful that one could scarce refrain
I' mm kissing them : while others would be very, very plain !
" Correggio, Correggio," the toyman oft would cry,
" Oh, why do you persist in making dolls no one will buy?
In my second-story wareroom I have hundreds stored away ;
.And, if each had a pretty face, they 'd not be there to-day ! "
" My work is conscientious, sir," he proudly would explain;
" As dolls are mimic people, some of them must needs be plain.
I can not, I assure you, give good looks to every doll,
Since beauty is a priceless gift that does not come to all ! "
68o
T HE V E L L O \V PANE.
(JLLV,
THE YELLOW PANE.
]\\ Walter Learned.
When overhead the gray clouds meet.
And the air is heavy with mist and rain.
She clambers up to the window seat,
.^nd watches the storm through the yellow pane.
At the painted window she laughs with glee:
She smiles at the clouds with a sweet disdain.
.And calls; '' Now, Papa, it 's sunshine to me,"
.As she presses her face to the yellow pane.
Dear child, in life should the gray clouds roll.
Heavy with grief, o'er thy path amain,
Stealing the sunlight from thy soul,
God keep for thee somewhere a yellow pane !
AN EARLY AMERICAN RK BELLI oX.
BV F. N. DOUBLEDAV.
The event I want to tell you about took place more
than two hundred years ago, and it was exactly one
hundred years before the Declaration of Independ-
ence was framed at Philadelphia — which makes
the date 1676, an easy one to remember. If >ou
will recollect this date and the story of Bacon's Re-
bellion, you will have learned of one of the most
important and interesting occurrences in the history
of our early colonies. The affair was of so much
consequence that 1 should think every American
wotdd be familiar « ith the stor)' ; but if you will
ask some of the older people what it was all about,
they will very likely answer that they "" used to know,
but somehow have forgotten," and they •' have not
studied United States history for so long a time,
you know" — or in other words of that kind.
All that now remains of old Jamestown, the first
settlement made by the English under the famous
Captain John Smith, is an old stone wall which once
formed a side of the first church in \'irginia, where
the people assembled from all the country around
to worship as their custom had been in England.
At the time of which we write, Jamestown was
quite a colony ; the people had built for themselves
comfortable houses; the ground they cultivated
yielded them good crops of tobacco, much of which
they sent to England, where it was just beginning
to be considered a great luxury. They received a
good price for their commodities, and the) would
have gotten along very w-ell if they had not hap-
pened to have a very unsatisfactory government,
which taxed their lands heavily and interfered
greatly with their liberty.
The Governor of Virginia at this time was .Sir
William Berkeley, who had been appointed to the
post by his King, Charles II. of England. Sir
William was not a popular officer; he was grand
and dignified : he felt himself to be above the com-
mon people. He lived in Jamestown, a short dis-
tance above the James River, in a big house, which
was filled with servants and attendants. In every-
thing he did he sought to make a great show and
to appear very grand. When he rode about, he
«cnt in a ponderous great coach ; nothing in Vir-
,L;inia had ever been seen like it, and by the simple
planters it was regarded with awe. He could afford
to cut such a fine figure and to keep up such style,
because he was very rich, and made a great deal
of money from the Indians, to whom he sold gun-
powder ; and as he was the only one allowed to
trade in that dangerous commodity, you may be
sure his profits were enormous.
To disturb such good customers as the Indians
was fitr from his intention. .Although the savages
often attacked the settlers, and carried off cattle and
sheep whenever they had a chance, — and they took
care to make a good man\ chances, — the Governor
would not seriously attack them, and issued a man-
date forbidding any company of settlers to do so.
.Among the owners of plantations was a young man
of good family, named Nathaniel Bacon. He was
warm-hearted and generous ; the sufTerings of his
neighbors had awakened his sympathies, and he
determined to make some effort to lessen their
troubles. .Although only thirty years old, the
settlers must have had great confidence in him, for
they had already elected him to a seat in the (Gov-
ernor's council.
l8«2.)
AX KAKi.v \mi;kican k K B K 1. 1. 1 < • N .
68 1
When, therefore, this man calleil his neighbors
together and said that, whether the Governor liked
it or not, he meant to go out against the Indians
with whosoever would follow him, four hundred
men immediately placed themselves under his
command.
The company started; but lhe_\ had not gone
far when a messenger came up with them, and, in
the name of the Governor, denounced all those as
rebels who should not return immediately t<i their
houses and abandon the expedition.
Now, in those days, to be known as a rebel was
a very serious matter. It meant that the person
thus entitled would be the victim of aiiv aljuse the
r.OVERNOK UERKELbY CHALLENGES BACON TO SHOOT HIM,
people might choose to heap on him, and not only
would he be made the object of taunts and jeers,
but if the Governor and his council should so
decree, his property, of whatever kind, might be
taken from him. Among so many difficulties the
" rebel " would be in a sorry plight indeed.
None understood better than Bacon's men the
danger they ran in disobeying Sir William's com-
mand ; and, although all the four hundred were
attached to their young leader, only fifty-seven had
the courage to stick by him. But those who were
left were brave and determined men ; they had
started out to drive off the Indians who had robbed
them and slain their friends, and they would finish
the undertaking.
The little band now pressed forward into the
wilderness, confident of soon coming on the
savages and striking a quick and decisive blow.
But they learned, as many have learned since, that
one of the most difficult parts of Indian warfare is
to find the Indians. For days they wandered
about, keeping up an earnest but fruitless search.
Then a new trouble appeared : their supply of
food ran low; starvation looked them in the face;
it seemed for a time that nothing remained to do
but to return in humility to Jamestown and submit
to what punishment the
Governormiglu be pleased
to inflict.
Bacon's pluck, however,
never failed ; he sought to
encourage his men by
cheering words and to
push on till food could be
obtained of some friendly
tribe. It was in this, their
darkest hour, when all
were disheartened, that
they suddenly came upon
the hostile Indians. The
spirits of the little band
of white men rallied in-
stantly. Now was the time
to show that it was not
safe to rob and kill the
English settlers. Before
the savages had time to
])repare, an attack was
made on their stronghold.
For a time the fight was
fierce ; but quickly the
Indians wavered, deserted
their defense, and fled into
the thick woods. The
victory was complete, al-
though the red men num-
bered three times as many
as the little company of half-famished settlers.
Bacon hurried back to Jamestown. He was
satisfied that, for a while at least, no trouble was
to be feared from their old tormentors. The ne\ys
had gone before him, and the people received the
Ijrave leader and his men with every show of
joy and esteem ; they insisted that, in spite of his
being a •' rebel," he should again occupy in the
louncil the seat to which they had elected him.
Of course, Bacon's triumph over the Indians did
not add to Berkeley's regard for him. But the
Governor was shrewd enough to sec that this was
682
AN EARLY AMERICAN REBELLION.
[July,
no time to inflict punishment: so, after the young
man had asked forgiveness for going against the
Indians without permission, he no doubt thought it
a great condescension when, a few days after, the
Governor accosted him in the Council-room, sav-
ing, with a great deal of afiected sorrow: "Mr.
Bacon, if you will live civilly but until next quarter
court, I will promise to return you to your place
there," and he pointed to Bacon's empty seat.
The quiet that now reigned in Jamestown did
not last long; for soon the crj- went around the
country: "Bacon is fled!" "'Bacon is fled!"
and tumult and uncertainty ensued. The forgiven
rebel had doubted the Governor's sincerity, and
had fled for safety. Moreover, he was dissatisfied,
and wished to have the right to go against the foes
of the colony whenever he might think proper.
So, once more he gathered his friends around him.
and within a few dajs he returned to Jamcstow n,
which he entered without resistance, accompanied
by five hundred armed men. All was confusion in
the settlement ; no one in authority dared to act.
Bacon issued an order commanding the mem-
bers of the Council to appear before him, and
while he waited he walked excitedly along a line of
troops drawn up to receive the expected Council-
men. Of a sudden, some one forced a way through
the crowd, and made toward the young' leader.
It was Governor Berkeley-, pale and agitated.
Scarcely knowing what he did, he thrust himself
before Bacon, and baring his breast, cried : " Here !
Shoot me ! 'Fore God, fair mark ! Shoot ! "
Bacon stepped back, resting one hand on his
sheathed sword, and respectfully holding his hat in
the other. Simply, and with cool politeness, he said
to the frantic Governor: '"No; may it
please your honor, we will not hurt
a hair of your head. We have
come for a commission to save
our lives from the Indians,
and," he added, wirii less
calmness, "we shall have
it before we go."
Sir William said noth-
ing, but turned and walked
a«a\-. The next dav Bacon
received his commission, granting him the right to
go against the Indians whenever he might choose.
But their strife did not end here. When Bacon
next attacked the savages, the Governor denounced
him again as a traitor ; and when Bacon heard of
it, he replied: "We will go see why he calls us
traitors; " to which his men all shouted, " Amen I "
But when Berkeley found that the man he had
called a traitor was coming back to Jamestown,
he fled, and tried to rally a few followers to sup-
port him against his enemy. These friends hav-
ing come together, as soon as he began to speak,
cried, "Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!" and refused to
listen. All this and a great deal more is related
in the full history of Jamestown.
When the troops arrived, the Governor was no-
where to be found, for he had sailed down the
James River, to be out of harm's way. In a
tumult of excitement and rage the men set fire to
the houses ; and from the deck of his ship the
craven Governor looked on helplessly at the de-
struction of what to him had been a little king-
dom. It took but a few hours to completely
destroy the little settlement : the people then dis-
persed, and in process of time built new houses for
themselves among the surrounding plantations. It
was, perhaps, on the whole, well that Jamestown
was destroyed ; for the place was very unhealthy.
In this expedition Bacon brought on a serious
illness by exposure and fatigue ; he rapidly became
worse, and soon died. He was deeply mourned
by the people, for during his short life he had
been a faithful friend and protector to them.
Governor Berkeley staid in America several years
after this, and when he was recalled home, in dis-
honor, he was a feeble old man, and
he did not long survive his disgrace.
This old Jamestown, the first
X English settlement in America,
was nexcr rebuilt, and the
church wall, covered now with
vines a century old, is all
that remains to mark the
spot where once so much
that was stirring and inter-
esting took place.
THE OLD CHURCH WALL AT JAMESTOWN.
i882.]
TAC; S COON.
68-
T A C. • S 'CO O N .
Bv Frank R. Stockton.
''what's DAT!' — KVERVBODY STARTED IN AFFRIGHT.
It was a bright scene in front of the house at
Ormslcy farm, one September nijjht, just after sup-
per. The night was dark, but the lawn and the
porch were lighted up by several torches of "fat
pine," which were blazing in the hands of some
negro men and boys ; a number of dogs were run-
ning about, barking and yelping as if they were
impatient to go somewhere ; three white boys stood
on the steps of the porch, talking to some young
ladies who seemed in a very merry mood ; and in
the door stood a pleasant-faced, middle-aged gen-
tleman.
"What are you all waiting for?" said this latter
personage. " You make so much preparation and
noise that I don't believe you Ml do any hunting at
all, and I 'm afraid that Walter will never see a
'coon until some steady person like myself goes out
with him."'
"Oh, Father," cried one of the young ladies, "if
Walter never sees a 'coon till you go with him,
\'i)l,. IX — 44.
he '11 have to buy a book on natural history to find
out how the animal looks."
"Perhaps that is true," said the gentleman,
smiling.
" Earl) has gone to tie up Tag," said one of the
boys on the steps. "You know we can't start till
he is tied up. But here comes Early, and now we
arc off, sir."
The boys ran down the steps, and started away,
followed by the dogs, the negro boys carrying the
torches, and the negro man with an ax.
" Good luck to you ! " shouted one of the girls
from the porch. " If you don't find a 'coon, per-
haps we '11 take Waller out some night."
Walter Mason was a boy from the North, on a
visit to his \'irginia cousins, Gilbert and Joe. who
were now taking him out on his first 'coon hunt.
The party rapidly made its way out of the great
gate, across the road, and over the fields, toward a
high hill-side covered with forests, about a mile from
684
TAG S COON.
[July,
the house. Here the 'coon hunters entered a wood-
road, and more slowly made their way among the
high trees. They had gone but a short distance
inui the woods, the dogs sniffing and yelping ahead
of them, when a rush and a bark were heard behind
the party, and, in a moment, a large dog was
jumping and barking around Gilbert and Joe.
" Here is Tag !" cried Gilbert. " Why, Early,
I thought you 'd tied him up."
" Dat no 'count good-for-nuffin' Tag ! " ex-
claimed Early, the negro man. " 1 done tied him
up, but he 's bruck loose."
" We might as well give up 'coon hunting now,"
said Joe.
"I 'se a great mind to hit yo' in de head wid de
ax," said Early, glaring at the dog. " What yo'
mean, sar, comin' here to spile de fun ? "
"Let him alone," said Gilbert. "Now he 's
here, he '11 have to stay. Perhaps he wont spoil
the fun after all."
Tag was a long-bodied, woolly dog, with a black
face and a tawny body. On looking at him, one
could not help thinking he ought to be a handsome
dog, but he was not. He looked as if he were a
good watch-dog, but he was not that. He was not
a good sheep-dog. He would not drive hogs. He
caught no rats. In fact, he was of no use at all ; and
was justly called by Early "a no 'count dog." No-
body wanted him on a 'coon hunt, because it was
well known that Tag would never pursue rabbits,
nor any other creature, but would jump among the
other dogs and begin to fight them, and so give
the game a chance to escape. He was larger than
the other dogs, and would probably interfere so
much with them if they were after a 'coon that
there would be no sport at all. But now he was
here they must make the best of him, and so they
started on again.
Tag was certainl\- an absurd dog. The other
dogs were now on the track of a 'coon, but he paid
no attention to this important fact, and trotted
along by himself as if he had changed his mind
about joining the party and was thinking about
going home. Reaching a cross-road he turned into
it, and ran quickly into the darkness.
"Tag's done gone!" suddenly exclaimed one
of the negroes.
"Glad of it," said Joe. " I hope he wont come
back ! And now, boys, keep your pine-knots
burning, or we shall all break our necks."
The whole party was now hurrying forward as
fast as the darkness, only fitfully dispelled by the
light of the torches, would allow. The dogs were
far ahead, and when the boys came up to them
they were barking and clawing at the foot of a tall
persimmon tree.
"Now, Walter," cried Gilbert. " they 've treed a
'coon. He is somewhere up that tree. We '11 cut
it down, and then we '11 have him."
Two of the negro boys were holding the torches
as high up as they could. " Dar he ! " cried one
of them — " dar he, Mahs'r Joe."
Looking up, the boys saw in a crotch of the tree,
not very far above them, a mass of fur, not larger
than a lady's muff, with a sharp nose and two
twinkling eyes in front of it, and a cross-barred tail
hanging down behind.
" Is that the 'coon ? " cried Walter.
" That is the 'coon ! " joyfully replied his cousins.
" Cl'ar away now ! " shouted Early, beginniiig
to swing his ax, " and 1 '11 have dis yer tree down
in no time."
With strong arms. Early now began to cut into
the tree. The chips flew, the dogs barked, the
boys shouted, and the 'coon sat up aloft and
watched the whole affair with its little twinkling
eyes. Soon the tree began to lean slightly to one
side. " Stand back ! " cried Joe. And then it
came crashing down.
At this moment the hunters and the dogs sprang
forward, and the 'coon sprang, too. But the boys
and the dogs sprang toward the top of the tree as
it lay on the ground, while the 'coon sprang on the
branch of a chestnut tree it brushed in its fall. The
dogs dashed in among the fallen branches, and the
hunters, with their torches, looked in vain for the
game.
" Whar dat coon?" cried P'arly. But no one
could give him an answer.
Gilbert was an observing and thoughtful boy,
and he presently suggested that the 'coon must
have jumped into the chestnut tree as the persim-
mon fell. It was not easy to see into the thick
foliage of the chestnut, but the torches, being held
up, soon revealed the 'coon creeping cautiously out
toward the end of one of the lower branches.
"Climb up dar, you 'Lijah," said Early to one
of the negro boys, " and shake him off. If you
jump on de lim' he 'U drap."
" P'r'aps he 'II bite me," said Elijah, reluct-
antly climbing the tree, assisted by a boost from
the other boy.
"Go 'long, and jump on de lim'," said Early.
" De 'coon wont bite you if you don't bite him."
Elijah clambered out on the limb, and, standing
on it, took hold of the branch above, and began to
shake the branch he stood on. The 'coon was
a good deal bounced, but he did not intend to be
shaken off He turned and ran along the limb
toward the tree. Elijah, sure he was about to be
attacked, gave a yell of horror, and drew himself
up with his hands, jerking his bare feet and legs
high into the air. The 'coon dashed under him,
reached the trunk of the tree, and disappeared.
TAG S COON.
68 =
Whether he ran out on another Hmb and got upon
a neighboring tree, — for the woods were very thick
just here, — or whether he had concealed himself in
the top of the chestnut, the hunters could not tell.
Early himself climbed up into the tree, and a
torch w.as handed him, but he could see nothing of
the 'coon. The tree was too valuable to be cut
down, and the hunters concluded they would have
to let that 'coon go.
" I hate to give up a thing like that," said Joe,
"but it 's no use wasting our time. There are
plenty more 'coons in these woods."
Off they went again, dogs, boys and Early, and
in less than fifteen minutes they were all after
another 'coon. This creature did not seem to
want to go up a tree, and it led the dogs and hunt-
ers a doleful chase. Through thickets and bram-
bles, over fallen trees, half the time in darkness
and guided only by the noise of the dogs, the boys
pushed bravely on.
" This is hard work, Walter," said Joe, as the
two boys panted along together, " but we are
bound to get a 'coon. I 'd be ashamed to go back
to the house without one."
" That 's so," cried Walter, cheerfully; "we 're
not going to give it up yet."
When at last the 'coon was kind enough to go
up a tree, the hunters had descended to the other
side of the hill, and found themselves on the bank
of a small creek. The 'coon had run up a low,
crooked tree on the very edge of the water, and
the dogs were furiously barking below.
"You '11 have to be careful how you cut down
this tree," said Joe to Early, " and sec that it falls
on shore and not into the water."
" I don't reckon I '11 have to cut it any way,"
cried Early, who w;is holding a torch out over the
creek. " Look-a-dar ! He 's gwine to jump ! "
Everybody looked, and they saw the 'coon sit-
ting near the end of a limb that hung over the
water. He was a larger animal than the other
one, and much quicker in making up his mind.
The next instant, he leaped from the limb .ind
plunged into the water.
" At him ! Sic him ! Catch him ! " shouted the
boys, and the dogs dashed into the water. Before
the 'coon could reach the other side the dogs sur-
rounded him, and a terrible fight ensued.
In the water a 'coon has great advantages over
dogs, as these fellows soon found out. The 'coon
seemed to have half a dozen mouths, and every dog
snarled and yelped as if they had all been bitten
at the same moment. They kept up a furious
attack, however, upon their common foe ; the boys
and negroes, meanwhile, urging them on with
shouts and cries.
There was one dog in the water that belonged
to Joe. This was a setter named Ponto, and was,
indeed, much too good a dog to go on a 'coon hunt.
The 'coon appeared to find out that Ponto was the
best of the dogs, and thinking, probably, that if he
conquered him he could get away from the others,
he seized the setter by the nose and began to pull
his head into the water.
Poor Ponto jerked up his head, and the other
ilogs splashed and snapped at the 'coon, who was
nearly out of sight beneath the surflice ; but the
brave little creature held on firmly, and down went
I'onto's head again.
Everybody was greatly excited, and especially
Joe. He was sure his dear Ponto would be drowned.
The struggling animals in the creek had drifted a
little down the stream, and were near a fallen log
that lay across the creek. On to this log sprang
Joe. If he could seize his Ponto he would pull him
out of the water, 'coon and all. But, alas ! there
was a crack and a crash ! The rotten log broke in
the middle, and down went Joe into the dark
stream ! F'or a moment he disappeared, and then,
by the light of the uplifted torches, he could be
seen struggling to his feet.
In an instant (lilbert, Walter, and Early dashed
in to his assistance. The water was about up to
their waists, but they did not stop to think w hcllier
it was deep or shallow.
Early seized Joe, and attempted to pull him to
the bank, but Joe, by this time, had hold of Ponto,
whose nose was held by the 'coon, upon whose hind
(luarters and tail two dogs had now fastened, and
so the negro man had rather a heavy tow. Joe
shouted to him to let go of him, for he was not
going to leave Ponto. Gilbert also seized hold of
the setter, and W.ilter made several cracks at the
coon with a stick he had picked up.
Suddenly all w;is darkness. The negro boys on
the banks, in their excitement, had forgotten to
renew their fat-pine torches, and for some minutes
Elijah had held the only one left burning; this had
burned down to his fingers without his noticing it,
and then he had suddenly dropped it.
In the dark confusion which then ensued, every-
body scrambled to shore, but Joe did not let go of
Ponto. The lioy and the dog climbed up the bank
together, but there was no 'coon on Ponto's nose,
(lilbcrt had some matches in an upper pocket, and
there were se\'eral pine-knots left. These were
lighted, and the boys looked at one another and
laughed.
Joe was wet all over, and the others were drip-
ping to their waists. The dogs were climbing out
of the water, and the 'coon was gone.
" Look h'yere ! " cried Early to the negro boys,
"jump 'round lively now, and pick up some dry
wood ! We 'se got to have a fire and all get dry
686
TAG S COON.
[JlLV,
afore dere 's any more huntin' done. I don't want
to take anybody home wid de rheumatiz."
It was not long before a fire was blazing merrily
in an open space among the trees, and those of
the party who had been in the creek were glad to
gather around it and dry themselves. Ponto, who
had had enough active exercise for the present, re-
mained with the group near the fire, but the other
dogs were scattered about in the woods, sniffing
around for the track of another 'coon.
Joe was just beginning to feel that he was about
half dry, — and that is generally dn- enough for a boy
who has a good deal of walking or running before
him, — when, suddenly, among the trees, a short
distance from the fire, was heard a dreadful crash.
High overhead there was a sound of breaking
limbs, then a rush and a clatter, and a thump on
the ground, followed by a muffled cry and a great
stir and confusion among the dark and spectral
trees.
Everybody started in affright, and the eyes and
mouths of the negroes flew wide open.
" What 's dat ? " whispered Early, his legs
trembling beneath him.
Nobod\' answered a word. In fact, the white
boys were nearly startled out of their wits.
The disturbing noise had now ceased, and in a
moment Elijah opened his mouth : " It 's little
Jacob ! " he gasped.
" Little Jacob ! " exclaimed Walter.
'■Yes," said Elijah; "he done died dav 'fore
yist'day."
" Stupid ! " said Joe, who was now beginning to
recover himself '" You darke\- boys are always
looking out for ghosts. What do you suppose poor
little Jacob would be doing up a tree ? "
" And he was so dreffel thin," said Early, who
was glad to assure himself that he had not heard
a ghost, " he could neber 'a' made all dat noise
a-fallin'."
'■ Let 's go and see what it is," said Walter. And
the white boys, followed at a little distance by the
negroes, proceeded cautiously to the spot where
they had heard the noise. There, by the light of
the fire and the torch, they saw upon the ground
a large dead limb, broken to pieces, while in the
trees above them there began a flapping and a
fluttering.
"Oh, hi!" cried Early, holding up a torch.
"I '11 tell you what all dis bizness is, Mahs'r Joe.
Dem yar 's tukkey-buzzards a-roostin' up dar. Dey
was scared by de fire, and one of 'em jumped on
de rotten limb and down come he. And dat was
de whole magnitude of de t'ing ! And, now, 1 tell
yo' what 't is, yo' boys," said he, turning to Elijah
and his companion, " yo' ought to be 'shame' o'
yo'selves, bein' skeered at ghos'es. Yo 's alius get-
ting skeered half to death every time you hears a
little noise."
" Oh, ho ! " cried Elijah, boldly. " Yo' was
skeered yo'self. Uncle Early. Vo' done reckoned
it was little Jacob, coffin and all ! "
The white boys burst out laughing. " You were
just as much frightened as anybody. Early," said
Gilbert.
■■ 1 neber did hear anybody make such a talkin'
and clatterin' as dese two boys," said Early, still
glowering at Elijah and the other negro. " Dey 's
enough to frighten all de 'coons out o' de woods."
■"Come on!" cried Joe. "We are ready to
start now, and we '11 see if there are anv 'coons
left."
The party clambered up the hill again, consider-
ing it better to make their way toward home. They
had scarcely reached the top of the ridge when
the dogs started another 'coon. The hunters fol-
lowed for a short distance, but as the chase led
down into a deep ravine, filled with brushwood and
bushes, the boys stopped, feeling that they had
had enough of that rough kind of work for the
night.
The late moon had now arisen, and by its light
the boys could see the dogs clamoring at the foot
of a tall tulip-poplar tree on the other side of the
ravine.
"That 's the meanest thing of all!" cried Joe.
"There 's a 'coon in that tree, and he just went
up there to make us feel badly. He knows we
can't cut down that tree, for it is the finest poplar
in these woods. People come out here just to look
at it. We might as well keep on. But 1 do hate
to go home without a 'coon. I hope the folks are
all in bed."
The boys found it very- difficult mdeed to get the
dogs away from the poplar tree. The animals would
not listen to their calls, and the negroes were at
last obliged to cross the ravine, and drive them
away from the tree. The party had now reached
the wood-road by which it had first entered the
forest.
The torches were all burned out, but the light of
the moon occasionally breaking through the tree-
tops enabled the hunters to see their way. It was
not long before they heard the barking of a dog in
the distance.
"Have any of those dogs got off again?" said
Joe, turning to Early. " I told you to keep them
with us. We don't want any more break-neck
chases to-night."
" Dey 'se all here, Mahs'r Joe," said Early. " I
done tied a string to old Zack and I 'm leadin' him,
and de udders wont go for no 'coon widout he goes
fust."
"The dogs are all here," said Gilbert, who had
TAGS COON,
687
called them ti> him. " It must be some other dog
we hear."
The barking of this dog was heard more plainly
as they proceeded, and when they reached a cross-
road, Karly stopped and exclaimed :
"Mahs'r Joe, dat 's Tag!"
■'It can't be Tag," said Joe: "he went home
long ago."
" It 's bound to be dat dog," persisted Karly. " 1
knows his bark Just as well as if 't was mj- old dad
a-speakin' to me."
"Let 's go seel" said Joe. .And the whole
party ran along the road.
They had just gone around a little bend, when
they saw Tag at the foot of a tall young tree. He
was standing on his hind legs, with his fore feet
against the tree, barking furiously.
•' Well 1 declare! " cried Joe ; " I do believe that
Tag has treed a 'coon ! "
There was no doubt of the fact. On one of the
straggling limbs of the tree, which stood out in the
full moonlight, a 'coon could be plainly seen.
■' Did yo' eber see such a dog as Tag ! " shouted
Early. " He 's been a tryin' to scratch up dis tree
by de roots. He 's done dug holes all 'roun' it."
" I guess he 's been here all the time," said Joe.
"And what 's more," said (lilbert, "I believe
that he was on the track of that 'coon when he first
turned into the road and left us."
"And if we 'd follow-ed him 1 guess we might
have had a 'coon long ago, might n't we ? " asked
Walter.
" I reckon so," said Joe ; " liut nobody ever fol-
lows Tag."
" 1 s'pose it 's about lime to quit preachin' and
go to cuttin'," said Early. And, taking the ax
from his shoulder, he began to hack away at the
tree.
Tag retired to a little distance, and sat down on
his haunches, apparently satisfied that he had done
all that could be expected of him, and that the
enterprise would now be carried on by other par-
ties. The boys, white and negro, stood back,
holding the dogs out of the way of Early's ax. In
a very short time the tree came crashing down.
As its top fell into the road the dogs and the hun-
ters dashed to the spot, and the 'coon was seized
almost before he touched the ground.
Then there was a lively tiine ! The 'coon laid
down on his back, spinning around like a top, and
bit and clawed until the dogs became almost afraid
to touch him. Tag absolutely refused to have
anything to do with the fight, and Ponto, whose
nose was still sore from his adventure in the creek,
was not at all anxious to have another 'coon fasten
upon him, and therefore showed but little zeal in
this affray.
Then Joe, who w'as fearful that the 'coon would
spring up and get away from the dogs, ordered
Early to kill him with a club, which was accord-
ingly done.
The 'coon was hung to a pole, and the hunters
started home in triumph, everybody petting and
patting Tag.
" Wid Tag to tree 'em, an' a bull-pup to fight
'em," said Early to his two companions as they
followed in the rear of the party, " an' me to cut
down de tree, dere would n't be no use for nobody
else gwine on a 'coon hunt 'round here."
" Yo' go 'long wid yo' blowin'. Uncle Early,"
said Elijah, contemptuously ; " de tukkey-buz-
zards 'ud frighten yo' cl'ar out de woods ! "
When the hunters reached home, they found the
house lighted and the family up. It was late, but
nobody wanted to go to bed until the 'coon hun-
ters returned. The 'coon was pronounced a splen-
did one, and Mr. Ormsley gave directions to have
it carefully skinned.
"Who do you suppose really got the 'coon.'"
asked Joe.
" Give it up," cried everybody, anxious to know.
" Tag !" said Joe.
" Not Tag ! " cried the girls.
" Yes, Tag ! " said Gilbert.
"Tag?" ejaculated Mr. Ormsley.
And the boys, in chorus, answered: "Tag!"
688
THE SULTAN OF THE EAST.
[July,
THE SULTAN OF THE EAST.
By Palmer Cox.
There was a Sultan of the East
Who used to ride a stubborn beast ;
A marvel of the donkey-kind,
That much perplexed his owner's mind.
The beast was measured o'er with care ;
They proved him by the plumb and square.
The compass to his ribs applied.
And every joint by rule was tried ;
By turns he moved a rod ahead,
Then backed a rod or so instead.
And thus the day would pass around.
The Sultan gaining little ground.
The servants on before would stray
And pitch their tents beside the way,
And pass the time as best they might
Until their master hove in sight.
The Sultan many methods tried:
He clicked and coaxed and spurs applied,
And stripped a dozen trees, at least,
Of branches, to persuade the beast.
But all his efforts went for naught ;
No reformation could be wrought.
At length, before the palace gate
He called the wise men of the state,
And bade them now their skill display
By finding where the trouble lay.
With solemn looks and thoughts profound.
The men of learning gathered round.
But nothing could the doctors find
To prove he differed from his kind.
Said they: "Your Highness! It appears
The beast is sound from hoof to ears ;
THE KX r KA I K A 1 \ .
689
No outward blemishes we sec
To limit action fair and free.
In view of this, the fact is plain
The mischief lies within the brain.
Now, we sujjgest, to stop his tricks,
A sail upon his back you fix.
Of goodly size, to catch the breeze
And urge him forward where you please."
The Sultan well their wisdom praised.
Two masts upon the beast were raised.
And, schooner-rigged from head to tail.
With halliards, spanker-boom, and sail,
In proper shape equipped was he.
As though designed to sail the sea !
And when the Sultan next bestrode
That beast upon a lengthy road.
With favoring winds that whistled strong
And swiftly urged the craft along.
The people cleared the track with speed;
And old and young alike agreed
A stranger sight could not be found,
Krom side to side the province round.
THK I-;XTRA TRAIN'.
By Younc. Joe.
Chapter I.
THK SKCRF.T.
Yol' 'D better believe 1 was glad when that
letter came from Uncle Joe; fur Mother and
Father had promised me that, if I should get a
good average in my marks at school, 1 might go
and spend the vacation at Uncle Joe's. I put in
and studied like a Trojan, and, at the end of the
term, 1 stood third in my class. Jim Stearns and
Wally Lyon were ahead of me; but Jim is sixteen,
and Wally's mother helps him at home. At any
rate. Father and Mother were satisfied, and that 's
all I cared for.
But, about Uncle Joe's letter. Oh, was n't 1
glad I Uncle Joe is a splendid man ; 1 was named
after him, and he always calls me Young Joe. He
lives in Massachusetts and is President of a Rail-
way Company. He said in the letter that I must
be sure to come, for he was going to take us
yoimg ones awa\- somewhere to have a good time
all summer.
.Vs luck would have it, school was just over when
the letter came. I was measured for a new rough-
ing suit of clothes ; Father bought me a stunning
fishing-rod and tackle, and 1 squeezed in my base-
l)all and bats after Mother had packed my trunk —
1 had to laugh when 1 saw how she had put all the
socks and handkerchiefs in little rows and piles. I
thought they would n't stay that way a great
while. And right on the top of all I put the
presents I bought for Cousin Hal and Susy and
Baby Bunting. At last 1 started. 1 went by the
Fall River boat, and Father stood on the pier wav-
ing his handkerchief until we were out of sight.
Cousin Hal met me at the train the next morn-
ing when I got out. They were all real glad to
see me, and Aunt Maria had a tip-top breakfast.
Hal's school had closed the day before ; but Uncle
Joe said we should not start off on our trip until
the next week, so we should have two or tlirec
days to knock around in.
It was a great secret where we were going. Hal
did n't know. Susy did n't know. And when we
asked any questions Uncle Joe had a funny twinkle
in his eye and Aunt Maria laughed. They said it
was n't to the seaside, nor to the mountains, nor
to a hotel, nor to a boarding-house, nor on a ship,
nor in a tent. At last, Susy guessed "up in a
balloon," and everybody laughed; but Uncle Joe
shook his head again, and so we gave up guessing.
That was on Sunday night, just before w-e went
upstairs. Hal went down, when he was half-
undressed, to ask if it was in a cave ; and when
his father said "no," Hal said, then it could n't
be anywhere. We went to bed at nine o'clock,
for we were going to start early the next morning.
Hal and I were up before everybody else. We
could n't eat much breakfast, inspiteof all that Aunt
Maria said. We had a good many things to sec to.
Hal was going to take his dog, Susy her canary,
and Baby Bunting a pet rabbit, which we carried
in a box. Uncle Joe said it was a regular me-
nagerie.
We went down to the depot in two carriages,
with a lumber wagon behind to carry all the bag-
gage. We had hardly got there, when the train
came along. We had a whole car to ourselves,
and, as Uncle Joe is the President, of course we
were " passed," and the conductor did n't come
around to take our tickets. So Hal made believe
690
THE EXTRA TRAIN.
[Jui-v,
he was the conductor, and put a badge on his hat
and went up and down the aisle, calhng out at
every step, " Tickt*, please! " and Baby Bunting
gave him a bit of card, and it tickled Baby Bunt-
ing 'most to death.
We went through a good many towns and places.
but we did n't stop, except once to " water up." It
was past noon w-hen all at once we " slowed up," in
a wild sort of place out in the woods, and pretty
soon we began to back. We backed and backed
as much as a quarter of a mile, on a side track,
until we came to a place that was all woods on one
side and clear, open fields upon the other ; and
then we stopped. We asked Uncle Joe what it
meant, but he told us to keep still and we should
see very soon ; and then he got up and went out
and talked with the engineer and brakemen. We
could n't hear what they said, but pretty soon the
engine went off and left us. We told Aunt Maria,
and she laughed again, but said nothing.
By and by, Uncle Joe came back and said :
"Now, youngsters, come with me ! "
We all jumped up and followed him in Indian
file. He went out and unlocked the door of the
next car and told us to go in. We rushed past
him into the car and stopped, and all cried :
" Oh ! "
What do you think it was ? \\'hy, the car was
made into a parlor — not a Pullman palace-car.
but a regular parlor, such as we have at home.
All the seats had been taken out, there was a
carpet on the floor, there were the sofa and eas\-
chairs from Aunt Maria's room put around the
wall, there was the piano at one side, there was a
center-table and some shelving for books, just like
a room at home.
We asked Uncle Joe lots of questions, but he
only smiled and again said : " Come along ! " and
went on to the next car. Then we all shouted
again, for that was fixed up for three sleeping-
rooms : one for Uncle Joe and Aunt Maria, at one
end, a little one in the middle for Susy and Baby
Bunting, and then one at the other end for Hal
and me. There were six little iron beds, and all
the rooms were divided off with heavy curtains, and
there were funny little wash-stands, and combs and
brushes, and lots of nails to hang our clothes on,
and it was just the joUiest thing you ever saw !
Then Uncle Joe led us into the next car, and
there was a dining-room — a large table in the
middle, a lot of chairs, and a cupboard up in the
corner with plenty of crockery.
As soon as we saw that, we all clapped our
hands and cried out :
"Oh! now we know the secret; we are going
to live in the cars all summer ! "
Uncle Joe smiled and looked at Aunt Maria.
" But where 's the kitchen ? " cried Susy. "Are
we going to cook out-of-doors ?"
Uncle Joe did n't answer, but went to the door
and beckoned, and there was another car ! And
when we went in, we found it was a splendid
kitchen, and there sat our own cook and second
girl from home, laughing and kind of blushing to
see us rush in. They had a nice little bed-room
partitioned off for them at the further end of the
car, but when Aunt Maria asked them how they
liked it, we all laughed to hear the cook answer:
" Shure, 't is very nate an' foine ma'am, but we 'd
he sheared out of our lives wid the wild bastes an'
Injuns."
" Now, pickaninnies," said Uncle Joe, when we
went out, "this is to be your home for the
summer! "
We shouted with delight, Hal and I threw up
our hats, Susy danced a little jig. Baby Bunting
flourished his fat little arms, and altogether we
made so much noise that Aunt Maria begged us
to stop.
■' This is to be our summer home," said Uncle
Joe, again. "And now the C[uestion is, what shall
we call it ? "
" Let 's call it 'The Sportsman's Bower,' " cried
Hal, thinking of his gun and fishing-rod.
"Or 'The Huntsman's Haunt,'" said 1.
"Or 'The Railroad Ranch,'" cried Susy.
" Or ' The Traveling Troupe,' " said Hal.
" Or 'The Roving Roost,' " said I.
"Why not call it what it is?" asked Uncle Joe
— " ' The Extra Train.' "
We all thought that would be first-rate, and
said : " Yes, let 's have that! "
"Very well," said Uncle Joe. "I will have a
sign painted, and send it down to-morrow when
Bo's'n comes with the horse."
"Is Bo's'n coming? — and the horse, too? Oh,
what fun ! " cried Susy.
'■ Yes," said Uncle Joe.
" Where will they stay? There is n't any stable,"
suggested Hal.
"We shall have to build one," said his father.
" Let 's go out now and choose a spot."
We all went out and jumped off the car, and then
we saw what a beautiful place we were in. It was
very high ground. There was a mountain not very
far off on one side, and a little lake quite near on
the other. There was a splendid view ; we could see
miles and miles away. There were ever so many
hills, — big hills, too, — and lots of towns and vil-
lages 'way, 'way off in the distance, so that wc could
just see the spires of the churches — oh, I can't tell
you how grand it was !
Uncle Joe told us that the track we were on ran
about a quarter of a mile farther to a gravel-pit.
T 1 1 1 : 1 ■: x r i< a i' i< a i n ,
691
but that it had not been used for several years and
we should not be disturbed. He said, also, that the
cars were old cars that tlie company did n't want
any more, and that 's how he came to take them.
The engineer and brakemcn had blocked the
wheels tight before they went away, so that we
c<iuld n't move. The track was not sandy as most
railway tracks are, but the grass came clear up to
the rails, and the blackberry vines ran all over the
sleepers in some places.
We hunted around for a spot in which to build
the stable, and Uncle Joe at last picked out one in
a little clump of trees, at one side of the big open
measured off and arranged, .\unt .M.iria came out
to join us, and we played all the afternoon.
.After that there was the prettiest sunset 1 ever
saw : the lake was all gold and the mountain deep
purple. Hut it seemed sort of solemn and dreary
at first, when the night came on, there were so
many queer sounds. For, besides the crickets and
tree-toads, there were lots of whippoorwills and
something else, now and then, that Uncle Joe said
was a screech-owl. I could n't help thinking then
of what the cook had said about the "wild bastes
an' Injuns," but 1 did n't say anything to Hal about
it, for he would have laughed at me.
i!!L > I L'H r.u ri.ACK "K nil: extra ikain.
place. We left him drawing plans upon a piece
of paper while we ran and capered all over the
wide green pasture, which we named "The Field,"
playing "Tag" and "Ciule" and "Leap-frog,"
till all at once Aunt Maria came out of the dining-
room car and stood on the steps ringing a big bell.
W'e wondered what it w:is for, but when we went
in we saw a splendid dinner ready, set just as it is at
home. We were glad to sec it, too, for we were
pretty hungry by that time.
After dinner, Uncle Joe said we should go out
and pitch the lawn-tent and set up the croquet wick-
ets. W'e found a fine place, and after we had got it
We forgot about the woods pretty quickly when
we went in : for .Aunt Maria had the big astral
lamp lighted on the center-table, and we had
games, and some music on the piano, and then
ue thought it was great fun going to bed in those
droll little beds and bed-rooms. We knew nothing
after that until old Meg, the cook, rang a tremen-
dous big bell for us to get up in the morning.
We did n't know where we were at first, but we
soon were dressed and out. And, oh, you never
saw anything so fresh and sweet as the woods were,
nor heard such a racket as the birds made !
We had breakfast pretty early, because Uncle
692
THE EXTRA TRAIN.
[July,
Joe was going away. We went with him down to
the main track ; he shook his handkerchief when
the train came along, and the engineer, who was
on the lookout, stopped and took him up.
That afternoon a car was switched off upon our
track by the " up " freight-train, with two carpenters
and a lot of lumber on it. The carpenters went
right to work building the stable. It was a rough-
looking little shed when it was done, but it was
nice and warm inside, and it was hidden by the
trees, so its looks did n't matter. The carpenters
staid two days, and did a lot of little jobs for Aunt
Maria ; they made some steps to go up into the
cars by, for the car-steps were too high to be eas\- ;
then they made some benches to put around in
" The Field," where Aunt Maria could come and
sit to see us play, and uhere we could sit when we
were tired.
The day after the stable was done, Bo's'n came
with the horse. We were awful glad to see him.
You ought to have seen how he grinned when he
saw the stable and we told him about naming
"The Extra Train." Bo's'n is a real good-na-
tured fellow ; he is as strong as a giant, almost,
and knows how to do everything. His name is n't
really Bo's'n, you know — it is George Latham ; but
we call him Bo's'n because he was once a real
boatswain on a great ship. He said he would
show Hal and me how to snare rabbits and par-
tridges in the woods, and teach us to swim and dive
and float and a lot of things.
Aunt Maria said she felt more " to rights " after
the carpenters had gone and Bo's'n had come ;
for she confessed she had been a little afraid,
before, though Hal said she need n't have been,
for he had his shot-gun.
Bo's'n found a splendid spring in the woods,
and used to bring the water every day in big
buckets. Then he found an old grass-grown road
by which we could drive the horse and carriage
out to the highway ; and then we used to take a
long ride all 'round the country ever)- day.
Uncle Joe came down 'most ev-ery night, and
always brought a big basket of things from the
city. That makes me think I have n't told you
how we did our marketing.
Why, the morning train used to stop and drop
it off, in a big market-basket, two or three times
a week, and Bo's'n was down there to get it. The
engineer soon knew the spot, and used to give us
a salute whenever he went by — a kind of "toot,
toot ! " on the steam-whistle. We liked to hear it,
but 1 guess the passengers in the cars thought it
was funny.
Saturday night an engine came down late on
purpose to bring Uncle Joe, who had been kept
by business too late to take the cars. Then Aunt
Maria said, as long as the engine was there, she
wanted the cars shifted so as to put the sleeping-
car at the farther end from the kitchen, which was
a good deal better ; for then we did n't have to go
through " the sleeper" to get to the dining-room.
You know now, pretty «ell, what sort of a place
we lived in, and so 1 '11 go on and tell you some of
our adventures.
Ch.'^pter II.
"JIM CROW."
After the first week, we felt just as much at
home on "The Extra Train " as in our own houses.
Our papers and letters were thrown out of the
cars every day by the expressman, in a little can-
vas bag, and Hal and 1 went down the first thing
in the morning to get it.
Uncle Joe took us down to the lake one day,
and picked out the very prettiest boat there, and
hired it for the season. Her name was "Undine,"
and she was the fastest boat on the lake. Bo's'n
rather turned up his nose at her, at first, I think,
and said :
" She 's all well enough, p'r'aps, iox fresh water."
She was nothing but a row-boat, of course, but
he fi.xed her up with a cat-rigging and we used to
have some jolly sails in her.
Aunt Maria said it was a sweet little lake ; and
so it was : and not so very little, for it was six
miles long. We used to go fishing 'most every
day, at first; we caught perch and horn-pouts,
and, now and then, a pickerel. We took Baby
Bunting one day, and he actually caught a fish —
a funny little flat fish — and pulled it in with his
own fat little hands, and his eyes stuck out of his
head, almost.
He took such care of that fish ! He wrapped it
up in a piece of paper, he put it in his pocket, he
carried it home, and took it to bed with him, and
cried as if his heart would break, next day, when
Aunt Maria said it must be thrown away. But he
stopped crying when we promised to get him some
more. And so we did ; we made a little aquarium
out in a hollow rock, and put in two or three little
fishes ; but they did n't thrive, for Baby Bunting
would take them out and nurse them every day,
and squeeze them aft'ectionately in his fat little fists.
But speaking about the boat makes me think of
the first scrape \\e got into ; and it uias a scrape, I
tell )OU. E\erybody was scared 'most to death for
a while. This is the way it happened :
Aunt Maria said, the day before Hal's birthday,
that we should have a huckleberry pudding next
day for dinner if we would go and pick the berries.
Of course we were glad enough to do that ; so,
iSSj.I
T 1 1 K K X T R A r K A I N .
69c
in the afternoon, Hal and Susy and I set out to go
to the hills. But, after we had gone about half a
mile, Hal stopped, all of a sudden, and said he
remembered seeing lots of huckleberries over on
Crow Island, and we 'd better go there.
Crow Island is the biggest island in the lake, and
it got its name from always having flocks of crows
flying and cawing 'round it.
We thought it would be ever so much more fun to
go to the island ; so we got the " Undine" and rowed
over. Wc found lots of berries, and picked our
baskets heaping full. It was nearly sundown when
we started to come home. We were just getting
into the boat, when Susy pointed to a large pine
tree, not far away, in which the crows were m^king
a great noise. We went 'round to see what it was,
and discovered a big crow's nest near the top.
•' 1 '11 bet there are some young ones up there !"
I said.
" Come on, let 's go up, then ! " cried Hal. " It
would be such fun to ha\e a young crow ; we 'd
teach him to talk."
Without another word we both started up the
tree ; it was pretty hard climbing, and when we
got about halfway up the old crows began making
a horrible noise over our heads. But wx- climbed
on, up and up, until we were within reach of the
nest. There it was, sure enough, so full of young
birds that it was a wonder some of them did n't
tumble out.
The old crows made a great fight, and darted
right at our faces. Hal said he was afraid they 'd
pick out our eyes; and so was I. Worse than that,
we were up so very high that I was dizzy and my
knees shook like everything. 1 kept hold, though,
like grim Death. Hal shouted ;
' Brace right up, now, and don't go flunking ! "
And 1 did n't. He kept the old ones off by
fighting them with his hat, while I grabbed a fine
young crow, and we scrambled down. 1 did n't
dare to look below, for I thought I should fill
every minute ; and that young varmint of a crow —
my goodness, did n't he caw and kick, though !
He opened his mouth as if he were going to swal-
low me, tree and all. He knew he was being kid-
napped, 1 can tell you.
But Hal and 1 did n't feel guilty, for we knew we
were going to civilize that crow, and give him the
advantage of an education ; and then, if he wanted
to, he could go back as a missionary to the other
crows, )0U know. Any way, we got down \vitli
him all right, and now begins the scrape.
Just as we reached the ground we heard a
cry from Susy. We ran toward the lake, and
what do you think? There was the boat, with
Susy in it, out in the deep water, half a dozen rods
from the shore, and Susy herself, with one of the
oars, was paddling for dear life, and all the time
only making the boat go 'round and 'round in a
circle ! She was so scared, when she first found
herself floating away from shore, that she had lost
overboard the other oar.
This was a pretty pickle; for llal and 1 could
only swim a few strokes then, and of course we
could n't go 'way out there in that deep water. We
made believe not to be scared, but we were ; for the
night was coming on, and we were left alone upon
the island without any way of getting off. And
there was the boat, with poor Susy in it, crying as
if her heart would break, floating off toward the
farther end of the lake, from which she would have
to walk miles and miles through the woods to get
home. Besides all that, we knew Aunt Maria
would be frightened within an inch of her life.
We shouted to Susy not to be afraid, but to sit
still in the boat, and she would float ashore; and
then Hal and I began calling and shouting and
hooting, in the hope that somebody would hear us.
And soon we were both as hoarse as frogs. But of
course Aunt Maria thought we had gone toward
the mountain, and she would hunt in that direction
first, when she missed us.
But all this time poor Susy kept floating farther
and farther off, until she looked like a big speck on
the water, and the light was fading fast.
At List, we saw somebody moving on the shore.
We both tried to shout, but we were too hoarse to
shout loudly.
Then what do you s'pose we did? — why, llal
stripped off his shirt, and we tied it to a tall pole
by the sleeves, so as to make a white flag; and we
waved it back and forth, taking turns at it, until
our arms ached.
Pretty soon «c heard a voice calling. We tried
to answer, but we could n't make much of a noise ;
so we kept on waving the shirt.
By and by the voice came nearer, but the even-,
ing was becoming so dark that we could n't see
anything plainly. In a few- minutes we heard the
splashing of oars, and then came Bo's'n's voice
calling us by name. We managed to make him
hear us this time; and, when he came up to the
rock where we were, we both leaped into the boat
and almost hugged him, wc were so glad. He had
brought along Tearer, Hal's dog, who nearly ate us
up with delight, just as if he understood all about
the scrape we had been in.
When we told Bo's'n about Susy, he seemed a
little scared at first ; but in a minute he said :
•• Never you fear, she 's all right ; w'e '11 git her —
but wc must give your ma the signal first; she 's
over there on the shore, an' she 's e'en a'most crazy.
I told her, eft was all right 1 'd signal."
And striking a match as he spoke, he lighted a
694
THE E X r R A TRAIN,
(JrLV,
lantern in the bottom of the boat and swung it
'round his head three times.
"There; that '11 ease her mind. 1 reckon, an'
niiw we '11 go after the little one ! ''
With that, he just ''lay to " the oars, as he called
it. and made the boat almost flv throutrh the water
■' HAL KKII line OLD ONES OFF BV FKiHTLVG THEM WITH }HS HAT "
in the direction we showed him. Now and then he
stopped and wet his finger, and stuck it up in the
air to see which way the wind blew. Then he would
change his course and row harder than before. Hal
and 1 were so an.xious, that we did n't say much :
but we kept a sharp lookout, and every now and
then I swung the lantern. It seemed as if Bo's'n
had rowed a tremendous distance, and that he never
would reach the other end of the lake. We thought
he had made a mistake m changing his course,
but he only said ;
"Now, you jest leave this 'ere to me, boys; you
jest leave this 'ere to me."
By and by, we saw the dark shadow of the woods
on shore. We all shouted :
"Susy! Susy!"
But not a sound came back excepting a kind of
echo from the woods. 1 kept swinging the lantern
all the time, Hal was frightened nearly out of his
wits, and Tearer barked like a good fellow.
Hal and I were going to get out, but Bo's'n
stopped us. He said we could hunt better in the
boat than on shore.
Then he rowed along shore, keeping well in,
and pretty soon we saw some object in the bushes.
We rowed up, and there, sure enough, was the
" Undine," but — she was empty .'
Oh, how scared Hal and I were ! We could
hardly breathe at first, and I felt all kind of hol-
low inside. We thought Susy was drowned, but
Bo's'n kept saying :
" Don't you be scared a bit ; set right still here
in the boat ! 1 '11 find her."
He jumped out, and called the dog. Tearer
went bounding into the woods, and we could hear
him, for a little while, racing back and forth, this
way and that, trying to find the scent. In a few-
minutes the sound of Bo's'n's footsteps and the
barking both died away, and it was terribly still
and dark and lonely.
We waited and waited and waited, it seemed
as if 't was almost a year, and by and by, after a
long, long time, we heard a shout ; then Tearer's
bark ; then the crackling of the bushes, and
pretty soon out came Bo's'n with Susy in his arms.
He came right on board, took off his coat and
wrapped her in it, and put her down on the seat
between Hal and me.
.She acted in a very funny way, at first ; she
laughed one minute and she cried the next, her
teeth chattered, and she shivered all over. Bo's'n
said he guessed she'd got "the histrikes" slightly,
but she 'd get over them quick enough when she
got back to her ma.
We did n't lose much time in getting home, you
can imagine, and there was poor Aunt Maria
waiting on the shore in the greatest fright. I ex-
pected she would scold Hal and me, but she
did n't ; she hugged us and kissed us and called
us her dear children, and took us home and gave
us a splendid supper, and was as kind as ever she
could be. And she has never said a word about
it since, nor forbidden us to go again, nor any-
thing of the sort.
And 1 guess that was the best way, for Hal and
i883.)
THK EXTRA TRAIN.
695
I felt as bad as we could, any waj-, and I think it
would have been a sort of relief to be scolded. In-
stead of that, .Aunt Maria was so awful fjood to us
that it cut us up worse than ever.
And that was our first regular scrape, but 1 for-
got to tell one thing. After we had reached home
and we stood shivering around the fire, Aunt
Maria said to me suddenly :
" Why, my dear, what 's that you have in your
hand ? "
1 looked down, and there was the poor little crow
which 1 had tied up in my handkerchief and carried
all the time, without ever knowing it. He was all
alive .and well, in spite of what he had been through.
We called him "Jim," in honor of the renowned
"Jim Crow." We taught him a good many tricks
and he grew up to be a wonderful bird — 1 wish 1
had time to tell you some of the funny things he
did.
CHAPTKR III.
GOING UP THK .MOUXTAIN.
Now I must tell you about our trip up the
mountain, for that was rather an exciting event :
at least, we thought so.
We had been waiting ever so long to go, so, at
last, Aunt Maria said one evening that we should
start the next morning. It was a splendid day. \\'e
had an early breakfast. .\unt Maria packed a big
basket with luncheon, and Bo's'n drove us over to
the Mountain House, a hotel right at the foot of
the mountain, where we left tlie carriage.
There was a good path, so we thought there was
no danger of losing the way, and it was easy going,
at first. Ho's'n carried liaby Bunting, and Hal and
I carried the hamper. Hut, pretty soon, the way
became steeper, and it got to be awfully hot. We
all sat down in a shady place to get cool. We were
so thirsty that we almost choked. While we sat
there groaning for a drink, all at once Tearcr, who
had been dashing about in the woods, came rush-
ing up to us.
"There! There! See that! He 's found it ! "
shouted Bo's'n. and pointed at Tcarer's feet.
We looked, and. sure enough, his feet were all
wet. Then Hall and I jumped up, took a pail and
went hunting about in the woods with him; and
there, about half a dozen rods from the path, we
found a splendid brook.
The water was as cold as ice and as clear as
crystal. We took back a pail of it. Aunt Maria
said it was the best water she had ever tasted, and
that we must stop there on the way down, to get
another drink.
Now, iust that one remark of Aunt Maria's was
the cause of all the trouble that happened to us,
and a pretty muddle it was.
We went on up to the top, and there we met a
delicious breeze, as cool as could be, and saw the
view — only there was so much of it that, of course,
we could n't half see it.
Hal said he wished he had eyes like telescopes,
and Aunt Maria said she would be a fairy god-
mother for once, and gratify his wish. Then she
smiled and said : "Presto — change !" and pulled
a big spy-glass out of the basket. We took turns
looking througli it. It was funny to see Baby
Bunting — he always shut up the wrong eye.
By and by we had luncheon, and when we were
rested we started down. After a while. Aunt Maria
and Susy wanted to sit down. Bo's'n said he
" guessed he 'd keep right on, and have the carriage
ready for us when we got down." So off he went,
with Baby Bunting on his shoulder.
Susy became so tired that Aunt Maria had to stop
pretty often for her to rest, so Hal and 1 ran ahead.
When we came to the place where the spring was,
we remembered what Aunt Maria had said, so we
struck into the woods to go over there, thinking
she would stoj) when they came along.
Hal and I took a drink, and then went to work
building a little dam, expecting every minute to
hear Aunt Maria. We waited ever so long and did
n't hear her, and so we filled our pail and came out
upon the path. Aunt and Susy were n't there, and
so we sat down and waited another long while, but
still they did n't come. Then we thought pcrhaijs
they had gone past, and we hurried on.
After we 'd gone about half a mile, we found
in the path a whistle that 1 had made for .Susy ;
then we knew they must be ahead, and ran as fast
as we could to catch them.
Pretty soon, we came to a place where the path
branched off in two directions, which we had n't
noticed in going up. Hal and I took the left-hand
path, which turned out to be right. Wc hurried
down to the hotel, and there was Bo's'n and baby
sitting in the carriage, but they had n't .seen a sign
of .'\unt Maria. Then we knew right off that they
must h.ave taken the wrong path and gone astray.
Wc did n't wait a minute, but just turned 'round
and cut right back. It was a pretty good distance,
but it did n't take us long. It 's funny that we
did n't think of taking " Tearer," but we did n't ;
we left him behind in the carriage. We ran along
the right-hand path, calling and whistling as loudly
as we could, until pretty soon the path branched
off again. Then we did n't know what to do. At
last we agreed that Ilal should go one way and I
the other, and come back to that spot to meet.
.And now the muddle begins : .Aunt Maria and
.Susy came out upon some road at the foot of the
696
THE EXTRA T R A I N ,
[July,
mountiiin, where they met a farmer driving along
in an old-fashioned wagon, and he told them they
were several miles away from the hotel, so they
hired him to drive them around.
But, meantime, Bo's'n thought something must
have happened to us, and so he tied the horse and
left Baby Bunting in the carriage, with Tearer to
watch him, and he started off up the mountain to
find us.
Then Baby Bunting got lonesome without any of
us, and he got out of the carriage and went wan-
dering about, crying, until a lady found him and
took him up to her room at the hotel : but all he
could tell was that his name was Baby Bunting,
and he lived on "The Extra Train" — which
was n't very clear to the lady.
Then Aunt Maria drove up and found the empty
carriage, and was dreadfuU)- frightened. She asked
if anybody had seen a small child and a man and
two boys. Nobody had seen the two boys and the
child, but a man told her that he had seen
Bo's'n get out of the carriage and start off up
the mountain a few minutes before. Then Aunt
Maria hired the man to go with her, and she
started oft' up the mountain again.
Now to come back to myself: After I had followed
my path a long way, and found it end in a swamp,
I went back to wait for Hal at the spot appointed.
He did n't come, but while 1 was waiting, Bo's'n
came up and found me ; we stuck a note into the
tree for Hal and started back. We met Aunt
Maria and the man. Then Aunt Maria and I went
back toward the carriage, and sent Bo's'n and the
man to find Hal.
After Bo's'n had told .'\unt Maria that he had
left Baby Bunting in the carriage alone, you can
imagine she did n't think of anything but finding
the Baby. We ran 'most all the way back. .'\nd
then, lo and behold ! Susy was gone, too ! Aunt
Maria had left her in the carriage and charged her
not to stir.
It seemed as if e\ erybody was bewitched.
I thought Aunt Maria would faint away, she was
so tired and excited. But it turned out all right :
somebody had told Susy that her little brother was
in the hotel, and she had gone in to see; and while
Aunt Maria stood there so bewildered, they both
came out on the piazza, and how they did run when
they saw her !
Then I wanted to go off after Bo's'n and Hal,
but Aunt Maria would n't let me. She said she
had had Box-and-Cox enough. So we got into the
carriage and waited ; and pretty soon up came
Hal from just the opposite direction that we ex-
pected, and after a long time poor Bo's'n came
back with Tearer ; and how he did grin when he
saw us all seated in the carriage.
It was long after dark when we got back to "The
Extra Train," and found the two servant girls
scared half to death at being left alone. And what
do you think they said ? Why, that Uncle Joe had
come home and got alarmed about us, and he had
started oft" toward the mountain to find us. .A-unt
Maria dropped into a chair and gasped out :
■• Oh, dear, this caps the climax ! "
Bo's'n stood there looking dreadfully sorry for
a minute ; then all at once he brightened up and
said :
" I 've got it ! I '11 fetch him ; never you fear,
marm ! "
Then he ran out to the stable. Hal and 1 won-
dered what he was going to do, but we were so tired
we did n't follow.
In a minute there was a tremendous rushing
noise outside, and we ran to the window and saw
what it was.
Bo's'n had set off a sky-rocket !
We had a half-dozen left from the "Fourth,"
and Bo's'n set ofi" three — one after another.
Sure enough, it did the business ! Uncle Joe
saw them, and knew \\e must have got home
and that the signal was meant for him, so he
came hurrying back, just in time to eat supper
with us.
.Aunt Maria said it seemed as if she was never
so glad in her life, and that she had had enough
of climbing mountains ; that mountains were
made to look at, but not to climb.
Chapter IV.
THE L'AN.^nl.-^NS.
The days went by, and we had lived a good
while without anybody having come near us, so we
never thought of there being any danger. We
had no neighbors, you know, and folks could n't
see us from the road. We were so hidden among
the trees that they never suspected any one was
living there. We used to play all around where
we liked, and Aunt Maria used lo go away to
spend the day whenever she wanted, without wor-
rying about us.
But at last we had our eyes opened. We had
a visit that we did n't forget. Hal and 1 used to
read Walter Scott's novels, and wished there were
castles nowadays and we could be in one just once,
when it was besieged. We never thought our
wishes would be granted. But they were. And
this is the way it happened :
One fine day, just after dinner. Aunt Maria took
Susy and started off for a town seven or eight
miles away, to do some shopping. Bo's'n went
with them to drive. The two servant girls had
i882.|
1 1 1 1-; K \ T R A 1" K A I N .
697
done up their work and gone off for a walk in the
woods. Hal and I were out in the field. I was
paintint; the hull of a little ship we had been
making for Haby Bunting, and Hal was fixing the
rigging '" ^ way that Ho's'n had showed him.
Baby was inside, taking his afternoon nap on the
parlor sofa, and Tearer was lying on the floor by
his side.
It was just as still as it could be. The birds had
stopped singing, because it was so warm, and
there was n't any noise except the rustling of the
trees and now and then a squirrel whistling in
the woods.
."Ml at once, Hal started up and said :
" What 's that ? "
We listened, and heard a furious crackling of
dead branches in the woods, as if some one was
running, and in a minute more out rushed our two
girls, with their faces as white as a sheet. Hal and
I sprang up and asked what was the matter.
They could scarcely speak, at first, but they man-
aged to stammer out :
"Ugh, ugh! Run, Misther Hal! Run, liotli
o' yees ! "
" What is it?"
"Oh, they 'reconiin'. I'hey '11 kill us -they 11
murther us, and ate us ! "
•'Who?"
•' Thim wild Injuns ; — the woods is full of 'em !
l^uick! quick! (jet nito the kairs, like foine byes,
now — they wont lave a stitch of flesh on yer
bones, av they onct lay hands on yees ! "
Hal and I began to laugh at this wild story, but
just then there was a sound of trampling in
the woods, coming toward us, and we scrambled
into the cars. Hal darted into the kitchen after the
girls, and I was going to follow, but 1 happened to
think of Baby Bunting, and rushed into the par-
lor-car.
Luckdy, the two other cars were well locked. The
girls always locked up the dining-room, between
meals, on account of the silver, and Aunt Maria
had locked "the sleeper" before she went.
As soon as I had got in and locked both doors of
the car, I stuck my head out of the window to see
what it was. But 1 popped it in again ;is quick as
a flash : for there, close to us, was a party of
rough-looking men coming through the trees.
Then I ran and pulled down all the blinds, so that
they could n't see into the car.
They came up and stared and stared all 'round
" The F.xtra Train." They could n't make it out.
1 could see them, as plain as could be, through the
shutters. They were about as dark as Indians, but
they were n't Indians. I did n't know what they
were until I thought all at once of what Bo's'n
had said about there being a party of Canadians
encamped somewhere about tiie lake. 1 knew
then it must be they.
They were rough, loaferish men. and I did n't
like the looks of them at all. I wished 1 were in
the same car with Hal. 1 wondered what he was
doing. All the time, though, I kept a sharp watch
on the Canadians. There were three middle-aged
men and one young man.
Fretty soon they came up the steps and tried the
door. Tearer jumped up ; 1 grabbed him and
stuffed my cap in his mouth to keep him from
barking. But he is n't a barking dog. He
does n't usually waste breath in barking; but
when there 's any danger he takes right hold.
And so, when I saw him get up and go to the door
and stand there so still, with the shaggy hair brist-
ling up all over his neck, I did n't feel c|uite so
scared.
The Canadians tried hard to get in. They
shook the door ; they dashed against it and they
tried their best : but it was too strong for them.
Then Ihey went around and clambered up to look
through the windows : but the blinds were shut, so
they could n't sec anything. I kept whispering to
Tearer all the time, to keep him from growling. 1
thought perhaps if they did n't hear nor see any-
body they might go away.
.Ml at once the fellow at the window up with his
fist and hit the pane a rousing crack. It was very
thick glass and it did n't break, but 1 knew it
would n't stand many such knocks as that. Just
as he lifted up his fist to strike again, and I began
to wonder what 1 should do, there was the sound
of a gun, and the man juni]jed down to the ground
like lightning.
1 knew in a minute it was Hal, and 1 wanted to
hurrah and clap my hands. He had opened the
window and fired his shot-gun. I guess the
Canadians were well scared, for they ran up to my
end of the train, all four of them, and stood there
under my windows, jabbering a lot of gibberish and
looking around with an ugly scowl.
Just then 1 happened to see our little brass
cannon under a chair in the corner. I knew it was
loaded; we always kept it loaded — but only with
powder, of course — so as to be ready for a salute.
1 picked it up, put it on a little table close to
one of the windows, raised the sash softly, and
hang .' it went, right over their heads !
1 thought they would all jump out of their skins !
1 giggled right out, but they did n't hear me ; they
ran, as tight as they could go, across the field, over
by the stable, and hid in the bushes.
The cannon waked Baby Bunting, and he began
to cry. I had to quiet him, and by that time the
Canadians had rallied, and began to throw big
stones to break the glass.
698
THE EXTRA TRAIN.
[July,
Crash ! crash ! went two of the windows in a
twinkUng. I began to be afraid again.
I saw two of them go creeping off through the
woods, and I knew they meant some mischief I
was afraid they meant to set fire to the train.
Hal shot off his gun again, but 1 had no more
powder.
The Canadians kept well behind the trees, whicli
showed they were afraid ; but now and then one
threw a stone. Luckily, the)' were a good way off.
At last, when I was just beginning to hope they
liad got tired and gone away, 1 heard a queer little
noise under the train. In a minute more, we
"began to move. Then I knew what they had
done : they had taken the blocks away from the
wheels and pushed until the)- had set the car in
motion. 1 was awfully scared at this ; for it was a
down grade clear to the main track, and if the
train once got going I knew we could never stop it.
Besides, it was 'most time for the regular express
up-train, which would surely run into us and smash
us all to atoms.
back, and there were two of the Canadians running
across the field with Tearer at their heels. They
disappeared in the woods. Hal loaded his gun
with some more powder, and we went across toward
the stable.
Somehow we were n't so afraid now we had
seen them run.
We heard a tremendous tussle going on in the
woods. We hurried up, and when we got into the
edge of the woods we found that Tearer had put
the whole of them to flight !
He had seized one by the coat-tail, and the fellow
just slipped out of the coat and ran for his life.
Then Tearer pulled another down, and was just
going to spring upon him, when another Canadian
came up with a big club and cracked Tearer over
the head. '
Then Tearer turned upon him, and the first one
got up and ran like a deer. The fellow with the
club fought like a tiger for a few minutes, but at
last he dropped his stick and darted up a tree.
Tearer flew after him, growling furiously, but the
THt KXTRA TRAIN IS BESIEGED.
That made me really desperate. I did n't wait
another instant, but opened the door and sprang
out on the platform, yelling like a Mohawk. Hal
■came out of his car the same minute. 1 set Tearer
on the Canadians and we both sprang to the brakes.
As soon as we had stopped the train we looked
Canadian managed to draw himself up to a big
limb, out of the way. Then Tearer sat down at
the foot of that tree and held him prisoner. The
fellow shouted to us, and talked a lot of gibberish,
but we could n't understand him. We went up
and patted Tearer on the head and pointed to the
iSSi.]
THE KXTKA TRAIN,
699
man, and told him not to let his prisoner escape,
and we knew he would n't.
When we got back to the train, tliere was the
carriage, and there was Aunt Maria hugging Haby
Bunting and listening to the story which the two
girls were telling of the "wild Injuns."
Hal and 1 made believe 't was n't much of any-
thing, so as not to scare Aunt Maria ; but we told
Bo's'n about the man in the tree, and he slipped
out there to look at him, as soon as he had put up
the horse. He patted Tearer, and nodded his
head, and muttered:
" \Vc 've got/o« trapped, my fine feller ! "
We expected Uncle Joe early that afternoon, and
he came just at sundown. We took him out to the
barn and told him all about the whole affair, and
how the tramp was " treed."
Uncle Joe flared up like gunpowder. He said
things had come to a pretty pass if folks could n't
be safe from savages in New England, by this time.
He said he would send those fellows packing that
very night, and told Bo's'n to harness up the horse
right away.
Then he went out into the woods where Tearer
was still keeping the man prisoner in the tree.
Uncle Joe called the dog off, and told the man to
come down.
At first the man was n't going to, but Uncle Joe
has an air of authority about him, — -he is used to
commanding men, — and he put on a stern look
which the man did n't dare disobey. So at last he
came sneaking down, and Uncle Joe marched him
back to the stable, and made him get into the
wagon. Then I'ncle Joe got in. took the reins, and
drove away.
It was about an hour before dark. They drove
a couple of miles over to where one of the select-
men of the town lived.
Uncle Joe got him, and .then they went and
hunted up the Canadians in their camp down by
the lake, made them pack up their duds in their
old tumble-down wagons, and clear off out of the
town. Uncle Joe and the selectman followed them
for several miles and threatened to arrest them if
they were ever seen in those parts again.
And now my story draws to a close. There arc
a great many things more 1 should like to tell, but
1 guess you must be tired by this time. The
summer was 'most gone, and there were only a few
more days left of vacation — but 1 must tell you
about the end of it, for that was real funny — the
funniest of the whole, I think, and makes it all
seem now, to look back upon, almost like a fairy
story.
We had had a splendid time. We were awfully
sorry to go home ; we knew, of course, we should
Vol. IX.— 45.
"tearer hei-D him I'RISONKK."
have to go pretty soon, but we did n't ask any
questions — we did n't like to think about it. Uncle
Joe and Aunt Maria had n't said anything, either,
but at last, one evening, — it was Friday night, I
remember, — Uncle Joe went out to the door,
about nine o'clock, and came back pretty soon
saying he guessed it was going to rain, and we 'd
better get our playthings in.
We were in the midst of a game of "Logom-
achy," 'round the parlor table ; but we jumped
up and went out, and got in all our traps. It was
real cloudy, and we thought Uncle Joe was right
700
THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA S RIDE.
(July,
about the rain, and never suspected anything, but
went to bed as innocent as lambs.
But were n't we astonished in the morning,
though? I waked up pretty early; I had been
having dreams of rolling off a precipice and flying
through the air, and lots of disagreeable things. 1
went to the window and looked out, rubbed ni\
eyes, looked again, turned around and stared at
Hal, rubbed my head, looked again, and finally
roared out to Hal to get up and see what under the
sun was the matter. He came to the window and
rubbed //is eyes.
What do you suppose it was ? Why, the lake
was gone, the mountain had disappeared, and there
we were standing in the midst of a strange town.
Finally, Aunt Maria came in laughing, and told
us we were half way home : that Uncle Joe had
ordered a locomotive to come up on purpose to
take us, that we had started very early so as not
to interfere with the regular trains, that we were
"watering up," now, and should go on in a min-
ute, and, finally, that it was time for us to get up,
for breakfast was almost ready.
We hurried, and were ready in less than no
time. It seemed queer enough to be sitting there,
the whole family about the breakfast-table, as com-
fortable as could be, while the cars were flying
along like the wind.
When we arrived at our own station and got up
to go, it almost seemed like leaving home. We
all felt rather down in the mouth, I guess; but,
just as we alighted on the platform, something hap-
pened that made us all laugh.
A man with a big carpet-bag, bundle, and um-
brella came rushing up to Uncle Joe, all out of
breath, and asked : " What train is this? "
"This," said Uncle Joe, with a twinkle in his
eye, " this, sir, is 'The Extra Train.' "
THE OUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S RIDE.
Bv A. L. .A. Smith.
•'At the battle of Jena, when the Prussian army was routed, the Queen, mounted on a superb charger, remained
on the field attended by three or four of her escort. A band of hussars seeing her, rushed forward at full gallop,
and with drawn swords dispersed the little group, and pursued her all the way to Weimar. Had not the horse
which her majesty rode possessed the fleetness of a stag, the fair Queen would infallibly have been captured."
1.
Fair Queen, away ! To thy charger speak —
A band of hussars thy capture seek.
Oh, haste ! escape ! they are riding this way.
Speak — speak to thy charger without delay ;
They 're nigh.
Behold ! They come at a break-neck pace —
A smile triumphant illumes each face.
Queen of the Prussians, now for a race —
To Weimar for safety — fly!
11.
She turned, and her steed with a furious dash-
Over the field like the lightning's flash —
Fled.
Away, like an arrow- from steel cross-bow.
Over hill and dale in the sun's fierce glow.
The Queen and her eneinies thundering go —
On toward Weimar they sped.
III.
The royal courser is swift and brave.
And his royal rider he strives to save —
But no !
FzVf I'cinpcreur .' " rings sharp and clear;
She turns and is startled to see them so near.
Then softly speaks in her charger's ear
And away he bounds like a roe.
1\'.
He speeds as tho' on the wings of the wind.
The Queen's pursuers are left behind.
No more
She fears, tho' each trooper grasps his reins,
Stands up in his stirrups, strikes spurs, and strains.
For ride as they may, her steed still gains
.And Weimar is just before.
V.
Safe ! The clatter now fainter grows ;
She sees in the distance her laboring foes.
The gates of the fortress stand open wide
To welcome the German nation's bride
So dear.
With gallop and dash, into Weimar she goes.
And the gates at once on her enemies close.
Give thanks, give thanks ! She is safe with those
Who hail her with cheer on cheer !
I883.J
SWORDS.
70 1
I * » 6( I r
.■^J-^^
MMW'^^^'''^'
'7 z;^^-"^ '^^^^-"^
"iiAV"'
WORKING nV THE DAV.
SWORDS.
By John Lewees.
One of the most clearly marked diflfcrences be-
tween man and the brute beasts lies in the fact
that with his own unaided strength man is seldom
able to take the life of his fellow-beings. Conse-
quently, when we wish to put ourselves upon a level
with the tiger and the wolf, and to qualify ourselves
for the shedding of blood and the taking of life,
we are obliged to find some other weapons than
those nature has given us. Here and there may be
a man who can kill another man by the exertion of
his unassisted strength, but it is very seldom indeed
that human life is taken by human beings without
the use of an artificial weapon.
The first weapon used by man was probably a
club; and it is also likely that in time this was
made of very hard wood, and somewhat sharpened
on one or more sides, so as to inflict a more deadly
wound. Wooden weapons of this kind are now in
use by some savage races. Then it was found that
more effective weapons of the sort could be made
of a harder substance, and short, unwieldy swords
were hewn out of stone, very much as our Indians
made their arrow-heads of flint. But a sword of
this kind, although a terrible weapon in the hands
of a strong man, was brittle and apt to break; and
so, in time, when the use and value of metals came
to be understood, swords were made of these sub-
stances. The early Romans, and some other na-
tions, had strong, heav\' swords made of bronze.
But when iron and steel came into use, it was
quickly perceived that they were the metals of which
offensive weapons should be made.
Thus it may be seen that the sword was one of
the first weapons made by man ; and, in time, it
became the most important arm and auxiliary of
warfare.
By a careful study of the form and use of the
sword, from its first invention until the present time,
we may get a good idea of the manner in which, in
various ages, military operations were carried on.
.•\t first, men fought at close quarters, like the beasts
they imitated. They struggled hand to hand, and
with their short swords they banged and whacked
at each other with all the fur)' and strength they
702
SWORDS.
[July,
possessed. But as the arts of warfare began to be
improved, and as civilization and enlightenment
progressed, men seemed anxious to get farther and
farther away from one another when they fought,
and so the sword gradually became longer and
longer, until, in the Middle Ages, a man's sword
was sometimes as long as himself.
But there is a limit to this sort of thing, ana
when the use of projectiles which would kill at a
great distance became general, it was found that a
soldier was seldom near enough to his enemy to
reach him with his sword ; and so this weapon
gradually fell into disfavor, until, at the present
day, it is seldom used in actual warfare except by
cavalrymen, and these frequently depend as much
on the fire-arms they carry as upon their sabers.
It is said that cavalry charges, in which the swords
of the riders are depended upon to rout the enemy,
do not frequently occur in the warfare of the
present day ; and those naval battles of which we
all have read, where the opposing ships are run
side by side, and the sailors of one, cudass in hand,
spring upon the deck of the other, and engage in
a hand to hand fight, are now seldom heard of.
Our iron-clad ships fire at one another from a great
distance, or one of them comes smashing into an-
other with its terrible steel ram ; and a sword would
be a very useless thing to a modern sailor. Our
armies lie a mile or two apart, and pop at each
other with long-range rifles and heavy cannon, and
to the great body of the opposing forces swords
would be only an incumbrance. Even bayonets,
which may be considered a sort of sword, though
they more nearly resemble the lance, are not so
much used as formerly in actual warfare.
The officers, even in the infantry service, now
wear swords, but these are merely insignia of
rank, and are seldom used to fight with ; and,
indeed, I have heard that it is not considered
proper for an officer to have his sword sharp, be-
cause, when using it in marshaling and leading his
men, he might accidentally hurt some of his com-
mand.
Swords have been made in so many different
forms, on account of the various methods in which
they have been used and the widely differing
tastes of the people making and using them, that
a description of all the different kinds of swords
with which we are acquainted would co\er a great
deal of printed space. Some of the more distinct-
ive forms of the weapon, however, are shown in
the illustrations to this article.
First we see the short, bronze sword, used by the
early Romans before they knew how much harder
and better a weapon could be made of steel or
even iron. There was also a longer, bronze sword
with a formidable sharp point, but a very awkward
handle. After the Romans made much better
swords, they still preferred the short, thick form,
although a longer weapon was sometimes used.
The most usual form of the ancient Roman
sword is seen in the picture of the sword of
Hadrian. These blunt, heavy weapons were
employed in hand to hand conflicts, and their
blows were warded off by stout shields or bucklers,
which the warriors wore upon their left arms. The
sword of the fourteenth century, which is shown
in the next illustration, though in some respects
more clumsy than the Roman sword, is longer,
which shows that fighting men had already begun
to get farther away from one another.
The claymore, once famous in Scottish history,
was a ver)' long sword, with a hilt so large that it
could be grasped by both the hands of the warrior
who wielded it, and when this tremendous weapon
was swung around by any of the brave
" Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,"
there was every reason for the opposing soldiers to
want to get as fiir away as possible. Long, two-
handed swords were in use in various parts of
Europe during the Middle Ages, but it is from Scot-
land that we have heard the most about them.
Andrea Ferrara, who was born about the middle
of the sixteenth century, was a celebrated Italian
armorer, and he made swords which were well
known throughout Europe for the fineness of their
temper and the beauty of their ornamentation.
The hilt of the Ferrara sword shown in Figure 7 is
of a rather curious form, although not very elabor-
ate. But some of the swords made about this
period for the rich knights and nobles who de-
lighted in elegant armor and handsome as well
as useful arms, were very elaborately ornamented,
the hilts often being of complicated and artistic
forms.
In Eastern countries, also, the ornamentation of
swords was carried to a great extent. The East
Indian saber, or Tulwar, shown in the illustration,
has a neat and pretty hilt, while the East Indian
scimitar is more highly and artistically ornamented.
The Malabar sword is a simple weapon, but very
broad at the end, and apparently intended to be
used more as a hatchet than as a sword. The East
Indian cutlass, or Polygars knife, is a weapon of
somewhat similar shape, although not so blunt at
the end. A cut from one of these heavy blades,
wielded by a quick and powerful arm, must be a
terrible thing. The modern cutlass, shown in Fig-
ure 12, page 704, was used very much in the same
manner as these East Indian weapons — that is, its
stroke was always a cut and never a thrust ; but a
blow with its comparatively slight blade must have
i882.]
SWORDS.
703
, and = Bronze Roman sword. 3- Sword of Hadrian. 4- Sword of the fourteenth century at the I'^'fJ;',,^'"^^;''"-^!;^^^^^^";^-
6. iled^val two-handed sword. 7. Andrea Ferrara sword. 8. Indian saber, or Tulwar. 9. East Ind.an sc.mitar. ,0. Malabar sword.
704
S W (_) R D S .
[July,
II. East Indian cutlass, called a Polygars knife. 12. Cutlass. 13 and 14. Rapiers of the sixteenth century. 15 and 16. Swords of
the sixteenth century. 17. Italian Malchus. 18. German sword. 19. German two-handed sword. 20. Michel Angelo's sword. 21 and
22. Japanese swords.
t882 1
SWdRDS.
705
been much less effective than one deUvered with
any of the ponderous, curved weapons of the East.
From the first invention of the sword down to the
period when the fifteenth century was drawing to a
close, this weapon had always been used as an arm
of offense. The person wielding it thrust it or
hewed it into the body of his antagonist whenever
he had a chance, and the only defense against it
was stout armor or an interposed shield. It is not to
be supposed that an ancient warrior, or one belong-
ing to the earlier Middle .Ages, never thrust aside
or parried with his own blade a stroke of his enemy's
sword ; but this method of defense was not depended
upon in those days ; the breast-plate, the helmet, or
the buckler was expected to shield the soldier while
he was endeavoring to get his own sword into some
unprotected portion of the body of his antagonist.
But about the time of Ferdinand and Isabella of
Spain, the science of fencing was invented. This
new system of fighting gave an entirely new use to
the sword : it now became a weapon of defense as
well as offense. Long, slender rapiers, sharpened
only at the point, were the swords used in fencing.
Armed with one of these, a gallant knight, or high-
toned courtier, who chose the new method of single
combat, disdained the use of armor ; the strokes of
his opponent were warded off by his own light
weapon, and whichc\cr of the two contestants was
enabled to disarm the other, or to deliver a thrust
which could not be parried, could drive the sharp
point of his rapier into the body of his opponent if
he felt so inclined. The rapier, which was adapted
to combat between two persons, and not for general
warfare, soon became the weapon of the duelist ;
and, as duels used to be as common as lawsuits are
now, it was thought necessary that a gentleman
should know how to fence, and thus protect the life
and honor of himself, his family, and his friends.
Swords of elaborate and wonderfully executed
hilts, like those of the sixteenth century, shown in
the cuts on page 704, excited the admiration of
lovers of art, as well as of warriors.
People who understood such things regarded
these beautiful weapons with as much interest as
we look upon any work of art of our day ; and,
indeed, some of these sword-hilts were so admir-
ably executed that those which are preserved in
museums command as much admiration now as
they ever did. The blades of swords were also
sometimes beautifully ornamented, as may be seen
in the cut of the Italian "Malchus" (Figure 17).
The German sword next shown (Figure 18) exhib-
its a very artistic peculiarity of hilt.
Some of the German swords, used by the mer-
cenary soldiers in the French religious wars, were
enormous two-handed weapons, with sharp points,
jagged edges, and great spikes near the base of
the blade (Figure 19). These were used only by
soldiers who were uncommonly strong and skillful ;
for any awkwardness on the part of a man swinging
such a tremendous blade was apt to inflict as much
injury on his companions as on the enemy. Some
iif the long swords of the Middle Ages were used
more for show and ceremony than for actual ser\-
ice. The sword of Edward the Third, which is
preserved in Westminster .Abbey, is seven feet
long, and weighs eighteen pounds. This, it is
said, was carried before the King in processions,
and «as probabh' never used in any other way.
But the art shown in sword-making was by no
means confined to beautiful forms and elaborate
ornamentation. The greatest skill was exercised
in the manufacture and tempering of the blade,
whicli, in the days when swards were not onlj- worn
but used, was more important than any other part
of this weapon. In Europe, the sword manufact-
urers of Spain first began to have a reputation for
producing work o*" superior quality, and the armor-
ers of Toledo stood foremost among their country-
men. A "Toledo blade" was considered to be a
weapon of great value, and, even now, when we
wish to speak of something remarkably fine-tem-
pered and sharp, we compare it to one of these
swords. The peculiarity of the Toledo blade was
not only its extreme hardness, which enabled it to
receive and retain the sharpest and most delicate
edge, but its elasticity, which allowed it to be bent
without being broken. Some of the most famous
of these swords could be bent so that the points
touched the hilts, and yet they would spring back
to a perfectly straight line. It is said that, in
Toledo, sword-blades have been seen in the cutlers'
shops coiled in boxes like watch-springs, and
although they might remain in this position for
some time, they would become perfectly straight
when taken out. Other places in Europe were
also famous for producing good swords. Many
excellent weapons were made in Italy, and Andrea
Ferrara, the Italian sword-maker, who has been
mentioned before, was better known throughout
Europe than any other of his craft. To possess
a genuine Ferrara blade was considered a great
thing by the nobles of France and England.
But it is to the East that the world owes the pro-
duction of the most finely tempered swords it has
ever seen ; and the steel of Damascus has been
celebrated for many hundred years as superior to
any other metal that has ever been made into
sword-blades. Even the cutlers of Toledo doubt-
less owed their skill and knowledge to the Moors,
who brought from Dam.iscus the art of making
blades that were as hard as diamonds, as sharp as
razors, and as elastic as whalebone.
Wonderful stories are related of these Damascus
7o6
SWORDS.
[July,
swords. We have been told that with one of them
a full-grown sheep could be cut in half at a single
blow, a heavy iron chain could be severed without
turning the delicate edge of the sword, and a gauze
veil floating in the air could be cut through by one
gentle sweep of the glittering blade. These wonder-
ful scimitars are not manufactured now, but their
their manufacture will be attempted. We should
consider, however, that although the present age
is preeminent as an inventive and manufacturing
period, there are some things which have been pro-
duced by the ancients and the artificers of the
Middle Ages which we of the present day have
not been able to equal. It is possible, therefore,
23. Sword of Gonzalvo di Cordov.i, A. D. 1453-1515 — Royal Armory.
Madrid. 24. Sword of Don John — Royal Armory, Madrid. 25. The
Mascaron sword — Royal Armory, Madrid. 26. Spanish sword — Artil-
lery Museum, Paris.
SOME FAMOUS SWORD-HILTS.
fame has exceeded that of any other weapon of
their kind, and it is quite certain that their extraor-
dinary excellence has not been exaggerated. It
is probable that the workers in steel of the present
day might be able to discover the peculiar methods
by which the Damascus steel was made, but as
there would be little use or demand for the blades
after they had been produced, it is not likely that
that our steel-workers might never be able to make
a Damascus blade, even if they wanted to.
Some of the swords of Japan are said to possess
wonderful qualities of hardness and sharpness.
The story is told that if one of these celebrated
blades is held upright in a running stream the
leaves floating gently down with the current will
cut themselves in two when they reach the keen
lasz.j
SWORDS.
707
edge of the sword. Samples of Japanese swords
are shown in Figures 21 and 22, on page 704.
But those Japanese swords, some of which were
held in such high esteem that they were worshiped,
and temples were built in their honor, were only
hard and sharp; they had no elasticity, they could
not bend and they might break, and in this respect
they were far inferior to the splendid scimitars of
the Moors and Saracens.
To show still further the extent to which the art
of ornamentation was carried in the manufacture
of swords, we give pictures of the hilts of some of
these weapons which are preserved in museums.
Figures 23, 24, and 25 show the sword of (lonzalvo
di Cordova, the sword of Don John, and the " Mas-
caron " sword, all preserved in the Royal Armory
of Madrid ; and Figure 26 represents a Spanish
sword, of very beautiful workmanship, which is to
be seen in the Artillery Museum of Paris.
Having said so much about the art of ornament-
ing and making the sword, we must add that the
literature of the weapon has been as widely extend-
ed as its use. When the story-tellers and trou-
badours of the Middle Ages told or sang about a
noble knight, his trusty sword was mentioned
almost as often as himself. In those days, many of
the swords were named, and in reading about them
you might almost suppose that they were actually
personified, and that they thought out in their own
minds, and carried into execution, the brilliant
deeds that are recorded of them. We all have
heard of King .Arthur's famous sword " Excalibur,"
and of the sword of Edward the Confessor, which
was called " Curtana," the cutter, although we arc
told it was not very sharp. Hut even before the
days of chivalry, the favorite swords of warriors
bore titles and names. The sword of Julius Cssar
was called " Crocea Mors " — " yellow death " ; and
the four blades used by Mohammed were called
"the Trenchant," "the Beater," "the Keen,"
"the Deadly." The sword of Charlemagne, called
" Joyeuse," is famous in story.
Not only were names given to swords, but in-
scriptions intended to indicate their quality, or
the deeds they were expected to perform, were
engraved upon their blades. Some of these
were of a very vaunting and boastful spirit.
The best inscription upon a sword of which
I ever heard was one upon an old Ferrara blade,
which read thus: "My value varies with the hand
that holds me." On a great many of the blades
made at Toledo was the inscription : " Do not
draw me without reason, do not sheathe me without
honor." Among the vaunting inscriptions was
this : " When this viper stings there is no cure in
any doctors' shops." A Sicilian sword bore thp an-
nouncement : " I come," meaning, probably, that
everybody else had better go away; while a Hun-
garian sword declared: " He that thinks not as
I do thinks falsely." These are but a few of the
legends by which a man's sword, in the days when
cavaliers and warriors used to do as much t.alking
as fighting, was made to imitate its master.
But the sword was not always used for the mere
purpose of taking human life. From its first in-
vention to the present day, it has, of course, like
every other weapon, offensive or defensive, been
mainly used in war or private quarrel, but, unlike
all other weapons, it has a dignity and a quality,
not so great now as formerly, but still recognized,
which is entirely distinct from its cliaractcr as an
instrument for shedding blood. It was so long the
constant companion of rank and valor th:it it ac-
quired a dignity
was used in
resentativeof its
the present day,
state, which are
cessions, and on
them are the
" Black sword,"
sword," and the
sword." In the
of its own. Thus the sword
many ceremonies as a rep-
owner. In England, at
there arc various swords of
Ijornc in Lord Mayors' pro-
other occasions. Among
"Pearl sword," the
the " .Sunday
"Common
-niK ^\V()kT>-in' AK-FCH OF KXKTEiK.
accompanying picture is seen the ceremonial weapon
borne by the sword-bearer of the city of Exeter.
But not only did the sword represent and indi-
cate rank and high position, whether civil or mili-
tary, but it was used, and is still used in parts of
Europe, as an instrument for conferring rank.
When an English commoner is to be made a
knight, and he kneels before his sovereign as plain
7o8
THE .ESTHETIC YOUNG LADY.
[July,
Mr. Thomas Brown, the regal personage touches
him on the shoulder with the tip of a sword, and
he rises — Sir Thomas Brown. Nothing but the
sword-blade is considered adequate to confer
knighthood. A man might be touched by his
monarch with a battle-ax of solid gold, or a most
costly rifle, but he would never consider himself a
genuine knight or baronet. It is the sword alone
which is aristocratic enough to confer aristocracy.
Not alone, however, for such noble purposes has
the sword been used. In many countries, both
barbarous and civilized, it has been the weapon of
the executioner, and we read of great blades made
for this purpose, containing within them a narrow
channel in which ran a column of quicksilver.
This heavy and fluid metal, suddenly flowing from
hilt to point as the sword was swung, gave an addi-
tional impetus to the blow, and made the work of
the headsman easier and more certain. The sword
was used, too, in the bull-fights of Spain, to dis-
patch the wounded and maddened animals.
But, as we have said, such uses as these are
merely incidental, and do not detract from the
rank and character of the sword, which, although
it is not relied upon now, as formerly, in war and
combat, is yet emblematic of all that it once was.
Thus, when a general surrenders his army he hands
his sword to the commander of the conquering
forces, thereby indicating that he gives up his
power to lead his men into further combat.
It is not at all likely that cannon, pistol, gun, or
any weapon that may be invented will ever attain
the peculiar regard and high estimation in which
the sword has been held so long. A weapon which
was the personal companion of its owner, and de-
rived its greatest value from its holder's skill and
courage, was considered almost a part of the soldier
or cavalier, and with it he often carved his way to
fortune or to fame.
But in our times, fame and fortune are seldom
won, even in military life, by mere hewing and
stabbing. The palmy days of the sword are over.
^^V^sl^t^c
There was a fair maid named Louise,
Who, for handy-work, painted a frieze ;
The room was quite big.
Yet she cared not a fig !
This zealous, aesthetic Louise.
But, alas ! for the Lady Louise, —
Who worked at her task by degrees, —
The style of that day
Had long passed away
Ere she 'd come to the end of her frieze !
So, in time, to the group at her knees
(The grandchildren whom she would please)
She said: " 'T will improve it,
I 'm sure, to remove it," —
,^nd t/iai was the end of her frieze !
i88:.J
TlIK liny WHO l.DST 1 II K lOLKTII OK JL'I.V.
-09
Till-. 1U)V WliU L(,)ST THE FOURTH ( ) 1" JULY
Hy Sophik Swett.
Nick Tweedle sat astride the hen-house, whit-
tling. The roof of the hen-house could not be said
to afford a comfortable seat, especially in the posi-
tion which Nick always chose : but it was a retired
spot, and therefore suited to meditation, and Nick's
mind was so absorbed that he thought little of his
bodily comfort; besides, he liked to get astride
the hen-house when he wanted to form a very
brilliant plan, because it suggested being on a
horse's back, and gave liim a sense of courage and
freedom.
He could n't be on a horse's back, because Aunt
Jane did n't believe in boys riding horseback. The
very worst thing about Aunt Jane was her skepti-
cism; there were so many things that she did n't
believe in.
She did n't believe in two pieces of pie.
She did n't believe in swapping jack-knives.
She did n't believe in circuses.
She did n't believe in dogs.
She did n't believe in guns.
She did n't believe in playing all day on Saturday.
She did n't believe in camping out.
She did n't believe in ])laying Indian, and would
n't let Tommy Ix' scalped.
She did n't believe in base-ball.
She did n't believe in carrying jam-tarts and
pickles to bed.
She did n't believe in making a noise.
She did n't believe in leaving things 'round.
She did n't believe in red-headed boys, any way.
When she expressed that last sentiment, as she
did very often, .Nick found it hard not to regard it
as personal; for his hair was undeniably red — so
red that people were always making unpleasant
jokes about its being a beacon light on the top of
Tweedle's hill, and the men who lounged in the
village store pretended to light their pipes by it.
Perhaps Aunt Jane "did n't mean anything," as
his father always assured him, but Nick thought it
was a little singular that it never happened to be
light-haired boys, nor brown-haired boys, nor black-
haired boys that she did n't believe in.
She did n't believe in tearing trousers, nor being
forgetful, either. In fact, Nick was of the opinion
that a hst of her unbeliefs would be longer than the
catechism that he had to say in Sunday-school.
To-day, Nick had planned to go fishing with Jack
Deering; they were going to Lazy Brook, where, as
Jack declared, the trout were so thick and so will-
ing to be caught that they would " peek out and
wink at you," and Aunt Jane had commanded him
to stay at home and weed the garden, because she
did n't believe in going fishing.
And Nick had made up his mind that there were
some things that no boy could endure.
He had fully determined to run away.
Just how and where to go were the subjects to
which he was now giving his attention. Although
he sat astride the hen-house and whittled, no brill-
iant ideas seemed to come.
Nick did n't want to do anything commonplace;
he was convinced that he had uncommon talents.
He had thought of running away to sea, but three
boys from the village had already done that, and
so it seemed rather tame. Besides, Dick Harris,
who had come home, darkly hinted that there was
more hard work than fun about it, and it was a
peculiarity of Nick's that he liked fun better than
hard work.
Jacob, their hired man, had secured a position in
a menagerie to educate a whale. That was an oc-
cupation that would just suit himself, Nick thought,
but from inquiries that he had made he judged
that whale educators were not in great demand.
Not everybody was as lucky as Jacob — though
Aunt Jane thought he had better have staid on
the farm, and said she did n't believe in menageries
nor whales.
Another thing that Nick wanted was to be a
magician and take a cat and three kittens out of a
hat that would n't begin to hold them, but he did
n't know just where he could go to learn the busi-
ness. His father could not tell him, and as for .'^unt
jane, she did n't believe in magicians.
He had thought somewhat of joining an Arctic
exploring expedition, until he read that the pro-
visions almost always gave out ; Nick never thought
there was much fun where there was n't plenty to
eat, and he read a list of the supplies that were
usually taken, and found no mention of pies. After
that he went over to Aunt Jane's way of thinking,
and did n't believe in Arctic exploring expeditions.
He had intended to invent a telephone which
should be so superior to tliose already in use that,
instead of merely transmitting the sound of voices,
it should do the talking all by itself. Hut he had
not succeeded as yet, and it would hardly be pru-
dent to run away from home trusting to that as a
means of support, although, once out of Aunt
Jane's reach, his chance of success would be much
better, for he had no opportunity to experiment
/
lO
THE BOY WHO LOST THE FOURTH OF JULY.
[July,
now, because she did n't believe in telephones.
Another plan that occurred to him was to ride
around the world on a bicycle. He thought that
by the time he got to Kamtchatka he might make
money by exhibiting himself, as it was quite prob-
able that they did n't have bicycles there ; but there
was a difficulty in the way — it would take money to
get as far as Kamtchatka, even on a bicycle. A boy
might possibly endure to sleep out-of-doors with
only ambition to keep him warm, but Nick was of
the opinion that ambition would never keep a boy
with a big appetite from being hungry.
It is very sad, but one has to take a practical
view of matters, even if one is a genius and expects
to do great things in the world; so Nick decided
that he would not attempt the tour of the world on
a bicycle, even if he could get a bicycle, which was
very doubtful, as Aunt Jane did n't believe in
them.
Walking on a tight-rope he regarded as an
agreeable and elevated means of gainmg a liveli-
hood ; but an experiment of that kind which he had
tried, with the rope fastened to the high beams of
the barn, had proved so disastrous that he was
forced to the conclusion that his talents did not lie
in that direction.
Going to fight Indians on the \Vestern plains
was another of his favorite plans, but the unpleas-
ant habit of scalping people which the Indians
indulged in so freely made him feel some hesita-
tion. He might be like the "Red-handed Rover
of the Rocky Sierras," whose adventures he had
read, who always turned upon the twenty-seven
uncommonly large Indians who were about to scalp
him, and scalped them with their own weapons.
But although he might not have acknowledged it,
he had some doubts, drawn from his experiences in
the fighting line, whether his abiUties were as great
as the Red Rover's. He reflected that he had once
"licked little Billy Shannon out of his boots," but
when Billy Shannon's big brother came upon the
scene the results of ^lie contest were sadh' changed.
He was as ready as anybody to " stand up man to
man," but when it came to encountering twenty-
seven uncommonly large Indians, all in war-paint,
and brandishing tomahawks, Nick felt that he would
rather not.
To be a soldier had always been his greatest
desire. He was very patriotic, and wanted an op-
portunity to defend his country, but as there
seemed no prospect whatever of a war he felt
almost discouraged about that. He had gotten up
a sham fight at the last Fourth of July celebration,
and with several other boys had become so excited
as to entirely forget that it was a^sham, and the
result had been more lively than delightful.
And Aunt Jane did n't believe even in ten-cent
pop-guns, nor two bunches of fire-crackers under a
tin pan at four o'clock in the morning, nor even in
the dinner-bell and a fish-horn — which did n't make
any noise to speak of, — and she said she did n't
believe Nick wanted anything but to give her a
headache.
There really seemed to be no way of giving vent
to patriotic feeling without being misunderstood.
Nick concluded that it was a hard world for a
boy, but still he did n't think he could find any-
thing harder in it than staying at home with Aunt
Jane and her unbeliefs, and he was just resolving
to go and be a tramp until he could raise money
enough to buy out a tin-peddler, when Tim Harri-
man, a next-door neighbor, came along and called
out to him that he had brought him a letter from
the post-office.
" Jehoshaphat ! " exclaimed Nick.
His list of correspondents was extremely limited.
In fact, he had received but one letter in his life,
and that was from Aunt Jane when she had gone
to pay a visit, telling him that she did n't believe
in boys wasting money on postage stamps, so he
need n't write to her. There was nobody who would
be likely to write him a letter, so it must come from
somebody who was unlikely to, and that might be
the Khan of Tartary, who had written to offer him
the position of Grand Vizier, or Decapitator Gen-
eral, or whatever the highest dignitary of his court
w'as called.
After such a splendid vision it was somewhat
disappointing to open the letter and find it was
from their old "hired girl," Tryphosa, who had
married Augustus Spilkins, and moved up into the
back-woods. Tryphosa wrote :
" My Deek boy: me and augustus Wants yu to kum and sea
us, ,^nd Stay A long Spell, we Kepe tai^em and hev a Plenty off
Good Vittuls. not exceptin Pys. yu Kan take augustuses Old
Muskit and Shoot the cros that is eatin' up all the Com and aint a
mite .'\frade off the scarcro though it is maid to look edzacly like
augustus and yu kan brake in the Colt that is caliker and a romun
Nose and One Good i and Terrerble Skitish, and yu kan help
augustus maik Jinger Ail wich has to bee Plenty bein a tempenince
hous and not Another Drop though soshyble. me and augustus
alwys set by \-u and we Want yu to kum sertin sure pertikerly as
it kant bee none two kumfurtin' wher thare is sich an Onbeleiver az
sum fokes that yu and i noes off. with Respecks yores respeckful
Tryphosa."
"p. S. Kum Rite Of."
If a visit to Tryphosa was not so delightfully ex-
citing as the adventures which Nick had been pro-
posing to himself, it had an advantage over them
which was not to be disregarded in this uncertain
world — it was a possibility.
And there was a wild attractiveness about the
prospect of shooting crows, and breaking in the
calico colt, with his one eye and his skittishness.
Besides, Nick liked Tryphosa; she knew how to
sympathize with a boy that had an Aunt Jane ; and
i883.]
THE liOV Willi I.OSl' THE EULRTIl (J E JLl.V
711
her sympathy did not take the form of hugging amd
kissing — things which Nick could not endure — it
took the form of pie. If there was a person in the
world who thoroughly understood the art of pie-
making, it was Tryphosa, and she was never known
to cut a pic into stingy little pieces.
Augustus Spilkins was very agreeable, too, and
had gifts that distinguished him. He could balance
a pitchfork on his eye-lid, and do a trick with cards
that the school-master could n't find out. He
could swallow a cent and take it out of his sleeve,
and he could fiddle and dance so that the minister
could n't help listening and looking on. And,
though he came from Nova Scotia, there never was
a Yankee who could equal him at whittling ; he
could whittle out a pig that could almost squeal,
and mice that drove the cat half crazy. And he
whittled out a dog that would wag his tail — though
the wag did get out of order very soon.
Tryphosa used to scold at first, because he "lit-
tered up" the kitchen, but he won her heart by
whittling out a butter-stamp for her with two
hearts, joined together, and a turtle dove upon it.
That was how they came to be married.
Nick thought things over and decided that there
was sure to be fun going on where Augustus was.
He was sure that his father would give him leave
to accept Tryphosa's invitation, but Aunt Jane did
n't believe in boys visiting, so Nick decided to avoid
any little unpleasantness that might possibly arise,
by omitting to take leave of her.
He wrapped his clothes in a gay bandana hand-
kerchief, which was a present from Augustus, and
hung the bundle over his shoulder, upon a stout
stick. He had a traveling bag, but he thought
that gave him a less adventurous air than the
bundle. As he left the gate he heard .Aunt Jane's
voice calling him, and declaring in shrill tones
that she did n't believe in boys having on their
best clothes on a week-day. Nick hurried along.
He did n't know how many bad people he might
meet in the world, but Tryphosa had once solemn-
ly assured him that he would never find another
such an " in fiddle " as Aunt Jane.
He stopped at his father's store, but his father
not being in he contented himself with leaving a
note for him, in which he explained where he was
going, and asked him not to tell Aunt Jane.
Nick's father w-as a very easy and obliging man,
and, besides, Nick suspected that he suffered him-
self from .Aunt Jane's unbelieving disposition, and
would enjoy keeping the secret from her.
He felt a little sorry that he could not take
Tommy with him. Tommy was Aunt Jane's son,
but he was not in the least like her. He was four
years younger than Nick, and believed in every-
thing Nick did. And he never was so mean as to
" tell on him." How much of his reticence was
due to the fact that Nick threatened to make fiddle-
strings of him if he did tell, it is impossible to say,
but it is probable that this terrible threat had a
powerful eft'ect on Tommy's mind, as it always
made him turn pale.
Tommy's most striking characteristic was a pro-
pensity to tumble into the well ; four times he had
been rescued dripping and senseless, and Aunt
Jane "did n't believe that boy would be anything
but a lifeless corpse the next time he was hooked
out of the well." Nick almost wished that he had
taken Tommy with him when he thought of that
dreadful possibility, but he contented himself with
going Ijack and adding a postscript to the note he
had left in his father's store: "' Tell Tommy not
to get drowned in the well till I come home."
Then Nick went on with a mind at ease.
Augustus had appended to Tryphosa's letter
minute directions, so that Nick might have no diffi-
culty in making his way to Tantrybogus, the town
where he and Tryphosa lived ; but he mentioned
so many different railways and stage-routes that
Nick was afraid his funds would not hold out until
the end of the journey.
He found that railroads and stage-routes came
to an end nine miles from Tantrybogus. By the
good nature of the driver of the last stage he was
enabled to ride to the end of the route, although
his money was exhausted. And he found that
nine miles was as far as he cared to walk, but he
reached Tantrybogus about nine o'clock.
Tryphosa was almost overcome with surprise and
delight, but instead of fainting, or kissing him, she
gave expression to her feelings by setting six kinds
of pie before him. There was no douln that
Tryphosa was just as agreeable as ever.
Augustus complimented him in a very gratifying
manner.
" Well, now, 1 swanny, 1 would n't have thought
't was you, you 've growed so ! If I was onbcliev-
in' like your Aunt Jane, I should declare 't wa'n't
you ! I declare you 're gettin' to be a man so fast
it makes me feel awk'ard to think what a little
spell ago 't was that I made free to call you sonny !"
You may say what you will, it is pleasant to
meet people who realize that one is getting to be a
man, and cannot properly be called " sonny."
The " larvern " seemed to be a very " soshyble"
place, as Tryphosa had said ; there were many very
ple;\sant and jolly people there, but it seemed to
Nick that they looked and talked very differently
from Stumpville people. Some of them he could
hardly understand, and they had very odd, out-
landish names.
Nick came to the conclusion that very night that
Tantrybogus was a queer place.
THE BOY WHO LOST THE FOURTH OF lULY,
[July,
He found out the next day that it was also a
very delightful place. There were plenty of good
times to be had, and no school, no garden to weed,
no Aunt Jane, and unlimited pie.
Shooting crows was great fun. He did n't hap-
pen to hit any, but he hit the scarecrow and made
a complete wreck of him. He also hit Tryphosa's
favorite black turkey that was roosting in a tree,
and a neighbor's black cat, mistaking them for
crows. So nobody could say that he was a poor shot
if he did n't kill crows. As for the colt, everybod\-
knows that a calico colt with a Roman nose and
one good eye is very hard to break, so it is not
surprising that he ran away with Nick into the
river, and might have drowned him if he had n't
been able to swim.
Tryphosa cried over Nick, because he had had
such a hard time, and carried a whole pie to his
bedside, in the middle of the night, and Augustus
said he did n't know how they had ever got along
without him, he made things so kind o' lively.
All these things happened in a few days, for it
was less than a week after Nick's arrival in Tantry-
bogus that he suddenly became aware that the
very next day would be the Fourth of July. At
home, in Stumpville, he would have been counting
the hours that must pass before the day came, but
here he had found so many novel diversions that
he had quite forgotten that it came so soon.
In a great state of excitement he rushed to Au-
gustus, who was bottling ginger ale.
"Fourth of July, to-morrow!" he shouted,
" and not so much as a fire-cracker ready ! Have
you forgotten ? "
Augustus seemed disturbed and uneasy. He let
the corks fly out of two or three ale-bottles, in his
uncertainty of mind. Nick thought that popping
was better than nothing ; it sounded a little like
the Fourth of July.
"You see, Tantrybogus is kind of a cur'us
place. They don't seem to set no great store by
the Fourth of July, and seein' it 's Canady, and
they 're mostly English and French, it could n't in
nater be expected," said Augustus, looking sad.
Canada ! Nick knew it was just across the
line, and had n't thought of it, he had been hav-
ing so many other things on his mind. He sat
down on the lowest step of the cellar stairs, clasped
his hands around his knee, and reflected.
■'1 could n't stand it, Augustus!" he said,
firmly, at last. "It's all right for the Tantry-
boguses, and for you, because you came from
Nova Scotia, but 1 should burst ! "
Augustus scratched his head in perplexity, and
went on letting the corks pop.
"You might go down to Polywhappit," said
he, brightening suddenly. " That 's across the line,
and it 's only a matter of ten miles from here, and
I expect they '11 have a rousing time."
"I '11 start right oft"! " cried Nick, jumping up.
■"I '11 harness up, and carry )ou a good piece,
and you can walk the rest of the way ; and 1 '11 give
\ou a five-dollar bill to do your celebratin' with.
Oh, you need n't feel bad about takin' so much, for
1 'm glad to have you go and enjoy yourself, and
bein' you 're so lively, it 's worth more 'n that to me
to have you go."
After\vard it struck Nick that a double meaning
might be attached to those words of Augustus', but
he was too eager to go to thmk about them then.
Tryphosa took a tearful leave of him, and insisted
upon putting a pie in the crown of his hat. where
it "would n't be in his way, but would be handy
when he got hungry." and told him to be sure to
find her brother's wife's cousin, Lysander Hewitt,
who li\ed in Pol>^vhappit, and would be sure to
welcome him for the sake of the family connection.
Augustus drove him a little more than half way
to Polywhappit, and then had to hurry back lest his
ginger ale should spoil.
It was late in the afternoon when Nick reached
Polywhappit. It was almost as large a town as
Stumpville, but Nick thought it did n't look very
wide awake, and though he looked about him ver)-
sharply he could see no signs of preparation for the
Fourth of July.
However, they were, unquestionably, Yankees in
Polywhappit, and Nick had never heard of Yankees
who did n't make a noise on the glorious Fourth.
Great, therefore, was his dismay when he learned
from Tryphosa's relative, Lysander Hewitt, "that
Polywhappit did n't calkilate to do no celebratin'.
They had built a new town hall and repaired a
great many roads, and did n't feel able to spend
any more money. Money 's skerce in Pollywhappit,
and that 's a fact," said Tryphosa's relative.
" Do )0U mean to say that they wont make any
noise at all to-morrow?" asked Nick, not without
an accent of disgust.
" Well, Polywhappit folks seem to feel that when
\our powder is burnt up, your money 's burnt up
too, and there a'nt no great profit in it. to say
nothin' of the danger of bein' sot afire. 1 did hear
that the school children over to the East Polywhap-
pit district «as every one agoin' to recite the Dec-
claration of Independence and sing some of them
appropriate pieces like .^meriky and Old Hundred.
If you feel like celebratin' I '11 carry you over there
to-morrow mornin'."
Nick heaved a sigh, and thought of the grand
times that he had been wont to enjoy at Stumpville
on the Fourth of July.
"I 'm afraid that would n't be quite lively enough
for me. \Yc do things differently in Stumpville.
THE liiiV \VHl» LOST Till; I'dlRTIl OK II' I. V.
713
We don't value money that we spend to do honor
to our country ! " said Nick, with a grand air.
His thoughts were turning, wistfully, to Stunip-
ville. Even if he had to endure Aunt Jane and her
unbeliefs, Stumpville was not the worst place a boy
could live in. Kor there they had not lost the
Fourth of July. There they would have a ringing
and a banging, a rattling and a snapping, that it
would do one's heart good to hear. And. probably,
at five o'clock in the afternoon a balloon would go
up from the common. If he were at home, Nick
might have some chance of going up in that bal-
loon, for the aeronaut was Aunt Jane's brother-in-
law's wife's nephew. And, at all events, he could
go up on to the band-stand when the band was
playing, because Aunt Jane's sister-in-law's second
husband's son i)I.iyed the cornet. There were ad-
vantages as well as disadvantages about h.iving an
Aunt Jane. It occurred to Nick that he had never
fully realized the advantages. He had thought too
much about Aunt Jane's unbeliefs and not enough
about her desirable family connections.
He decided to get back to Stumpville very soon
— if possible, before that balloon went up.
He asked Lysandcr Hewitt whether he thought
he could do it by walking all night, but Lysander
thought he would get there just as soon by taking
the stage at five o'clock in the morning. The rail-
road station was only seven miles away, and an
express train connected with the stage.
So Xick accepted Lysander Hewitt's hospitality
for the night, and, being very tired, he fell asleep,
although it was entirely contrary to every Stump-
ville boy's ideas of propriety to sleep on the night
before the Fourth ; and he dreamed that he was
an enormous fire -cracker, and was all lighted and
going off splendidly, and very proud of himself,
when all the people in Tantrybogus and all the
people in I'olywhappit began to pour cold water
over him. He was very angr)- and made an im-
mense effort to go off, in spite of the cold water,
and suddenly found himself wide awake and rolling
out of bed.
It was daylight, but not a sound indicated that
it was anything different from an ordinary day —
no ringing of bells, no firing of guns, no inspiring
rattle and bang of fire-crackers, not so much as
the cheering snap of one small torpedo ! Nick
felt that Polwhappit was in a low condition mor-
ally, and ought to be aroused to a sense of its
duties and encouraged to perform them. He took
his money out of his pocket and counted it; be-
sides the five dollars that Augustus had given him
he had some change which Tryphosa had slipped
into his hand after she put the pie into his hat ;
there was just thirty-seven cents; counting it over
three times would n't make it anv more than that.
On a scrap of paper which he found in his pocket
he wrote this note :
" Plcisc celcbnitc a lilUc, for ic is an Orfonl Disgrace not to have
any fourth of July at all. i give you this dollar and Thirty Seven
Cents to Help Along, as much noys as you could get for this
would be .1 Grate Deel better than no fourth of July at all."
He inclosed the money in the note, and shpped
it under the door of Lysander Hewitt's chamber.
Then he hurried to the stage, and soon Ijade fare-
well to Polywhappit.
He had saved a little more than enough money
to pay his fare home, and would have been glad to
invest that little in fire-crackers for a parting salute
to Polywhappit, but the stage-driver told him that
not a fire-cracker was to be had in the town.
"There wa' n't no great liveliness about the
Polywhappiters," he said.
It seemed to Nick that never before had stages
and railroad trains moved so slowly as those that
he rode on that day. The stages waited for the
mails, and waited for passengers, and waited to
feed the horses, and waited for a young lady to go
back and find something she had forgotten, and
for an old lady to go back and see if she had n't
forgotten something. And the trains waited for
wood and waited for water, and stopped not only
at the stations but at almost every house they
came to. Nick thought it w;is fortunate that the
houses were a good many miles apart, otherwise
they might never reach .Stumpville. .AH the sta-
tions seemed half buried in the woods, and Nick
saw scarcely a sign that anybody knew it was the
Fourth of July. Once or twice a horrible suspi-
cion seized him that the day had really dropped out
of the calendar. But that was when he grew very
tired and sleepy with the long ride and the jolting
of the cars.
Five o'clock came and went, « hile they were still
miles away from Stumpville. Nick, in despair,
pictured to himself the scene on the common, the
crowd shouting and clapping hands as the great
balloon — the balloon which he might have been in
— sailed skyward. But he might still be in time
for the fire-works ; it was likeK to be a dark night
and they would begin early, but he might get there
before the close. But, alas ! nine miles away from
Stumpville the engine broke down ! It might take
hours to repair it, so Nick decided to walk the rest
of the way. The seven-league boots could hardly
have gone over those nine miles in a shorter space
of time than Nick did, but it was all in vain. A
distant glimpse of the last sky-rocket that went up
from Stumpville common was all he had!
When he walked into the village there were
still a few belated people in the streets whom he
heard congratulating each other upon the grandest
714
A FAMOUS SEA-FIGHT.
[July,
Fourth of July celebration that Stumpville had ever
known !
Nick hurried homeward, not feeling just in the
mood to hear about the celebration.
He went into the back yard, thinking he would
creep up to his room by the back stairs, and
not let anybody see him. But he stumbled over
Tommy, who was fast asleep on a heap of empty
torpedo boxes and fire-cracker papers, with a pop-
gun still clutched tightly in his hand, and Tommy
awoke, with one of the resounding screams for
which Tommy was famous.
" Keep still ! what have you got to cry about? "
said Nick, bitterly.
"I w-w-want it to be F-f-fourth of July some
more ! " sobbed Tommy.
Tommy's cry drew Aunt Jane from the front gate,
where she was talking over the glories of the da}-
with a neighbor, and Nick was discovered.
"So it 's you, though 1 would n't have believed
it," said Aunt Jane. " 1 don't believe in boys
slinking in by the back way, even if they have
reason to be ashamed of themselves. If )ou 'd
been here you might have touched off the cannon,
for Captain Thumb said he meant to let you —
though / don't believe in boys touching off cannons.
And you might have gone up in the balloon, for
you had an invitation, and your father said he
should have let you go, though / don't believe in
balloons. 1 should like to know where you have
been, for 1 don't believe in people leaving a splen-
did Fourth of July celebration in their own town to
tramp all over the country ! "
" Neither do I," said Nick. He would n't have
believed that he should ever come to share one of
Aunt Jane's unbeliefs, but he did.
Nick never expected to hear anything of the re-
sult of his effort to arouse the patriotic feelings of
the Polywhappiters ; but in less than a week after
his return he received a letter in which Lysander
Hewitt, in behalf of the selectmen, returned
thanks for his generous gift, and regretted to say
that, owing to the lateness of its reception, they
had been unable to apply it to the object which he
had mentioned, but as the town had been for years
afflicted with the nuisance of stray animals, es-
pecially pigs, running loose about the streets for
lack of a suitable inclosure, they had resolved to
use the money, with his permission, to make a
pound, to be called in compliment to him " The
Nick Tweedle Pig-pound " ! Nick hoped he never
should hear anything more from those benighted
Polywhappiters, who preferred a pig-pound to a
Fourth of July celebration.
A FAMOUS SEA-FIGHT.
When I was a small youngster, years ago, we
boys used to be told thrilling stories of what was
called ' ' The Last War. "In these later days, we have
had a war on our own soil, which was, let us hope,
the last war that we shall ever be engaged in as
long as the American Republic lasts. But boys of an
older generation than this knew "The Last War"
to be the war between the United States and Great
Britain, now generally called "The War of i8i2."
It is a long and painful story of misunderstandings
and oppressive acts which must be told to explain
the causes that led to the beginning of that war.
Happily, the contest was not a very long one, and
Americans, whatever may be said of the rights and
wrongs of the two parties engaged in the fight,
look with pride upon the achievements of the
American navy of that period. The names of
Bainbridge, Hull, Decatur, Porter, Perry, and
many other gallant sailors, will be remembered as
long as the traditions of the L^nited States navy
endure. Their wonderful exploits did much to
close the sorrowful and wasteful struggle.
In 1813, the frigate "Essex," commanded by
Captain David Porter, after committing much havoc
upon the British marine off the Atlantic coast of
South America, sailed boldly around Cape Horn
into the Pacific Ocean. Porter had resolved to
strike out into a new field of operations, and, car-
rying into the Pacific the first American flag that
had floated from the mast-head of a man-of-war,
he swooped down upon the British merchantmen
and whalers, causing tremendous consternation.
Nobody had dreamed that the Yankees would dare
to send a man-of-war into this distant sea, and
the British frigates were making things very un-
comfortable for the few American merchantmen
engaged in the Pacific trade. The arrival of the
" Essex" soon changed all that. Within a year she
had captured four thousand tons of British ship-
ping, and had taken four hundred prisoners. She
may be said to have subsisted upon the enemy, as
the vessel was not only supplied with everything
needed for repairs, rigging, ammunition, clothing,
and provisions, taken from the enemy's captured
i883.]
A FAMOUS SEA -FIGHT.
715
lilt BATTLE OF THE "ESSEX" Willi Tlltl "lllUiUli" AND Tilt "CHERLU."
ships, but the men were paid with money found on war that should be fortunate enough to catch her.
board of one of her prizes. But the American frigate was fleet, and difficult to
Orders were given that the "Essex" must be catch. Finally, in February, 1814, the frigate,
destroyed, at all hazards, by any British man-of- accompanied by a small craft called the " Essex
VcJL. IX.— 46.
7i6
A FAMOUS SEA-FIGHT.
[July.
Junior," a cruiser made over from one of the prizes
captured from tlie British by Porter, cast anchor in
the harbor of Valparaiso, Peru. The Peruvian
Government was not then independent, Peru being
a province of Spain. But Valparaiso was a neutral
port, although the people of Peru, and the Spanish,
also, were somewhat unfriendly to the Americans.
So, when two British men-of-war, the "Phoebe"
and the " Cherub," entered the port, it was toler-
ably certain that there would be a fight, should
the " Essex" dare to put out to sea.
The Englishmen had the redoubtable "Essex"
and her little consort in a trap. For six weeks, the
two British vessels kept a very close watch on the
Americans, sailing up and down the coast, just
outside of the entrance to the harbor. Finally,
on the 28th of March, Captain Porter, trusting to
his ability to outsail either of the British ves-
sels, and draw them away, so that the "Essex
Junior" might escape, set sail and drew out of the
anchorage. In doubling a headland at the entrance
of the harbor, the " Essex" was struck by a squall,
which can-ied away her maintopmast and several
men. Captain Porter returned toward the road-
stead, and anchored three miles from the town and
about the distance of a pistol-shot from the shore.
The "Phcebe" and the "Cherub" had been ex-
changing signals, and it was evident that they meant
to attack, although the vessels were all in neutral
waters.
The "Phoebe" carried thirty long eighteen-
pounders and sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades
for her armament, besides seven small guns in her
tops. She also had 320 men, all told. The
"Cherub" carried twenty-eight guns of various
caliber and 180 men. To meet this formidable
force the "Essex" had 255 men, and her arma-
ment consisted of twenty-six thirty-pounders and six
long twelve-pounders. The " Essex Junior," which
took no part in the fight, had twenty guns and sixty
men. Nevertheless, Porter resolved that he would
never surrender as long as he had men enough to
work his guns; and right manfully did he hold to
his resolution.
The "Phoebe" opened fire at four o'clock in
the afternoon, being then nearly dead astern of the
disabled "Essex." The long eighteens of the
Englishman did great damage on board the
" Essex," which, notwithstanding her disadv^an-
tage, returned the fire with gallantry and spirit.
The " Cherub," then on the starboard bow of the
" Essex," next opened fire also, but was driven off
by the guns of the American. Three of the long
twelve-pounders of the "Essex" were then got out
astern, and played upon the " Phoebe" with such
terrible effect that she, too, was hauled off for repairs,
manv of the shot having struck below the water-line.
Both the British vessels now closed upon the Am-
erican frigate, being on her starboard quarter, and
poured into her a fire so galling that the spars and
rigging of the doomed ship were soon in a tangle
of wreckage. Porter slipped his cable, and, hoist-
ing his flying-jib, bore down upon the enemy, pour-
ing broadsides into them as the ship slowly drifted.
The " Cherub " was driven off for a second time,
and the " Phoebe " retired out of the reach of the
guns of the " Essex," but near enough to worry
her with her long-range ordnance. After two
hours of fighting. Porter tried to run his vessel
ashore, to prevent her falling into the hands of the
enemy; but a change of wind prevented him, and
he anchored once more, making fast a sheet-anchor
with a hawser.
Very shortly after, the hawser parted, and, to
increase the trials of these determined heroes, the
ship took fire below deck. In this extremity. Cap-
tain Porter told the men to save themselves as best
they could. Some threw themselves into the sea
and swam to shore, some were drowned, and many
were picked up, while clinging to bits of wreck, by
the boats of the enemy. But a larger part of the
crew staid by the ship, and continued firing into
the enemy, in the midst of the smoke and flames.
Finally, the fire was partly subdued, and men
enough to work two of the long twelves kept up a
brisk fire.
But further resistance was useless. Only seventy-
five men were left to do duty, the remainder being
killed, wounded, or missing. So, after an engage-
ment that had lasted two hours and a half. Porter,
with a sorrowful heart, hauled down the American
flag, and the wreck of the gallant "Essex" was
surrendered to the foe. The British lost four killed
and seven wounded on the " Phoebe," and one
killed and three wounded on the " Cherub." Both
ships were badly crippled, their sails and rigging
being riddled, and the " Phcebe " had received
eighteen shots below water-line from the long
twelves of the "Essex." Thousands of spectators
crowded the shores to gaze on the blood)- encounter.
The Spanish Viceroy was vainly entreated by the
.American Consul to insist upon the maintenance of
neutrality. He refused to interfere.
Thus ended one of the most remarkable naval
engagements of modern times. It ended in disaster
to the American cause. But the heroic defense of
the "Essex," in which officers and men vied with
one another in a determination not to give up the
ship, fired with fresh enthusiasm all who heard the
story of their brave and obstinate fight, .^nd,
when the young people of this republic shall cele-
brate once more the deeds of the patriotic defenders
of the American Republic, let them give a hearty
cheer for David Porter and his crew.
A M AT i: IK N I-: \VS!' A 1' K RS.
717
A M A T !•: L' K X E W S 1' A 1' 1-: R S.
Bv Harlan H. Ballard.
I r is coming to be regarded as an axiom by the
young people of America that " What man has
done, boy can do " : and the notion is not entirely
unheard of that what a boy can do, so can his
sister. There is scarcely an industry of any im-
portance, carried on by the energetic and inventive
men of the day, which has not its counterpart in
reduced scale among the amusements of our boys
and girls. Even in early childhood, those games
are most popular which lead children to imitate the
employments of their grown-up friends.
Six-year-old Mary is never so happy as when she
is playing "keep house"; especially if she is so
fortunate as to own a real iron stove in which she is
allowed to kindle a real fire for boiling a real potato ;
and if Johnny has a father wise enough to give him
a box of tools, he will cheerfully play carpenter all
winter long. So the clouds of labor have their
sunny side of imitative play. The mighty rumble
of the locomotive is echoed in the tiny roar of
thousands of mimic engines ; the intricate rattle of
the busy telegraph is reproduced in a minor key on
multitudes of little "sounders"; and even imple-
ments of deadly warfare are reduced in caliber and
sold as playthings.
If this is true in the case of little children, much
more is it true of our boys and girls as they grow
older. The age is swiftly reached when toys no
longer satisfy, and the boy must have a chest of
tools that will do good work ; he must engineer an
engine that has horse-power in it ; he must culti-
vate a patch of ground, and plant something more
practical than the watermelon seeds of his early
years; he must have a gun that will throw real
lead.
Among the many youthful occupations which
this spirit of imitation has created, none, perhaps,
has been more widely extended and more enthu-
siastically followed than .\m.\teur Journalism.
The idea of a newspaper printed and edited by
a boy is, in one sense, not a novel one. Benjamin
Franklin might be called the pioneer boy printer ;
for it is commonly mentioned in connection with
the Discovery of America, the Landing of the Pil-
grims, the Surrender of Cornwallis, and various
other incidents of the sort, that when Benjamin
Franklin was very young he published his broth-
er's paper in his absence, and won himself distinc-
tion thereby.
It is said, also, that in 1812, at the time when
England and the United States were engaged in
their second discussion, a boy by the name of
Thomas (".. Condie, or Cundie, living in Philadel-
phia, edited the Il'tYi/y Portfolio, a paper which
had some local repute. Tradition has it that
Condie's paj^er was of four pages measuring eight
and a half by eleven inches.
We speak of this as a tradition ; for — alas, for
the vanity of earthly glory! — learned scribes and
critics have arisen who have proved, in the Censor
and elsewhere, not merely that, as with .Shakespeare,
the spelling of our hero's name is uncertain, but
that no such person as either Condie or Cundie
ever lived, breathed, or edited a paper.
We learn from Mr. W. M. Clemens, that on
the 2ist of August, 1820, Nathaniel Hawthorne,
then sixteen years of age, sent forth the first num-
ber of The Spectator, a small but neatly printed and
well edited paper. A prospectus had been issued
only the week before, setting forth that the Spec-
tator would be issued on Wednesdays, "price
twelve cents per annum, payment to be made at
the end of the year."
Among the advertisements on the last page was
the following ;
Natltaiiic! Hawthorne proposes to publish, by sub-
scri/ztioii, a new edition of the "Miseries of Authors,"
to which will be added a sequel cojitaining facts and
remarks drawn from his own experience.
Whatever others may think, no member of the
National Amateur Press Association will hesitate to
attribute a fair share of Hawthorne's subsequent
greatness to the discipline of these early labors
in the editorial chair.
The Boy.
In 1834 or 1835, a little lad of Hartford, Conn.,
then known- as " Nat," now as Rev. Professor
Nathaniel Egleston, of Williamstown, Mass., pub-
lished an amateur paper called The Boy.
He set up his type in one of the tin Sedlitz
powder boxes common then, and ])rinted a sheet
as large as a postal card.
And this device of the Sedlitz powder box calls
to mind a very interesting account of another
original contrivance devised in 1839 by a Western
boy, or at least by an Eastern boy gone West.
The story was told in St. NICHOLAS for June, 1879,
under the title of " How a Comet Struck the
Earth," and should be carefully read and pondered
7i8
A M A T E U R N P: W S P A P E R S.
(July.
by all who would know with what difficulties early
amateur editors were forced to contend.
In 1858, appeared the Cofls Herald, from
Lancaster, N. H., which attracted considerable
attention. Between these dates there were, doubt-
less, many other papers whose names, though long
forgotten by the world, still nestle in a warm corner
of the memories of their quondam editors. Per-
haps the difficulties in the way of obtaining presses,
which the editors of The Boy and The Comet
succeeded so ingeniously in overcoming, deterred
many less energetic boys from attempting similar
publications.
However this may be, it is certain that the
invention, in 1867, of the cheap "NoveUy" press
was the event from which must be dated what is
now understood as Amateur Journalism. The
widely scattered advertisement, "EVERY Bov HIS
OWN Printer," proved irresistible. Not Comets
only, but whole constellations, suddenly Hashed
across the journalistic sky ; Suns shone. Stars
twinkled. Meteors blazed and burst ; and, before
the end of 1868, at least fifteen papers were regu-
larly issued once a month.
In September, 1869, the first convention of
amateur printers assembled #t the house of Mr.
Charles Scribner, of New York. This convention
organized itself, with Charles Scribner, Jr., as its
President, into the " Amateur Printers' Associa-
tion," but changed its name the following year
to "Amateur Press Association."
It was during this year, too, that Our Boys'
Intellect (later, Our Boys) was first issued in Wen-
ona. 111., by Charles A. Diehl. After a time, its
publication office was removed to Chicago ; Fred.
K. Morrill became one of its editors, it was enlarged
from time to time, until it grew to be a handsome
journal of sixteen pages. Its circulation is said to
have reached ten thousand copies, and it was
finally consolidated with a professional juvenile
magazine. Mr. Diehl, its founder, adopted jour-
nalism for his profession, and has, for many years,
been on the staff of the Chicago Times. Mr.
Diehl is by no means the only amateur editor
who has, in later years, reached a position of pro-
fessional eminence. William Howe Downes left
his boys' paper for the Boston Globe. Frank H.
Converse, well known to readers of the Portland
Transcript, St. NICHOLAS, and Golden Days, was
once editor of an amateur journal. So was
Thomas Edison ; and Mr. Mark M. Pomeroy, three
or four years ago, wrote :
" It is now twenty -four years since we started as an amateur edi-
tor with a little paper, the Sun, at Corning. N. Y. We have
grown out of the atmosphere of youth, but can never forget that \ve
were once a poverty-scarred amateur editor, and never can have in
our hearts other than good wishes for the youths, the young men,
amateur editors, some of whom, in the course of years, will be the
leading journalists of this country."
The list might be greatly extended, but enough
has been given to show that in the publication of
amateur papers we may have one of the truest
schools of journalism.
On this point, Hon. Horatio Seymour has ex-
pressed himself in the following letter :
Editor Comet — My Dear Sir: I am much pleased with the
copy of the Comet you sent me, and I am gratified with your
courtesy in letting me see the account of the proceedings of your
Association, I hope and believe that great good will grow out of
the efforts of your young associates to put journalism upon the
right basis. Vou begin at the beginning, and I know of no other
way of having any useful pursuit carried on with success. This is
demanded in all professions. I can see no reason why men should
jump over the fences to get into the field of journalism. It should
be entered through the regular gateway. It is as much a learried
profession as law, medicine, or divinity. It calls for early training
and careful preparation, I believe your association will do much to
give the next generation higher toned journalism than we now have
in our country.
Truly yours, Horatio Seymour.
Utica, N. v., Feb, 21, 1872.
One of the best papers which appeared during
the renaissance o{ i8yo-y6 was the Youthful Enter-
prise, conducted by Miss L. Libbie Adams. This
is undoubtedly the " thirteen -year old girl-editor"
mentioned in the " History of Woman Suffrage,"
who, "for three years, wrote, set up, and published
a little paper in the interior of New York" (El-
niira). It may be new to the authors of the just
mentioned history that Miss Adams began her
editorial labors in Carbondale, Pa., where she
printed some numbers of the Carbondale Enterprise
on a press which her father had secured for her,
and in an office which had been fitted up in a gar-
ret. We shall mention later the Hurricane which
still blows freshly from the orange groves of Caro-
lina, but even at the date of which we are writing,
Miss Adams was not the only girl in the ranks of
amateurs. Miss Delle E. Knapp, who still writes
excellent articles for the "mimic press," edited a
bright paper in Buffalo, N. Y. ; and at Wartville,
Tenn., Miss Birdie Walker published the Girls'
O'lvn Paper for several years. She is now one
of the editorial contributors of a professional Ih-
erary magazine.
In 1870, more than fifty excellent papers were
published, and the future of Amateur Journalism
was assured.
During 1871, Amateurdom, or the " Dom," as
it is pleasantly called by its members, prospered
exceedingly. "The Centennial year," says Mr.
Charles J. Steele, Jr., in the Buffalo Courier, "in-
augurated what are now known as ' halcyon
days.' "
The whole country then looked to Philadel-
phia. All sorts of societies and clubs held re-
unions there. Friends who had long been widely
dispersed took that occasion to meet again.
Naturally enough, it occurred to some of the
brighter amateur editors that it would be a good
A M A 1 1 ; f K N i; \v s 1' A r h k s .
719
■'<■
If
plan to have a f^rand reunion, and to publish a
weekly amateur journal there. The last part of
this programme was found impracticable. When
the World's l-.xhibition had been held at V'ienna
in 1S73, a paper called Our .linrriian Youth had
been issued weekly, under the auspices of the
New York Branch of the A. P. A.: but cither the
American Exposition managers were not so favora-
ble as the Austrian, or the boys did not manifest
so much enthusiasm in 1876 as in 1873.
.V. .\. V. A.
The reunion, however, was a grand success.
Seventy-five amateurs were present in the Ouaker
City, and on the Fourth of July, amid the noise of
martial music and the tramp of great processions,
the N.\TIONAL AM.VrEUR PRESS ASSOCIATION was
formed. The mercury stood at 104° in the shade,
but the intense heat served only to weld the boys
into firmer union.
The former organization had lieen local, and its
members were from the
Eastern States, but this
Association was national,
and embraced young
men from all sections
of the country. From
that lime, the letters
"N. A. P. A." have
been regarded with
growing affection by a
rapidly increasing num-
ber of American youth.
The Constitution,
which was adopted in
1876, has been recently
amended and will be given, in part, in its proper
pl.ace. The first President of the N. A. P. A.
was John W. Snyder, of Richmond, Virginia. It
is estimated that, during the year of his adminis-
tration, there were five hundred amateur journals
of all sizes and kinds.
In 1877, the annual Xapa m.ecting was held
at Long Branch, and was the largest yet convened.
There were over a hundred present, and, after a
most exciting contest, A. W. Dingwall, of Mil-
waukee, was elected President, and C. C. Henman,
of New York. Official Editor. During this year
the number of papers reached flood-tide, and there
were over six hundred.
In 1878, during the administration of President
Will T. Hall, of Chicago, the great trouble with
the Post-office authorities arose. One brief ac-
count says : " It was determined by the powers
that be, that jiapcrs published by boys were not
legitimate newspapers, and that the publishers
should be required to pl.ice a one-cent stamp on
each and every paper sent out. The boys could
not afford to do this, and the papers went down
like grass before the mower. From this severe
blow .Amateur Journalism has been slow to re-
cover. "
A i.rrri.K law.
As it is evident from editorials in many leading
papers of the " Dom," as well as from this quotation
from an cx-amateur editor, that this " ' P. O.
Trouble ' is regarded by the boys as one of the
main events in their history as an association," we
have been at some pains to become acquainted
with the inside facts and reasons of what has
seemed to many an unreasonable discrimination.
The foregoing quotation was sent to Washington,
accompanied by a request for advice as to the
principles on which a distinction is made between
papers published by boys and men. In reply, we
were referred to certain sections in the Postal (Juide
and in a circular issued bv the Third Assistant
T-
PACK TD l-ACE WITH TflF LAW.
Postmaster-Cicneral, a careful study of which con-
vinces us that, however severely the decision of the
Department may affect some of the less energetic
boy editors, yet the complaints of unjust discrimi-
nation have no substantial foundation. And, while
the rulings of the Department are in full force at this
date, it is still true that very many boys are sending
their papers at pound rates tlirough the mails, and
■20
AMATEUR NEWSPAPERS.
[JlLV,
yet acting in perfect liarmony witli law. For the
information of all interested we will quote briefly
the rulings which are in point :
" Publications a'^serted to be issued in the general interest of printers
and publishers can not be admitted to entry as second-class matter
where it appears that the number of their paid subscriptions is so
insignificant in comparison with their exchange lists as to demon-
strate that the primary object of their pubHshers is to advertise their
own business and that of others by means of a free circulation among
other publishers and printers. * * *
" Tlie rule just indicated for the exclusion of so-called printers' pub-
lications, designed primarily for the purposes of free exchanging,
should also be applied to so-called ' Amateur' publications, and the
same evidence of a st-i/susiaining sul'scri/'twn list required of them
as of trade-journals before admission tu entry as second-class mail
matter."
Thus it appears that amateur papers which are
on a business basis, and which are self-supporting,
have never been deprived of the advantages ac-
corded to the professional journals. The circular
quoted enters into a long explanation of the reasons
for this rule, showing that the nominal rate of two
cents a pound does not cover the actual cost of
transportation, and is accorded to no paper as a
right, but is extended as a favor to such periodicals
as are believed to be issued with a view to the
spreading of intelligence among the people. The
Government has always followed the policy of as-
sisting in this good work, and has, therefore, carried
newspapers to bona-fide subscribers at a nominal
rate, for the sake of helping the public to obtain
information cheaply. The favor is intended for the
public good, not for the publishers' pockets. But
when most of the copies of a paper are distributed
by the publisher at his own expense, the inference
is that they are distributed for his own advantage,
and in such cases it is proper that he pay the post-
age. If the people at large consider any paper to
be of advantage to them, they will support it with
their subscriptions. Then, the Government is will-
ing to help them by reducing the rate of postage.
Uncle Sam has a great and a generous heart, boys.
He loves fairness above all things. Even Wright
acknowledged this after his bright Egyptian Star
secured pound rates !
POLITICS OF THE ASSOCIATION.
Speaking of government reminds us that one of
the most absorbing interests of the N. A. P. A. is
the yearly election of officers. The desire for office
seems to be quite as strong among boys as among
men, and the struggles for the Presidency and
the Chief Editorship are often extremely close and
persistent.
The yearly conventions arc looked forward to
with eager expectancy by the friends of the several
candidates, and the oral debates and intricate wire-
pulling of the actual meeting are preceded by
months of earnest discussion, and even occasional
partisan violence, in the numerous papers connected
with the Association. It appears that many of the
amateur editors print their papers for no other
purpose than that they may try their luck in the
yearly race for office, and certainly one of the
strongest incentives to hard work in producing a
creditable sheet is the fact that, as the boys are
rarely personally acquainted, they are obliged to
form their opinions of one another largely from the
essays, poems, or editorials which they write.
From this it happens that the offices usually fall
to the lot of the most energetic, painstaking, and
intelligent members, and whatever maybe thought
of political aspiration as a motive to literary en-
deavor, it appears certain that herein lies the
strongest bond of union among the fraternity.
Take away the annual conventions, with their plat-
forms, discussions, and preceding campaigns, and
the N. A. P. A. would soon dissolve.
With regard to the officers, their election and
duties, the Constitution speaks as follows :
"Art. IV. — 0_fficers. The Officers of the National Amateur Press
.Association shall consist of a President, First, Second, and Third
Vice-Presidents, Recording and Corresponding Secretaries, Treas-
urer and Editor.
"Art. V. It shall be the duty of the President to preside at all
Conventions of the N. A. P. .\., and to perform such other duties as
are called for in conformation with this Constitution and these By-
laws, and the adopted parliamentary authority." (Robert's Rules
of Order. I
The President's duties are further defined
through ten elaborate sections. Among these
duties, may be noticed the publishing of at least
ten numbers of a journal during his year of office,
and the appointment of Judges of Award. Their
duties will presently be explained.
The duties of the Vice-Presidents arc naturally
those of the President in his absence, and there
are also special duties relating to the reception of
articles sent in competition for the various prizes
which are offered by the Association.
The duties of the Secretaries and of the Treas-
urer are those which naturally fall to such officers,
with special charge of certain matters connected
with an intricate system of " proxy " voting.
The Editor is one of the most responsible offi-
cers, and concerning his work Article XII. says :
'Tt shall be the duty of the Editor to take 'entire and complete
control of the Official Organ, to issue four numbers of said paper
during the official year, to allow nothing of a political character to
appear in the columns of the paper, and to mail to every member
of the Association and to every subscriber to the Official Journal
one copy of each number, as soon as issued."
It is provided by the next article that this "Offi-
cial Organ " shall be known as the Xational Ama-
teur, that it shall have at least four pages, which
shall be 9 X 13 inches in size, and set in long
primer type. The names and addresses of the
officers shall be published at the head of the editor-
ial page, with full information regarding the method
of joining the Association.
The ''Judges of Award," just referred to, per-
i882.]
A M A T I-; I ■ R N 1'. \V S P A 1 ' E K S .
721
form duties which are explained by Articles
XXIII., XXIV., and XXV. of the Constitution.
"Art. XXIII. — Prize Com/>osUwits. Sec. 1. In order to pro.
mote the interest of our Editors and Authors, and the general tone
of amateur literature, this Association will present to the author of the
hest written article on any subject, in accordance with section 3 of
this article, the title of Laureate as hereinafter specified.
• *•*-*•*
*• Siic. 3. .Articles may be written tmder the following heads and
.sent to the officer whose name precedes them :
Second Vice-President,
Department A.
Third Vice-President,
Department B.
\ Serials.
5 Stories or Sketches.
( Poems. Essays.
) History of .\matcur Journalism.
".■\rt. XXIV. — Judges of Awariis. Skc. 1. There shall be five
Judges of Award, each of whom shall have a distinct department.
" Sec. 2. Four of these Judges of Award shall be literary men of
known ability not actively connected with .'\mateurdom. The fifth
Judge of Award shall be an active .Amateur.
"Sec. 3. It shall Im; the duly of these Judges of .Award to exam-
ine closely every article sent them, and to report to the President as
soon as possible the one they believe to be in a majority of respects
the best, giving their reasons therefor.
"Akt. XXV.— TilUs. Sec. i. The title of Uiiircate shall be
conferred upon the jicrson contributing the best article on the sub-
jects specified in .Article XXIII., Section 3."
Such arc the offices which are yearly filled from
the ranks of nm.iteur journalists. .\ large share
of all the talent of the " Dom " is exercised in the
A QUESTION TO BE SETTLED.
The latest question for discussion has been re-
garding certain boys' papers of New York which
are of a sensational and far from elevating nature.
Some of the N. A. P. A. have strenuously opposed
any fellowship with them. Others have argued
that, although the tone of such papers w.is bad,
still it was tlie best policy for the Napa to allow
the obnoxious editors to retain their membership,
in order to reap the benefit of their initiation fees,
yearly dues, political influence, and advertising
.assistance. This appears to us to be one of the
most vital questions which have arisen, and our
confidence in the perpetuity of the Association is
greatly strengthened by reading, in Article XVI.,
Section 2, of the Revised Constitution : "A'tf per-
son coniicclcd with or contributing to [here follow
the names of the disreputable sheets] shall be eligible
to ineinbe)-shifi."
No motives of policy ever could overrule the
wisdom of tliat section, and if the boys would take
a step further, and promptly expel from their ranks
( / V
LOBBYING FOR THE ELECTION OF OFFICERS.
weekly discussion of the various candidates for
these offices, and truth compels the statement that
many of the young editors allow themselves, in the
heat of the campaign, to cross the limits of courtesy
quite as far as their elder brethren of the pro-
fessional press.
A brief history of the latest election will give a
clear notion of Amateur Politics. Before begin-
ning this, however, it may be well to glance at one
of the great questions which have divided Amatcur-
dom during the past ten years.
every editor who publishes a single profane or inde-
cent paragraph, they would greatly benefit the cause.
It must not be inferred from this that there are
many editors who do print such matter, but, in
looking over large bundles of amateur journals,
one is occasionally pained by seeing paragraphs
which tend to throw discredit on the institution.
To their credit be it said that the leading spirits
of the " Dom" are bravely fighting this evil, and
we have no doubt that they will succeed in stamp-
ing it out entirely.
A M A T E U R NEWSPAPERS.
[JULY.
The latest convention was held in Buffalo, and
is acknowledged by all the boys to have been a
decidedly poor affair. There were only fifteen mem-
bers present, as a large faction had bolted, and
there was a ffood deal more excitement than either
LOCKED DOORS COULD NOT KblEP THEM IN.
dignity or good nature. Practical jokes were in-
dulged in among the members, proxy ballots were
thrown out, and technicalities strictly observed in
other respects. The convention appears to have
been pretty well "fixed" beforehand; there was a
good deal of *' denouncing," some carousing, and
a little business done. Still, oddly enough, excel-
lent results have followed this most unfortunate
meeting. In the first place, an energetic and
enthusiastic set of*offlcers were elected, and in the
next place, the whole Association has been aroused
to see the necessity of sending more and abler
representatives to the yearly convention. More-
over, the evils of a cumbrous system of proxy
voting have become evident, as has also the
unwisdom of a Constitution with eighty-eight sec-
tions, besides voluminous By-laws.
Boys wish to have fun at their conventions, of
course; but they do not wish to be locked in their
hotel-rooms, so that they can not reach the meet-
ing without crawling through the transom !
The following account of this meeting is con-
densed from Sanderson's wide-awake Bay State
Press :
N. A. P. A., Frank Newton Reeve ocr Next President.
The Lesserites dare not attend the Convention, but
BOLT IT. — Small attendance but a grand meeting! — "Me
too" Gleason dishonors himself. — The Lesser faction
completely demoralized ! ! — Lesser half crazy. — The
Reevites carry the day. — The National in good hands
FOR THE next year. — EvERY OFFICER ACTIVE!
A full, complete, and authentic account of our trip to Buffalo, and
of the Convention.
Since June ist we have thought of nothing else but the convention
of the National Amateur Press Association which was to be held at
Buffalo, in July. It had been our one thought and wish to attend
the meeting, and in accordance with this we began to save up our
spare shekels and to accumulate enough collateral to attend it. The
morning of the i6th of July found us counting our cash, and to our
great joy we found that we were able to go. Hurriedly packing our
knapsack, we boarded the train at the little depot in Warren and
were soon proceeding at a rattling rate toward the capital of the
Empire State-
After a ride of five hours, we jumped off the train in Albany.
While waiting here for eight dreary hours, we were suddenly con-
fronted by two hungry indi\'iduals who had the appearance of being
amateurs. One of them stepped up to us and said, " Is this San-
derson ? " and we were soon shaking hands with Reeve and
Kempner. The eight hours at length passed away and found us
slowly rolling out of Albany. At eight, ne.\t morning, the train
steamed into Buffalo. After a short search we found Charlie Steele
of the Boys' Herald, and soon afterward came unexpectedly upon
Parsons, Imrie, and Gleason.
We took no breakfast, but went directly to Congress Hall to see if
any of the boys had arrived. Finding no new names on the hotel
register, we adjourned to Reeve's room, and stretched oi:t on a sofa
to sleep. We were scarcely lost to consciousness when a clatter of
feet was heard in the hall, the door flew open and in came Petham
of Detroit. After a fraternal handshake, we learned that the Pitts-
burgh boys had arrived, and, rushing upstairs, we soon had hold of
the hands of Weissert and Koch. In a few minutes all the boys had
gathered in Reeve's room, and a lively conversation was carried on
for some time.
Telegrams had been coming in all day from the boys, but the
evening brought the most important one. It was directed to '* F. N.
Reeve, Congress Hall, Buffalo," and read as follows: ^'Monroe,
Mich., July IJt/t. Train zorecked. Nobody hurt. Will come
Wednesday eve. Niles a ud kast. ' '
All were suspicious that something was up, for the message was
received on the wrong kind of a blank, and a capita! letter was
missing. Hunting up the boy who brought it, we found that it was
given him by three boys on the comer of Michigan Street, and that
it never came through the office. It was, as we afterward found
out, a dodge of the Lesserites to dishearten us.
Looking over the register that evening, we found that Lesser,
Ritter, and Buckley had arrived.
Tuesday morning found us at Congress Hall at an early hour.
About eight o'clock Niles, Kast, Brown, and Kickert arrived, and we
were introduced in rapid succession.
At eleven o'clock a caucus was held in Reeve's room. A regular
ticket was made up and a plan of business mapped out. A huge
sign adorned the entrance of the room and read as follows : '* Reeve
Headquarters. No Quarter Given." In the middle of it was
a representation of a skull and cross-bones.
The meeting was appointed to convene at two o'clock, but it was
not called until three. None of the Lesser faction appeared, and a
committee consisting of Fischer and Sanderson was sent to request
their attendance. Arriving at their room, we were invited in. Tell-
ing them that the meeting was to be called in five minutes, we were
replied to by young Gleason, who said:
" You appoint-ed the convention at two o'clock. No one appeared
and Lesser called the meeting. No one came and now the thing "s
adjourned siue dir."
We said nothing and turned to go, but what was our dismay to
find the door locked and the key on the outside. The Lesserites
had us completely in their power. The meeting was being held
down-stairs and we could not get there. Our wrath rose a little at
this point, and stepping to one side of the room\\ega\e the servant s
bell a violent pull. No one answered, but. having observed the lay
of the land, we suddenly seized a chair and, placing it by the side of
the door, leaped up over it and squeezed out of the little window at
the top, before they could realize what we were doing. Hurrying
down to the parlor, we found that the convention had just been
called to order.
i882.)
A M A r !■: U U N K \V S I' A I> ]■: i; s .
723
THK CONVENTION.
At 3.05 o'clock. Presidenl Parsons callcU the luccling to order.
Minutes of last mcetinK were read and accepted. A large number
of new recruits were added li» the membership li>t. The following
sTARTlNc; A PAi'ER. — " IVftat sltall 7tK call it?"
were appointed as laureate winners for the year : Ja.s. L. Elderdice,
poet: \Vm. F. Buckley, sketch; Chas. S. Elgtittie, essay.
The treasurer rcponed $15.50 in the treasur>'. After a good deal
of minor busmcss had been transacted, the election of officers
occurred at 4.50. Will C. Brown arose and stated that he had the
pleasure of nominating Frank N. Reeve for the presidency. No
opponent appearing, he was elected by acclamation. In response
to the cries of "speech," he rose and addressed a few well-chosen
words to the association, and sat down amid hearty applause. He
was then escorted to the chair by a committee of two and the election
proceeded as follows ; Louis Kempner nominated F. E. Day for
first V'ice- President, and he was elected unanimously. Sanden^on
nominated J. A. Imrie for second Vice-President, and he was also
elected without opposition. For third Vice-President. Wylie and
Kempner were nommated. The association then proceeded to ballot,
and it resulted as follows :
Kempner \i
Wylic I
Mr. Kempner w.as declared elected. J. J. Weissert and
Warren J. Xiles were elected Recording and Corresponding
Secretaries respectively. Howard K. Sanderson was elected
Treasurer by a majonty of eight votes over his opponent,
Chas. C. Ricken. Finlay \. ('.rant was elected Official Edi-
tor, and Detroit, Mich.. ,is the next place of meeting.
Each of the newly elected officers present responded with
short speeches. Bills against the association were ordered
paid. Adjourned.
The next convention is to assemble this
month in Detroit, Michigan, and bids fair to
be the hirgest and most enthusiastic yet held.
It will probably decide the fate of the " Dom."
There is a small faction who are desirous of
a revolution, like Orgetorix of old, and unless
a rousing meeting is secured, and a strong set
of officers elected, trouble is threatened. But
the better element is well organized and alert,
and fully determined to have fair play and
keep the old N. .-\. P. .■\. afloat.
AMATECK LriERAl'URK.
.4n account of amateur newspapers which
should give no specimens of what the amateur
editors produce would be like a Thanksgiving din-
ner with the ornithology omitted ; but the style of
these papers is so varied, and the papers them-
selves so nuiiiiiuus, that one is at a loss where to
begin. .V bare list of their names would fill several
pages of this magazine. An excellent representa-
tive of its class is the Indcpfitdcnt
'limes, published by Frank Newton
Reeve, of Newark, X. j., who is now
the President of the .Association. His
portrait appears on the next page of
this article. The Times is printed on
fine paper with excellent type by Jas.
B. \\. Storms, who is consideretl to be
the best printer in Amateurdom. The
size of the paper is 8j^ x 12^2 inches.
.■\n idea of its general appearance,
with its effective title-head and
" make-up," may be gained from the
reduced fac-simile which we present.
The Natioual ylmalair, which is the
official organ, will be mentioned fur-
ther on. Next to it in importance
come the organs of the various sub-
societies, such as the New England
A. 1'. A., The South-Eastern, The Western, The
Ohio and Michigan, etc.
Following these conies the long train of miscel-
laneous pajjers, among which may be noted The
Jliirricane. of Charleston, S, C, edited entirely by
a little girl of fourteen years. Her name is Eva
Britton, and she is well known to many at the
North, for she makes annual tours through the
cities, securing subscribers for her bright paper.
She has now about four thousand, and is one of
'OUR EXCHANGES.
a very few amateurs who are supported by their
work. Is she not the only one ?
The Mereiiry, of Towanda, Penn.: The Ynung
724
A M A T E U R X E W S P A F E R S .
(July,
F. N. REEVE, PRESIDENT OF THE NATIONAL
AMATEUR PRESS ASSOCIATION AND PUB-
LISHER OF THE "independent TIMES."
Recruit, of Vineland, N. J. ; The
Bay State Press, of Warren, Mass. ;
Our Standard, New Glasgow, N.
S. ; The Latest, Maiden, Mass. :
Nonpariel, New York City; The
Venture, Detroit (edited by a col-
ored boy) ; The Miscellany, Spen-
cerville, Ont. ; The Topic, Phila-
delphia ; Literary Journal, Phila-
delphia ; The Paragon, New York ;
The Censor, Philadelphia ; The
Commentati^r, Philadelphia ; Puz-
zler''s Pride, Chicago; Amateur
Review, Cincinnati ; New York's
Favorite; The Tablet, Halifax;
Pittsburgh Independent ; Young
Aspirant, Punxsutawny, Pa. ;
Phunny Phelhnv, Nebraska City ;
Monthly Eagle, Rockford, Ind. ;
Florida, Hawkinsville, Fla. ; The
Dauntless, Fostoria, O. ; The
Sphere, Washington, D. C. ; Blush-
ing Bud (by two girls), Evansville,
Ind.; TheVigilant, Pittsburgh, Pa.;
Amateur Exchange, Stanberry,
Mo. ; The Stylate, Frederick, Md. ;
Our Blade, Buffalo, N. Y., and The Union,
Hamilton, Ont., are names taken at random
from a huge pile of Amateur journals of all
shades of politics and all degrees of excellence.
Those who are interested in this subject
will doubtless be able; by obtaining specimen
copies of some of these sheets, to satisfy their
reasonable curiosity.
The National Amateur M the official organ
of the N. A. P. A., and is as good as any ama-
teur paper we have seen. Important informa-
tion heads its editorial columns, as may here be
seen. It is conducted by Finlay A. Grant, of
New Glasgow, N. S. Mr. Grant also pub-
lishes The Boy's Folio, and is the leading spirit
of Young A'ova Scotia, both excellent papers.
He has won his way to the front of Amateur-
dom by a leng service of earnest and devoted
labor. It was largely due to his exertions that
Canadian boys were admitted to the Association,
and. in spite of the drawback of his distant home.
|ndc))cn(li>nt Wm^.
VOL. k. NO. 5, NEWARK
H,
J.. JULY, 1031. WHOLE NO. «.
'^^.
* Tin a vjmenhut noiijr quid.
"^
Vr
•Titauuiieinfcnialnoi;"
Ther.lI.eb.lllhadiT.j'eita.
Sinish" I ru.it. and up .he»iaim« omc my hnicu >tul. ud Ire-Diot.
'1 A FEW IMITATIONS.
Nt
■Ttll me.mjJiB., what are llieM
dfi
f-
•=r-
Shouting, «r ihe liiet cenn>ciii>E nuerio In men unbom t "
■■'-*-=^*-«-<^^-^
f
"Sir!" »heened.i«iBdlcnali«..
- Wlial a tlruns inusiMlion 1
-^
BY JOSEPH DANA MILLER, j-^
Here U Byrom io liis genilcr momenti :—
w -
1 liave M limn cniiiloytJ my IcUiira oiomitiii. when n
Boide llx iryiiiec pb« ; Ihe bendi.'e ■ronli.
gaged ill vrriiing oriciial jiotlrj-. by niAins miny curion* imii
lmn^
The wwhiBi! «l. alt «J"J. of hiio-aa h.iict
Thire t«ejlhei a .l-iitminB v-icKt iHaromul:
bbon IQ a iliKriminaling amitcut |>ublic.
ThctcMlebinlpeentonti .iih noi^tl™ btaki
Tbeieii DOMuDd.u.^-<l«i I'-c wondi C'l noiiJ,
n.o«r
And I'tMly >■•> il'c «"t> llui t.n>iti Ijir Zura'i check.
,>ho are 3c<iuivinlc<t with iI'M umcuhMover csli mated poem.
wxU.
Slill 2ura viiii; and he for vhani ihi «al»
1 ilimk.recoEnUe Ihc eluaenew ol the rescoiblaocc;—
Cnmei not : 'h, he ihe inl>«i hidsai home.
Traiiorindeeaand l«.i; .he taifcoo marni.
S»IDCM(nnroinllMBlB."-ilJ>llile
MrtifUX.aKd J-niKlJ wnj. .Jill -lis
What «>l<h >. her-. 1. ..!)< 1 .h< -ill ci»
lbs dvlDB hnMhhn <n id^ hcul.
1lhtU<aUii,altarunJe-i-r.:
A Iwl LoOeed wh« woulJ lel.iu la li>«
SonrmnahcrUcnnidlai'rKta.
Viihin hei uB<tc. lo feed -iih l>v. her boiotn'i Bnl
HcrKir/ot-liLhemleh. ^Jve b««.
Here i* Walt Whitman ;—
Ilei tuit ii Cfownol -"h ..ido-'i nnm
Oh ihinl<iincl>e'r'o' ihc woodi. niixnr oiy nJdIi.
AnJ 'V^y from •rci.i.u; »;t1..w« ion
Ye vh" have tiMiE t<K>' r^eoiu IhrouKh hui<dre<J> ur;i;;«el >[1en».
And buKlii, uiil (hen aaon the fleuls
Ovenrhcln. mt nM -ill. ynr lilei.™- .■ i. crand. i< o awlul. B-ijoiic
Iiupeicif.rdmiih. " ii om.« m iBiure. ii ..a ulcni pocnisl God.
S^yinc, "Oh,««IJ;inywi11 iiveilt;'
Or what --etall OoJ— iirare irml.«nd ..i.wFk in u..i cr«0. aad Jocinnev
Hire nltfCl tn mi inunKt Bw :
Tell me. oh eye ol the woodt. whii inuu Ilui Ken in Ihe chaw ol«oie hundt ti
Myini>iaan>lanc; hate ilmieihjF l.totn.
Cruel wu,IJ." iheD Uu.he. flume hei il.eek.
nbeknen and darlmen - and riJdln ol life miJ death lanvcnud cnr laaeicd)
OfMnomci'iiiiore: ihe cloiiJio'erhoJ
In rain 1 may .|»e«i™ ll.ee. Un.in.*ere.i, I pitk myKll upaoJdcpan,
IteBjli«Jen«l<.[«lol1.eiroi«
nUcd vilh the m)->«cil ulencc ul the {rai. Erand, and (lorioui wuada. .
The irrinE one ; 1 lii>oi» l1i» Chrii/
ViU iuJ4ehererin...i™l.l.ei.JaJj
Toconcliiac. how willihi* aniwer fotTou Moobe J
Swea J'l-ny ! a ■■■er thai £"■« h» Ihe iiiean,
The Yiettiinn imlutixnor Eucak A. Poe. It ii perhaps,
loo IriDiiie- -"""J ' "'^ panloii tor iiurtHlucing it in this eoonect
on:-
M'alVa rorili ID llie nai.ime: Iht •yn'ic3/>) slniB,
LiLc a «>dc-i-aVe lo.ei. Ixlt lo'lh ur»>> her..
niTimilir my w.i' wu fwitUnc^
Ol a hundnd t»Ul lu.lan Ibai ww kcr u nia;
Dh n ihete a uar in the blue laull ■)»•*.
vnv Hull wive ihi> shuHy mfyiir/.tWich we Euruli l.c:i lent, ae^ih.
io ►w.le-, » nlJ. a. my beai.i.lul Ja».l
ttT.er rte« CJme > wi.l.kn ln«>....c.
If Jenny ha4 hxlioi, and arraiii. and bn>;
S<Ie«» .i.II,*^»»c.h>t .h«l.n£:
Nat Ddii'i la.r K>( c«.W be <"ldT' .1^1* heri
SwlI,>"li.Jonr.i,ll... r«l.,.B
AUae. .ianlindetf, L» ecOaraodlir.
Dat llie D(«c EtH ToiHkr, »ellir|-
Ah. Jeesy.IhjyCilhi Ihcy anral^nl.lMI *CmA
Ob Ihc air ; ihinshoji Ike Jire^-me.
Smbc ii) Ih:f ■:.! toare Ikee, and udly .pbrbi
A> r«ii«rriit!l'i»ai«U^ne
Mt a'..l»> 1- we'ihee, 3= .:e» .halt ihtu find.
ThcDuid 1.
II .ha .. «:.«! ihii I a.kri (JF hcte \Vu ni=Tt!r=.
Iticy ..11 Itv. t 'hTT II l.-j;ju> B.LJ J:e a ttj oii (
A M A T i; L' R N K W S 1' A P I'. K S .
725
FINLAY A. GRANT, EDITOR OF **THE NATIONAL AMATKLU,
THE OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE N. A. F. A.
he has been elected to the highest office but one.
He is an entire stranger to us personally, but we
have read with admiration his editorials on various
topics, and they breathe a manly and true spirit.
\Vc present on page 726 an engraving of the
editors of the Petit Anse Amateur sa they appeared
when at work. Their paper has had the reputation
of being the smallest in the world, and a fac-simile
of the first page of it is also given. But there are
now many papers much smaller. The Midget,
for instance, is an exact reprint of one of them,
"life-size." The Amateur, of Warsaw, Ind., is
only 3^ X I inch, and Tlie Oak, which was, at one
time, printed in Boston on a hand-press, was still
more minute. Its four pages were as follows :
THI',
0 .\ K
No. I.
SMAI.I.-
VKT ! ' '
Ed l,y
Li:s-
TER'
This
BRATS
'km all
SPECIMENS OF AMATEUR STYLE.
The articles contributed to amateur journals
may readily be divided into five classes : Editorials,
Stories, Essays, Poetry, and Criticisms. As a
sample of the first, see the following from the
Independent Times, by President Reeve :
"THE OUTLOOK.
" Not for ycirs have the future pnispecLs for .Amateur Journalism
seemed so promising. New papers are coming into existence daily,
OFFICIAL ORGAN N. A. P. A.
I I .i..\v A. Grant, Editor^ New Glasgow, Nova Scotia.
Officers of the Association.
president: '
Frank Newton Reeve Newark, N. J.
vice-presidents:
Frank E. Dav, Cedar Rapids, la.
John A. Imkie, Spencer\ille, Ontario.
Louis Kempneb, New York, N. Y.
SECRETARIES :
Corresponding, — Chas. C. Rickert, Canal Dover, O.
Recording,— JNO. J. Wkissert, Pittsburgh, Pa.
TREASURER ;
H<:iwARD K. Sanderson, Warren, Mass.
OFFICIAL EDITOR :
FiNLAV A. Grant, New Glasgow, NoVa Scoiia.
The National Amatei'R is sent free to members. To
others it is 15 cents per year.
The National Amateur Press Association is composed of
the amateur editors, authors, publishers and pnntcrs of
North America, who meet yearly, during the month of July,
for the puqiosc of acquaintance and transacting such busi-
ness as may be proposed. The next Convention will be
held in Detroit, Mich., subject to the call of the President.
Extracts from Constitution.
Article XVI. — Section i. — Any person who is actively
interested in Amateurdom, is the publisher of an amateur
paper, or a contributor to the .Amateur Press, or the printer
of amateur publications, and resides in the United Stales
of .America or Canada, may become a member of the Asso-
ciation by conforming with the requirements set forth in
this Constitution and these By-Laws, and no person shall
be entitled to the privileges of membership until he has.
Persons who are Puzzlers only are not construed by this
section to be contributors to the .Amateur Press.
T^^l^\i\y person desiring to join the National .Amateur
Press Association and who conforms with the above con-
ditions must make application to C. C. Rickert, Canal
Dover, O., Chairman Credential Committee, stating in
what inaiiner he or she is connected with amateur journal-
ism, and who will notify such applicant of his or her
acceptance or rejection. If accepted, send two dollars
($2.00), for initiation fee and one year's dues, to J. J.
\Veissert, i Wylie Ave., Pittsburgh, Pa., when such person
will be entitled to all the privileges of membership for
(ine ye.ir.
and especially in the vicinity of New York City arc aftairs assum-
ing a healthy activity. Every spring and summer new papers ap-
pear, their editors invariably being inspired by the campaign for
National officers, but a distressing number of suspensions take
place .IS soon as the campaign is past. But this year [1881] the
campaign was entirely too tame and one-sided to prompt the publi-
cation nf the usual number of campaign sheets. We are, therefore,
led to believe that the present spurt in amateur affairs is a genuine
and healthy one. We have on our exchange list eighty-two papers
that have started since last year, and we know of many more soon
to appear.
" VVith those strong influences for good to our cause will be coupled
as much encouragement from the officers of the N. A. P. A. as it
is possible for active leaders to give. T/ie National A mateur \<\\\
appear regularly, and the entire board of officers will e.\ert their
best efforts to elevate anil increase -Arnateurdom in character and
strength. .All they ask is to receive the hearty coilperation of every
amateur. If they err, criticise them as they deser\'e, but don't allow
political bickering to cause you to say disheartening things or act in
a manner calculated to retard thcni in their efforts to benefit the
' Doni." "
Most of the papers have good editorials; but,
alas, after a search of several hours through our
whole bundle of Amateur journals, we can not find
726
A M A T i-; U R N E \V S P A P E K S .
[Jw.v,
a single story which can properly be reproduced
here. Many of them are poor imitations of the
dime novel, others, less trashy, are marred b)- slang
words, gross allusions, or the irreverent use of
sacred names.
THE EDITORS OF THE ' PETITK
ANSE .\MATEUR " .\T WORK.
\\ e are sorry to
be obliged to write
us, but it lb true,
nd It will do the
Uom nohaimto
consider it thought-
fully. While all
that we have thus
far said has been
only in praise of the
work of our young
friends, we should
be neglecting a plain duty did we fail to warn them
that the three greatest enemies of their cause are
vulgarity, irreverence, and abusive personalities.
The first two of these three are found chiefly in
the story columns. The last, which sometimes
includes the others, appears mainly in "Notices
of our Exchanges," but often steals into what, if
anything, should be kept pure and courteous and
Christian — the Editorial page.
If Amateur Journalism has been looked upon
with disfavor by the professional press, a potent
cause may be found in the bitter sneers, coarse
jests, rude taunts, and open accusations which
used to form a constant feature of the average
boy's paper ; and if, as we believe, this disfavor
is passing by, the reason for it will be found in the
noble, persistent, and successful efforts for a higher
standard by the clean-minded and whole-souled ed-
itors, like Grant of the National A inaicur, Mercur
of the Mercury, and Morris of the Young Recruit.
Although many excellent essays are before us,
they are too long to be available here, and we
therefore give a few specimens of the manner in
which the boys criticise each other. Some of them
may serve as warnings rather than as models !
" Latest advices state that the Fool Killer is roaming through
Michigan, and that he will shortly fetch up in Detroit. A hint to
the wise is sufficient, Mr. ." — .'^lanijcst.
" This youtliful Socrates should know tliat fools are
rarely, if ever, wise." — Dclioit I'cntuir.
"We hereby give notice that we h.tve noticed in these col-
umns for the last time. If our contemporaries are desirous of keep-
ing their papers clean and doing us a favor they will pay no further
.atention to that parasite." — Imiepetident Times.
" Bay State Press, Lynn Amateur, and Golden Moments lug off
the bun for neatness." — Puzzler's Pride.
"We can digest an issue of the Mercury- of Towanda, Penn.,
with as great a zest as, perhaps, any other paper of its size we
receive. It is decidedly interesting at times, and remarkably fresh."
"The Nonpai-iel is detndedly a progressive sheet of much merit,
.ind ably conducted. Its regular issue will be of much importance
t'l the cause, now that Rempner is a National officer."
' • Idle Hours is quite an improvement on the .-I matcur Reforjiier,
ind its interesting contents and good management will do much
^'ood for the cause in Indiana. Such papers we delight to notice."
"The Danbury Hornet is the liveliest little sheet in the *dom.'
\dmirably and vigorously edited, neatly and regularly issued, it
icserves much credit, and will certainly gain it if it continues its
present creditable issue."
4S PETITE ASSF, A5IATF.UR, JUNE. 1679.
THE PETITE ANSE
AM/lTEUR
Is published, ewned, and
printed by Bthool-boys,
and the articles 'which
appear are the efTorls of
children whose affoa range
from 7 to 13. The object
of the paper is iirinclpal-
ly (»r self-Improvement,
as lypogTOphy is ""^v a
branch of stndy In the
Pclits Jinse Grammar
School. It is issued ev-
ery month, and a yearly
sub«riptlon price of 5i)
cents is charged- Tearly
advertleeiDentg are in-
serted at the rate of §1 50
per square ; 36 50 per col-
umn, and 812 per page.
D. D. AVERT. JR.,
J. A. MclLHENNT,
Editors and Proprietors,
to whom all communica-
tions should be addressed
at Kew IBEKIA, La.
PETITE ANSE ISLAND,
JUNE. 1870.
WHAT WE I>0.
Our ftlends will bcde-
lifhted to hear of our
cootlnned success,
The
circulation is rapidly ex->
tending over the couatryt
while adrortisers arc
crowding our pages. Our
evenings Eire occupied in
■canning exchanges and
la answering the daily
increasing correspond-
oace. Every mement of
the daytime is In demand ;
and if type-Betting, com-
poBitiou, and other mat-
ters connected with; the
Amatedb do not call on
u8, then kite-flyiog, fish-
ing, ewimming, or bass-
bsU is the order.
EDlTORLiL MENTION.
The papabctte return
from thiir BOHthem flight
to feed on our prairies,
oo which they will fatten
and afford good aport for
gentlemen of thagunend
qnjoyment for those who
love good eating.
I AL-MMILE OF FIRST PAGE OF THE "PETITE ANSE AMATEUR.
COST OF RUNNING A PAPER.
Doubtless some of our young friends, if any hav^e
followed us so far, are asking themselves : '' Could
I start a paper ? " '* How should I begin ? "
*' What would it cost? " *' Would it pay ? "
To these questions we answer briefly by quoting
from a letter recently received from the officiaJ
editor of the ** Dom " :
" In reference to running an amateur paper, I will first of all state
that it seldom if ever pays. The only way to save it from being a
cnntinual expense is to have a printing outfit of your own and pnnt
your paper yourself. By doing this you will be able to make both
ends meet. However, an amateur paper could be made to pay, and
A M A T t: L I'l N K W S P A l» K R S .
has been before now, by a proper course of advertising and by de-
voting time to working ii up. But not one paper in fifty pays any-
thing over running expenses. Those now publishing papers do it
solely as a means to bcnctit themselves, to give them a bright mental
and moral training, or as an amusement. The cost of issuing an
amateur paper ranges from two lo ten dollars per issue. The )'oung^
Nm'a Scotia costs us ten dollars. A paper half the size can be
issued in the U. S. for four or five dollars. A paper two columns to
a page, four pages, can be issued at a cost of two or three dollars.
THE MIJGET.
PERSONAL.
Masher's Column.
Will UajcTiigg has given up
the idea of going to Indianapo-
lis to hvc. Bring a wash pan
for oUr tears.
_ Gus Muhlhausen has fcecn
sIcIl. Cause, diintdng loomuch
icr-water.
The AupTist irambei of tho
Ati*tsi& eightpagcs.
IVE IVAWT JUSTICE.
7n S^ribner't Monthly Iqt the
month of August the P^tHe
Ante Amateur c\^\xa^ to bp tho
smallest paper in the world.
"We find by-raeasureinent. tbat
the Midget is about hflU' Uie
size of the Amateur^
THE MIDGET.
Vol. XEvinsville. lalAugaat. [Ko.l
INTRODUCTION
Tn introducing'this.little'papet
Itt tho "boys and girls of Evans-
■vill^, -we will first of all, beg of
them and tho Amateur l*rc<;s^
not to criticise tistoo scverety ac
first, as this js our first attempt
at the business.
As our reader can plftinly see.
our paper Js smalt, and we "wiU
not nave room, lo "waste Tn apol-
ogising, so we -will make it short
by asking you lo excuse all tho
errors that we may make in
"getting out" this sheet, which
wnliupe wilL-please all.— Kds.
IHF. MIDT.F.T — I.IKF.-SI/.I
"The directions for starting an amateur paper are ver>' simple. All
that is necessary is to decide upon starting one, then upon what
size. The editor can then use his judgment as to what to publish :
but whatever he publishes should be original, as that is the prime
motive for starting .1 paper : to exercise the literarj- ability of the editor.
It would be well for a beginner to make the acquaintance of some
one who has had experience as an amateur in order to get the names
and addresses of exchanges, for the exchanges arc the life of an
amateur paper that is devoted to the cause, ff the would-be editor
wishes to print his paper himself, let him consult the advertising
columns of some boy paper and he will find out where lo purchase
presses and material. There arc many who keep all the requisites
of an amateur printing office for sale, and who do nothing else but
manufacture and sell them. How many boys spend more than ten
dollars a month upon those things which do them not half the good
which would come from publishing an amateur paper! "
THE LABOR.
Some notion of the toil required to manage suc-
cessfully even a small paper may be obtained from
the experience of the editor of the E^^ypiian Star.
He says :
"This paper contains about sixty thousand pieces of type metal,
which have not onty to be set up, but handled the second time when
distributed. Our press being sm.all, only one page of the Star is
printed at a time, ihercforc one month's issue of our average size
requires upwards of eight thousand impressions. Besides this the
Mb. for each month's issue has to be carefully prepared, in itself no
small labor; the MS. of this number alone covenngoveronc hundred
and fifty sheets of common note-paper.
"Then with our three hundred exchanges every month, and as many
or more letters during the same time, we have a vast amount of
reading to do. One thousand two hundred papers wc fold, wrap, and
address, monthly. AU the manual labor on the paper for the last
six months has been executed by the editor alone, and he has also
written more than two-third-, of the reading matter which has filled
its columns. iJuring all ff this time wc have attended school
regularly."
There can be little doubt that boys who are
willing of their own accord to subject themselves to
such discipline as that have a power
of will, a spirit of perseverance, and
a praiseworthy ambition which will
surely lift them, by and by, into
positions of greater honor and wider
usefulness. It is claimed that about
one-half of those who begin by edit-
ing such papers continue their con-
nection with the Press after they have
passed the age of boyhood. Many
successful editors and newspaper cor-
respondents attribute their present for-
tune to the training they gave them-
selves as amateurs. The boys are
fond of quoting a saying of Speaker
Randall to the effect that amateur
journalism is the "noblest work in-
dulged in by our American youth."
Whether this be strictly true or not,
we reckon among the strongest reasons which cause
us to regret that we have passed the boundaries
AN EDITOR DEMOLISHING A RIVAL.
of youth, the impossibility of editing an amateur
paper, of joining the N. A. P. A., of decorating
our breast with the silver shield and pen, of going
to the convention at Detroit, and doing our very
best by voice and ballot to elect to the presiden-
tial chair for next year Mr. . But, alas ! the
ivory gates of boyhood have closed behind us, and
we have no right to nominate. We can only ex-
press our hope to see an honest fight, and a true
devotion to the cause. Mav the best man win !
728
DONALD AND "DOROTHY.
[July,
JULY.
By Susan Hartley Swett.
When the scarlet cardinal tells
Her dream to the dragon-fly,
And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees
And murmurs a lullaby,
• It is July.
When the tangled cobweb pulls
The corn-flower's blue cap awry,
And the lilies tall lean over the wall
To bow to the butterfly.
It is July.
When the heat like a mist-veil floats.
And poppies flame in the rye.
And the silver note in the streamlet's throat
Has softened almost to a sigh,
It is July.
When the hours are so still that Time
Forgets them, and lets them lie
'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink
At the sunset in the sky,
It is July.
When each finger-post by the way
Says that Slumbcrtown is nigh ;
When the grass is tall, and the roses fall,
And nobody wonders why.
It is July.
DONALD AND DOROTHY.*
By Mary Mapes Dodge.
Chapter XXll.
A FROLIC ON THE WATER.
Donald had won the gratitude of many Nestle-
town fathers and mothers, and had raised himself
not a little in the estimation of the younger folk by
his encounter with the rabid dog. That it was a
case of hydrophobia was settled from the testimony
of some wagoners, who had seen the poor animal
running across the road, but who, being fearful of
having their horses bitten, had not attempted to stop
him. Though all felt sorry for " General," every-
body rejoiced that he had been put out of his
misery, and that he had not bitten any one in his
mad run through the fields.
As the summer advanced, and base-ball and
running-matches proved to be too warm work for
the season, the young folk naturally took to
the water. Swimming and boating became the
order of the day and the night, too; for, indeed,
boats shot hither and thither through many a boy's
sleep, confounding him with startling surprises and
dream-land defeats and victories. But the lake
sports of their waking hours were more under con-
trol. Donald and Ed Tyler, as usual, were among
the most active in various contests with the oars ;
and as Donald believed that no event was absolutelv
complete if Dorry were not among either the actors
or the spectators, boat-racing soon grew to be as
interesting to the girls as to the boys.
The races usually were mild affairs — often im-
promptu, or sometimes planned in the morning and
carried into effect the same afternoon. Now and
then, something more ambitious was attempted :
boys in rowing-suits practiced intently for days
beforehand, while girls, looking on, formed their
own not very secret opinions as to which rowers
were most worthy of their support. Some went
so far as to wear a tiny bit of ribbon by way of
asserting allegiance to this or that crew sporting
the same color in cap, uniform, or flag. This,
strange to say, did not act in the least as "a
damper" on the pastime; even the fact that girls
became popular as coxswains did not take the life
out of it — all of which, as Dorry said, served to
show the great hardihood and endurance of the
boy-character.
After awhile, Barry Outcalt, Benjamin Buster,
and three others concocted a plot. The five
held meetings in secret to complete their arrange-
ments, and these meetings were enlivened with
much smothered laughter. It was to be a "glori-
ous joke." A boat-race, of course; and there must
be a great show of previous practice, tremendous
rivalry, and pressing competition, so that a strong
' Copyright, 1881, by M.-iry Mapes Dodge. All rights resened.
]JONAI.l) AMI DOKOTIIV.
729
feeling of partisanship would be aroused ; while, in
truth, the race itself was to be a sham. The boats
were to reach the goal at the same moment, no-
body was to win, yet every one was to claim the
victory ; the air was to be rent with cries of
"foul!" and spurious shouts of triumph, accom-
panied by vehement demands for a "fresh try."
Then a second start was to be made — One, two,
three, and off! All was to go well at first, and
when the interest of the spectators was at its height,
every eye strained and everj- heart almost at a
stand-still with excitement, two of the boats were to
"foul," and the oarsman of one, in the most
tragic and thrilling manner, was to fall over into
the astonished lake. Then, amid the screams of
the girls and scenes of wild commotion, he was to
be rescued, put into his empty boat again, limp and
dripping — and then, to everybody's amazement,
disregarding his soaked garments and half-drowned
state, he was suddenly to take to the oars in gal-
lant style, and come in first at the close, rowing
magnificently.
So ran the plot — a fine one truly. The five con-
spirators were delighted, and each fellow solcninh-
promised to stand by the rest, and not to breathe a
word about it until the " sell " should be accom-
plished. So far, so good. Could the joke be
carried out successfully ? As the lake was public
property, it was not easy for the two "fouling"
boys to find opportunities for practicing their parts.
To make two boats collide at a given instant, so as
to upset one and spill its occupant in a purely
"accidental " way, required considerable dexterity.
Ben Buster had a happy thought. Finding him-
self too clumsy to be the chief actor, he proposed
that they should strengthen their force by asking
Donald Reed to join the conspiracy. He urged
that Don, being the best swimmer among the
boys, was therefore best fitted to manage the fall
into the water. Outcalt, on his part, further sug-
gested that Ed Tyler was too shre«d to be a safe
outsider. He might suspect, and spoil every-
thing. Better make sure of this son of a lawyer
by taking him into the plan, and appointing him
sole judge and referee.
Considerable debate followed — the pros urging
that Don and ]£d were just the fellows wanted,
and the cons insisting that neither of the two
would be willing to take part. Ben, as usual, was
the leading orator. He was honestly proud of
Don's friendship, and as honestly scornful of any
intimation that Don's better clothes and more ele-
gant manners enhanced or hindered his claims to
the high Buster esteem. Don was a good fellow
— the right sort of a chap — and that was all
there was about it. All they had to do was to let
him, Ben, fetch Don and Kd around that verv
day, and he 'd guarantee they 'd be found true
blue, and no discounting.
This telling eloquence prevailed. It was voted
that the two new men should be invited to join.
And join they did.
Donald entered heartily into the plot, impelled
both by his native love of fun and by a l)rotherly
willingness to play an innocent joke upon Dorry,
who, with Josie Manning, he knew would surely
be among the most interested of all the victimized
spectators.
A number of neat circulars, announcing the race
and tlie names of the six contestants, with their
respective colors, were written by the boys, and,
after being duly signed by Ed Tyler, as referee,
were industriously distributed among the girls and
boys.
On the appointed afternoon, therefore, a merry
crowd met at a deserted old house on the lake-
shore. It had a balcony overlooking the place
where the race was to begin and end.
This old l)uilding was the rendezvous of young
Xestlctown during boating hours ; indeed, it was
commonly called " the boat-house." Having been
put up long years before the date of our story, it
had fallen into a rather dilapidated condition when
the -Nestletown young folk appropriated it ; but it
had not suffered at their hands. On the contrary,
it had been carefully cleared of its rubbish ; and
with its old floors swept clean, its broken windows
flung open to air and sunlight, and its walls deco-
rated with bright-colored sun-bonnets and boating
flags, it presented quite a festive appearance when
the company assembled in it on the day of the race.
Fortunately, its ample piazza was strong, in spite
of old age and the fact that its weather-stained
and paintless railing had for years been nicked,
car\'ed, and autographed by the village youngsters.
It was blooming enough, on this sunny Saturday,
with its freight of expectant girls and boys, many
of the first-named wearing the colors of their
favorites among the contestants.
The doughty six were in high spirits — every
man of them having a colored 'kerchief tied about
his head, and sporting bare, sinewy arms cal-
culated to awe the beholder. Don was really
superb. So were Ben Buster and young Outcalt.
Many a girl was deeply impressed by their air
of gravity and anxiety, not suspecting that it was
assumed for tlie occasion, while the younger boys
looked on in longing admiration. Ed, as starter,
umpire, judge, referee, and general superintendent,
rowed out with dignity, and anchored his boat a
little way from shore. The six, each in his shining
boat, rowed into line, taking their positions for the
start. The stake-boat was moored about a third
of a mile up the lake, and the course of the race
730
DONALD AND DOR()TH\'
[JlLV,
was to be from the starting-line to the stake-boat,
around it, and back.
The balcony fluttered and murmured as Ed
Tyler shouted to the six rowers, waiting with up-
lifted oars;
" Are you ready? — One, Two, Three — GO ! "
On the instant, every oar struck the water, the
six boats crossed the line together, and the race
began.
No flutter in the balcony now ; the spectators
were too intent.
Not for a moment could they imagine that it was
not a genuine race. Every man bent to his work
with a will : soon Ben Buster, with long, sweeping
strokes, went laboriously ahead, and now Outcalt
and another passed him superbly, side by side ;
then Don's steady, measured stroke distanced the
three, and as he turned the stake-boat his victory
was evident, not only to Dorothy but to half the
spectators. Not yet — a light-haired, freckled fel-
low in a blue 'kerchief, terribly in earnest, spun
around the stake-boat and soon left Don behind ;
then came the quick, sharp stroke of Ben Buster
nerved for victory, closely followed by Steuby Butler,
who astonished everybody ; and then, every man
rowing as if by superhuman exertion, inspired by
encouraging cries from the balcony, they crowded
closer and closer.
" Ben 's ahead ! " cried the balcony.
"No, it 's Don Reed ! "
" Good ! it 's Outcalt! "
" No, 1 tell you it 's Butler ! " — And then, before
any one could see how it was done, the boats, all
six of them, were at the line, oars were flourished
frantically, the judge and referee was shouting
himself hoarse, and the outcry and tumult on the
water silenced the spectators on the land. Cries of:
"No fair!" "No fair!" "It wont do!" "Have
it again ! " " Hold up ! " "1 wont stand such
work ! " culminated in riotous disorder. Seven
voices protesting, shouting, and roaring together
made the very waters quiver.
But Tyler was equal to the occasion. Standing
in his boat, in the identical position shown in the
picture of " Washii.gton Crossing the Delaware,"
he managed to quiet the tumult, and ordered that
the race should be rowed over again.
Once more the boats were in line. Again the
umpire shouted: "Are you ready?" and again
the crowd fluttered and murmured with expecta-
tion as every boat dashed forward.
But what was this ? Dorry and Josie, with flushed
cheeks and sparkling eyes, moving rapidly as they
could among the crowding spectators, and whisper-
ing urgent words that evidently produced a strong
sensation.
.Still the boats pressed on, every rower apparently
outdoing himself, if not outdoing everything else.
If cheers and shouts had inspired them before, the
intense silence now was even more inspiring.
Could anything have succeeded better? With
every show of exertion, the rascals managed to
slacken or quicken as the case required, until,
when nearly home, they were all close together.
It was glorious! They never had known such
fun in their lives. Now for the grand business !
Donald and Outcalt came together with a crash
— a perfect "foul"! One masterly effort — over
went Don's boat and over went Don, headlong into
the water !
The boys in the other boats did beautifully,
crowding about and, in spite of Don's wild struggles,
catching him with oars and arms, never hearing
the screams of the girls in the suppressed mirth and
wild activity of the moment, but getting Don into
his boat again, limp and dripping : and finally,
with real dramatic zeal, carrying out their entire
plan — too busy and delighted with success to note
its ett'ect upon the crowd of spectators. Every-
thing worked to perfection. Don, scorning his
half-drowned state, had sprung suddenly to his
oars, and in dead earnest had won the race,
against every dead-earnest competitor, and
What tio you think?
When those six oarsmen, including the victor,
looked up to receive the acclamations of the crowd,
white with the waving of pocket-handkerchiefs,
they heard only — silence; saw nothing but an
empty piazza. Not a spectator was to be seen —
not even a face at a window — not a single eye
peering through a crack. Worse than all, their
judge and referee was in the bottom of his boat,
kicking with merriment. He had strength only to
point to the boat-house and gasp, between his bursts
of laughter :
" Not a soul there ! — they found us out ! — went
off before Don's ducking!"
The boat-house was, in truth, deserted. After
the mysterious movements and whisperings of
Dorry and Josie, every boy and girl had sped away
on tiptoe ; and down in a hollow grove near the
road, where the)- could not even see the water, they
were chatting and giggling and having the very best
kind of a time — all because they had turned the
tables on the gallant seven.
It was now well understood by these spectators
who had deserted their post that a second mock
race had been carried on without a single eye-
witness, and the thought was rapture. How much
more they would have enjoyed it had they known
of the difficult "■ foul," of Donald's headlong plunge,
and of the subsequent frantic but honest contest of
rowing !
So much for carrying out one mock race and
1 832.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY
/ O'
starting another in the presence of somebody
named Dorothy, who first had suspected and then
had been morally sure that those boys were play-
ing a trick ! When four of them crossed the line
at once, her suspicions were aroused. '" 1 do be-
lieve they 're fooling ! " she had said to herself,
and then, remembering certain recent mysterious
conferences that Don and some others of the
"seven" had been holding, coupled with a sly
look or two that she had seen exchanged by the
contestants, she had jumped at the correct con-
clusion. As she afterward expressed it to Ed
Tyler, she had seen through it all in a flash.
Misery loves company. Those seven boys, from
unbend, and that was when little Fandy ventured
to observe that he ought to have heard what one
of the girls had said about him in the race. This
remark rankled even that stony bosom. The more
Ben Buster tried not to care, the more it tortured
him. To make matters worse, he had betrayed
himself too soon to the sagacious Fandy. In vain
the big brother cajoled the little one, in vain, at
cautious intervals, he tried the effect of indirect
bribes and hidden threats. The more he desired
to know what that girl had said, the more Fandy
would n't tell him. At hist he triumphed. In a
yielding moment, when Ben had been touchingly
kind, the grateful youngster let it out.
LrM is CARRIED INTO EFl-1-.t.l
that day, had a peculiar tL-ndcrness for one another.
They were linked by a hidden bond — and while
they laughed heartily at their own expense, and
tacitly confessed themselves beaten, they compelled
all outsiders to be satisfied with guessing and with
hints of the catastrophe that somehow came to
light. Not one of them ever disclosed all the
facts of the case — the secret sessions, the fre-
quent upset-practicings on cloudy evenings, the
difficulty of the final performance, and the full sum
of their defeat.
Ben, usually a kind brother, was sternness itself
so far as the great race was concerned. Not one
of the juvenile Danbys dared to allude to it in his
august presence. Only on one occasion did he
V(U.. IX.— 47.
Ah, that wily Ben ! Not for the world would he
have had that sm.Ul child know how those words
thrilled him.
"Dorothy Reed said it! It sounds like her,"
was Ben's ecstatic thought, but to poor Fandy's
surprise and disappointment, he only muttered
aloud : " There, there, that 's a good little boy.
Go and play ! "
Many a time after that, in the sanctity of the
lonely fields, did Ben, rather sheepishly, repeat to
himself the bewitching jihrase :
" How splendid your brother Ben can row ! "
Judge, then, of his feelings, when one Sunday
in September, Master Fandy whispered to him,
rather loudly, while coming out of church, "There
11^
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[JULV,
she is " (pointing to a little tot of seven summers)
— " that 's the girl who said it! "
Ben stared at her, speechless with disgust.
"I might have known," he thought, "that the
little goose would call a baby like that a girl ! "
So much for Ben's private feelings. Concerning
the race, the six — among themselves — enjoyed
exceedingly the unexpected recoil of their little
joke. 1 say six, for in this matter Ed Tyler was
unanimously suspected by the others of being on
the fence. They never could tell whether he was
laughing at them or with them. Donald was sure
that it was the very best thing he ever heard of
in his life. Outcalt protested he would n't have
missed it for the world; and Ben Buster, laughing
It 's a blamed shame the way a fellov
sometimes ! "
Chapter XXIIl.
gets caught
i|!. 'il,,J., ,ij|ii|i|ilhii^iiH||i.i.i|ii]ll ,i|WJ
WBwm
DEN S CIDER EXPERIENCE.
rather ruefully, declared that he never knew the
"beat of it" but once, and that was one day when
he had slipped into Jones's cider-yard and taken a
good, long drink, through a straw, from a barrel
marked "sweet cider," as he thought. "I tell
you, fellows," was Ben's concluding remark, "if
I was n't sold that time, I '11 give in. I was so
warm and thirsty that I took a good, long pull be-
fore I found out that it was n't cider at all, but
vinegar, sour enough to take a man's head off.
YANKEE AND DOODLE.
Donald and Dorothy exchanged but four words
on the subject of the sham race after it was over,
but these were very expressive :
Donald. " Well, madam ! "
Dorothy. " Well, sir ! "
Their sparkling looks, Donald's tone of accu-
sation and injured innocence, Dorothy's playful,
rather defiant, air of triumph, said the rest. Uncle
George, who was present at the interview, having
previously heard both sides of the story from
the D's separately, was much amused. In
fact, he laughed aloud in quite an undigni-
fied manner, and so did they.
The next day brought ntws of Dr. Lane,
their old tutor, who had been living for sev-
eral months in South Carolina. He was
better — indeed, quite well again, and hav-
ing lately accepted the position of principal
of the boys' academy at F , about ten
miles from Nestleto«'n, he proposed taking
up his abode there immediately.
"Oh, Don," said Dorry, as she folded
the letter ; "I 've an idea ! "
" I can not believe it," exclaimed Don,
in well-feigned surprise.
" Yes, but I have," she insisted. "Dr.
Lane will be at F by Friday. Let us
ride over on Dood and Yankee and give
him a welcome ! "
" Agreed ! "
Friday came, full of sunshine, and in a
fresh, breezy way, as if to say, " Now for
the ride ! " — at least, so it seemed to Dorry.
L\dia, who was shaking rugs o\er the
wide piazza railing, was pleased to salute
Sailor Jack as he led the ponies, saddled
and ready, to the door. Fine ponies they
were, too, large of their kind, glossy black,
with flowing tail and mane. Uncle George
had given them to the D's, on the Fourth
of July of the previous summer ; and in
honor of the day they had been named Yankee
and Doodle. Yankee being the more spirited was
given to Don, and Doodle, by no means a lamb,
became the special pride and property of Dorry.
" Good-morrow to you. Mistress Blum ! " said
lack, in a subdued though airy way, returning
Lydia's nod. " Are the middies ready ': "
" If you mean the twins, I presume they are,
Mr. Jack. Have you looked carefully to Miss
Dorothv's saddle ? "
i882.]
DONALD AND DOROIIIV
72>Z
"Not extra." he answered, in an aggravating
tone — first looking up at the windows to be sure
that none of the family were near; "think the
girth 's 'most broke — 't aint worth while to be too
pertickler."
" Yes, it is ; you 'd better make sure of saddle
and bridle, too, 1 can tell you. Miss Dorry '11 ride
twenty miles, and more, before sundown."
" Well, well ! " exclaimed Sailor Jack — still bent
on teasing her. " Had n't you better come down,
Mistress Blum, an' see to it that the pony's legs is
on good and tight? It would be dreadful if one on
'em was to tumble off, now."
Lydia laughed. " Oh, but you 're a funny man.
Mister Jack ! Well, I need n't worry. You 're
even worse about Miss Dorry than I am, bless lu-r !
— Hush ! here they are."
Off went Jack's hat, though he had to hold the
two bridle-reins with one hand to accomplish it.
" Up-a-daisy ! " he exclaimed, as Dorry, assisted
by Donald, sprang lightly to her saddle. " It 's a
splendid day for a ride. Miss ! "
"Yes, indeed," said Dorry, looking about her
with bright, happy eyes, as she stroked her pony's
neck.
Uncle George came out upon the piazza. B>-
this time, Don was on Yankee's back, dexterously
making him appear as spirited as possible — where-
at Dorry's steed began to prance also.
"Good-bye, Uncle ! ( lood-bye. Jack and Liddy ! "
cried Dorry, waving her whip and looking back
with a laughing face.
" Good-bye ! " shouted Don ; and they cantered
off — glad to be together; glad to breathe the
bright, clear air; glad at the prospect of a good
gallop over the hills.
Uncle George, Liddy, and Jack looked after
them proudly, till the road turned and the sound
of hoofs died in the distance. Jack was the first
to speak.
" Aye ! but they 're a pretty pair, Capt'in ! "
Mr. Reed nodded a happy assent.
" An' do you know, sir, I 'm fancyin' of late
they 're growin' liker to one another."
" Ah ? " said Mr. Reed, well pleased. ." In
what way ? "
" Why, in feature, sir, an' manners, an' most
ev'ry way."
" Why should n't they favor one another," re-
marked Lydia — " bein' twins? Yet, some way, i
don't see it myself, sir, as plain as I might. Shall
I serve dinner on the back porch, Mr. George ? "
" Well, yes, Lydia, as I shall be alone. The
birds and trees will be good company for me."
And so the three separated.
Meanwhile, the D's cantered on, happy as — I
was going to say, as birds, but they were happier
even than birds — they were happy as happy
brothers and sisters.
For a while, they galloped in silence, Don often
going so far ahead that he had to wait for Dorry to
catch up ; then, when the road was specially pleas-
ant and' shady, they rode leisurely, side by side,
laughing and chatting. The day w.as so fine, and
they saw so much to interest them, and there were
so many things to talk about, that the ten-mile
ride to F was accomplished almost before they
were aware of it.
Leaving the ponies in the yard of its pretty hotel,
to be fed and cared for, they enjoyed a hearty
luncheon, and then proceeded on foot to the
.Vcadcmy near by — Dorry deftly carrying the train
of her riding-habit over her arm, and snapping her
riding-whi]) softly as she trii)ped beside her com-
panion. Fortunately, the path was well shaded,
and the dust had been laid by showers of the
night before.
Dr. Lane was surprised and delighted to see
them so soon after his arrival. He had many in-
teresting things to tell them, and they, in turn,
rather shyly but heartily related the main incidents
of the past months and gave him some account
of their present course of study.
Then they all went through the .Vcademy build-
ing, which, as it was '"vacation," was now being
cleaned and made ready for the fall term. Globes,
maps, black-boards, collections of minerals, elec-
tric machines, patent desks, dining-room, and dor-
mitory passed before them in rapid succession,
figurativeh- speaking ; afterward, they went up to
the cupola to see the view, and finally settled them-
selves on the large front porch to rest.
Then, and not till then, they noticed a change.
Light clouds were gathering ; the sun still was
shining, but it was shining under difficulties,
as Dorry observed, and the air was heav\- and
sultry.
■' It 's going to rain, Professor," said Don, rising
from his seat on the steps of the ]>c)rch. " 1 think
we '11 have to go now."
" Yes, indeed," said Dorry, in her impulsive way
— " we '\'e no time to lose either. Good-bye, Pro-
fessor. What shall we say to Uncle for you ? "
" Give Mr. Reed my hearty regards, and tell
him I hope to see him at Nestlctown very soon."
"Yes, thank you," said Dorry, starting toward
the gate. " Good-bye. Come, Donald, we may
be able to get home before it rains hard."
The Professor joined her at once, and the three
were soon at the hotel.
At first it seemed best to wait until the approach-
ing shower should be over; but, as the clouds
grew no darker, and the ponies evidently were
ready for a brisk run, it was decided that they
734
DONALD AND DOROTHY
tJixv,
should try a race with the shower and see which
could get home first.
The shower beat. They were not half-way home
when, just after crossing the railroad, with its cot-
tage-like station in sight, the sky darkened rapidly
and a big drop fell upon Donald's nose ! •
" We 're in for it ! " he cried. " Whip up, Dot !
We '11 make for the station."
Reaching the station, and finding themselves
still dry, in spite of the warning thunder, they de-
cided to hurry on to the next stopping-place.
This was Vanbogen's, a little country inn about
half a mile further, where they could be comfort-
ably housed, if necessap.', and the horses be shel-
tered also.
A sudden flash gave point to their determina-
tion. On they sped, the lightning now dancing
ahead of them, and the thunder rolling on, apace.
"It's a race for life," thought Dorry, in high
spirits — so pleased to have an adventure that she
forgot to dread the threatening shower. Yankee
and Dood did nobly ; abandoning their canter,
they galloped on, neck and neck, while their riders
carried on a panting sort of conversation concern-
ing the new turn of things and the prospects of
reaching home before dark.
"What mat — ter if — we don't?" said Dorrj-.
her voice almost lost in the rumbling thunder ;
"we '11 find — the way."
"But, Uncle — ex-pect — ed us by "
" Well — he '11 know — what keeps — us."
"Plucky girl!" thought Don, admiring her
bright cheeks and graceful air as she at that mo-
ment dashed by.
Yankee, on principle, never let Dood beat him.
In the commotion of the thunder and lightning, it
seemed to Donald that a livelier race had begun :
but, the next instant, he realized that Dorry's pony
had halted and his own was some paces ahead.
Turning at Dorry's call, he saw that something
was the matter. Dood limped painfully for a few
steps, then stopped.
" He 's hurt his foot," cried Dorr>'. " It was n't
a stumble; he tripped. Poor Dood!" she added,
as the pony's head turned pitifully toward her;
" you must go on now."
Dood tried, but it was slow work. He grew
lamer at every step. Don, noticing that one of the
pony's fore-shoes was loose, dismounted and tried
to take it off, but it would not come.
A turn in the road disclosed Vanbogen's not far
away. By this time, slanting lines of rain showed
against the trees.
" It 's going to storm, in earnest. Dot — you '11
get soaking wet ! " said Don.
"Not I," chirped DoiTy. "My riding-habit
is water-proof. You '11 be the wet one. Hurry
ahead, Don. Dood and I will be there as soon as
we can. I do hope he is n't hurt seriously. Oh,
Don, do hurry ! "
But Don would n't and Dood could n't. If the
shower had not paused to take breath before mak-
ing its grand dash, they certainly would have been
drenched.
As it was, they hardly had dismounted at the
inn, before the rain came down in torrents.
" Dear me ! " said Dorry, shaking her riding-
skirt, as she sprang into the bare hall, " our sad-
dles will get soaked ! " But a negro, in a blue
checked jacket, already was leading the steeds to
shelter.
It was a very shabby house at the best of times,
but it was particularly dreary now. Dorry was
sure she never before had seen anything so dismal
as the damp, little parlor into which Donald escorted
her. The closed blinds, the moldy, bumpy sofa,
the faded green table-cover, the stained matting,
the low-spirited rocking-chair with one arm broken
off, and the cracked, dingy wall-paper oppressed
her strangely.
"What a horrid place!" she exclaimed in an
awe-struck whisper to Don, as a flash of lightning
shone through the blinds. " Let us go ! "
"Don't mind it, Dot," he answered. "We '11
start as soon as the shower is over. Wait here
a while, and I '11 run and see what we 're to do
about the pony. Would you like to have a cup of
hot tea ? " he added, looking back as he left the
room.
" Mercy, no ! " said Dorry, " not here ! "
They both laughed. " It 's fun, after all,"
thought the young girl as he went out. " 1 don't
mind anything as long as Don 's around — the dear
old fellow ! "
Vanbogen's seemed deserted. She had noticed a
solitar)' hen stepping daintily across the long, wet
stoop as she entered, and a woman, going up-
stairs, had turned to stare at her. A sound of
men's voices, too, had reached her from a closed
room opposite the parlor, yet she felt strangely
alone. For company's sake, she examined some
ambrotypes that stood upright in their half-opened
cases on a table between the windows. The
ghastly things made her only more lonely.
At that moment, hearing a clicking sound, she
raised her head and saw a man's face outside look-
ing at her through the blinds. The slats closed
sharply, when she moved back.
" How ner\ous I am ! " she thought, with a slight
shiver. " A pretty traveler I 'd make ! "
Donald soon came in.
' ' Here 's a fine piece of business ! Dood has hurt
his foot in some way — sprained, I suppose. It is
swollen, and evidently pains him dreadfully. I 've
i883.]
DONA I, n AND DOROTHY
735
sent for a man who claims to be a veterinary sur-
geon. No, indeed, no use in your going out there,
Dot ; the men appear to be doing all they can for
him. It 's out of the question for us to travel with
that pony to-night; the last train that stops at this
one-horse station has gone by, and 1 can't get a
carriage an)^vhere."
"Can't you hire a horse, then, for yourself? Put
my saddle on Yankee; I can ride him."
" Can't get a horse either. They 've only one,
and he 's out for the whole afternoon."
" Let 's walk, then. The shower is nearly over.
It 's only five miles."
"Good!" said Don. "But no — Yankee can
carry you, and I '11 trot alongside on foot ; " and he
hastened out to have the side-saddle put on Yankee.
To Dorry's amazement, Donald came back in a
few minutes, looking flushed .ind excited.
"I 've taken a room for you. Dot; come up-
stairs— quick."
" But I don't want a room. I "
" Yes, you do ; you '11 need to rest. Come right
up," he insisted in a low voice, hastily locking the
parlor door behind him, and almost pulling her
toward the stairs. "I'll tell you up there; come
quick."
They ran up together.
■■ What 's the matter?" she asked on the way.
" What have you heard ? "
"Oh, nothing at all," he said, as they stepped
into a room shabby with ragged matting and worn-
out furniture ; then closing the door, he added :
" Dorry, you must go away from this place at once.
Don't ask any questions — Oh, it 's nothing much.
Dot," — as he noticed her alarm, — "but this is a
rough sort of place, you see, and of course I can't
leave Dood here with these fellows. The sooner
you get off the better. I 'II bring Yankee around
to the back door at the end of the hall, so as not to
attract attention. Lock your door while I 'm gone,
and when I come back, hurry down with me, jump
on Yankee, and be off without a word."
" Well, I never! " she exclaimed, half inclined
to laugh, but he was gone.
She turned the key in the lock and ran to the
window, pulling its green paper shade aside. Noth-
ing to be seen but tumble-down out-buildings, a
dog-kennel, trampled grass, an empty clothes-line,
and a barrel or two.
" Well, I never!" she exclaimed again. "Oh,
there comes the pony."
Donald lost not a moment ; but it seemed to
Dorry that he never would come up. Meantime,
she resolved that, happen what might, she would
not go and leave him. Unlocking the door, she
stood with her hand upon the knob, intending to
discuss the matter with Don ; but no sooner had
his hand touched the other side than somehow she
found herself on the stairs ; in the hall ; then on
Yankee's back, and leaning to catch Don's words.
"Careful, now — don't lose a moment — send
Jack to me at once with Lady and the buggy
— Go ! " Even after she had started, she still
seemed to feel the pressure of his hand upon hers.
Never had she seen Don more resolutely in earnest.
As she galloped through the open gate-way, and
passed the inn, she turned and saw him in the
hall, talking savagely to a man in a wet linen
duster, whose back was toward her.
" The idea of leaving Don here alone ! I shall
not go," she said, suddenly pulling at the bridle.
But Yankee thought otherwise. He had deter-
mined that she should. After a momentary con-
test, Dorry yielded, deciding to hurry home ,as fast
as possible, and send Jack to Don's relief.
The shower, which had held back for awhile,
now started afresh. Yankee, with visions of a dry
stall and bountiful supper before him, went on his
rapid way through the rain, troubling himself little
about Dood or Don, and quite unconscious of the
disturbed state of his rider's mind, where anxious
thoughts and surmises chased each other in quick
succession :
" I noticed that it was a rough place the moment
we went in. Who were the noisy men in the other
room, I wonder ? The man in the wet duster was n't
one of them. What could Don have been saying
to him ? May be Dood had broken his leg, and
Don did n't like to tell me. Ridiculous idea, as if
a pony with a broken leg could go a step ! May be
Don's watch was stolen, or he 'd lost his pocket-
book. But he could have told me that. Dear me,
he need n't have been so dreadfully afraid for me
to stay there. It 's forlorn to be a girl and have peo-
ple think you can't stand anything. Don can take
care of himself, anyhow. I 'd like to see any of
those fellows trying to hurt ////;/ " (and here, by way
of showing how very much she would "like" it,
Dorry's cheek turned very pale) — " How foolish!
Probably he staid for Dood's sake. Poor Dood !
I hope he '11 not be laid up long ; Jack could
cure him quickly enough. Dear me, how it rains !
Glad my riding-habit is water-proof. Liddy will
be frightened about me. I suppose they think
we 're at F yet, waiting to ride home by moon-
light. How well Dr. Lane looks ! But he has a
fearfully Greek-and-Latin expression. Can't help
it, I suppose. Don knows nearly as much Latin as
Uncle, I do believe. Dear old Don ! How kind
he is ! Oh, if anything should happen to him "
— here, Yankee, already speeding bravely, re-
ceived instructions to "get up," and then Dot, to
her great joy, spied a familiar object in the dis-
tance, coming swiftly toward her.
DONALD A X D DOROTHY
[July,
Chapter XXIV.
Donald ■iuas talking rather savagely. But the
man in the wet duster was not in the least vexed on
that account. On the contrary, he assumed a
lordly air, and called Donald '' my boy."
" All the Reeds are impetuous," he had said
lightly, as if apologizing for this particular member
of the famil)-; "so we '11 waive ceremony, my
boy. With your permission, as I said before, I '11
step into the parlor now, and have a little chat with
the young lady.".
" And as 1 said before," retorted Donald, " you '11
do no such thing."
" Calm yourself," sneered the other. " It would
be easy for me to get in through the window, were
it not that one hates to scare the pretty bird — and
as for the key "
"As for the key," echoed Donald, who hap-
pened to have it in his possession ; " well, and
what of the key ? "
"Why, my boy," glancing toward Don's pocket,
" it would n't tax a six-footer like me overmuch to
help himself to it — but, under the circumstances, it
might be wiser merely to tell mine host in yonder
room that an ii-ate little manikin has taken it into
his head to lock his sister, as he calls her, in the pub-
lic parlor and refuses to let her out."
" Insolent fellow ! " exclaimed Donald, yet re-
straining his anger as well as he could. " Look
out what you say. Another word like that, and
I '11 have you turned out of this place, neck and
heels."
" Ha ! ha ! Pretty good. Well, as I was re-
marking, I 've a word or two to say to my young
lady in there. Hold up ! H-o-l-d up ! No one is
going to kill her. Perhaps you 're not aware I
have a right there ! "
" You have a right there, 1 '11 admit, as a trav-
eler," said Don ; "but just now, I ask you to stay
outside."
" And I ask you to let me in," returned the si.x-
footer, beginning to be angry.
At any other time, Donald would not have par-
leyed a moment with the man, but, as the reader
may have surmised, he had reasons of his own for
prolonging the interview. He had planned well
and worked hard to get Dorr)' off unobserved, and
now that his strategy had succeeded, the next
point was to gain time for her to be far on her
way before Eben Slade — for he it was — should
discover that Dorry was not safely locked in the
dingy parlor.
"I ask you to let me in," repeated the long,
lank man, softening his tone, "as one gentleman
would ask another. May be I 've more right to
talk to her than you have yourself."
" What do you mean, you rascal 'i "
"Thank you!" sneered Eben. "Rascal is
good. Pray, do you know my name ? "
" No, I do not, and 1 don't want to. It 's
enough that I recognize you : and probably the
less one knows about you the better."
" May be so. But the time 's gone by for that.
My name 's Eben Slade. Xow do you know why
I want to go into that room ? No .' Well, I '11
tell you," continued Eben Slade; "it's because
I 've more right to speak to that girl than you
have. It 's because Hi ! hi ! not so fast,
young man," muttered Eben, restraining Donald
with considerable effort. " You can't put me out
on the road this time. As I was saying "
'■ What do )'ou mean by those words, sir ? "
" Let me into the room, my boy, and I '11 tell
you and her together, quietly, just what I mean.
1 want to tell both of you a plain story and appeal
to /ler sense of justice. She 's old enough to act
for herself Perhaps you think I have n't heard
something of Dorothy's, or what-you-call-her's,
spirit by this time."
" Let her name alone ! " cried Donald, furiously.
" If you mention my sister again, I '11 knock you
flat — you overgrown ruffian ! "
■' Hush — not so fast — you '11 have those fellows
out here in a minute. What 's the use of letting
everybody into our private affairs ? "
Here Eben stepped into the hall, followed by
Donald.
" Let me into that room, will you ? "
Donald, taking the key from his pocket, now
threw open the door, with a " much good may it
do you"; and, closing it again after Slade had
entered, coolly locked him in the room. The
blinds flew open — Don rushed to the still deserted
stoop, only to see Eben Slade's angry face glaring
at him. The man could have got out at the win-
dow easily enough, but he preferred his present
position. Leaning out, with his elbows on the sill,
he said distinctly, in a passionate, low voice :
"You 've baffled me this time, Donald Reed,
but I '11 carry the day yet. That girl, wherever
she 's gone to, is no more your sister than she is
mine — and I can prove it to her! She 's my
niece — my own niece ! 1 've aright to her, and I
can prove it. She 's going back home with me,
out West, where my wife 's waitin' for her. Now,
sir, what have you to say to that ? "
The poor boy, aghast at Eben's statement, stood
at first as if stunned; but recovering himself, he
made a rush toward Eben, not blindly, but with a
resolute determination to clutch him by the throat
and force him to unsav his terrible words.
■882.]
DDNAI.D AXl) DORDTIIV.
/ 0/
Eben sprang from the window at a bound. A
struggle ensued — brief, violent. Donald was
nearly mastered, when a strong man sprang upon
them and with one blow knocked Eben Slade pros-
trate upon the boards.
It was Sailor Jack, who had driven up unper-
ccivcd and leaped from the bujjgy just in time.
Three or four men rushed from the bar-room,
all calling out at once ; •
■' W'h.it 's the matter here ?"
"What 'sail this?"
"Who 's killed?"
Two of tliem seized Jack as Eben rose slowly ;
another tried to catch hold of Donald. Their
sympathy plainly was with Slade, who, seeing his
opportunity, suddenly started toward the buggy
with the evident intention of driving off in it.
Jack, breaking from his astonished captors, was
upon him in an instant, dragging him back. Just
as Slade had put one foot on the buggy-step, and
as Donald was alertly seizing Lady's bridle.
" Stand off — all of you ! " cried Jack, still hold-
ing Eben by the collar. " We 're out on the open
seas at last, my man ! and now look out for your-
self ! " '
The thrashing was brief but effective. Jack
wore a serene look of satisfaction when it was over;
and Eben Slade slunk doggedly away, muttering :
" I 'II be even with 'em yet."
Every hat was off, so to speak, when Jack and
Donald, who had paid the landlord handsomely,
drove from Vanbogen's door. Lady was impatient
to be off, but Jack soon made her understand
that the splendid time she had made in coming
from Nestletovvn was no longer necessary, since
Dood, tied at the rear of the buggy, could not go
faster than a walk. The removal of his shoe and
prompt nursing had helped the pony so much
that by this time he was able to travel, though
with difficulty.
It was a strange drive. The spirited mare ahead.
relieving her pent-up speed by gently prancing up
and down as she walked ; Jack, grim and satisfied,
going over again in fancy every stroke that had
fallen upon the struggling Eben ; Donald, pale and
silent, with Slade's vicious words still ringing in his
ears ; and the pony limping painfully behind.
" He 's taken up with his own thoughts," said
Jack to himself, after a while, noting Don's con-
tinued silence. " It aint for me to disturb him,
though them twins somehow seem as near as if
they w;is my own children ; but I -would like to
know just what the little chap has heard from that
sea-sarpent. Somethin' or other 's took fearful
hold on him, sure 's sailin', poor lad ! He aint apt
to be so onsociable."
Following up these thoughts, ;« the mare jogged
along, it was a great solace to good Sailor Jack,
after their dismal drive, to see Don look up at the
house as they turned into the lane and wave his
hat gallantly to Dorothy.
She, too, standing at her bed-room window with
Lydia, was wonderfully relieved by Don's salut.a-
tion.
"Oh, it 's all right!" she exclaimed, cheerily.
" Even Dood is n't hurt as badly as we feared, and
how lo\'ely it is to have Don back again, safe and
sound ! You should have seen Jack, Liddy, when
1 refused to get into the buggy, and made him
drive on for his life with Lady. But the trouble
is over now. How lovely ! Both of us will take
supper with Uncle, after all ! "
Lydia, who had been doing all sorts of things to
save Dorry from "taking her death o' cold," stood
admiringly by while, with rapid touches and many
a laughing word, the happy girl arrayed herself to
go down and meet " dear old Don and Uncle."
Meanwhile Mr. Reed, in his study, looking up
inquiringly to greet Donald's return, was surprised
to sec the boy's white face and flashing eyes.
■' Uncle George," said Donald, the moment he
entered the room, "tell me, quick! Is Dorothy
Reed my sister ? "
( To he coitti'tiifd.)
738
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[July,
HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME TO HARRY
IN SUMMER-TIME.
By Fanny Barrow.
" Why does n't San-ta Claus come in sum-mer time ? " asked lit-tle
Har-ry, as he lay up-on his back on the sweet, g^reen grass, and looked
up in-to the blue sky.
•' Per-haps be-cause there is no snow for his sleigh," said his moth-er.
"What a pit-y ! " sighed Har-ry. "1 wish it would snow this min-
ute. There is my horse ; it has on-ly one leg, and no nose at all.
My foot-ball went pop ! the oth-er
day, and turned in-to a lit-tle
crook-ed twist of In-dia rub-ber.
M\- ex-press wag-on ' is all to
pieces, and my drum is bust 'cause
I banged it so hard."
"Oh, what a boy!" said his
moth-er. " I am a-fraid you banged
your poor horse a lit-tle, al-so."
" Yes, I did, and 1 kicked the
foot-ball tre-men-jous-ly ! and up-set
m)- wag-on ev-er so man-y times ;
but 1 don't care for those now ; I
want a book. Mam-ma — a book full
iif pict-ures and sto-ries. "
" Well, list-en ; I will sing you a
song a-bout Kris Krin-gle — which
is the Ger-man name for Saint
Nich-o-las, as well as San-ta Claus.
And who knows ? per-haps he will hear me, and make )'ou a vis-it,
al-though it is sum-mer-time."
Then his moth-er sang the song, which so de-light-ed Har-ry that
he beetred her to lencl him the mu-sic, so that he mig-ht learn the
words. He had just be-gun to read, and he was ver-)- proud and hap-
py when he had read an-y-thing all b)- him-self
" I '11 sing it, too ! " cried Har-ry, " and keep time with my drum-
sticks." But first he went down in-to the kitch-en and begged Bridg-et,
the cook, to give him a big tin pan.
l883.]
FOR VICRV LITTLE KoLK.
739
"What do you want it for, Mas-ter Har-ry?" she asked.
• Oh, nev-er mind," said Har-ry, and he ran a-\vay as fast as he
could. He fas-tened the mu-sic to the back of a chair with a big pin,
and put ihi; tin ])an up-side down on the seat, and then he be-gan to
sing, rat-thng with the drum-sticks in fine style. He did not get the
tune quite right, but the cho-rus came in splen-did-ly. This is it:
" Jin-gle, jin-gle, jin-gle, jing, jing, jing. How mer-ry we shall be!
Jin-gle, jin-gle, jin-gle, come Kris Krin-gle — Come with your Christ-mas-tree."
His moth-er laughed soft-])- to her-sell as she list-ened, and then she
wrote a lit-tle note, ad-dressed to some-hod-y in New York Cit-y, and
sent it to the post-of-fice.
Har-r)- lived in the coun-try, and it was three tlays be-fore the
an-swer came. It was a beau-ti-ful l)ook : just as lull ol pict-ures and
sto-ries as a book can be ! .And )ou nev-er saw a bright-er face than
Har-ry's, when he ex-claimed to his moth-er: "On-ly think! San-ta
Claus has come to see me in sum-mer-time ! "
FOURTH OF JULY.
Oh, what a noise !
Ah, what a clatter !
Is it the boys ?
What is the matter ?
Dozens and dozens —
Only eight, is it? —
Onl) some cousins
Come on a visit ?
Hearing the rattle,
I thought 't was an
army ;
Sounds of a battle
Always alarm me.
740
T A C K - I X - T H E - P U L P I T .
(July,
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
IM this country, July is the grand eagle month of
the year, I 'm told. Hundreds and thousands of the
finest American variety are called in on the fourth
day by orators and lesser speakers, all over the land,
and made to do duty in various ways. Some poise,
some pounce, some scorn, some droop, and some,
according to the special mood of the speaker,
soar — soar — soar so high that they find great
difficulty in getting down again, especially if the
Star-spangled Banner happens to be waving at
the same moment.
For all that, America is a great country — no-
body loves and knows it more than your Jack —
and the eagle is a noble bird. I 've watched him
fi"om my pulpit more than once, and felt that our
nation did well to adopt him as its own — so inspir-
ing is his flight, so majestic his repose. By the
way, on last Fourth of July, when I, your loyal
Jack, stood listening, — stripes on my pulpit and
stars — daisy stars — at my feet, — the birds brought
me a letter. It is not very poetical, but it will in-
terest all of you chicks, who are of a scientific and
inquiring turn of mind. Here it is; — but first let
me explain that a bald eagle is not really bald.
He only looks bald, because the feathers on the top
of his head are lighter and smoother than those on
the rest of his body :
EAGLES' FOOD,
Dear Jack-in-the-Pllpit : Some years ago I had a bald eagle,
which I kept for several months in captivity. He had been wounded
in one wing by a shot, but not otherwise injured. He was very fierce
and savage, and for a day or two refused to eat ; but finally hunger
prevailed, and he greedily seized the meat which I gave him. I knew
that, though eagles commonly eat the flesh of animals either killed by
themselves or already dead, yet they also sometimes eat fish, often
robbing the ftsh-hawks to get the fish. But I was not awar« how
much they seem to prefer fish to anything else, until I gave by
chance some fish to this captive of mine. 1 had returned from fish-
ing, and as usual stopped by the eagle's cage, or rather the large pen
in which he lived, to admire him. Taking a perch from my basket, I
threw it to him. His quick eye detected the treasure on the instant,
and instead of walking up to it, as he would have done had it been a
piece of meat, he made .» furious dash and caught the fish before it
reached the ground. The eagerness of his movements and the sav-
age haste with which he devoured the perch told the story — it was
the food which he chose above all others ; and from that time, I fed
him on fish when I could get them. Anything less than half a
pound in weight he always swallowed head foremost entire : larger
fish were held down with his claws while his beak tore them to pieces.
He soon learned that I would throw them to him, and it was curi-
ous to see him catch them in the air. I can not remember that I
ever saw him miss one. Yours truly, \V. O, A.
A WARM WEATHER PUZZLE.
"There 's only one thing in 'stronomy I 'm
sure about," said a little chap near my pulpit, one
very hot day last July.
'"Ah!" exclaimed Deacon Green, ''and what
is that, my little man ? "
" Why, sir, that this earth is a heap nearer the
sun in summer than it is in winter," says the boy.
"But it is not nearer in summer, my lad,"
says the Deacon. " What are )ou going to do
about that?"
" Deacon Green," says the little boy, trying to
speak respectfully, "1 skated on that creek over
there last winter, many a time. It was frozen hard
as a rock, sir. To my knowledge, it has n't been
fit to skate on once this summer. What 's more,
sir, my father always tells me to take the evidence
of my o.vn senses when I can, sir — and if that
there sun is n't nearer this earth to-day" (here
the speaker dried his freckled little forehead with
his sleeve) " than it was last Christmas, sir, 1 '11
give up."
" Give up, then," says the Deacon, nodding and
smiling a real good, sociable smile at the boy, " for
\'0u 're wrong."
Now the Deacon 's reckoned to be a learned
man, and a sensible man, but yet somehow, my
hearers, — what with the July weather and all, —
it was as much as 1 could do not to side with that
innocent child.
ORBITS.
Ix connection with the above, I am adWsed by
the Deacon to "throw out a hint about orbits —
the earth's orbit in particular." 1 am not familiar
with them myself, Ijut perhaps you will know what
the good soul means.
IS THIS THE REASON WHY?
-Another day, out in my meadow, a little girl
from the Red School-house asked the Little School-
ma'am why summer is warm and winter cold.
-As near as I can remember the answer, it was
something like this : (I can't say 1 quite see through
the matter myself, but 1 've no doubt you '11 be able
to puzzle it out, my clever ones. )
The earth leans over in one direction on its
journey about the sun ; and, when it is near the
sun, the top or northern part of the earth, where
we live, is a little nearer to him than are the other
parts ; it is then summer time in the north. But
when the earth is at the other end of its path,
farther from the sun, it still leans over in the same
direction, so that the top is turned away from the
sun ; and then it is winter in the north. Besides
1 883.)
J A C K - I N - T M E - P U L I' IT .
741
this, the sun shines so directly on the middle parts
of the earth that they never get very cold ; but
near the top and bottom the sun's rays reach the
earth at a slant, and the heat is not felt so much
there.
BUSY AT THE CALIFORNIA TREES.
Drar Jack: The red-he;idcd woodpcck-r of C;i!ifomi.-i, scicn-
tilically known as Melaner/'es /oniitcoorii has a strange custom
<)f slorinK .away acorns which it seldom, if ever, cats, using the
trunks of trees for its store-house. These industrious little oirds
pick hole^ in the bark, and with their strone bills hammer acorns
into the holes until the trunks of the trees look as if they were stud-
ded from top to bottom with big-headed tacks from some uphoIster>*
shop Kvcn the giant trees tliat have withstood the tempcst-s for
thousands of year* are made to ser\'e as a mighty store-house of
provisions for these little red-heads. During this process, many pair
of bright eyes look on approvingly. These eyes belong to the pert,
chattering squirrels, who, no doubt, consider it a kind and very con-
sidcrnle .act upon the p.art of the wmxlpccker to thus lay up winter
provisions for Mrs. Squirrel and all the family of little Squirrels.
D\N Beari>.
Jack is very much obliged to Mr. Beard, both
for his letter and for the pretty picture it explains.
Some of my birds arc related to these little red-
headed fellows, and they tell me that, while the
mighty California trees are thus forced to store
acorns, the acorns themselves, in turn, often hold
fine grubs that are considered especially delicate
eating by the woodpecker.
Sometimes, a number of birds are driving acorns
into a tree at the same time, and then what a lively
time they have I — pushing, driving the nuts in
u ith their bills, darting off a moment for a play-
spell, tilling the air with rattling cries, and then
back again to their skillful work. Meanwhile, the
expectant squirrels look boldly on, and lazy jays,
hard by, chatter about the good time they will yet
have, eating the acorn-meat, and laughing at the
red-headed, unsuspecting little workers.
By the way, the Little School-ma'am has asked
me to tell you that there is a very interesting paper
on this matter in the May number of The Ameri-
can Xa/iiraiist.
THREE NOTED RAVENS.
Yesterday, in my meadow, the Deacon told a
group of boys and girls about three ra\ens that
belonged in turn to one Charles Dickens. The
first raven loved horses — in fact, generally
slept on horseback, in his master's stable.
The second was a discoverer of stolen goods,
and managed to dig up in his master's gar-
den all the cheese and half-pence that the
first raven had pilfered from time to time,
and hidden there. The third was a hermit,
and neither loved horses nor had any special
talent, excepting that he could bark like a
dog. This same Mr. Dickens studied the
habits of his ravens, the Deacon said, and
wrote about them. Finally, he put two of
them into one splendid book-raven, which is
alive to this day, walking about and doing
astonishing things in a volume known as
"Barnaby Rudge."
BABY LIONS.
Dear Jack-1n-tue-Pii.mt; My brother and I went to
see Jumbo, but I !ike<l the baby elephant better. He is the
funniest little fellow I ever saw — just like a canton-flannel
elephant suddenly made alive. But other baby animals
have been exhibited. We read one night about a lioness
named t)ld Girl, that belonged to a Zoo in Ireland. She
died when she was sweet sixteen, and she had raised about
fifty little baby lions during her life These baby lions were
just like kittens at first, but gradu.ally they learned to roar,
and then they were lions. Your little friend, .\ngie T.
NATURAL APARTMENT-HOUSES.
Mv birds have told me of a tjueer thing.
They hear so much, because they and their
friends travel in so many different directions.
In South -Africa, it appears, mounds like
haycocks are sometimes seen stuck high up
in the trees. These mounds, though really
made of coarse, wild grass, also remind one
of a honey-comb, if looked at from below ;
for they are full of shapely little openings.
And the openings are entrances to the nests
of a colony of grossbeaks, who li\e sociably
side by side, each in an apartment of his own,
though under one common roof
When the dear Little School-ma'am heard of
these mounds, she called them natural apartment-
houses, and seemed to think that birds were very
like human folk, after all.
742
THE LETTER-BOX.
fJl'l-Y,
THE LETTER-BOX.
With sincere sorrow we chronicle here the decease of Mr. Albert
Robert Thompson, who died of scarlet fever at his home in Brook-
lyn, on the loth of May. Mr. Thompson had been for the last five
years a faithful and efficient assistant in the office of St. Nicholas,
and in his sudden and lamented death the readers, as well as the
editor and publishers, of this magazine have suffered a loss.
Mr. Thompson was bom in Paris, about thirty-four years ago, the
bOn of a colonel in the British army, who was lately financial adviser
to the Governor of Western Australia. He was educated at one of
the English public schools, :ind devoted himself to business. He
came to this country, about fourteen years ago, as the agent of a
large London house engaged in the manufacture of rubber goods.
Subsequently he was employed by the publishing house of
D. Appleton & Co., and E. Butterick & Co., and taught a pub-
lic school in a New Jersey village. He then returned to England,
and became engaged in the real estate business. When E. Butter-
ick & Co. commenced the publication of a literary weekly known
as TIic Metyopolitan, in the winter of 1874-5, Mr. Thompson
returned to New York to become its associate editor, and continued
to do literary work for the firm for a considerable time after The
Metropolitan ceased to exist. In 1877, he became an assistant in
the editorial office of St. Nicholas, where his fine qualities of char-
acter and temperament soon won the hearts of all his associates.
He was possessed of a good education and a wide and thorough
culture, and all his duties were performed with a faithfulness that
never shrank from, nor slighted, any demand upon it. The state-
ments already made in a few newspapers that he was the " asso-
ciate editor" and the " Jack-in-the-Pulpit " of St. Nicholas are
incorrect; but his devotion, energy, and capacity made themselves
felt in almost every department of the editorial work, and were
of enduring benefit in many ways. It is but just to him who so
sincerely loved and honored his work that all our readers — thou-
sands of whom may not even have seen his name before — should
know of his tireless zeal and efficient aid in their behalf.
Mr. Thompson was for some time superintendent of the Sunday-
school in the Brooklyn church that was presided over by Dr.
Edward Eggleston, and his deeds of unostentatious kindness will
be long remembered by many whom he aided and cheered. He
married an English lady, a Miss Ashmore, of London, in 1875.
His wife and one child, a boy of two years and a few months,
survive him. One other child, a bright and beautiful little girl,
died when two years old of scarlet fever.
To those who knew Mr. Thompson, the years of acquaintance or
friendship yield no memories of him that are not kindly. Life
seemed beautiful and noble to him, and he helped to make it so
for others by his gentle courtesy, his integrity of word and deed,
and his serene, generous, and cheerful spirit.
Through the courtesy of a friendly correspondent we are allowed
to present to our readers the following charming letter, written by
Mr. Longfellow to a young friend of his about eighteen months ago.
Though merely a brief note, it is full of the poetry and gentleness
characteristic of the great man who penned It, and will be read
with interest by young and old :
Cambridge, Mass., Jan. 23, 1881.
Dear : The echo answers at once, and does not keep you
waiting. And it says : Thank you for your postal card, and for the
kind remembrance of your mother.
As one grows old, the memones of youth become more and more
precious ; the forms of early friends brighten in the sunset. You
know nothing of this yet, but some day you will find it out.
To tell you the truth, I do not think so much of birthdays as I
used to do. I have had so many of them that I begin to wish they
would not come quite so often and quite so soon. I like other peo-
ple's better than my own. And that is another thing you know
nothing about yet, but will find out later.
By to-day's mail I send you my latest if not my last volume of
poems, and hope you will find something in it to please you. I
date it January 1st. This is what Plato calls a " well intentioned and
necessary untruth," and what, perhaps, a modern philosopher would
call an unnecessary fiction or something worse.
And now, my dear 'rhild, I will hang up the mistletoe and kiss
you under it, and over It, and wish you many happy New Years,
one at a time, and with kindest regards to your mother,
I remain sincerely yours,
Henry W. Longfellow.
The report upon the stories for The Very Little Folk's page,
received in answer to the invitation on page 497 of the April
number, will be given in next month's Letter-box.
The Children's Garfield Fund.
Editor of St. Nicholas.
Dear Madam: We desire to acknowledge from the children who
read the St. Nicholas the kind gift of $416.02, sent by them in small
sums in order to found a " Children's Garfield Fund," for the poor
and sick children of New York. This fund will be devoted to the
children from New York tenement-houses who come down to the
" Summer Home" at Bath, L, L, under the charge of the Children's
Aid Society. It will help to give a happy week at the sea-side to
those who are shut up in close tenement-houses the rest of the
year. Here they will enjoy fresh air, nice sea-bathing, good coun-
try milk and food, and all the pleasures of this beautiful place, for a
week. Mr. A. B. Stone has purchased one of the most lovely spots
on the coast for the sum of twenty thousand dollars, and has gener-
ously presented it to the Society to be used for this purpose. The
"Children's Garfield Fund" will greatly increase the number of
those who enjoy the pleasures of this beautiful spot, and we hope it
will be added to, each year, so that more and more of these poor little
children can have this great pleasure. I send you a letter received
from one of the little children who enjoyed the Home last summer.
Yours very truly, C. L. Brace, -
Secretary Children's Aid Society.
Dear Mr.
New York, March 27, 1882.
I am writing to tell you about Bath.
How I would love to sit down on the beach, and watch the large
waves roll on the beach, and sing songs which we learned in day-
school and in Sunday-school ! Oh, such lovely times in bathing !
When the large waves rolled over our heads, we would give a long
breath and a jump. Miss Lane would take us a good ways out
and play " Ring " in the water ; she would run fast in with us, and
then the large waves would make us run back to the shore, as if to
say, " What are vou coming so far out here for? " And Miss Lane
would go out farther: I tell you she would not be afraid, like us
babies. I would love to hear the trees shake their glossy leaves !
We had a lovely time out there! Miss Agte would make me speak
all the pieces I knew and all the songs I knew. MaryVander-
noot and I would trim Miss Agte with daisies, and all kinds of flow-
ers ! We would have all kinds of nice things to eat. We would
have nice potatoes, blackberries, and O ! I could not commence to
tell you what nice things we had ! We all, when we went to bed,
said the Lord's Prayer. I love to go there. I close my letter.
Most respectfully, Jennie Black [age lo years],
Eighteenth Street School.
Mr. Brace's letter explains itself. We trust Willie P. Herrick and
all the kind-hearted boys and girls who sent contributions to the
Children's Garfield Fund, through the St. Nicholas, will be glad
to know that $416.02, the entire sum received thus far, has been
placed where it will be sure to help poor and sick little ones, and
brighten lives that know verj' little of pleasure or even of comfort.
Long before the beautiful June days come, prosperous city parents
eagerly discuss the question : " Where shall we take our young folk
for a delightful and refreshing home during the hot season ? " But
the city poor are dumbly wondering whether or not Hieir little ones
can live through the sufferings and sicknesses of another crowded
and scorching summer.
i882.|
THE LETTER-BOX.
743
If any of the present or future contributors to the Children's (lar-
ficld Fund wish to know more of the Hath Summer Home, or of
the Children's Aid Society, they may apply confidently at the rooms
of the Society, No. ig East Fourth Street, New York.
Meantime, we refer new readers to "A Summer Home for Poor
Children " in St. Nicholas for June, 1880, — also to The Letter-box
of November, 1S81, for the letter from Willie and Totiic Herrick and
one from Mr. Fry, Superintendent of the Sunitner Home, and to an
article by C'harlcs L. lirace, in this magazine for May, 1882, entitled
"Wolf-reared Children."
These articles will throw light on the great and good work that
the Children's Aid Society and kindred associations are doing.
Already, the last-named paper has been (he means of making at
least one poor street-boy happy, as the following letter eloquently
shows :
Kast-side Bovs' Lodging Housb and Schools,
OF THE ChIUJKEN'S AiD SoCIETY,
East Bkoadway, New York, May 13, 1882.
Mrs. Dodge.
Dfar Miuiam : Many persons — some of whom had not been
familiar with the process by which the Children's Aid Society takes
rough-hewn street Arabs and puts them in the way of becoming
useful and respectable citizens — have spoken to me of the pleasure
and interest with which they have read Mr. Brace's pretty story on
*' Wolf-reared Children " in this month's St. N1CH0L.AS. In these
times, when the country is flooded with tales that have a most per-
nicious influence on the young, it is refreshing to read a stor>' like
that of " Pickety," and I am sure you will be gratified to hear that
some good fruit of it has already appeared.
Yesterday, a boy of sixteen came up to me in the office of the
Children's Aid Society and asked if we could not provide him with
a home in the West. He was poorly equipped in the matter of
clothing and shoes, but had a bright, intelligent face. He said he
did not know where he was born, had no knowledge of his parents,
and his earliest recollection of himself was in an institution in Massa-
chusetts. On being asked how he knew about the Children's Aid So-
ciety, he said he had just arrived that morning by the Providence boat,
on board of which he had found a copy of St. Nicholas containing
the story of '* Pickety." He .said he had no money and had become
greatly discouraged, but after reading about "Pickety" he made
up his mind to go and ask to be treated Just as that boy had been.
1 he poor fellow's eyes danced with delight wlien I told him that I
was Superintendent of the house where " Pickety " was cared for,
and that I should be happy to treat him in the same way. On
Tuesday next, I leave with a company of boys for Kansas, where
good homes will be provided for alt, and I shall take this latest edi-
tion of ** Pickety " 2Ll<}ng with the rest.
1 am, dear madam, very respectfully yours,
OEOKGii Calder.
THE AG.VSSIZ .\SSUC1ATU).\ .— Sl.XTEENTH REPORT.
It is with great pleasure tliat we arc able to report imabatcd prog-
ress during the last month. We number now 251 Chapters and
2,900 members. The reports from our Chapters arc, as usual, full of
enthusiasm and rich in valuable suggestions. The following new
Chapters have been admitted:
New Chapters.
No. Name of Cliapter. Members. A ddres$.
225. Burlington, Kansas (A) 7 P. M. Floyd. ^
226. Alfred Center, N. Y. (A)...t6..C. A. Davis.
227. ^'psilanti, Mich. (B) 6..LouisB. Hardy,
228. Buffalo, N. Y. { D) 7 , . Percy ScharfT,
103 Tremont Street.
229. Chicago, III. (F; 4. . E. R. Lanicd,
2546 South Dearborn St.
230. Brazil, Ind. (A) 5, . Fred. Clearwaters.
231. Wiconisco, Pa. (\) ....... s- ■}■ H. Engelbert.
232. Utica. N. Y. (A) 19.. C. Baker.
333 Sidney, Iowa (A) 12.. Kd. Cooke.
234. New York, N. Y. (F) 7..E. H. Hoeber.
339 West 29th Street.
335. Washington, Pa. (A) Miss M. M. Gow.
236. Factor)' Point, Vt. (A) Miss Jessie D. Nichols.
237. Plantsville, Conn. (A) 6. .Bertie Shepard.
238. Wintusct, iowa (A) 20 . . Harry Wallace.
239. Georgetown. D. C. (A) 4 F. P. Stockbridge.
240. New Milford, Pa (A) 6. .Wm. D. Ainey, Box 253.
241. Scituate, Mass. (At Geo. B. Hudson.
242. Philadelphia, Pa. (!) 5 . . E. G. Lewis,
1125 Mt. Vernon Si.
243. Peeksklll, N. Y. (B) Austin D. Mabie.
244. Newport, Ky. (A) 6. Jerome Clarke.
245. Germantown. (C) 7.. Miss Ida Champion, comer
Walnut Lane and Green St.
246. Bethlehem, Pa. (A) 5. .Harry Wilbur.
247. Columbus. Ga. (A) 8..Chas. H. Dillingham.
248. Richmond, Va. (A) 5. .Mrs. J. B. Marshall,
302 West Grace St.
249. Orange, N. J. (A) Geo. M. Smith.
250. Tiffin, Ohio (A)
251. Saratoga, N. Y. (A) 4.. Harry A. Chandler, Bo.v 15.
An a. a. Hand-book.
In response to repeated and urgent requests, the President has
wTitten and printed a complete Hand-book of the St. Nicholas
A. A. It contains a history of the A. \., its Constitution and By-
laws. There are chapters on — How to Organize a Chapter; How
to Conduct Meetings: Parliamentary Law; The A. A in the Pub-
lic School; How to Collect aU Kinds of Specimens; How to Col-
lect and Preser\'e Birds; Sea- weeds ; How to build a Cabinet;
Reports from Chapters and Members; Minerals; Full list of scientific
books (over two hundred titles), etc., etc.; concluding with a com-
plete and revised list of all our 250 Chapters, with the addresses of
their secretaries. The book is well illustrated. We are able to fur-
nish copies to those wishing them at fifty cenLs each, postage prepaid.
We have written this book with tlie intention of answering in it all
the questions which any one can care to ask about the A. A.
Every active member of the A. A. should have one.
Reports of Chapters and Members.
Detroit, Mich.
"How can 'poison ivy' be distinguished?"
I will send an answer which I once wrote and read at one of our
club meetings. Poison ivy closely resembles the Virginia creeper
or woodbine, as it is often incorrectly called. It usually grows as a
vine, clinging to a tree or bank, but in some parts of the country it
grows like a bush, about two feet high, with a trunk from three to
four inches through. The leaflets of the ivy {Rhus toxicodendron)
are similar in shape to those of the Virginia creeper, but each leaf
of the ivy has three leaflets, whereas the creeper has ^7 v. More-
over the leaf of the ivy is darker, more glossy, and somewhat blis-
tered. It can also be readily distinguished by handling.
Agnes \Vilev (Chapter A).
[Will some one mention other characteristics of Rhus tojtr. ?\
Being frequently asked how animals can be preserved, we are
glad to present the following excellent report from the Manhattan
Chapter :
Taxidermy.
Taxidermy is the art of preserving animals. It includes preser-
vation in spirits, the operation of stuffing, the arrangement of skele-
tons or parts of them, and the preservation of the skin alone.
To Preserve A niiuals in Spirits. Alcohol is generally used. Any
animal can be preserved in it. The alcohol is diluted about fifty
per cent, (some say as low xs twenty per cent.). The nnimals
that are generally preserved in this way are those that can not be
readily stufTed, as reptiles, fishes, mollusks, and some insects. Ben-
zine is also used, and is preferred by some as it does not lose color.
To Stuff Mammals. This operation requires skill, patience, and
practice.
Lay the animal on its back, and then sttifT the mouth, nostrils,
and wounds with cotton or tow, to prevent the blood from disfigur-
ing the skin. Then split the skin from the tail to the breast-bone,
taking great care not to penetrate so deep as to cut the abdominal
muscles. Push ofT the skin gently, right and left, and as the skin-
ning proceeds, put pads of cotton between it and the muscles.
When the skin is removed as far as it can be without pulling or
744
THE LETTER-BOX.
[JlLV,
using force, separate the thighs at their junctions with the pelvis;
the tail should be severed inside the skin. Now separate the skin
from the carcass carefully til! the shoulders are reached, then sepa-
rate the legs at the shoulder-joints. Next remove the skin from the
neck and head : cut off the ears close to the skull. Great care must
be taken not to injure the eyelids and lips. Cut off the head, re-
move the external muscles of the face, and take out the brain and
eyes. Now return to the legs, clean away all the flesh to the toes,
but do not remove the tendons around the joints, as the bones are to
remain in the legs; skin the tail by forcing a cleft stick in between
the bones and skin. When all is removed, sprinkle the skin thor-
oughly with preser\'ation powder or soap it well with arsenic soap.
Leave the skin stretched till it becomes perfectly dry and absorbs
the mixture. Fill the eye-orbits and nostrils with cotton, put a thin
layer of cotton alon^ the back, introduce the wire frame-work, stuff
all the small parts with cotton and the remaining parts with any dr>-
vegetable substance. Return the skull to the head; great dex-
terity is required in placing the artificial eyes — they are fastened
with cement. When stuffing, care should be taken not to stretch
the skin and to have the animal shaped into its natural appearance.
Skeit-ifljts, Remove the skin, muscles, and ever>'thing that will
come off easily, except the ligaments, place it in water for several
days, then take it out, clean it more thoroughly and remove the
brain ; place it in fresh water. Repeat this from day to day (chang-
ing the water each time). The bones are, each time, to be well
cleaned. (The operation of cleaning and scraping should properly
be done under the surface of the water.) After the skeleton is clean,
place it in clean lime-water or solution of pearl-ash, then wash
again with clean water, wire it and place it in position, and allow it
to dry. Do not expose it to the sun or to a fire to dry. All large
animals' skeletons can be prepared in this way. Kut for small
skeletons, an easier method is to clean and soak the bones, and
place them in perforated boxes, which should then be put mto ant-
hills. The insects will quickly remove the flesh ; the skeletons must
be taken out before they attack the ligaments. Now wash, wire,
and place in position.
Walter H. Martin, 216 Franklin avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y., is now
Secretary of Chapter 151, in place of E. A. Osborne. (Nothing
causes so great confusion as a change of secretaries. The change
can not be noted here until three months after it occurs, and by that
time a new one may have been elected. In case of Chapter 151.
this change was necessary-, but, ordinarily, the secretary should be
permanent.)
Exchanges Desired.
Minerals and fossils for other minerals, fossils, and woods. — P. M.
Floyd. Burlington, Kansas.
Birds' eggs blown with one hole. — Louis B. Bishop, Box 905, New
Haven, Conn.
Petrified shells (labeled). — W. E. Loy, Eaton, Ohio, Secretary
Chapter 128.
Botanical specimens and correspondence. — Harry L. Russell,
Poynette, Wisconsin.
Minerals and birds' eggs. — Louis D. Orrison, 1206 Independence
Avenue, Kansas City, Mo.
Lepidoptera correspondence. — Ed. R. Putnam, Davenport, Iowa.
Chalcopyrite for quartz cr>-stal. — E. R. Lamed, Sec. Chapter 229,
2546 S. Dearborn St., Chicago, III.
Indian arrow-heads for a sea-horse or starfish. — Jerome Clark, 145
Washington Ave., Newport. Ky.
Feldspar, tourmaline, and Mexican onyx, for woods, geodes,
minerals, and birds' eggs. — R, P. Kaighn, 2014 Ridge Ave., Phila.
Minerals in exchange for minerals, fossils, or woods. — Harry L.
M. .Mitchell, 23 W. 12th St , N. Y.
Minerals, Indian curiosities, and wood, for anything equal in
value. — S. B. Arnold, Whipple Bk's, Yarapai Co., Arizona Ty.
Pressed ferns and a stuffed bat. for foreign coins and birds' eggs,
— Miss Hatlie M. Grover, Folsom State Prison, Folsom, California.
Curiosities and relics for minerals and curiosities. — Wm. R.
Nichols, 2016 Arch St., Philadelphia.
Eggs for woods, sea-weeds, etc. — C. M. Sprague, 19 Oakwood
Ave,, Chicago, 111.
Red-head ducks, black skimmer, and other rare eggs, in sets or
single. — C. G. Doe, 28 Wood St.. Providence. R. I.
Birds' eggs. — A. H. Rudd, 956 Asylum Ave., Hartford, Conn.
Garnets for fossils. — H. I, Hancock, Box 1339. Waltham, Mass.
"Texas centipede, stinging lizard, and homed frog. — Miss Jennie
Wise, Box 454, Waco, Texas.
Petrified moss, shells, coral, etc., etc., for ocean curiosities and
minerals — Edward Shaw, 450 Superior St., Toledo, Ohio.
Birds' eggs- — Samuel L. Magle, Rutherford, N. J.
Minerals. — ElHston J. Perot, Westchester, Penn.
Petrified moss. — Wm. G. Loy, Eaton. Ohio.
Moss agates. — James O'Connell, Fort Stockton, Texas.
We will send Emerton's Structure and Habits of Spiders, for the
best mounted collection of six species of spiders received by Sept.
8th.— Philadelphia B., H. Taylor Rodgers, Sec, 1015 Vine St.
Sea-shells and sand-dollars for ores. — P. Lucker, Galveston, Tex;;s.
Answers to Questions ik Previous Reports.
Geodes are rounded hollow concretions, either empty, or con-
taining a more or less solid and free nucleus, and frequently having
the cavity lined with crystals. On account of their size and shape
they are sometimes called potato-stones. The word Gfode comes
from the Greek, and means 'earthy.'
Geo. Powell, St. Clair, Pa.
\This gives'tio ejcplanaiiou 0/ how geodes are fomied. No one
has ansivered this question yd. Please ask the nearest *^ Professor "
and 7 epo?-t. Stay ! Here is a letter from the home of the geode. ]
^VAVERLV. Bremer Co.. Iow.\.
Dear Sir : I send you this day a box of geodes. We find them
in a quarry in a bluff of soft limestone. Some have colored crystals,
but the colors fade on exposure to light. 1 am inclined to think
that they were once living animals, something like sponges. In
course of time they became covered with sediment, and this, through
some action of the elements, changed to limestone, without petrify-
ing the animal substance. This decaying, left cavities, which later
were filled with crystals. If any one has a better theory, I should
be glad to hear it. Please tell good St. Nichol.a,s that it is rather
inconvenient for me to get my mail in Ohio.
Very respectfully, L. L. Goodwin.
[Mr. Goodwin's theory is surely ingenious. One member has
suggested that geodes may have been volcanic in origin, and formed
in the air like hail-stones. We shall hearfurtherfrom this question.]
Bees carry the honey in a honey-bag. It is connected with the
mouth, and the juices which the bees gather pass into it and are
changed into honey. This can be brought up again at will.
The Aptervx is a bird living in New Zealand. It has stumps of
wings and no tail. Its feathers look like fur. Its eggs are laid in
deep holes in the ground.
Peamts are the fruit of a trailing vine, with small yellow flowers.
After the flowers fall the stem bends downward, and the pod forces
itself into the ground, where it ripens.
Brazil has two seasons. It would be the "dry" season there at
the time mentioned.
Dark Spots on leopards correspond to the leaves of the tree in
which it hides, and prevent its being seen easily.
If the Ostrich is hunted, it will often thmst its head into the
sand and think that no one can see it.
The Manatee, Porpoise. Dolphin, Whale, and Narwhal are am-
phibious animals. [Who will correct this ? ]
Most Flies die in winter: a few live in crannies until spring.
The house of a beaver is built of mud. stones, and sticks. The
entrance is always below the surface of the water.
The fusing point of copper is 1994 deg. ; of lead, 620 deg. ; of
silver, 1873 deg. [All F.]
Salt Water freezes at 26% deg. F.
Hiram H. Bice, Utica. N. V.
[This is Miss Klyda Richardson's excellent answer to one of the
^March questions.]
I. Probably the hardest wood in the world is that of the Euca-
lyptus resinifera. Order Myrtacese. This tree is a narive of Austra-
lia and the Indian Archipelago. It is, in common with the other
trees of this genus, very- tall. Often it attains a height of two hun-
dred and fifty feet, and is seventy feet in circumference at its base.
This tree is called the brown gum tree, or iron bark. From it is
obtained one of the valuable kinds of kino, so much used in medicine.
Many other answers received, for which space can not be given.
Snow-crvstal Prize.— The prize for best drawings of snow-
crystals is again awarded to Miss Mar>- L. Garfield, of Fitchburg,
Mass.
Orono, Me.
I have read the reports of the A. A. with great interest, and fully
appreciate that through its influence a constantly increasing army
of naturalists is being formed, which is destined to accomplish
valuable results in the line of scientific observations. America needs
this army of trained and enthusiastic observers. Please tell Clarence
L. Lower, that Tortr/jr Clorana feeds on the leaves of willow
(Salix pentandra) in Europe, but this insect has never been found
in this country, and he doubtless has mistaken some other insect for
it. If he will send me the insect by mail, I will give him the true
name, and what is known of its habits. I will name tortricids for
any of the members of the A. A. who will collect and send them to
me, for I am making a reWsion of all the described species of the
world, and wish to see as many as possible, especially from the South
and West. Yours truly, C. H. Fernald, Prof 0/ Nat, Hist.
[This opportunity for making the acquaintance of "tortricids"
will not be neglected by our entomologists.]
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
745
wm^MM.
and leave a philosopher. 7. Syncopate a division of a poem and
leave a Roman censor. 8. Syncopate a covering for the head worn
ity a bishop and leave deep nnid. 9. Syncopate the sea-shore and
leave value. 10. Syncopate impressions in plaster and leave do-
mestic animals. " m'vvb.ha.ma "
'MINNE-HA-HA.
CKOSS-\\ (HJI) K.NKOIA.
Mv first is in hinge, but not in joint;
My second in apex, but not in point;
My tliird is in coffee, hut not in tea ;
>Iy fourth is in wasp, but not in bee;
My fifth is in dial, but not'in face;
^Iy sixth is in fringe, but not in lacc;
My seventh in bonnet, but not in hood;
My eighth is in lumber, but not in wood:
y\y ninth is in harmony, not in tune:
My whole had a place on King Arthur's throne —
'Twas drawn from the water, or drawn from a stone.
w. V. M
CROSSS PUZZLE.
ILI.rsTUATlill IHZZI.E 1\ THE llEAK- I'JEl E.
The above should first be read as a rebus. The answer will be a
four-line stanza which forms a charade. This should, in turn, be
solved as if it were printed like similar charades, georcb kolsom.
l>OI'BL.E 1>IAGONAL!!».
From i to 2, the main timber of a ship. From 2 to i . a vegetable.
From 2 to 5, an oblique glance. From 5 to 3, a lively dance.
From 2 to 3, a noose. From 3 to 3, a small body of stagnant
water. From 4 to 2, vicious. From 3 to 4, to subsist.
"DUMPSY GARDNER."
PI.
Across: 1. A marine conveyance. 2. Of the same age. 3. A
prophet and judge, of the tnbe of Levi, who consecrated Saul
king of Israel. 4. A land-tortoise. 5. A county of England. 6.
Ragged.
D1AGONAI.S: Left to Right — A Roman general, bom 106 n. c.
Right to Left — A constellation. BERTIE BUSH.NELL.
CHARADE.
My J^rsf has no love fur my second.
But hopes 't will be his ere he dies;
My "whole is so pleasant a matter,
To do it each clever one tries. w. m. a.
CENTRAX. SYNCOPATIOX.S ANW RE.UAINDEKS,
Each of the words described contains five letters, and the synco-
pated letters, placed in the order here given, spell the name of the
daughter of a powerful Indian chief.
r. Syncopate a substance used in making varnishes and leave a
combustible mineral. 2. Syncopate a pn)duct of warm countries
and leave fermented liquors. 3. Syncopate events and leave oleag-
inous matter. 4. Syncopate a small fish and leave a Scottisli
name for a lake. 5. Syncopate a town of Lombardy and leave a;i
island of the -^gean Sea, near Cape Blanco. 6. Syncopate a poet
Stf.ven ear lony dewing ihuslcts clwhh fyl form noe dies fo het
mool fo file ot het thrt>e, cribang het namy cooldcr hardset tou fo
hiwhc het cabfir fo rou treachrac si dame.
Al'NT SL'E.
DOt'BLE At'ROSTIC.
The initials and finals, read downward, each spell the surname
of a famous American statesman.
Cross-words: i. The cry of a bird. 2. Public records which
arc preserved as evidence of fact. 3. A branch of a tree. 4. To
annoy. 5. An animal of the cat kind. 6. 'I'o turn to account. 7.
One who directs the course of a ship. R. h. m.
Nl.MERIC'Al. ENHiillA.
I AM composed of si.xty-threc letters, and am a quotition from the
Bible, in the book of Ecclcsiasies.
^iy 45-23-62-32-15-3 we should ** apply our hearts unto," says the
ninetieth Psalm. My 59-14-60-60-12 is just the reverse. My 29-42-
60-47-18-51 is to expand. My 43-57-21-6-50-16 Ls just the reverse.
My 38-48-34-56-19 is said to be "stranger than fiction." My 20-
4S-21-54-48 is just the reverse. My 17-33-26-1-38-63 means
evenly spread. My 21-54-39-8-36 is just the reverse. My 37-10-
8-46 IS a wise man. My 40-34-25-35-27 is just the reverse. My 2-44-
11-35-41 is something entirely imaginary. My 55-4-35-56 is just
the reverse. My 13-48-49^53-5 is quick. My 52-60-14-45 is just
the reverse. My9-6i-3o-7 is contemptible. My 2-10-49-21 is just the
reverse. My 24-58-21-61-31-22 is quiet. My 55-48-44-28-18-^35
is just the reverse. " parthenia."
THE RIDDLE- BOX.
[July.
PUZZLE.
thus, Ether Van, by Dean Rolla Peag, is an anagram on
Raven," by Edgar Allan Poe.
1. The Woes o' Hemme, by Rodney J. H. Wahpona.
2. Granther Spedbann's Tale, by Stacy K Crofslein.
3. The Baby of Churltin Temple, by Hilda J. Waurowe.
4. The Kaudlebent Cook, by Waldo Soiuhmower.
5. Adora Wheaton's Tempter, by Roger O. P. Grimes.
xo\t:l cross-word enigma.
You 'll find my first in Africa;
My second in Mexico ;
In Portugal my third is placed;
For fourth to Russia go ;
My fifth in Scotland has a home;
My sixth in Candahar,
My seventh dwells in Hindoostan;
My eighth in France afar;
My ninth is in Jerusalem:
My tenth in Paraguay;
My eleventh 's fast in Belgium;
My twelfth is in Norway.
My whole comes only once a year,
The boy's delight, the mother's fear.
OCTAGON.
'The
are represented in this picture ?
ANAGRA3IS :
FAMOT'S SONGS AND THEIR
AUTHORS.
In the following Anagrams, the letters of the titles of the songs
are not mingled with the letters which form the authors' names;
Across; 1. The son of IMercur^'', who was the god of shepherds
and huntsmen. 2. Is anxious. 3. Small bundles or packages. 4.
The ancient name of a picturesque portion of Greece. 5. Lacking.
6. To steal away. 7. To settle. "alcibiades."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER.
Numerical Enigma. "Though the mills of God grind
slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.'*
An Aviarv. 1. Nightingale. 2. Goldfinch (chat)
3. Lark. 4. Teal. 5. Chickadee. 6. Nut-hatch.
7. Bobolink. 8. Coot. 9. Cockatoo 10. Snipe,
ji. Whip-poor-will. 12. Magpie. 13. Lap-
wing. 14- Plover (plan). 15. Kingfisher.
16. Linnet (line). 17. Martin. 18. Sparrow
19. Toucan. 20. Thrush (throne).
Novel Acrostic. Batde of Waterloo.
Cross-words: i. BoWer. 2. AbAse. 3.
TiTle. 4. TrEat. 5 LaRch. 6. ElLen
7. OzOne. 8. FrOwn.
Two Cross-word Enigmas. I Rose-
bud IL Anemone.
Twelve Concealed Cities, i. Eton.
2. Paris. 3. Dover. 4, Thebes. 5. Athens.
6. Ephesus. 7. London. 8. Teheran. 9.
Rome. 10. Verona, n. Nice. 12. Sparta.
Illustrated Puzzle in the Head-
piece. Roses.
In ratj not in kitten; in oar, but not in
sail ;
In gloves, but not in mitten; in pitcher,
not in pail;
In trumpets, but not in tune ; the whole appears in June.
Sunflower Maze. See accompanying illustration.
Acrostic: Tadmor in the Desert, i. T-ime.
A-varice. 3. D-ebt. 4. M-ercy. 5. 0-bedi
ence. 6. R-efrcshment. 7 1-ndustry. 8
N-ought. 9. T-ailonng. 10. H-eroism. 11,
E-arth. 12. D-eath. 13. E-xcellence. 14.
S-atis faction. 15. E-temity. 16, R-epu-
tation. 17. T-iara.
St. Andrew's Cross of Diamonds. Up-
per Left-hand Diamond: i. P. 2. See.
3. Pears. 4. Era. 5. S Upper Right-
hand Diamond: i. S. 2. Ace. 3. Scene.
4. End. 5. E. Central Diamond: i. S.
2. Ape. 3. Spare. 4. Err. 5. E. Lower
Left-hand Diamond: i. S. 2. Ate. 3.
Stare. 4. Ere. 5. E, Lower Right-hand
Diamond: i. E. 2. Raw. 3. Eager. 4.
Wet, 5. R.
Novel Cross-word Enigma. Joan of Arc.
Two Easy Word-squares. I. i. Oats. 2.
Ague. 3 Tune. 4. Seen. II. i. June. 2.
Used. 3. Need. 4. Eddy.
Pi. Saint Augustine ! Well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame.
Henry W Longfellow in '" T/w Ladder of St. Augusiinf."
Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from A. Gardner, n,
and Mary A. Dodge, i.
Answers to all of the Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 20, from C. Home — Ernest B. Cooper — "The
Houghton Family " — Emma S. Wines — Freda — Alice Maud Kyte — Marna and Bae — Clara and her Aunt — Emilie Wheelock — The
Blanke Family — Florence Leslie Kyte — Clara J. Child — Sallie Viles.
Answers to Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 20, from Pansy, 2 — Minnie and Laurence Van Buren, i —
S. W. McClary, i — Frank L. Burns, 6 — Mary Deane Dexter, 2 — Frank N. Dodd, 2— Jessie Bugbee, 6— Bess and Madge, 7 — " Aki-
biades," 7 — Effie K. Talboys, 6 — R. Hamilton, i — Eirie, 3 — J. Herbert Jordan, i — H. W. Ogden, 2 — Two Subscribers, 7 — Edith
McReever, 4 — E.Blanche Johns, i — A, B. C, 6 — Ruth Camp, 2 — Carrie Weithng, 2 — North Star, i — Addie W. Gross, i — Grace
and Blanche Parry, 5 — Annie Lovelt, 7 — Matlie G. Colt, 2 — Rory O'More, 3 — Bertie and Maud, 4 — Rene. Bert, and Grace, 6 —
Louise Kelly, 4 — Frankie Crawford, 2 — F. N. Dodd, 4 — Nellie Caldwell, 5 — A. R., 4 — L. E. R-, i — Livingston Ham. 1 — Bessie P.
McCollin, 6 — Ceietta M. Green. 6 — Vin and Alex, 4— Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., 5 — Helen E. Mahan, 6— Fred. Thwaits, 7 — Anna Clark, 2
— A.J. C.,2 — Maud and Sadie, 2 — H. I\L S. "St. Vincent," 7 — Florence E. Pratt, 6 — Lyde McKinney,6.
ffilft
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX.
AUGUST. 1882.
No. 10.
(Copyright, 18S2, by The Cli.NTUKY CO.]
HOW HURT WKNT W 1 1 A LK - H U NTI N G.
BV Hj.\LM.\R HjORTH HoVKSEN.
Bur I' Holier and his sister Hilda were sitting
on the beach, playing with large twisted cockles
which they imagined were cows and horses. They
built stables out of chips, and fenced in their pas-
tares, and led their cattle in long rows through the
Jeep grooves the\- had made in the sand.
, " When I grow up to be a man," said Burt, who
whs twelve years old, " I am going to sea and
catch whales as father did when he was young. I
on't want to stand behind a counter and sell calico
"^i tape and coffee and sugar," he continued,
\isting his chest forward, putting his hands into
( pockets, and marching with a manly swagger
, bss the beach. " I don't want to play with
fkles. like a baby any more," he added, giving
L "forcible kick to one of Hilda's finest shells and
■jding it flying across the sand.
;• 1 wish you would n't be so naughty, Burt,"
led his sister, with tears in her eyes. " If you
v't want to play with me, 1 can play alone.
.;t, oh — look thefe! "
ust at that moment, a dotcn or more columns of
jr flew high into the air, and the same number
;ir,i;c. black tail-fins emerged from the surface of
■fjord, and again slowly vanished. "Hurrah ! "
r -^ Burt in great glee, "it is a shoal of dol-
is. Good-bye, Hilda dear, 1 think I '11 run
Q' n to the boat-house."
" I think I '11 go with you, Burt," said his sis-
tor obligingly, rising and shaking the sand from
h irts.
thmk you '11 not," remarked her brother,
apgrily, " I can run faster than you."
So saying, he rushed away over the crisp sand
as fast as his feet would carry him, while his sister
Hilda, who was rather a soft-hearted girl, and ready
with her tears, ran after him, all out of breath and
calling to him at the top of her voice. Finally, when
she was more than half wa\- to the boat-house, she
stumbled against a stone and fell full length upon
the beach. Burt, fearing that she might be hurt,
paused in his flight and returned to pick her up,
but could not refrain from giving her a vindictive
little shake as soon as he discovered that she had
sustained no injury.
" 1 do think girls are tlie greatest bother that
ever was invented," he said in high dudgeon. " 1
don't see what they are good for, anyway."
"I want to go with you, Burt," cried Hilda.
Seeing there was no escape, he thought he
might just as well be kind to her.
" You may go," he said, " if you will promise
never to tell anybody what I am going to do? "
"No, Burt, I shall never tell," said the child
eagerly, and drying her tears.
" I am going whale-hunting," whispered Burt
mysteriously. "Come along."
" Whale-hunting ! " echoed the girl in delicious
e.\citement. "Dear Burtie. how good you are!
Oh, how lovely ! No, I shall never tell it to any-
body as long as I live."
It was late in the afternoon, and the sun, whicli
at that time of the year never sets in the northern
]3art of Norway, threw its red, misty rays like a
veil of dull flame over the lofty mountains which,
with their snow-hooded peaks pierced the fierj-
75°
H O W BURT WEN T W 1 1 A L E - H U N T I N G .
[August,
clouds ; their huge reflections shone in soft tints of
red, green and gray in the depths of the fjord,
whose ghttering surface was cahii and smooth as a
mirror. Only in the bay which the school of dol-
phins had entered was the water ruffled ; but there,
high spouts rose every moment into the air and
descended again in showers of fine spray.
"It is well that father has gone away with the
fishermen," said Burt, as he exerted himself with
all his might to push his small boat down over the
slippery beams of the boat-house. " Here, Hilda,
hold my harpoon for me."
Hilda, greatly impressed with her own dignity
in being allowed to hold so dangerous a weapon as
a harpoon, grasped it eagerly and held it up in
Ijoth her arms. Burt once more put his shoulder
to the stern of his light skiff (which, in honor of his
father's whaling voyages, he had named " The
North Pole,") and with a tremendous eftbrt set it
afloat. Then he carefully assisted Hilda into the
boat, in the stern of which she seated herself.
Next, he seized the oars and rowed gently out be-
yond the rocky headland toward which he had
seen the dolphins steer their course. He was an
Now remember, and push the tiller to the side
opposite where I want to go."
" I '11 remember," she replied, breathlessly.
The gentle plashing of the oars and the click-
ing of the rowlocks were the only sounds which
broke the silence of the evening. Now and then
a solitary gull gave a long, shrill scream as she
dived beneath the surface of the fjord, and once
a fish-hawk's loud, discordant yell was flung by
the echoes from mountain to mountain.
■' Starboard," commanded Burt, sternly ; but
Hilda in her agitation pushed the tiller to the
wrong side and sent the boat flying to port.
■■ Starboard, I said," cried the boy indignantly;
" if 1 had known you would be so stupid, I should
never have taken you along."
" Please, Burtie dear, do be patient with me,"
pleaded the girl remorsefully. " 1 shall not do so
again."
It then pleased his majesty, Burt Holter, to
relent, although his sister had by her awkwardness
alarmed the dolphins, sending the boat right in
their wake, when it had been his purpose to head
them off. He knew well enough that it takes sev-
ISLRT KESOLVES TO GO WHAI.E-HUNTING.
excellent sailor for his years, and could manage a
boat noiselessly and well.
" Hilda, take the helm," he whispered, " or, if
you were only good for any thing, you might pad-
dle and we should be upon them in a minute.
eral minutes for a whole school of so large a fish
as the dolphin to change its course, and the
hunter would thus ha\e a good chance of " prick-
ing" a laggard before he could catch up with his
companions. Burt strained ever\- muscle, while
1 1 1 > \V 1 ! U R I' W K \ l' \V 1 1 A I . i: - I [ I" X T I N C.
/O
A DOLPHIN DIVING.
coolly keeping his eye on the water to note the
course of his game. His only chance was in cut-
ting across the bay and lying in wait for them at'
the next headland. For he knew very well that
if they were seriously frightened and suspected
that they were being pursued, they could easily
beat him by the speed and dcxteril)' of their move-
ments. But he saw to his delight that his calcula-
tions were correct. Instead of taking the straight
course seaward, the dolphins, being probably in
pursuit of fresh herring, young cod and other
marine delicacies which they needed for their late
dinner, steered close to land where the young fish
are found in greater abundance, and their follow-
ing the coast-line of the bay gave Hurt a chance
of cutting them off and making their acquaint-
ance at closer quarters. Having crossed the little
bay, he commanded his sister to lie down flat in
the bottom of the boat — a command which she
willingly, though with a quaking heart, obeyed.
He backed cautiously into a little nook among the
rocks from which he had a clear passage out, and
having one hand on his harpoon, which was se-
cured by a rope to the prow of the boat, and the
other on the boat-hook (with which he meant to
push himself rapidly out into the midst of the
school), he peered joyously over the gunwale and
heard the loud snorts, followed by the hissing de-
scent of the spray, approaching nearer and nearer.
Now, steady, my boy ! Don't lose your presence
of mind ! One, two, three — there goes! Jump-
ing up, fixing the boat-hook against the rock, and
with a tremendous push shooting out into the midst
of the school was but a moment's work. Whew !
The water spouts and whirls about his ears as in
a shower-bath. Off goes his cap. Let it go ! But
stop ! What was that ? A terrific slap against the
side of the boat as from the tail of a huge fish.
Hilda jumps up with a piercing shriek and the
boat careens heavily to the port side, the gunwale
dipping for a moment under the water. A loud
snort, followed again by a shower of spray, is heard
right ahead, and, at the same moment, the har-
poon flies through the air with a fierce whiz and
■52
HUW BUKT WENT W 11 A 1. E - H U N T I X (i .
[Al'GUST,
lodges firmly in a broad, black back. The huge
fish in its first spasm of pain gives a fling with its
tail and for an instant the little boat is lifted out
of the water on the back of the wounded dolphin.
" Keep steady, don't let go the rope ! " shouts
Burt at the top of his voice, "he wont hurt "
But before he had finished, the light skift", with a
tremendous splash, struck the water again, and the
little coil of rope to which the harpoon was attached
flew humming over the gunwale and disappeared
with astonishing speed into the depth.
Burt seized the cord, and when there was little
knowing that, however swiftly he swam, he pulled
his enemy after him. As he rose to the surface,
about fifty or sixty yards ahead, a small column of
water shot feebly upward, and spread in a fan-like,
irregular shape before it fell. The poor dolphin
floundered along for a few seconds, its long black
body in full view, and then again dived down,
dragging the boat onward with a series of quick,
convulsive pulls.
Burt held on tightly to the cord, while the
water foamed and bubbled about the prow and
surged in swirling eddies in the wake of the skifif.
TuWEU BV rHt. WuLNDED UOLPHi.N.
left to spare, tied it firmly to the prow of the boat,
which then, of course, leaped forward with every
effort of the dolphin to rid itself of the harpoon.
The rest of the school, having taken alarm, had
sought deep water, and were seen, after a few
minutes, far out beyond the headland.
'• 1 want to go home, Burt," Hilda exclaimed,
vehemently. " I want to go home ; I don't want
to get killed, Hurt."
" You silly thing ! You can't go home now.
You must just do as I tell you, but, of course — if
you only are sensible — you won't get killed, or
hurt at all."
While he was yet speaking, on a sudden the boat
began to move rapidh- o\"er the water.
The dolphin had bethought him of flight, not
" If 1 can only manage to get that dolphin,"
said Burt, " 1 know father will give me at least a
dollar for him. There 's lots of blubber on him,
and that is used for oil to burn in lamps."
The little girl did not answer, but grasped the
gunwale hard on each side, and gazed anxiously
at the foaming and bubbling water. Burt, too, sat
silent in the prow, but with a fisherman's excite-
ment in his face. The sun hung, huge and fiery,
over the western mountains, and sent up a great,
dusky glare among the clouds, which burned in
intense but lurid hues of red and gold. Gradually,
and before they were fully aware of it. the boat
began to rise and sink again, and Burt discovered
b\- the heavy, even roll of the water that they must
be near the ocean.
1 882. 1
HOW HLkT WENT W II A I, K - II f N T I N G .
/.10
"Now you may stop, my dear dolphin," he said,
coolly. "We don't want you to take us across to
America. W'ho would ha\e thought that he was
such a tough customer anyway ? "
He let go the rope, and seating himself, again
put the oars into the rowlocks. He tried to arrest
the speed of the boat by vigorous backing ; but, to
his surprise, found that his efforts were of no avail.
"Hilda," he cried, not betraying, however, the
anxiety he was beginning to feel, "take the other
pair of oars and let us see what you are good for."
Hilda, not realizing her danger, obeyed, a little
tremblingly perhaps, and put the other pair of oars
into their places.
" Now let us turn the boat around," sternly com-
manded the boy. " It 's getting late, and we must be
home Ijcfore bed-time. One — two — three — pull ! "
The oars struck the water simultaneously and
the boat veered half way around ; but the instant
the oars were lifted again, it started back into its
former course.
" Why don't you cut the rope and let the
dolphin go?" asked Hilda, striving hard to master
the tears, which again were pressing to her eyelids.
" Not 1," answered her brother; " why, all the
fellows would laugh at me if they heard ho« I first
caught the dolphin and then the dolphin caught me.
No, indeed. Ho has n't much strength left by this
time, and we shall soon see him lloat up."
He had hardly uttered these words, when they
shot past a rocky promontory, and the vast ocean
spread out before them. Both sister and brother
gave an involuntary cry of terror. There they
were, in their frail little skiff, far away from home,
and with no boat visible for miles around. " Cut
the rope, cut the rope! Dear Burt, cut the rope ! "
screamed Hilda, wringing her hands in despair.
" 1 am afraid it is too late," answered her brother,
doggedly. " The tide is going out, and that is
what has carried us so swiftly to sea. I was a fool
that I did n't think of it."
"But what shall we do — what shall we do!"
moaned the girl, hiding her face in her apron.
" Stop that crying," demanded her brother, im-
periously. "I '11 tell you what we shall have to do.
We could n't manage to pull back against the tide,
especially here at the mouth of the fjord, where the
current is so strong. We had better keep on sea-
ward, and then, if we are in luck, we shall meet
the fishing-boats when they return, which will be
before morning. Anyway, there is little or no
wind, and the night is light enough, so that they
can not miss seeing us."
" Oh, I shall surely die, I shall surely die ! " sobbed
Hilda, flinging herselfdown in the bottom of the boat.
Hurt deigned her no answer, but sat gazing sul-
lenly out over the ocean toward the western horizon,
over which the low sun shed its lurid mist of fire.
The ocean broke with a mighty roar against the
rocks, then hushed itself for a few seconds, and then
hurled itself against the rocks anew. To be frank,
he was not quite so fearless as he looked ; but he
thought it cowardly to give expression to his fear,
and especially in the presence of his sister, in whose
estimation he had ever been a hero. The sun sank
lower until it almost touched the water. The rope
hung perfectly loose from the prow, and only now
and then grew tense as if something was feebly
tugging at it at the other end. He concluded that
the dolphin had bled to death or was exhausted.
In the meanwhile, they were drifting rapidly west-
ward, and the hollow noise of the breakers was
growing more and more distant. From a merely
idle impulse of curiosity Burt began to haul in his
rope, and presently saw a black body, some eight or
nine feet long, floating up only a few rods from the
boat. He gave four or five pulls at the rope and
was soon alongside of it. Burt felt very sad as he
looked at it, and was sorry he had killed the harm-
less animal. The thought came into his mind
that his present desperate situation was God's pun-
ishment on him for his cruel delight in killing.
•■ But ("lod would not punish my sister for my
wickedness," he reflected, gazing tenderly at Hilda,
who lay in the boat with her hands folded under
her cheek, having sobbed herself to sleep. He
felt consoled, and murmuring a prayer he had once
heard in church for "sailors in distress at sea,"
lay down at his sister's side and stared up into
the vast, red dome of the sky above him. The
water plashed gently against the sides of the skiff
as it rose and rocked upon the great smooth
" ground swell," and again sank dow-n, as it seemed
into infinite depths, only to climb again the next
billow. Burt felt sleepy and hungry, and the more
he stared into the sky the more indistinct became
his vision. He sprang up, determined to make
one last, desperate effort, and strove to row in
toward land, but he could make no headway
against the strong tide, and with aching limbs and
a heavy heart he again stretched himself out in
the bottom of the boat. Before he knew it he was
fast asleep.
He did not know how long he had slept, but the
dim, fiery look of the sun had changed into an airy
rose color, when he felt some one seizing him by
the arm and crying out : " In the name of wonders,
boy, how did you come here?"
He rubbed his eyes and saw his father's shaggy
face close to his.
" And my dear little girl too," cried the father,
in a voice of terror. "Heaven be praised for
having preserved her."
And he lifted Hilda in his arms and pressed her
754
THE LESSON OF THE BRIERS.
[August,
close to his breast. Burt thought he saw tears
gUstening in his eyes. That made him suddenly
very solemn. For he had never seen his father
cry before. Around about him was a fleet of some
thirty or forty boats laden to the gunwale with
herring. He now understood his rescue.
"Now tell me, Burt, truthfully," said his father,
gravely, still holding the sobbing Hilda tightly in
his embrace, " how did this happen .'"'
" 1 went a-whaling," stammered Burt, feeling
not at all so brave as he had felt when he started
on his voyage. But he still had courage enough
to point feebly to the dead dolphin which lay
secured a short distance from the skiff.
The father gazed in amazement at the huge fish,
then again at his son, as if comparing their bulk.
He felt that he ought to scold the youthful whaler,
but he was more inclined to praise his daring spirit.
'• Burt," he said, patting the boy's curly head.
" you may be a brave laddie ; but next time your
bravery gets the better of you, — leave the lassie at
home."
THE LESSON OF THE BRIERS.
By Joel Stacv.
" Charley ! Charley ! " called Ella to her
younger brother ; " don't go among those briers ;
come over here in the garden ! "
" Ho ! stay in the garden ! who wants to stay in
the garden ? " answered master Charley with great
contempt. "I guess you think I'm a girl to want
to play where it 's all smooth and everything.
Ho!"
"That 's not it, Charley, but you know we both
have on our good clothes, and we must be ready to
run quick when we hear the carriage drive up to
the gate with .-Vunt May and Cousin Harry and
Alice."
" I know that as well as you do," said Charley,
pushing his wa\- througli the hedge as he spoke.
"Girls aren't good for anything but to sit and
sew. I mean to have some fun. I mean to cl "
Ella felt like giving some angry answer, but she
checked herself, and went on with her sewing as she
sat under the big tree, wondering what made
Charley break off his sentence so suddenly.
"El-la, El-la!" cried a pitiful voice at last,
"come help me! 1 'm getting all torn. O — oh!"
Sure enough, Charley was getting all torn;
some big thorns had caught his new trousers, and
the harder he struggled the worse matters became.
" Hold still, dear," said Ella, " 1 can't help you
while you kick so. There ! now you 're free. Oh !
Charley ! "
Charley, clapping his hand to his trousers, knew
well enough what Ella's " Oh ! " meant. It meant a
great big tear in his new clothes, two cousins com-
ing to spend the day, and a poor little boy sobbing
in the nursery until the nurse would stop scolding
and make him fit to go down and see the com-
pany. The very thought of all this misery made
him cry.
"Oh! they'll be here in a minute! boo-hoo ! "
he sobbed ; " what shall 1 do ? "
"Why, stand still, that's all," said Ella, hastily
threading her needle with a long black thread ;
" stand just so, dear, till 1 mend it."
" Mend it ! " cried master Charles delighted.
"Oh Ella! Will yoM'?"
" Certainly I will," she answered very gently,
at the same time beginning to draw the edges of
the tear together; "you know girls are not good
for any thing but to sit and sew."
" O Ella ! 1 didn't say that."
" I think you did, Charley."
"Not exactly that, I guess. It was awful mean,
if I did. Oh ! hurry ; I hear the carriage."
" Do be quiet, you little wriggler ! " laughed his
sister, hastily finishing the work as well as she
could, so that Charley in a moment looked quite
fine again. " There ! we'll get to the gate before
they turn into the lane, after all."
Charley held Ella's hand more tightly than
usual as they ran toward the gate together. Ella
noticed it, and stopped to kiss him.
" I'm sorr)- I spoke so," he panted, kissing Iter
again right heartily. " Does it show? "
" Not a bit ; you would n't know any thing had
happened. Hurrah ! here they are ! "
" Hurrah ! Howdy do, exerybody ! " shouted
Charley.
iS83.]
THE NKlHTlNdAl.K.
/OO
I in: mcmtingale.
By Celia Thaxtek.
There is a bird, a plain, brown bird.
That dwells in lands afar,
Whose wild, delicious song is heard
With evening's first white star.
11.
night
When, dewy-fresh and still, the
Steals to the waiting world.
And the new moon glitters silver bright,
And the fluttering winds are furled ;
111.
When the balm of summer is in the air.
And the deep rose breathes of musk.
And there comes a waft of blossoms fair
Through the enchanted dusk ;
Then breaks the silence a heavenly strain,
And thrills the quiet night
With a rich and wonderful refrain,
A rapture of delight.
y\ll listeners that rare music hail,
All whisper softly ; " Hark !
It is the matchless nightingale
Sweet-singing in the dark."
VI.
He has no pride of feathers fine ;
Unconscious, too, is he,
That welcomed as a thing divine
Is his clear minstrelsy.
Rut from the fullness of his heart
His happy carol pours;
Beyond all praise, above all art.
His song to heaven soars.
VI II.
And through the whole wide world his fame
Is sounded far and near ;
Men love to speak his very name ;
That brown bird is so dear.
756
MRS. PETERKIN IN EGYPT.
[August,
A LADY who lived by the shore,
In time grew so used to its roar.
That she never could sleep
Unless some one would keep
A-pounding away at the door.
MRS. PETERKIN IN EGYPT.
By Lucretia P. Hale.
The family had taken passage in the new line
for Bordeaux. They supposed they had ; but would
they ever reach the \essel in New York? The last
moments were terrific. In spite of all their careful
arrangements, their planning and packing of the
last year, it seemed, after all, as if everything were
left for the very last day. There were presents for
the family to be packed, six steamer-bags for Mrs.
Peterkin, half a dozen sachels of salts-bottles for
Elizabeth Eliza, Apollinaris w-ater, lunch-baskets.
All these must be disposed of.
On the very last day, Elizabeth Eliza went into
Boston to buy a bird, as she had been told she
would be less likely to be sea-sick if she had a bird
in a cage in her state-room. Both she and her
mother disliked the singing of caged birds, espe-
cially of canaries, but Mrs. Peterkin argued that
they would be less likely to be homesick, as they
never had birds at home. After long moments of
indecision, Elizabeth Eliza determined upon two
canary birds, thinking she might let them fly as
they approached the shore of Portugal, and they
would then reach their native islands. This matter
detained her till the latest train, so that on her return
from Boston to their quiet suburban home, she
found the whole family assembled in the station,
read)' to take the through express train to New
York.
She did not have time, therefore, to go back to
the house for her own things. It was now locked
up and the key intrusted to the Bromwicks ; and
all the Bromwicks and the rest of the neighbors
were at the station, ready to bid them good-bye.
The familv had done their best to collect all her
iSSs.J
MRS. I'l; ri: K K 1 \ in egvi'T.
757
scattered bits of baggage, but all through her
travels, afterward, she was continually missinj;
something she had left behind, that she would
have packed, and had intended to bring.
They reached New York with half a day on
their hands, and. during this time, Agamemnon
fell in with some old college friends, who were
going with a party to (ireece to look up the new
excavations. They were to leave, the next da\ , in
a steamer for Gibraltar. Agamemnon felt thai
here was the place for him, and hastened to con-
sult his family. Perhaps he could persuade them
to change their plans and take passage with the
party for Gibraltar. But he reached the pier just
as the steamer for Bordeaux was leaving the shore.
He was too late, and was left behind ! Too late to
consult them, too late even to join them ! He
examined his map, however, — one of his latest pur-
chases, which he carried in his pocket, — and con-
soled himself with the fact that on reaching
Gibraltar he could soon communicate with his
family at Bordeaux, and he was easily reconciled to
his fate.
It was not till the family landed at Bordeaux
that they discovered the absence of Agamemnon.
Every day, there had been some of the famih- unable
to come on deck, — sea-sick below ; .Mrs. Peterkin
never left her berth, and constantly sent messages
to the others to follow her example, as she was
afraid some one of them would be lost overboard.
Those who were on deck from time to time were
always different ones, and the passage was remark-
ably quick, while, from the tossing of the ship, as
they met rough weather, they were all too misera-
ble to compare notes, or count their numbers.
Elizabeth Eliza, especially, had been exhausted by
the \'oyage. She had not been many dajs sea-
sick, but the incessant singing of the birds had de-
prived her of sleep. Then the necessity of talking
French had been a great tax upon her. The
other passengers were mostly French, and the rest
of the family constantly appealed to her to interpret
their wants, and explain them to the gargon, once
every day at dinner. She felt as if she never wished
to speak another word in French, and the necessity
of being interpreter at the hotel at Bordeaux, on
their arrival, seemed almost too much for her. She
had even forgotten to let her canary birds fly. when
off shore in the Bay of Biscay, and they w'ere still
with her, singing incessantly, as if they were rejoic-
ing over an a])proach to their native shores. She-
thought now she must keep them till their return,
which they were already planning.
The little boys, indeed, would like to have gone
back on the return trip of the steamer, A son of the
steward told them that the return cargo consisted
of dried fruits and raisins; that every state-room,
except those occupied witli passengers, would be
tilled with boxes of raisins and jars of grapes ; that
these often broke open in the |)assage, giving a great
opportunity for boys.
But the family held to their Egypt plan, and
were cheered by making the acquaintance of an
English party. At the table d'hote, Elizabeth Eliza
by chance dropped her fork into her neighbor's lap.
She apologized in French, her neighbor answered
in the same language, which Elizabeth Eliza under-
stood so well that she concluded she had at last met
with a true Parisian, and ventured on more conver-
sation, when, suddenly, they both found they were
talking in English, and Elizabeth Eliza exclaimed:
'• 1 am so glad to meet an American," at the mo-
ment that her companion was saying, "Then you
are an Englishwoman ! "
From this moment, Elizabeth Eliza was at ease,
and indeed both parties were mutually pleased.
Elizabeth Eliza's new friend was one of a large party,
and she was delighted to find that they, too, were
planning a winter in Egypt. They were waiting
till a friend should have completed her "cure" at
Pau, and the Peterkins were glad also to wait for
the appearance of Agamemnon, who might arrive
in the next steamer.
One of the little boys was sure he had heard .Aga-
memnon's voice the morning after they left New
"^'ork, and was certain he must have been on board
the vessel. Mr. Peterkin was not so sure. He now
remembered that/\gamemnon had not been at the
dinner table the very first evening. But then neither
Mrs. Peterkin nor Solomon John were able to be
present, as the vessel was tossing in a most uncom-
fortable manner, and nothing but dinner could have
kept the little boys at table. Solomon John knew
that .Vgamemnon had not been in his own state-room
during the passage, but he himself had seldom left
it, and it had l)een always planned that Agamem-
non should share that of a fellow-passenger.
However this might be, it would be best to leave
Marseilles with the English party by the " P, & O."
steamer. This was one of the English "Penin-
sular and Oriental" line, that left Marseilles for
.Alexandria, Egypt, and made a return trip directly
to Soutliampton, England, Mr, Peterkin thought
it might be advisable to take "go and return"
tickets, coming back to Southampton, and Mrs,
Peterkin liked the idea of no change of baggage,
though she dreaded the longer voyage, Eliza-
beth Eliza approved of this return trip in the
P, & O. steamer, and decided it would give a
good opportunity to dispose of her canary-birds
on her return.
The family therefore consoled themselves at Mar-
seilles with the belief that Agamemnon would ap-
pear somehow. If not, Mr, Peterkin thought he
758
MRS. PETERKIN IN EGYPT,
[AL-Gt;sT,
could telegraph him from Marseilles, if he only
knew where to telegraph to. But at Marseilles
there was great confusion at the Hotel de Noailles,
for the English party met other friends, who per-
suaded them to take route together by Brindisi.
Elizabeth Eliza was anxious to continue with her
new English friend, and Solomon John was de-
lighted with the idea of passing through the whole
length of Italy. But the sight of the long journey,
as she saw it on the map in the guide-book, terri-
fied Mrs. Peterkin. And Mr. Peterkin had taken
their tickets for the Marseilles line. Elizabeth Eliza
still dwelt upon the charm of crossing under the
Alps, while this very idea alarmed Mrs. Peterkin.
On the last morning, the matter was still unde-
cided. On leaving the hotel, it was necessary for
the party to divide, and take two omnibuses. Mr.
and Mrs. Peterkin reached the steamer at the
moment of departure, and suddenly Mrs. Peter-
kin found they were leaving the shore. As they
crossed the broad gangway to reach the deck,
she had not noticed they had left the pier, indeed
she had supposed that the steamer was one she saw
out in the offing, and that they would be obliged to
take a boat to reach it. She hurried from the
group of travelers whom she had followed, to find
Mr. Peterkin reading from his guide-book to the
little boys an explanation that they were passing
the "Chateau d'lf," from which the celebrated his-
torical character, the Count of Monte Cristo, had
escaped by flinging himself into the sea.
"Where is Elizabeth Eliza? Where is Solomon
John ?" Mrs. Peterkin exclaimed, seizing Mr. Peter-
kin's arm. Where indeed .'' There was a pile of
the hand baggage of the family, but not that of
Elizabeth Eliza, not even the bird-cage. " It was
on the top of the other omnibus," exclaimed Mrs.
Peterkin. Yes, one of the little boys had seen it
on the pavement of the court-yard of the hotel,
and had carried it to the omnibus in which Eliza-
beth Eliza was sitting. He had seen her through
the window.
"Where is that other omnibus?" exclaimed
Mrs. Peterkin, looking vaguely over the deck, as
they were fast retreating from the shore. "Ask
somebody what became of that other omnibus!"
she exclaimed. "Perhaps they have gone with
the English people," suggested Mr. Peterkin, but
he went to the officers of the boat, and attempted
to explain in French that one-half of his family had
been left behind. He was relieved to find that
the officers could understand his French, though
they did not talk English. They declared, how-
ever, it was utterly impossible to turn back. They
were already two minutes and a half behind time,
on account of waiting for a party who had been
very long in crossing the gangway.
Mr. Peterkin returned gloomily with the little
boys to Mrs. Peterkin. "We can not go back,"
he said, "we must content ourselves with going
on, but 1 conclude we can telegraph from Malta.
We can send a message to Elizabeth Eliza and
Solomon John, telling them that they can take the
next Marseilles P. & O. steamer in ten days, or
that they can go back to Southampton for the next
boat, which leaves at the end of this week. And
Elizabeth Eliza may decide upon this," Mr. Peter-
kin concluded, " on account of passing so near the
Canary Isles."
" She will be glad to be rid of the birds," said_
Mrs. Peterkin, calming herself.
These anxieties, however, were swallowed up in
new trials. Mrs. Peterkin found that she must share
her cabin (she found it was called "cabin," and
not "state-room," which bothered her and made
her feel like Robinson Crusoe) — her cabin she must
share with some strange ladies, while Mr. Peterkin
and the little boys were carried to another part of
the ship. Mrs. Peterkin remonstrated, delighted
to find that her English was understood though it
was not listened to. It was explained to her that
every family was divided in this way, and that she
would meet Mr. Peterkin and 'the little boys at
meal times in the large salon, on which all the
cabins opened, and on 'deck, and she was obliged
to content herself with this. Whenever they met
their time was spent in concocting a form of tele-
gram to send from Malta. It would be difficult to
bring it into the required number of words, as it
would be necessary to suggest three different plans
to Elizabeth Eliza and Solomon John. Besides the
two they had already discussed, there was to be
considered the possibility of their having joined the
English party. But Mrs. Peterkin was sure they
must have gone back first to the Hotel de Noailles,
to which they could address their telegram.
She found, meanwhile, the ladies in her cabin
ver\- kind and agreeable. They were mothers,
returning to India, who had been home to Eng-
land to leave their children, as they were afraid to
expose them longer to the climate of India. Mrs.
Peterkin could have sympathetic talks with them
over their family photographs. Mrs. Peterkin's
family book was, alas, in Elizabeth Eliza's hand-
bag. It contained the family photographs, from
early childhood upward, and was a large volume,
representing the children at every age.
At Malta, as he supposed, Mr. Peterkin and the
little boys landed, in order to send their telegram.
Indeed all of the gentlemen among the passengers,
and some of the ladies, gladly went on shore to visit
the points of interest that could be seen in the time
allotted. The steamer was to take in coal, and
would not leave till early the next morning.
MRS. I'ETKKKIN IN KGVI'T
759
Mrs. Pcterkin did not accompany them. She
still had her fears about leavinj; the ship and
returning to it, although it had been so quietly
accomplished at Marseilles.
The party returned late at nigli|, after Mrs.
Peterkin had gone to her cabin. The ne.xt morn-
ing, she found the ship was in motion, but she
did not find Mr. Peterlcin and the little boys,
at the breakfast tabic as usual. She was told that
the party who went on shore had all been to
the opera and had returned at a late hour to the
steamer, and would naturally be late at breakfast.
Mrs. Pcterkin went on deck to await them, and
look for .Malta as it seemed to retreat in the dis-
I tance. But the day passed on and neither Mr.
Peterkin, nor cither of the little boys appeared !
She tried to calm herself with the thought that they
must need sleep, but all the rest of the passengers
appeared, relating their different adventures. At
last, she sent the steward to inquire for them.
He came back with one of the officers of tli?--
boat, much disturbed, to say that they could
not be found, they must have been left behind.
There was great excitement, and deep interest
expressed for Mrs. Peterkin. One of the officers
was \ery surly, and declared he could not be
responsible for the inanity of passengers. Another
was more courteous. Mrs. Pcterkin asked if they
could not go back; if, at least, she could not be
put back. He explained how this would be impos-
sible, but that the company would telegraph when
they reached Alexandria.
Mrs. Peterkin calmed herself as well as she
could, though indeed she was bewildered by her
position. She w-as to land in Alexandria alone,
and the landing she was told would be especially
difficult. The steamer would not be able to ap-
proach the shore, the passengers would go down
the sides of the ship, and be lifted off the steps, by
Arabs, into a Felucca (whatever that was) below.
She shuddered at the prospect. It was darker than
her gloomiest fancies had pictured. Would it not
be better to remain in the ship ; go back to South-
ampton ; perhaps meet Elizaljeth Kliza there ; pick-
ing up Mr. Peterkin, at Malta, on the way ? But at
this moment she discovered that she was not on a
"P. & O." steamer — it w-as a French steamer of the
"Messagerie " line; they had stopped at Messina,
and not at Malta. She could not go back to South-
ampton, so she was told by an English colonel on
his way to India. He, indeed, was very cour-
teous, and advised her to "go to an hotel " at
Alexandria with some of the ladies, and send her
telegrams from there. To whom, however, would
she wish to send a telegram ?
"Who is Mr. Peterkin's banker?" asked the
colonel. Alas, Mrs. Peterkin did not know. He
had at first selected a banker in London, but had
afterward changed his mind and talked of a
banker in Paris, and she was not sure what was
his final decision. She had known the name of
the London banker, but had forgotten it ; because
she had written it dow n, and she never did remem-
ber the things she wrote down in her book. That
was her old memorandum-book, and she had left
it at home, because she had brought a new one
for her travels. She was sorry now she had
not kept the old book. This, however, was not of
so much importance, as it did-not contain the
name of the Paris banker, and this she had never
heard. "Elizabeth Eliza would know; " but how
could she reach Elizabeth Eliza ?
Some one asked if there were not some friend in
America to whom she could appeal, if she did not
object to using the ocean telegraph.
" There is a friend in America," said Mrs. Peter-
kin, " to whojn we all of us do go for advice, and
who always does help us. .She lives in Philadel-
phia."
"Why not telegraph to her for advice?" asked
her friends.
Mrs. Peterkin gladly agreed that it would be the
best plan. The expense of the cablegram would
be nothing in comparison wif'< the assistance the
answer would bring.
Her new friends then invited her to accompany
them to their hotel in Alexandria, from which she
could send her dispatch. The thought of thus be-
ing able to reach her hand across the sea, to the lady
from Philadelphia, gave Mrs. Pcterkin fresh cour-
age,—courage even to make the landing. As she
descended the side of the shij) and w as guided down
the steps, she closed her eyes, that she might not see
herself lifted into the many-oared boat by the wild-
looking Arabs, of whom she had caught a glimpse
from above. But she could not close her ears,
and as they approached the shore, strange sounds
almost deafened her. She closed her eyes again,
as she was liftetl from the boat, and heard the wild
yells and shrieks around her. There was a clash-
ing of brass, a jingling of bells, and the screams
grew more and more terrific. If she did open her
eyes, she saw wild figures gesticulating, dark faces,
gay costumes, crowds of men and boys, donkeys,
horses, even camels in the distance. She closed
her eyes once more as she was again lifted. Should
she now find herself on the back of one of those
high camels ? Perhaps for this she came to Egypt.
But when she looked round again, she found she
was leaning back in a comfortable open carriage,
with a bottle of salts at her nose. She was in the
midst of a strange whirl of exciteinent; but all
the party were bewildered, and she had scarcely re-
covered her composure when the\' reached the hotel.
76o
MRS. PETER KIN IN EGYPT.
[August,
Here, a comfortable meal and rest somewhat re-
stored them. By the next day, a messenger from
the boat brought her the return telegram from
Messina. Mr. Peterkin and family, left behind
by the " Messagerie " steamer, had embarked the
next day by steamer, probably for Naples.
More anxious than ever was Mrs. Peterkin to
send her dispatch. It was too late the day of their
arrival, but at an early hour next day it was sent,
and after a day had elapsed, the answer came :
" AW meet at The Sphinx."
Everything now seemed plain. The words were
few, but clear. Her English friends were going
directly to Cairo, and she accompanied them.
After reaching Cairo, the whole party were
obliged to rest a while. They would indeed go with
Mrs. Peterkin on her first visit to the Sphinx ; as to
see the Sphinx and ascend the Pyramid formed part
of their programme. But many dela\s occurred
to detain them, and Mrs. Peterkin had resolved to
carry out completel)- the advice of the telegram.
She would sit every day before the Sphinx. She
found, that, as yet, there was no hotel exactly in
front of the Sphinx, nor indeed on that side of the
river, and she would be obliged to make the excur-
sion of nine miles there and nine miles back, each
da)-. But there would always be a party of travel-
ers whom she could accompan)-. Each day, she
grew more and more accustomed to the bewildering
sights and sounds about her, and more and more
willing to intrust herself to the dark-colored guides.
At last, chafing at so many delays, she decided to
make the expedition without her new friends. She
had made spme experiments in riding upon a don-
key, and found she was seldom thrown, and could
not be hurt by the shght fall.
And so, one day, Mrs. Peterkin sat alone in front
of the Sphinx, — alone, as far as her own family and
friends were concerned, and yet not alone indeed.
A large crowd of guides sat around this strange
lady who proposed to spend the day in front of the
Sphinx. Clad in long white robes, and white tur-
bans crowning their dark faces, they gazed into her
eyes with something of the questioning expression
with which she herself was looking into the eyes of
the Sphinx.
There were other travelers wandering about.
Just now, her own party had collected to eat their
lunch together, but they were scattered again, and
she sat with a circle of Arabs about her, the watch-
ful dragoman lingering near.
Somehow, the Eastern languor must have stolen
upon her, or she could not have sat so calmly, not
knowing where a single member of her family was
at that moment. ■ And she had dreaded Egypt so ;
had feared separation ; had even been a little afraid
of the Sphinx, upon which she was now looking as
at a protecting angel. But they all were to meet
at the Sphinx !
If only she could have seen where the different
members of the family were, at that moment, she
could not have sat so quietly. She little knew
that a tall form, not far away (following some guides
down into the lower halls of a lately excavated tem-
ple), with a blue veil wrapped about a face shielded
with smoke-colored spectacles, was that of Eliza-
Ijeth Eliza, herself, from whom she had been sep-
arated two weeks before.
She little knew that at this moment, Solomon
John was standing, looking over the edge of the
Matterhorn, wishing he had not come up so high.
But such a gay, young party had set off that morn-
ing from the hotel that he had supposed it an easy
thing to join them, and now he would fain go back,
but was tied to the rest of his party with their
guide preceding them, and he must keep on and
crawl up behind them, still further, on hands and
knees.
Agamemnon was at Mycena:, looking down into
an open pit.
Two of the little boys were roasting eggs in the
crater of Mt. Vesuvius.
And she would have seen Mr. Peterkin, comfort-
ably reclining in a gondola, with one of the little
boys, in front of the palaces of Venice,
But none of this she saw, she only looked into
the eyes of the Sphinx.
iSSi.J
THE i'LNJAUBS OF SI AM.
761
THK PUNJAL'BS OF SI AM.
liv .Mks. S. C. -Stone.
Toot, toot!" pufted Mrs. Punjaub,
Loud trumpeting with fear,
1 do believe what they call ' men '
Have been invading here !
And that they 've spun their railroad.
There 's so much talk about, —
Right through our quiet jungle
1 ha\e n't, now, a doubt ! "
Thus spake a lady elephant
In her own far Siam ;
But Mr. Punjaub bore the news
Just like a ponderous lamb.
f
Till, one day, through their solitudes
There pierced a dreadful screech !
When, Mrs. Punjaub, fainting, caught
The nearest branch in reach !
Right down uijon iheir siknt haunts
There tore a shrieking train ;
At which it seemed Punjaub, himself,
Would never breathe again !
One moment thus he quailed, and then
On that fast-flying train
He strove to turn ; but it had passed.
And all was still again.
He laid his ears back lightly
As though he hardly heard,
And took a second bite of tree
Before he spoke a word.
These so-called men arc pigmies !
Pray, what can creatures do
Who have no tusks, nor even trunks,
Who 're so inferior, too ?
Once let them show their faces here —
I 'II scatter them like chaff ! "
And then he smiled a lordly smile;
She laughed a wifely laugh.
They really quite enjoyed their fun.
So pleasant 't is to feel
Superior to some weaker sort,
And turn upon one's heel !
The Punjaubs caught each other's eyes :
They winked, 1)ut did not speak;
Since Punjaub hardly would have told
His knees felt rather weak.
Though what to say they did not know,
Just what to do they did :
With one accord they galloped off
And straightway went and hid.
IJut Punjaub soon began to scold
And tear around and fret,
Declare he 'd never been afraid
Of any humbug, yet !
So, when that same invading train
Came slowly shrieking back,
Old Punjaub thundered boldly down
To storm along the track.
762
THE PUNJAUBS OF SIAM.
[August,
111// ^^■'''"'''''■'''''^'^^'^
Nor would he leave the gleaming lines, —
He roared: "This wild is mine!
And I shall go, or I shall stay,
Whichever I incline ! "
And, as the train rolled pointing on
Straight towards big Punjaub's legs,
The cow-catcher soon tossed his weight
Quite off those useful pegs.
So pigmy man turned on his steam
And laughed with sly aside :
"If that 's your tune, old Juggernaut,
We '11 treat vou to a ride ! "
Perhaps things wore an aspect new
As, crouching like a dog.
The startled beast was whirled away
At quite a lightning jog.
iSSi.]
HASSAN S WATER-MELON.
76J
Unwilling though he were to ride.
He dared not drop his feet,
And so he did the next best thing, —
He humbly kept his seat.
But when the playful man was tired,
And gave him half a chance,
Bewildered Punjaub found his feet
And tied with frantic prance.
,.^^
/^/"^l
M*im/£:!?
And, as he went, with baffled rage
He pulled up mighty trees.
That so he might somehow secure
His injured spirit's ease.
Great Punjaub never rode again ; —
The sun had scarcely set
Ere he had nailed a ticket up : —
This Jungle is To Lkt."
I
HASSAN'S \V.VT1:R-MI:L0N— A TURKISir STORY.
Bv David Ker.
There arc few pleasanter places in the world
than the hills of Western Anatolia, and the dainty
little white villages that look down upon the bright
blue waters of the Bosphorus form a maze of clus-
tering vineyards and sunny melon-patches. Any
one who is not afraid of heat or stinging-flies may
spend a month there pleasantly enough ; but three
hundred and tifty years ago, when Turkey was
strong enough to scare all Western Europe, and
Russia had still the whole breadth of Tartary be-
tween her and the Black Sea, it was a very differ-
ent matter.
Then, all these shady gardens and green hill-
sides were one great mass of savage forest, through
which fierce beasts and fiercer men roamed at will.
The town of Brusa — where you can now live in a
snug, little hotel, and ride out into the country
whenever you please — shut and barred its gates, in
those days, the moment the glow of sunset began
to fade from the great, white dome of Mount
Olympus overhead. At night, the howl of the
Syrian wolves could be heard close under the walls
and robbers haunted every road.
But there was one man who seemed to fear
neither wolf nor robber, cultivating his little gar-
den on the slope of the mountain, and trudging
into the town to sell his fruit, as coolly as if he had
been in the heart of Constantinople. Many people
told him that he would certainly be robbed or
eaten up some day ; but H.assan, like a sturdy old
Turk as he was, only answered that no man can
avoid his destiny, and went on just the same as
before, raising and selling his fruit, and providing
Vol. IX.— 49.
food for himself and his little girl, the only other
inhabitant of the clay hovel, and jogged along,
altogether, contentedly enough.
Now it happened that one day he had in his
garden a fine melon, so much bigger than all the
rest that he made up his mind not to sell it, but to
keep it as a birthday treat for his little Katima.
Old Hassan was sitting watching it, one hot after-
noon, as he smoked his long pipe in the shade,
and listened to the tinkle of the tiny stream tliat
kept his little plot alive, when suddenly the garden
door opened, and in came three men, with guns
on their .shoulders and long spears in their hands.
Hassan's first thought was that the robbers were
upon him at hist ; but one glance showed him that
the new-comers, roughly-dressed and dusty though
they were, did not look in the least like brigands.
Tw-o of them were fine-looking men of middle age,
whose long, dark beards were just beginning to
turn gray. The third was a tall, handsome young
man with large, black eyes, who came forward and
said courteously :
" Peace be with thee, father. We have been
hunting on the mountain and have lost our way;
tell me, 1 pray you, how far it is to Brusa."
"It lies right before you," answered Hassan,
rising at once to receive them, like a hospitable
old fellow as he was ; " and when you have rested
awhile, 1 will gladly guide you thither. But first,
1 pray you, sit down and repose yourselves, and
take of such food as 1 can offer."
"That will we do gladly, for we have fasted
since sunrise," said the youth, seating himself;
764
SEA BABY-HOUSES.
[August,
" and wc shall be well served with some bread and
a slice of yon melon ; a finer I have never seen ! "
This was more than poor Hassan had bargained
for, and he looked ruefully at the splendid fruit,
his little daughter's promised treat. But it was not
in his nature to deny anything to a tired and hun-
gry guest, and in a trice the cherished melon was
vanishing piece by piece down the strangers'
throats, while Hassan stood by with a gallant
attempt at a smile.
But little Fatima did not take the matter so
quietly by any means. When she saw her father
pluck up the fruit, she was too much confounded
to say any thing ; but the sight of it being devoured
before her very eyes was too much for her self-
command, which broke down in a burst of sobs
and tears.
"Ha! what means this?" asked the youngest
hunter, looking up from his meal. Hassan tried to
avoid an explanation, but there was something in
the young huntsman's look and tone not easy to
resist, and at last the whole truth came out.
"And thou hast given thy child's chosen fruit
rather than seem inhospitable ? " cried the guest
admiringly. " Would to Heaven all men followed
the Prophet's teaching like thee ! then should 1
have a quieter life of it. How say ye, friends?
What doth this man deserve?"
But before his comrades could answer, the gar-
den gate flew open again, and the whole place was
filled with richly-dressed men, who threw them-
selves at the young stranger's feet, crying: "God
be praised, we have found the Commander of the
Faithful, safe and sound ! "
" Purse-bearer," said the huntsman, pointing to
Hassan, who stood petrified at the discovery that
his strange guest was no other than the Sultan
himself, "give this man a hundred zecchins, to
show him that Solyman leaves no good deed un-
requited. And, as for thee, little one," he added,
hanging around Fatima's neck the gold chain that
fastened his girdle, "let this comfort thee for the
loss of thy melon. Had I a daughter like thee,
my palace would not seem so lonely."
And away he swept toward Brusa with his retinue.
Now when the Governor of Brusa, a mean, greedy
fellow, heard of Hassan's luck, he at once picked
out the finest horse in his stables, and away he went
post-haste to present // to the Sultan, expecting to
get something very good in return.
"Thou hast deserved a good reward, my serv-
ant," said the Sultan, with a twinkling eye ; for he
saw through the man in a moment. " Yesterday, I
paid a hundred gold pieces for this melon ; I give
thee the goodly fruit in exchange for thy horse ! "
You may fancy how the Governor looked, and
what a hard time of it his household had that
night, though he took good care to tell no one
luhat had made him so angry. But the story got
abroad, nevertheless, and for years afterward,
"Hassan's melon" was a proverb throughout the
whole district.
SEA BABY-HOUSES.
By Mrs. H. M. Miller.
You would n't think it, but the queer things
shown on the next page are merely baby-houses,
as they are cast up on the sea-shore after the
youngsters who lived in them have started out in
life for themselves.
The long one, curving through the middle, which
looks like a string of empty seed-pods, was once the
home of a whole famil)-. Inside each of these low,
round rooms, on a soft bed like the white of an
egg, reposed several baby Pyrulas, about as big
as grains of rice. There, they lived and grew, shut
up closely from the salt water till they reached the
proper age, when a tiny, round door in the front
opened, and out they all went into the sea.
Like many little fellows who live in the water,
each baby Pyrula carries his own house on his
back. It is made of shell, and of course is very
small at first, but it grows to be six or seven inches
long before he can be called grown up. The shell
is like a snail's shell drawn out longer at one end
into a canal, which makes it the shape of a pear,
and gives it the name Pyrula, which means a little
pear, though our grandfathers thought it more
like a fig, and named it The Tower-of-Babel Fig-
shell.
The Pyrula lives on our coast, and the empty
baby-houses — sometimes in a string a yard long
— are washed up by the waves, and called by sea-
side visitors "vegetable rattlesnake."
A grown-up Pyrula is a queer-looking fellow as
he walks about looking for fresh meat for break-
fast. His house is built over his back, as a lady
holds her parasol when the sun is behind her ; his
head, with its feelers, or tentacles, and its pair of
i882.|
SKA 1! A 1!V- HOUSES.
765
black eyes stuck out in front to see the way ; his
foot dragging behind like a trailing dress and
carefully supporting the door of his house.
His foot trailing! Strange as it sounds, it is
quite true. He has but one foot, though it is big
enough for a dozen, as we regard feet. On this
one foot he not only creeps around in the world
wherever he wishes to go, but leaves enough drag-
ging on behind to safely carry the door, as I said.
Big as the foot is, too, he can draw it completely
inside his house and close the door, which is a thin,
oval-shaped affair just fitting the opening ; and
then you might mistake it for an empty shell tossed
up by the waves.
1 should like to tell }(iu the n.une by whicli you
might hunt him up in tlie big books; but aUis !
he has had so many names that he 's as horrid to
find as though he had none. He 's a Mollusc, be-
cause his body is soft, and a Cephalous mollusc,
because he has a head, which not every body does
have in the sea. He 's a i«/7'rt/7v, because he has
but one shell, and a Gaskropod, because of his
wide, flat foot, and he is Canalkulatcd, because of
his long canal.
That 's not all : from his spindle shape he has
been called Fitsiis, and from his resemblance to a
pear, Pyriila. One names him Mtinw, because he
lives on the rocks, and another, Boiisycoii, for some
other reason. The last name up to 1875 is .Syer)-
ti'HS, according to Professor Morse.
On the whole, until the scientists settle this
matter definitely, we may as well call him Pyriila.
as did our fathers before us.
A cousin of his, the Whelk
prepares a droll little clus-
ter of baby-houses
which look like
the ends of
an car of corn; and i>n ilic cn.ist of Maine, it is
called Sea-corn, and a hundred years ago, it had
the name of Sea Wash-balls, being used by sailors
for soap.
Each little ball or bag of the cluster is the home
of several baby Whelks, whose life in the sea is
much like that of the Pyrula. The Whelk, too,
likes fresh meat for breakfast, and he gets it by
boring a hole tlirough the shell of some tender
scollop, or other peaceful creature, and dragging
the owner out, to eat. The weapon with which he
thus breaks into his neighbor's house is his tongue,
which is a sort of ribbon armed with hundreds of
sharp teeth.
The square-looking object wilh a handle at each
corner, was the nursery of the babj- Skate. You
who visit the sea-shore have doubtless often seen
them in a tangle of coarse sea-weed on the beach.
The Skate baby had this snug room to himself;
for he is much bigger than the Pyrula, and when
he made his way out into the world he was a
round, flat fish exactly like his mother, only, of
course, not so large. The empty case is black
and leathery, not at all like the yellowish baby-
houses of the Whelk family.
The thorny empty home in ilu- foreground,
with its long, sharp tail running out below, belongs
to a young Horse-shoe Crab who grew too big for
it, and so simply went out at the front door, and
left it to be washed up on the beach. He is an
interesting little fellow, and you have already
boon told some of his queer ways in the first vol-
ume of Si'. Nicholas (page 262).
Any of the things in this picture
may be picked up on our
beaches, and they
are drawn the
natural size.
766
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[August,
THE SWEET, RED ROSE.
By Joel Stacy.
"Good-morrow, little rose-bush,
Now prythee tell me true ;
To be as sweet as a sweet, red rose
What must a body do?"
'■ To be as sweet as a sweet, rod rose
A little girl like you
Just grows and grows and grows
and groVk's —
And that 's what she must do."
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
Bv James ISaldwin.
Story the Fourth.*
HOW SIEGFRTED RETURNED TO ISENSTEIN.
Siegfried staid but a twelvemonth in the Nibe-
lungen Land. A feeling of unrest came over him
again, and urged him on to seek new fields of dan-
ger and adventure. And he bade farewell to his
Nibelungen vassals, who wept as his shining face
departed from them. And he rode away through
the dark pine-forests and over the bleak mountains,
toward the Rhine country. Of whom he met, and
of what he did, and through what lands he fared, I
will not now stop to speak. But, at last, he reached
Burgundy Land, where he became the honored
guest of King Gunther, at his castle of Worms
upon the Rhine.
Right glad was the Burgundian king to wel-
come the wandering hero to his castle ; and,
although the winter season had not yet passed, a
festival of rejoicing was held in Siegfried's honor.
And the noblest w-arriors and the fairest ladies of
Burgundy were there ; and mirth and jollity ruled
the day. In the midst of the festivities, an old man,
of noble mieii, and with snow-white beard and hair,
came into the great hall, and sang for the gay com-
pany. And some whispered that he was Bragi, the
sweet musician, who lives with the song-birds and be-
side the babbling brooks and the leaping waterfalls.
But he sang not of spring, as the sweet Bragi
does, nor yet of youth, nor of beauty. His song
was a sorrowful one, — of dying flowers and falling
leaves and the wailing winds of autumn ; of for-
gotten joys, of blasted hopes, of a crushed am-
bition ; of gray hairs, of tottering footsteps, of old
age, of a lonely grave. And, as he sang, all were
moved to tears by the mournful melody and the
sad, sad words. Then Siegfried said to him :
' The third story of this series appeared in St. Nicholas for May.
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
767
" Good friend, thy music agrees not well with
this time and place ; for where nothing but mirth
and joy are welcome, thou hast brought sorrowful
thoughts and gloomy forebodings. Come now,
undo the harm that thou hast done, and sing us a
song which shall tell only of gladness and good
cheer."
The old man shook his head, and answered :
" Were 1 Bragi, as some think I am, or even a
strolling harper, I might do as you ask. But 1 am
neither, and I know no gladsome songs. I come
as a herald from a far-off land ; and I bear a mes-
sage to King Gunther, of Burgundy Land, which",
by his leave, 1 will now deliver."
" Let the herald-bard say on," said the king,
graciously.
'• Far over the tossing sea," said the herald,
" many days' sail from Norway's coast, there lies a
dreamy land called Iscnland ; and in its center
stands a glorious castle with six and eighty towers
built of purest marble, green as grass. Here lives
the matchless Brunhild, the maiden of the spring-
time and the fairest of all earth's daughters. Long
ago, she was one of Odin's Valkyrien : and, with
other heavenly maids, it was her duty to follow,
unseen, in the wake of armies, and, when they en-
gaged in battle, to hover over the field, and with
kisses to waken the dead heroes .md lead their souls
away to Odin's glad banquet-hall. But, upon a day,
Bruidiild failed to do the bidding of Odin ; and
then the All-Father, in anger, sent her to live
among men, and, like them, to be short-lived and
subject to old age and death. But the childless
old king of Isenland took pity on the friendless
maiden, and called her his daughter, and made her
his heir. This caused Odin's anger to grow still
more bitter, and he sent the thorn of sleep to
wound the princess. -And lo ! a wondrous change
came over Isenland ; sleep seized on every creature,
and silence reigned in the halls of the marble
palace. And Odin said : • Thus shall they all sleep
until the hero comes who will ride through fire,
and awaken Brunhild with a kiss.'
" At hist, after many years, the hero came. Me
passed the fiery barrier, safe ; he woke the slum-
bering maiden ; and all the castle sprang suddenly
into life again. And Brunhild, once more, is
known as the most glorious princess on the earth.
"But her beauty is not her only dowry: the
greatness of her strength is even more wonderful,
and a true warrior-queen she is. .And she has sent
heralds into every land to challenge every noble
prince to match his skill with hers in three games
of strength, — in casting the spear, in hurling the
heavy stone, and in jumping.
The one who can equal her in these three feats
she declares shall be King of Isenland, and share
with her the throne of Isenstein ; for the old king,
her foster-father, is dead. But every one who fails
in the contest shall lose his head. Many have
already risked their lives in this adventure, and
all have fallen sacrifices to the odd whim of the
warrior-t|ueen.
"And now, King Gunther, the challenge is de-
livered to you. What answer shall I carry to the
queen ? "
(amther answered, hastily :
'■ When the spring-time comes again, and the
waters in the river are unlocked, 1 shall go to Isen-
land, and accept the challenge, and match my skill
with that of the fair and mighty Brunhild."
Siegfried, when he heard these words, seemed to
be uneasy, and he whispered to the king:
'• Think twice, friend Gunther, ere you take any
steps in this matter. You do not know the strength
of this mighty, but lovely, warrior-maiden. Were
your strength four times what it is, you could not
hope lo e.xcel lur in those feats. Give up this
plan, I pray you. Think no more of such an
undertaking, for it surely will cost you your life."
But these warnings only made Gunther the more
determined, and he vowed that nothing should
keep him back from the adventure. Then the
d;uk-browed Hagen, (lunther's uncle and counsel-
or, having overheard the whispered words, said :
" Our friend Siegfried seems to know much
about Isenland and the fair Brunhild. And,
indeed, if there is an>- truth in hearsay, he has had
the best of means for learning. Now, if our good
king Gunther has set his mind on going upon this
dangerous voyage, mayhap Siegfried would be
willing to bear him company ?"
Gunther was pleased, and he said to Siegfried :
■' Mv best of friends, go with me to Isenland and
help me in this adventure. If we do well in our
undcrtiiking, ask of me any reward you wish, and
I will give it you, as far as lies in my power."
'■ You know, most noble Gunther," answered
Siegfried, "that, for myself, I have no fear; and
yet, again. 1 would warn you to shun the unknown
dangers with which this enterprise is fraught. But
if, after all, your heart is set upon going, make
ready to start as soon as the warm winds shall have
melted the ice from the river. 1 jiromise to go
with you."
The king grasped Siegfried's hand, :in(l th:inked
him heartily. '■ We must build a fleet," said he.
" A thousand warriors shall go with us, and we
will land in Isenland with a retinue such as no
other prince has led. A number of stanch sailing
vessels shall be built at once, and, in the early
spring, they shall be launched upon the Rhine."
Siegfried was amused at Gunther's earnestness,
:ind he answered : " Make no thought of taking
768
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[August,
such a follouing. You would waste twelve months
in building and victualing such a fleet ; you would
take from Burgundy its only safeguard against foes
from without ; and when you should reach Isen-
land you would find such a force to be altogether
useless. Take my advice : have one small vessel
built and rigged and victualed for the long and
dangerous voyage ; and, when the time shall come,
you and I and your faithful kinsmen, Hagen and
Dankwart — we four only — will undertake the voy-
age and the bold emprise you have fixed upon."
Gunther knew that Siegfried's judgment in this
matter was better than his own, and he agreed to
all the plans that Siegfried put forward.
When the winter months began to wane, many
hands were busy, making ready for the voyage.
King Gunther's sister, the peerless Kriemhild,
called together thirty of her maidens, the most
skillful seamstresses in Burgundy Land, and began
the making of rich clothing for her brother and his
friends. With her own fair hand she cut out gar-
ments from the rarest stuffs — the silky skins
brought from the sunny lands of Lybia ; the rich
cloth of Zazemang, green as clover ; the silk that
traders bring from Araby, white as the drifted
snow. For seven weeks, the clever maidens and
their gentle mistress plied their busy needles, and
twelve suits of wondrous beauty they made for
each of the four heroes. And the princely gar-
ments were covered with fine needlework and with
curious devices, all studded with rare and costly
jewels, and all was wrought with threads of gold.
Man)' carpenters and sailors were biis\- with axes
and hammers and flaming forges, working day and
night to make ready a ship, new and stanch, to
carry the adventurers over the sea. And great
store of food and all things needful to their safety
or comfort were brought together and put on board.
Neither were the heroes themselves idlci For,
when not busy in giving directions to the work-
men, or in overseeing the preparations that were
elsewhere going on, they spent their time in polish-
ing their armor, now long unused, in looking after
their weapons, or in providing for the management
of their business while away. And Siegfried for-
got not his trusty sword Balniung, nor his cloak of
darkness, the priceless Tarnkappe, which he had
captured from the dwarf .A-lberich in the Nibe-
lungen Land.
Then the twelve suits of garments, which fair
fingers had wrought, were brought. And when
the men tried them on, so perfect was the fit, so rare
was every piece in richness and beauty, that the
wearers w-ere amazed, and all declared that such
dazzling raiment had never before been seen.
At length, the spring had fairly vanquished
all the forces of the cold North-land. The warm
breezes had melted the snow and ice and unlocked
the river, and the time had come for Gunther and
his comrades to embark. The little ship, well
victualed, and made stanch and stout in every
part, had been launched upon the Rhine, and she
waited, with flying streamers and impatient sails,
the coming of her crew. Down the sands at length
they came, riding upon their noble steeds, and
behind them followed a train of vassals bearing
their kingly garments and their broad, gold-red
shields. And on the banks stood all the noble lords
and ladies of Worms — King Gunther's brothers,
Gemot and the young Giselher, and the queen-
mother L'te, and the peerless Kriemhild, and great
numbers of warriors and fair dames and damsels.
And the heroes bade farewell to their weeping
friends, and went upon the waiting vessel, taking
their steeds with them. And Siegfried seized an
oar and pushed the bark otif from the shore.
" 1, myself, will be the steersman, for 1 know
the way," he said.
And the sails were unfurled to the brisk south
wind, and the vessel sped on its way ; and many
fair eyes were filled with tears as they watched it,
until it could be seen no more. And with sighs and
gloomy forebodings the good people of Worms
went back to their homes, and but few hoped ever
again to see their king and his brave companions.
Driven by favorable winds, the trusty little ves-
sel sailed gayly down the Rhine, and, ere many
days had passed, it was out in the boundless sea.
For a long time the heroes sailed and rowed, but
they kept good cheer, and their hearts rose higher
and higher, for each day they drew nearer the end
of their voyage and, as they hoped, the successful
termination of their undertaking. At length, they
came in sight of a far-reaching coast and a lovely
land ; and a noble fortress, with higli towers, stood
not far from the shore.
" What land is that ? " asked the king.
Siegfried answered that this was Isenland, and
that the fortress which they saw was the castle
of Isenstein and the green marble hall of the
Princess Brunhild. But he warned his friends to
be very wary when they should arrive at the hall.
"Let all tell this story," said he : " say that
Gunther is the king, and that I am his faithful vas-
sal. The success of our undertaking depends on
this." And his three comrades promised to do as
he advised.
.-^s the vessel neared the shore, the whole castle
seemed to be alive. From every tower and turret
window, from every door and balcony, lords and
ladies, soldiers and ser\'ing-men, looked out to see
what strangers these were who came thus unher-
alded to Isenland. The heroes went on shore with
their steeds, leaving the vessel moored to the bank ;
1883.]
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
769
and then they rode slowly up the beach and across
the narrow plain, and came to tlie draw-bridge and
the great gateway, where they paused.
The matchless Hrunhild in her chamber had
been told of the coming of the strangers, and she
asked the maidens who stood around:
" Who, think you, are the unknown warriors
who thus come boldly to Isenstcin ? What is
their bearing? Do they seem to be worthy of our
notice, or arc they some straggling beggars who
have lost their way ? "
And one of the maidens answered :
"The first is a king, I know, from his noble
mien and the respect which his followers pay
him. But the second bears himself with a prouder
grace and seems the noblest of them all. He
reminds me much of the brave young Siegfried of
former days. Indeed, it must be Siegfried, for he
rides a steed with sun-beam mane, which can be
none other than (ireyfcll. The third is a dark
and gloomy man ; he wears a frown upon his brow
and his eyes shoot quick glances around ; nen-ously
he grasps his sword-hilt as if ready for surprise.
I think his temper must be grim and fiery, and his
heart a heart of flint. The fourth is young and
fair and of gentle mien. Little business has he
with rude warriors ; and many tears, mcthinks,
would be shed for him at Iiomc should harm over-
take him. Never before has so noble a company
come to Isenland. Their garments are of dazzling
luster; their saddles are covered with jewels; their
weapons are of uncqualed brightness. Surely,
they are worthy of your notice."
When Brunhild heard that Siegfried was one of
the company, she was highly pleased, and she
hastened to make ready to meet them in the great
audience hall. And she sent ten worthy lords to
open the gate and to welcome the four heroes to
Isenstein.
When Siegfried and his comrades passed
through the great gateway and came into the cas-
tle yard, their horses were led away to the stables,
and their clanging armor and broad shields and
swords were placed in the castle armory. Little heed
was paid to Hagen's surly complaints at thus hav-
ing every means of defense taken away. He was
told that such had always been the rule at Isen-
stein, and that he, like others, must submit.
After a short delay, the heroes were shown into
the great hall where the matchless Brunhild already
was awaiting them. Clad in richest raiment, from
every fold of which rare jewels gleamed, and wear-
ing a coronet of pearls and gold, the warrior-
maiden sat upon the dais. Five hundred warriors,
the bnavest in Isenland, stood around her with
drawn s«ords and fierce, determined looks. Surely
men of mettle less heroic than that of the four
knights from Rhineland would have quaked with fear
in such a presence. King Gunther and his com-
rades went forward to salute the queen. With a
winning smile, she kindly greeted them, and said
to Siegfried :
" Gladly do we welcome you back to Isenland,
friend Siegfried. We have ever remembered you
as our best friend. May we ask what is your will,
and who are these warriors whom you bring with
you ? "
"Most noble queen," answered he, "right thank-
ful am I that you have not forgotten me, and that
you should deign to notice me while in the pres-
ence of this, my liege lord," and he pointed to-
ward King Gunther. "The king of all Burgundy
Land, whose humble v.assal I am, has heard the
challenge you have sent throughout the world, and
he has come to match his strength and skill with
yours. "
"Does he know the conditions of the trial?"
asked Brunhild.
" He does," answered Siegfried. " In case of
success, a queen, and the throne of Isenstein ; in
case of failure, death."
" Just so," said Brunhild. " Yet scores of wor-
thy princes have made trial, and all have failed.
I warn your liege lord to pause and weigh well the
chances ere he runs so great a risk ! "
Then (iunther stepped forward and spoke :
"The chances, fairest queen, have all been
weighed, and nothing can change our mind.
Make your own terms, arrange everything as
pleases you best ; we accept the challenge, and
ask to make trial of our strength."
The maiden, without more words, bade her vas-
sals help her to make ready at once for the contest.
She donned a coat of mail, brought long ago from
the far-off Lybian shores, an armor which it was
said, no sword could dint and upon which the
heaviest stroke of spear felt harmless, llcr hel-
met was edged with golden lace, and sparkled all
over with precious jewels. Her lance, of wondrous
length, was brought, a heavy weight for three
stout men. Her shield was as broad and as bright
as the sun, and three spans thick with steel and
gold.
While the princess was thus arming herself, the
heroes looked on with amazement and fear. But
Siegfried, unnoticed, hastened quietly out of the
hall and through the castle gate, and sped like the
wind to their ship, which was moored to the shore.
There, he arrayed himself in the Tarnkappe, and
then, silent and unseen, he ran back to his friends
in the great hall.
" Be of good cheer ! " lie whispered in the ears
of the trembling Gunther.
The king could not see who it was tliat spoke
770
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[August,
to him, — so well was Siegfried hidden by the cloak
of darkness. Yet he knew that it must be Sieg-
fried, and he felt greatly encouraged.
Hagen's frowning face grew darker, and the un-
easy glances which shot from beneath his shaggy
eyebrows were not those of fear, but of anger and
anxiety. Dankwart gave up all as lost, and loudly
bewailed their folly.
" Must we, unarmed, stand still and see our
liege lord slain for a woman's whim?" he cried.
" Had we only our good swords, we might defy this
queen and all her Isenland ! "
Brunhild overheard his words. Scornfully, she
called to her vassals: "Bring to these boasting
knights their armor, and let them have their keen-
edged swords. Brunhild has no fear of such men,
whether they be armed or unarmed."
When Hagen and Dankwart felt their limbs
again enclosed in steel, and when they held their
trusty swords in hand, their uneasiness vanished
and hope returned.
In the castle yard a space was cleared ; and
Brunhild's five hundred warriors stood around as
umpires. The unseen Siegfried kept close by
Gunther's side.
"Fear not," he said. "Do my bidding, and
you are safe. Let me take your shield. When the
time comes, make you the movements, and trust
me to do the work."
Then Brunhild hurled her spear at Gunther's
shield. The mighty weapon sped through the air
with the swiftness of lightning, and when it struck
the shield, both Gunther and the unseen Siegfried
fell to the ground, borne down by its weight and the
force with which the spear had been thrown. Sad
would have been their fate if the friendly Tarnkappe
had not hidden Siegfried from sight and given hun
the strength of twelve giants. Quickly they rose,
and Gunther seemed to pick up the heavy
shaft. But it was really Siegfried who raised it
from the ground. For one moment, he poised the
great beam in the air, and then, turning the blunt
end foremost, he sent it flying back more swiftly
than it had come. It struck the huge shield whicli
Brunhild held before her, with a sound that echoed
to the farthest cliffs of Isenland. The warrior-
maiden was dashed to the earth : but, rising at
once, she cried :
" That was a noble blow. Sir Gunther ! 1 con-
fess myself fairly outdone. But there are two
chances yet, and you will do well if you equal me
in them. We will now try hurling the stone and
jumping."
Twelve men came forward, carrying a huge
rough stone, in weight a ton or more. And Brun-
hild raised this mass of rock in her white arms and
held it high above her head ; then she swung it
backward once, and threw it a dozen fathoms
across the castle yard. Scarcely had it reached
the ground, when the mighty maiden leaped after,
and landed just beside it. And the thousand
lookers-on shouted m admiration. But old Hagen
bit his unshorn lip and cursed the day that had
lorought them to Isenland.
Gunther and the unseen Siegfried, not at all dis-
heartened, picked up the heavy stone which was
half buried in the ground, and lifting it with seem-
ing ease, threw it swiftly forward. Not twelve, but
twenty fathoms it flew ; and Siegfried, snatching
up Gunther in his arms, leaped after, and landed
close to the castle wall. And Brunhild believed
that Gunther alone had done these great feats,
through his own strength and skill, and she at
once acknowledged herself beaten in the games ;
and she bade her vassals do homage to Gunther as
their rightful lord and king.
The unseen Siegfried ran quickly back to the
little ship, and hastily doffed the magic Tarn-
kappe. Then, in his own proper person, he re-
turned to the castle, and leisurely entered the
castle yard. When he met his pleased comrades
and the vanquished maiden-queen, he asked in
careless tones when the games would begin. All
who heard his question laughed, and Brunhild
said :
" Surely, .Sir Siegfried, the old sleep-thorn of
Isenstein has been holding you in your ship. The
games are over, and youi; lord. King Gunther, is
the winner."
At this, Siegfried seemed much delighted — as,
indeed, he was. And all went together to the
great banquet-hall, where a rich feast was served
to the Rhineland heroes and to the brave knights
uf Isenland.
Here the jarl's story ended. The children would
have been glad to hear more, but they knew that
it would be useless to ask. After a short pause,
RoUo ventured to say :
' ' But you have not yet told us what became of
the treasure that was buried in the cave. I should
really like to know if it still lies hidden there ; for
if that be so, I mean, as soon as 1 am a man and
have a ship of my own, to go and get it."
" The treasure is not in the cavern," answered
the jarl, willing to satisfy the lad's curiosity. " As
the dwarf Andvari had foretold, it proved to be
the bane of all who claimed its ownership, and of
Siegfried among the rest. Gunther and his three
hero comrades soon returned to Rhineland, and
Brunhild went with them as Gunther's wife. But
Hagen grew jealous of Siegfried's influence over the
king, and he longed to seize, for himself, the Nibe-
1 882.)
STORIES l-kUM THE NORTH KK\ MYTHS.
771
i:'iiiii!i:ii!i'!i5i:i;i:iiiiii;!i!is!iiii'.ij^!!ia[i:tiaiiiiiii!i!i!i;iiiiiii!ttsiiiis^
.*_ J>T\-.if!"llBillI>.:.
772
THE SONG OF THE SWING.
[August,
lungen hoard. And so, one day, while hunting in
the forest, he treacherously slew the noble prince.
The great Nilielungen hoard was then taken to
Rhineland, and Hagen caused it to be thrown into
the deepest part of the Rhine river, and no man
nor elf has ever been able to recover it."
Jarl Ronvald's fair wife Gudrun, who until now
had been a silent listener, here looked up and
said :
"The story of Siegfried reminds me, somewhat,
of the old, old story of Balder, which you all have
heard so often and yet seem to be ne\er tired of
listening to, over and over again."
■"Tell it to us again, mother!" cried her chil-
dren, eagerly.
The good lady readily agreed to repeat the old
storv, which had been heard at that fireside every
Yule-tide eve for many \'ears. And when the
servants had brought fresh fuel and thrown it upon
the fire, and when the flames roared loudly up the
chimney, and the old hall was brightly lighted
even to the farthest corner, she began.
( />' he coniiHiteJ.)
m'l
THE SONG OF T H !•: SWING.
Bv Mrs. C,\rolini', M. H.\rris.
Climi! into my lap. little girl. -little
girl.
Since you wistfully-gazing stand;
Climb into my lap of gray old
pine,—
Lay hold of my hempen hand.
.-V wonderful trip, little girl, lit-
tle girl.
We will take in a wonderful way,
P'rom the wonderful earth toward the wonderful
skies
On this wonderful summer's dn\.
Softly, and slowly, at first, we '11 stir.
As the shy, wild creatures pass.
Scarce bending the tops of the clover blooms.
Or moving the featherv grass.
Then up — up — up — where the blossom-clouds
Shut close 'round the robin's nest.
Peep quick ! Can you see the deep blue eggs
She hides 'neath her soft, warm breast?
Now you can tell why the bobolink
When from meadow-grass he springs,
Carols with joy as he feels the air
Pass under his outspread wings !
i8S3.]
THE SONG OF THE SWING.
ni
Ah, down — down — down — with a sinking
swoop
That makes your heart stand still !
Look up — at the arching apple-boughs !
And outsat the distant hill !
^:i //
. iwi- I- ( v ^
It may be, the trout with the self-same sigh
Drops down to the depths of the pool,
Leaving the sun-bright ripples above
For the shadows safe and cool.
A bird or a fish or a butterfly,
Or a bee in a bed of thyme —
You shall know all their joys, little girl, little girl,
If into my lap you Ml climb I
774
A VISIT TO THE HOME OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.
[August,
A VISIT TO THE HOME C)E SIR WALTER SCOTT.
By Mrs. P. I,. Collins.
Probably ni,-\ny of the young readers of St.
Nicholas, who are also readers of Sir Walter
Scott's famous romances, would like to hear of a
visit which I made a few years ago to the home
of that great writer. As some of you may know,
it is a fine and lordly mansion, surrounded by a
beautiful country, and situated on a bank of the
ri\-cr Tweed, near Melrose Abbey, some thirt\'
miles south-east of Edinburgh, Scotland.
Leaving the cars at Melrose, from which it is
three miles distant, I drove the remainder of the
way in an open carriage. Hedges of hawthorn
skirted the fields that sloped away as far as the
eye could reach ; flocks of sheep dotted them occa-
sionally ; then a bit of grove ; and everywhere
was the glory of a beautiful day, meet for a pil-
grimage to such a place.
I entered by the east-front between a hedge-row
and the ivy-covered wall. This view of the man-
sion is one of the prettiest. The many towers,
fantastic gables and airy turrets are seen to excel-
lent advantage. The entire estate was formerh- a
part of the property of the Abbots of Melrose, and
the name was taken from the nearest ford on the
Tweed. Sir Walter once said that he would make
OKE OF THE GATES OF ABBOTSFORD.
Abbotsford '"a poem in stone and mortar," and
right well did he succeed. It is as beautiful as a
fairy palace and as grand as an old feudal castle,
THE ENTRANCE-HALL. — "ALONG THE \^ALL ARE ^lANV Sl'ITS OF OLD ARMOR.'
i382.J
A VISIT TO TIIK IIOMt; O I" SIR WALTKR SC(JTT.
775
and history and romance are literalh- woven into
its walls ; for they contain sculptured stones from
the famous Tolbooth prison, the burgh of Selkirk,
Linlithgow Castle and many other places, each
embodying a story of its own.
I was compelled to wait some time for admittance
as the place is now open to visitors only two days
in the week, and on those days there is always a
throng. I recorded my name in the visitors' book
and waited patiently for the rare pleasure in store.
But when my turn came, it was a great trial to be
hurried by the guide through the different apart-
Seringapatam, when that Hindoo city was besieged
and captured by the English in 1799. On one side,
in a niche formed by a window, is a glass case con-
tainmg the last suit of clothes worn by Sir Walter.
Hanging on the wall at the extreme end near the
left door are the keys of the old Tolbooth prison.
There are also relics in this entrance-hall of James
VI., and Claverhouse, the " lionny Dundee" of
Scottish prose and poetry. Only two windows light
the hall and they are so obscured by coats of arms
that the interior has been spoken of as being
"as dark as the twelfth century." I leave my
THE OKAWINd-ROOM AT ABBOTSFORD.
ments as he ran over at railroad speed the history
of each.
The entrance hall is forty feet in length. Its
lofty ceiling of oak, fashioned into a scries of
arches, is exquisitely carved : the walls which are
also of oak, from Dunfermline .Abbey, are richly
decorated in the same manner. The floor is made
of black and white marble from the Hebrides.
Along the w^alls are many suits of old armor, the
most noticeable being an English suit of the time
of Henry \'., and an Italian one of more recent
date ; above them are the coats of arms of the
ancient border clans, conspicuous among these
being the arms of Douglas and the Royal Lion of
Scotland. There are also helmets, rapiers and clay-
mores in great variety, as well as Polish lances, and
a suit of chain mail taken from the corpse of one
of the royal body-guard of Tippoo Sahib, ruler of
young friends who study history to decide how
dark that is. Standing in one of the corners,
1)ut not visible in the picture, is an American
ax that was much prized by Sir Walter as the
gift of Washington lr\'ing. Many of you have
doubtless read Ir\'ing's description of his stay
at .Abbotsford. It is a fine tribute to the host who
entertained him so royally. The farewell at the
gate was " I will not say good-bye, but come
again." Irving tells us that he was so impressed
while there with the fact that Sir Walter, notwith-
standing the miracles of work he did, quite con-
cealed his work from his friends and always
seemed to have an abundance of leisure. He
contrived to appear ever at the comkiand of
his guests, ready to participate in every excursion
and continually devising new- plans for their en-
joyment.
776
A VISIT TO THE HOME OF SIR W A LT E R SCOTT.
[August,
The drawing-room contains an admirable col-
lection of portraits. Above the mantel is that of
Sir Walter himself with one of his ever faithful
SIR WALTER SCOTT — COPY OF A SKETCH FROM LIFE.
dogs near him. On one side of this hangs the
portrait of his mother, and on the other, that of
Lady Scott, and near it, that of his warni friend
the Duchess of Buccleugh. The oval frame above
the door contains the portrait of Lady Hope-Scott,
the great-granddaughter and only surviving de-
scendant of Sir Walter, and the present owner of
Abbotsford. Among the other portraits are those
of the beautifid Lucy Walters, mother of the Duke
of Monmouth, and the old ancestor, the stubborn
great-grandfather of Sir Walter Scott, who would
never let his beard be cut after the execution of
Charles I. Beside these, there is a collection of
views in water-colors, eight in number, by the cele-
brated English painter, Turner, presented by the
artist himself And not least in importance, a
souvenir of that most unfortunate woman, Mary,
Queen of Scots, — a head painted the day after her
execution by one Amias Cawood ; ghastly, repul-
sive, robbed of all its grace and loveliness. It is
said to ha\'e been sent to Sir Walter by a Prussian
nobleman in whose family it had been for more
than two hundred years.
The floor of the room is bare, but is waxed and
polished until it is almost as slippery as ice. Not
c\cn a rug dots the cold expanse, so that despite
the artistic display upon the walls with their silken
hangings, rare china and cabinets, and the rich
furniture, there seems to American eyes to be
something lacking ; perhaps a home-like warmth
which might be diffused coiild the great and
kindly owner live again.
The study is a small room adjoining the library.
A gallery reached by a hanging stair, and filled
with books, runs around it. In the center stands
Sir Walter's chair and desk just as he last left
them. At this desk he wrote most of the Waverley
Novels, and after his death were found in it, neatly
arranged, a number of small articles which had be-
longed to his mother when he was a sick child and
shared her room, and which he had been accus-
tomed to seeing upon her table. They were
placed so that his eyes could rest upon them while
he worked, as if he would borrow inspiration from
the holiest recollections of his childhood.
In the earlier part of the century, Scott's poet-
ry was very popular, but he suddenly found him-
self eclipsed by a new favorite — Lord Byron. It
was then that he began to write his novels, which
so entirely captivated the English reading world,
that fame and fortune followed. The public could
scarcely await the sheets as they were hurried from
his hands to the printer's press. His company was
eagerly sought by the highest in the land, and even
crowned heads were glad to do him honor. Yet
amidst all this he retained a simplicity of nature
that no adulation or flattery could spoil. It is
related that, upon one of his numerous excursions
into a remote part of the country in the search for
old folk-lore, a humble farmer with whom he
stopped, knowing his fame, expected to be dazzled
by his grand air. But after seeing and talking
with him, the peasant exclaimed delightedly :
"He 's a chiel like oursels!"
While making these rural tours, instead of
taking notes for future use, Sir Walter would
simply cut notches upon sticks as reminders, and
he often filled not only his own pockets but those
of his traveling companions with these notched
bits of wood, so that it was once laughingly
declared that on their return to Abbotsford ' 'enough
timber was discharged from our various integ-
uments to build a ship." The genuineness, the
sweetness, the healthy tone of Sir Walter's char-
acter, which never changed, I cannot help thinking
was attributable in a great measure to his extreme
A VISIT Til TlIK 1I()\IF. OK SIR \V A I I 1 ; R SriirT
m
fondness for out-door life. He was wont to say
that he only taught his boys two things, — to ride
and to shoot, leaving the rest to the mother and
their tutors.
He invariably rose early, and often accomplished
before breakfast an almost incredible amount of
work. While he sat at his desk, one or more of
his dogs always lay at his feet, and were apparently
as glad as he was, when the morning task was over
and they could accompany him on his ride or stroll.
His horse never waited to be led out, but as soon
as he was saddled and the stable-door opened,
trotted around to be mounted. Once upon the
death of a favorite dog, Sir Walter asked lo l)e ex-
cused from an engagement to dine, as he had "lost
a dear friend." In after years, when his fortunes
suffered such cruel disasters, he declared that
" Nimrod," one of his pets, was " too good for a
poor man to keep."
The library is considered the handsomest of all
the apartments. It is fifty feet in length Ijy tliirty
in breadth, and has an immense bay-window that
affords a charming glimpse of the Tweed. The
on the wall, is the portrait of Sir Walter's eldest
son, who was colonel of the Fifteenth Hussars. He
went out to Madras in 1839, and was a very popu-
lar and efficient officer; but he soon fell a victim to
the fatal climate of India and died on the return
voyage to England, whither he liad been ordered on
account of his health. Here, too, is the bust of
Sir Walter at the age of forty-nine, by Chantrey.
There are chairs exquisitely wrought, from the
Borghcse I'alace at Rome, the gift of the Pope ; a
silver urn upon a stand of porphyry, from Lord
Byron ; and an ebony cabinet and set of chairs
presented by King (leorge IV. In a glass case,
shielded from the touch of profane fingers are the
purse of Rob Roy ; the brooch of his wife ; a note-
book in green and gold, once the property of Na-
poleon I. ; and a gold snuff-box, also given by King
George IV'. When this royal friend was Regent,
he invited Scott to dine with him in London, ad-
dressing him familiarly as "Walter," and shower-
ing upon him evidences of his esteem; when he
succeeded to the throne, one of the first acts of the
kingly prerogative was to create him a baronet.
TMI-: STtL)'.
\1 r.ol sH'KIt,
MllR SCnTT S OpsK ASO CMAIK'.
ceiling is carved after designs from Melrose Abbey.
There arc twenty thousand volumes here and in the
study. The book-cases were made under Sir Wal-
ter's direction by his own workmen. .Some of them
contain rare and curious old books and MSS. that
are carefully guarded under lock and key. Here,
The fascinating history of the adventures of Rob
Roy would tell us conclusively, even if Sir Walter
himself had not frankly avowed it, that he had a
ratlicr trilling regard for his herot-s proper, and " an
unfortunate propensity for the dubious characters of
borderers, buccaneers, Highland robbers, and all
778
A VISIT TO THE HOME OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.
[August,
Others of a Robin Hood description." I confess,
for my own part, that I looked long and curiously
upon the brooch that belonged to Rob Roy's wife.
But as I leaned over the case, I wa^ thinking more
of the wife than of the dauntless outlaw ; of the
woman who reproached her husband upon his
deathbed for exhibiting some signs of contrition for
past misdeeds, exhorting him to die as he had
lived, " like a man." Rob Roy's portrait hangs in
the study. And yet another trace of him is found
in the armory ; his gun with the initials R. M. C.
(Robert Macgregor Campbell) cut around the lock.
The armory contains a wonderful array of the
weapons of various nations and ages, and disposed
his agony. This is the last of the " show-rooms " ;
visitors are not allowed elsewhere in the mansion.
As I went out. an almost oppressive silence
brooded over the house and grounds, and I pon-
dered upon the story of Sir Walter's struggle for
this lordly, ideal home, and the painful bufferings
of fortune which he endured afterward. 1 thought
of the joy and beauty of his earlier years, of his
triumph and his fame, and then of the sad day
when he came back to Abbotsford from a foreign
tour, which he had undertaken in the vain hope that
it would restore his health. When, on that day, he
caught sight first of the Eildon Hills, and soon after
(if the towers of Abbotsford, his emotion was pro-
THE LIBRARY AT ADDOTSFORD.
among the spears, battle-axes, darts, arrows, etc.,
are many relics not of a warlike character, such as
Oliver Cromwell's spurs and the hunting-bottle of
" bonnie King James;" and the cross which you
can see on the wall once belonged to the Queen of
Scots. Bonaparte's pistols, said to have been found
in his carriage at Waterloo, and a sword superbly
mounted, bestowed upon Montrose by Charles 1.,
also belong to this unique collection. 1 wish I
might say no more here, except to mention the
bulls' and stags' horns over the doorway, but there
is a secret as dark as Blue Beard's. In a corner,
almost, but not quite, hidden from view are some
of the old Scottish instruments of torture called
" thumbkins," and an iron crown which was so
adjusted that the victim could not even cry out in
found. It was his last view of them from the outer
world. How touching the greeting to his humble
and cherished friend: "Ho, Willie Laidlaw ! O
man, how often I have thought of you ! " And
those other devoted followers, — the never forgotten
dogs, gave their full share of the welcoine home,
" fawning upon him and licking his hands while he
smiled or sobbed over thein."
Not long afterward, and just before his death,
he said to his son-in-law, '• Lockhart, be a good
man, my dear, — for when you come to lie here,
nothing else will be of any avail." Surely, in
those last hours, if the panorama of his own years
passed in review before him, it included no scenes
for which he need feel repentance. The record
of a singularly pure child-life was continued
i882.|
A VI Sir I'o TIM-: II I) mi: or sii; \vai,ii:k scott.
THH AKMOkV AT AliborsHtKU.
without a blemish. One of his early teachers tells
us that it happened only once, while he had charge
of him. that he thought it necessary to punish him,
and even then the intention was quickly jiut to (light
by the sobbing boy's clasping him about the neck
and kissing him.
His literary taste and precocity were very re-
markable. When only six years of age, a friend
of the family, entering imceremoniously, found
him reading the story of a shipwreck, in verse,
to his mother. He was quivering with excitement,
and his voice rose and fell in sympathy with the
sentiment, till his hearers looked in wonder and
almost in awe upon their little interpreter of
the storm. Having finished, he tossed the book
aside carelessly, and said quietly, " That is too
melancholy ; I had better read something more
amusing." On another occasion, while still an
dccupant of the nursery, he heard a servant-girl
begin the recital of a rather blood-curdling
ghost-story to one of her companions, and he was
very eager to listen to it. Knowing, however,
that if he did so he would become frightened
and sleepless, he tucked the bed-clothes about
his ears, and heroically refused to hear the
fascinating narrative.
But I do not wish you to think that, as a boy,
Sir Walter was altogether perfect. He was prob-
ably much indulged, owing to his lameness and his
delicate health ; certainly, we never hear that his
mother objected to his Shetland pony following him
Vol. IX.— 50.
DRVBIIROH ABBEV THE BURIAL-PI.ACF OF BIK WALTKK SCOTT.
into the house !
when a starlinj;
.And we have his ow
that he had partly
n word that,
tamed was
78o
A BALLOON STORY IN FOUR CHAPTERS.
[August,
killed by the old laird of Raeburn, he "flew at his
throat like a wild cat, and could only be torn from
him with difficulty."
Dryburgh Abbey, where Sir Walter's body is en-
tombed, is four miles from Abbotsford. It was
founded in the eleventh century, but was destroyed
in the fourteenth by Edward II. It was restored
by Robert 1., and in the changes of centuries again
destroyed. St. Mary's Aisle, with its arched roof
and clustering columns, is the most beautiful frag-
ment now remaining. Within its shadow lie Sir
Walter Scott, his wife, eldest son, and Lockhart,
whom he loved so much, and who made such an
admirable and complete chronicle of his life, and
which should be read by every lover of the great
Prince of Romancers.
A BALLOON STORY IN FOUR CHAPTERS.
iSSi.]
THE MYSTERIOUS BARREL.
781
THK MYSTERIOUS l?ARRi:i,.
Hv Paul Fori.
"Captain John," said I, "did n't you tell
mc that you sometimes brought wild animals in
your ship on your return voyages from South
America ? "
Captain John had just put a couple of fresh
sticks on the fire, and had re-arranged the other
logs, and he now leaned back in his chair, rubbing
his hands before the comfortable blaze. He was a
fine, hearty man, of about middle age, and for
many years had been a sea-captain, commanding
sailing vessels trading between the United States
and various ports in the West Indies and South
America.
"Oh, yes," said he, " I often used to bring up
animals. They were generally small ones, of vari-
ous kinds, and I brought them on my own account.
I could easily sell them to menageries and museums
in our home ports. I brought one of the first elec-
tric eels that was ever carried to New York. I got
it in Para, Brazil, and 1 bought it of some Indians
for twelve milreis — about six dollars of our money.
We had lots of trouble with this fellow, for these
eels live in fresh water, and, if we had not had
plenty of rain on the voyage, we could n't have
kept him alive, for the water he was in had to be
changed every day. We kept him on deck in a
water-barrel, which lay on its side in its chocks,
with a square hole cut through the staves on the
upper side to give the creature light and air.
When we changed the water, a couple of sailors
took hold of the barrel and turned it partly over,
while another held a straw broom against the hole
to keep the eel from coming out. We would
always know when the water had nearly run out,
for then the eel lay against the lower staves, and
even the wood of the barrel would be so charged
with electricity that the sailors could hardly hold
on to the ends of the barrel. They 'd let go with
one hand and take hold with the other, and then
they 'd let go with that and change again. At
first, I did n't believe that the fellows felt the eel's
shocks in this way ; but, when I took hold myself
one day, I found they were n't shamming at all.
Then we turned the barrel back and filled it up
with fresh w atcr. and started the eel off for another
day.
" Before we began to empty the barrel, we always
took a chain-hook and felt about in the water to see
if he was alive. A chain-hook is a longish piece
of iron, with a handle at one end and a hook at
the other, and is used for handling heavy chains.
When we were scooping around in the water with
this hook and touched the eel, we would always
know w hether he was alive or not, for, if he was all
right, he would immediately charge the iron with
electricity, and the fellow that held it would know-
quick enough that the eel was alive. We took this
trouble because wc did not want to waste fresh
water on him if he had died in the night.
" He got along first-rate, and kept well and
hearty through the whole of the voyage. When
we reached New York we anchored at Quarantine,
and the health-officer came aboard. I knew him
very well, and I said to him : ■ Doctor, I 've got
something aboard that perhaps you never saw-
before.' 'What 's that?' said he. 'An electric
eel,' said 1. ' Good ! ' said he ; ' that is something
I 've always wanted to see. I w-ant to know just
what kind of a shock they can give.' ' All right,'
said I ; 'you can easily find out for yourself. He is
in this water-barrel here, and the water has just
been put in fresh, so you can see him. All you
have got to do is just to wait till he swims up near
the surface, and then you can scoop him out with
your hand. You need n't be afraid of his biting
you.' The doctor said he was n't afraid of that.
He rolled up his sleeve, and, as soon as he got a
chance, he took the eel by the middle and lifted it
out of the water. It was n't a very large one, only
about eighteen inches long, but pretty stout. The
moment he lifted it he dropped it, grabbed his
right shoulder with his left hand, and looked aloft.
■What is the matter?' said I. 'Why, I thought
something fell on me from the rigging,' said he.
• 1 was sure my arm was broken. I never had such
a blow- in my life.' ' It was only the eel,' said 1.
■ Now you know what kind of a shock he can give.'
•' On that same voyage we had a monkey, one of
a rather uncommon kind. He was what they call a
woolly monkey, and was covered all over with short
wool, like a sheep. He was the smartest monkey
1 ever knew-. He was up to all kinds of tricks. We
did n't keep him caged, but let him run around as
he pleased about the ship and in the rigging. For
some reason or other, he used to hate the cook.
Every day, when the cook was getting the dinner
• ready, when he had set out the bread and the
cold meats, the monkey would hide somewhere
and watch him, pretending to be asleep. The
moment the cook started to go out of the cabin,
Jacko would come in at the door behind him (we
always left the door at each end open in hot weather
78^
T H E M \- S T E R I O U S BARREL.
[August,
for the sake of the draught), and, springing on the
table, would seize a piece of meat, or a cracker,
or anything else that was handy, slip past the cook,
and get out of the other door before the angry cook
could catch him. Then he would bounce up into
the rigging, and wait till the cook came out."
•' And sit there, I suppose," said I, " and eat the
food he had stolen ? "
" Not a bit of it," answered the captain. " The
minute the cook showed his head, Jacko would hit
him on the top of the pate with whatever he had
taken — bread, meat, knife, fork, or spoon. It was
no use for the cook to get mad i he could never
catch that monkey.
"There was one thing that always excited Jacko's
curiosity, and that was our changing the water
eveiy day in the eel's barrel. There were eight
water-barrels standing there in a row, and why
three men should go every day, and empty the
water out of one, and pour more in, and never
touch the other barrels, was more than the monkey
could understand. He used to sit on the main-
boom and watch the whole operation, just as full of
/'
i\-
!^:jypiipiK\v
THE HEALTH-OFFICER INVESTIGATES THE MYSTERIOUS BARRE
curiosity as he could stick. But he never could see
anything in the barrel.
" One day, I thought there was gomg to be bad
weather, and, as I was afraid it might be too cold
for the eel on deck, I had his barrel moved to the
store-room, where it would be well sheltered. This
move made the monkey still more curious ; and
the first time we changed the water after the eel
got into his new quarters, the monkey sat on the
head of a pork-barrel close by, and had a better
\iew of this mysterious and perplexing business
than had ever been vouchsafed him before.
■■ When we went away, Jacko staid there, and,
happening to be standing where I could see him, I
noticed that he was running around the water-
barrel, and trying his best to see what was in it.
Then, as he had seen us trying to fish up something
with a chain-hook, he thought he would try to fish
up the same thing, whatever it was, himself. So
he jumped up on the barrel, and, leaning over, ran
his right arm dow n into the water, and began to
scoop around and around, just as he had seen us
do with the chain- hook. Pretty soon he felt the
thing he was after, and grabbed it tight.
•• But that monkey never saw that eel. The
moment he clutched it he let go, gave one wild,
backward leap, and fell on the floor with a dull
thud. 1 went up to him, and found him laid out as
if he were dead. I picked him up by the back of
the neck, but he hung as limp as a wet dish-rag.
The cook came along just then, and I said to him;
"■ ' Cook, Jacko is dead. He has found out what
is in that barrel, and the eel has killed him.'
•• 1 laid him on the pork-barrel, and was
just saying something about his having such
an eternal amount of curiosity, when Jacko
jumped to his feet, gave a bounce out of the
store-room, and in a minute was up in the
main cross-trees, chattering and screaming
as if he had gone mad. After he had been
knocked over by the shock, he had made
believe to be dead, fearing that whatever
had hit him would hit him again. He often
used to play 'possum in this wa)- uhen he
was afraid of an\body : but I thought he
was realh' dead this time.
" After that, he never came around us
when we were at work at the eel's water-
barrel. He did not want to know what was
in it.
•• I sold that eel for seventy-five dollars
to a menagerie man in New York State.
And I sold the monkey too ; but I have
often wished I had him again, for he was
the smartest monkey I ever saw."
"Did you ever carry any really danger-
ous animals. Captain John?" said 1.
"Well," said he, "once, when 1 was in Para, I
bought a snake, a boa-constrictor, seventeen feet
long. I got him of four Indians, who caught him
some twenty-five or thirty miles up the river. They
brought him into town in a strong co\-ered crate,
or basket, which they carried on two poles. When
I bought him I had him carried into my old con-
signee's yard, and I got a stout packing-box, and
had it all double-nailed, and holes bored in the
sides to give him air. Then the Indians put the
i8S2.]
I UK M VSTK klors liAKRKl
783
snake in the box, and we nailed liini up tight, leav-
ing him in a snug corner for the night.
" The next morning, I went around early to the
market (the markets there are open only about
HE CAVE ONE WH.D. RACKWARD LEAP.
sunrise) to buy somethiiii; for my snake to cat, for
the Indians said he was nearly starved. 1 got a
couple of little animals, something like our rabbits
(for these snakes wont touch any food that is n't
alive), and I carried them around to my con-
signee's house. I found the old gentleman had n't
turned out of his hammock yet ; but he soon got
up, and went with me into the )ard. When we
got there, we saw the packing-box all burst open,
the boards lying around loose, and no snake to be
seen. We looked about, but could see nothing of
him. I was amazed enough, to be sure, and the
old gentleman felt quite uneasy at the thought of
such a creature wandering about his place.
" 'We wont look for him,' he said. 'Those
Indians are still in town, and we will send for them
to catch him.'
" The Indians came, and thcv soon found him.
Vou can't imagine where he had hidden hmisclf.
There was a pile of earthen drain-pipes in one
corner of the yard, behind some bushes, and he
had crawled into one of these short pipes, and then
turned and crawled into the one next to it, and
then into the next one, and so on, in and out, until
he had put himself into five or six of the pipes. He
had probably seen, through the holes in his box,
some of my old consignee's chickens, and, being
made perfectly ravenous by the sight, had broken
out. Then, having made a meal of one or two of
them, he had crawled into the pipes.
" The Indians were not long in capturing him.
Fortunately, his head stuck out of one of the pipes
near the ground; and one of the Indians, taking a
long pole with a fork at the end, climbed on a
high fence near by, and soon pinned .Mr. Snake's
head to the ground, leaning on the pole with all his
weight. Then the other Indians straightened out
the drain-pipes in which he was, and began to
draw them off him, pulling them dosvn toward his
tail, and first exposing the portion of his body
nearest his head. Then they took a long, strong
pole, and, with bands of the tough grass which
grows in that country, tied his body to the pole
close to his head. Then they bound him again,
about eighteen inches farther down. .Slowly draw-
ing down the pipes, they tied him again to the
))ole, about eighteen inches below, and so on until
his whole length was fastened firmly to the pole.
Thus he was held secure until the box was nailed
up again, and I had sent for a blacksmith to put
iron bands around it, so that it should be strong
enough to hold any snake. Then the creature's
tail was loosened and put through a hole in the
top of the box. Then another band v.as cut, and
the snake pushed still farther in. Then, one after
another, every fastening was cut, and the snake
pushed gradually into the box, until, his head being
loosened and clapped in, a board was fastened
over the hole, and he was snug and tight and
ready for his voyage."
'' Did you have any trouble with him when you
were taking him to the North ?" I asked.
But just then the supper-bell rang, and the
captain arose to his feet. It was of no use to
expect Captain John to go on with a story when
supper was ready.
784
now A HOOSIER BOY SAW
(August,
IN THE HARVEST-FIELD.
HOW A HOOSIER BOY SAW THE TOWER OF PISA.
Bv A. H. Fretageot.
During a tour of several months in Europe, I
arrived in the ancient city of Pisa at eleven o'clock
on a lovely summer night. Being of course very
eager to see the famous Leaning Tower, I resolved,
as the moon was shining brightly, not to wait for
daylight, but to visit the Tower before retiring.
On my asking the proprietor of the hotel to tell mc
the way to the Leaning Tower, he became greatly
excited, and exclaimed: "It is impossible to go
to-night ! " I laughed at his fears, and told him
nothing was impossible to an American boy. He
still hesitated, but finally came out reluctantly into
the middle of the street and pointed out the course
I was to take.
Off I started, full of the self-contident fearless-
ness of impetuous youth. Before turning the
corner. 1 looked back and saw the old man still
standing and gazing after me. I felt sorry for him,
thinking his fears for my safety were groundless.
For a fe\*' squares the street was wide, and the
full light of the moon cheered me onward ; but
soon my way was not to be so clear.
Coming suddenly to the end of the wide street, 1
found myself by the side of the ruins of an old cath-
edral. The irregular walls covered with ivy, the light
of the moon shining through the ruined gothic
windows, and showing the decayed and mossy
interior, gave to the scene a solemn grandeur that
filled me with awe. Just in front of the cathedral
was the river Arno, a narrow stream, and the water
low within its banks. Mine host's directions to me
had been to go "straight onward" from the old
cathedral. But how was the river to be' crossed ?
There were no bridges in sight. Walking around
the corner of the old edifice and up the bank of
the Arno, I presently saw the outline of a boat close
to the shore, and as I drew nearer, I not only
found the boat, but discovered the owner thereof
lying flat on his back, with his arms thrown over
his head.
The light of the moon, shining on his face, gave
it rather a ghastly expression, and for a moment
1 paused : but, with a laugh at my fears, 1 stepped
into the boat and kicked one of his feet so as to
waken him. This unceremonious treatment roused
him quickly enough, and he sprang up and glared
at me fiercely. Not being an expert in the Italian
language, I went through a series of pantomimes,
Avhich he finally understood to mean that I wanted
him to take me across the river. Whereupon, seizing
a long pole, he pushed his craft out into the sluggish
stream. As we reached the middle, it occurred
i8gi.]
THE l.EANIXi; TtiWKR OF PISA.
78;
to mc that here would be a fine opportunity for
my ferrjnian to collect whatever fare he wished.
Accordingly, I courteously declined his invitation to
enter the cabin, as 1 much preferred standing where
I could see all around mc and watch his movc-
iTients. However, I had no trouble with my sleepy
boatman, and our craft soon reached the opposite
side of the river. Walking up the bank I found, to
my dismay, that 1 was in quite a different kind of
a city from that 1 had left. The streets were so
narrow that, extending my arms, 1 could touch
the buildings on both sides as I walked, and the
houses were \cr\- high and overhanging, almost
shutting out the moonlight. After ])ro-
cccding for several squares in hopes of
finding a more inviting street, but with-
out success, I gave up the search as vain,
and started down one of these dismal
alleys. The miserable little streets were
not only narrow and very uneven, but
destitute of pavements. After stumbling
found open. It was now two o'clock in the morn-
ing, and the intense stillness was oppressive. Not
a sound of any kind excepting my footsteps ; not
a human being to be seen, nor a light in any
of the buildings.
After a long, tedious tramp, I saw what appeared
to be a fire a long way ahead of me, but shortly
discovered that it was merely the light of the moon
shining across an open space. Pushing on rapidly,
I came to the end of the street, and there, to my
delight, I saw directly in front of me the Grand
Plaza of Pisa, with the m;issive Cathedral and
the Baptistery and the beautiful Leaning Tower
THt LtA.SiiS^ JOWtK A.ND THt CATHtUKAL.
the
CAM[>0 SANTO.
along for an hdur, I at last found myself facing
a wall at the end of the street, and I must confess
to feeling a little nervous. Retracing my steps
to the first cross-street, I walked along it a short
distance, and turned into another street which 1
standing close together and gleaming in
moonlight !
After pausing a few moments to enjoy this
first grand vision of the Tower, I turned toward a
pair of beautiful ornamental iron gates which at-
tracted my attention. But when I went up to
them and looked through, the sight was not one
calculated to add to my cheerfulness, for I found
myself facing the great Campo Santo, or burying-
ground of Pisa. The bright light of the moon
on the marble monuments and tombs, the weird
786
THE LEANING TOWER UF PISA.
[August,
shadows of the porches, the perfect stillness of the
night, inspired me with a strange feeling of awe.
Leaving this solemn place, I walked over to the
grand old Cathedral and the Baptistery near the
Leaning Tower. From that point the Tower was
distinctly outlined, and the sight of its eight stories
and the columns of pure white marble, glittering
in the moonlight, amply repaid me for my tedious
walk.
Advancing to the base of the Tower, I went in-
side and looked up. The bell-ropes touched the
sides near the top and hung down cl ise to the wall.
I think that a man looking up from the bottom of
a deep well would ha\'e a N'er)' good idea of the
appearance of the Tower as seen within from the
base, especially if the well happened to be quite
off the perpendicular.
I began to climb leisurely to the top, but 1
could not prevent myself from edging toward the
center as I walked around on the leaning side. It
seemed to me that my weight alone would cause
the whole structure to topple over.
This wonderful Tower is about thirty feet in
diameter at its base, and is one hundred and forty-
six feet high.
If any one of my boy-readers should climb the
one hundred and ninety-four steps to the top
without feeling inclined to hold on to the higher
side and tread \ery lightly on the lower side, he
would have steadier nerves than the ' ' Hoosier " boy
who climbed the Tower that night. The stairs
are worn by the tramp of millions of feet, for the
curiosity of people since the year 1174 has led
myriads of them to climb the steps of this remark-
able edifice, to reach the place where Calileo was
wont to go to study the heavens.
There are in the belfry six large bells, which arc
still used. The largest one is said to weigh six
tons, and is hung on the side opposite the over-
hanging wall, perhaps to aid in balancing the
Tower, which is twelve feet out of the perpendic-
ular. I believe that it is still unsettled whether its
oblique position is the result of accident or design.
The foundation is in a low, wet place and, it is
claimed, shows signs of having sunk many feet
farther into the earth on one side than the other.
The top story also leans back perceptibly from
the lower side, as if built to counteract the sink-
ing of the foundation.
After resting awhile at the top of the Tower, I
descended and walked over to the Baptistery. Its
magnificent bronze doors, so celebrated as works
of art, could be seen to advantage that night
only on the side on which the moonlight fell.
Close by the Baptistery stands the solemn, ancient
Cathedral, finished in the same style of architecture
as the Tower. It was the swinging of the ancient
bronze chandelier in this cathedral that suggested
to Galileo the idea of the pendulum, and thus
originated the method of marking time which is
used in some clocks.
I had almost decided to remain on the Plaza,
and in the vicinity of these three justly cele-
brated objects, — the Tower, the Baptistery, and
the Cathedral, — until morning; but 1 had now be-
come very tired, and the desire for rest and refresh-
ments decided me to make an effort to find my
hotel. 1 must confess that this seemed to me a
greater task than finding the Tower. I was in the
situation of the Indian who could not find his wig-
wam— he was not lost, but the wigwam was. I
was not lost, for I knew where I was, but it was my
Iiotel that was to be found.
Off I started, however, to the end of the Plaza
opposite to that I had entered, and here 1 found
a wide, beautiful street, and proceeding along it
for half an hour, I came to a handsome bridge
over the Arno. Upon this bridge I paused to
take my bearings, and presently descried the dim
outlines of my old friend, the ruined Cathedral.
Following the street along the river for a few
squares, and turning the corner by the Cathedral,
1 came once more to the street on which stood
the hotel, which I finally reached in safety just
at daylight, and received a hearty welcome and
manv congratulations from the old landlord.
i882.]
A GOOD TIME UN THE BEACH.
787
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A GOOn TIME "N Tlir TirACH.
788
GOING TO THE FAIR.
[August,
GOING TO THK FAIR.
By MARf;ARET Johnson.
I
The birds are singing,
The bells are ringing,
There 's music in all the air, heigh-ho !
As all together,
In golden weather,
We merrilv go to the fair, heigh-ho !
We have no money
For ribands bonny,
Our clothes are the worse for wear,
heigh-ho !
But little it matters,
In silk or in tatters.
We merrily go to the fair, heigh-ho !
Come, lads and lasses,
The time it passes;
Step out with a royal air, heigh-ho !
As all together,
In golden weather.
We merrily go to the fair, heigh-ho !
iSSi.J
THE CI.iiISTEk Ol- Tin: SEVEN liATES.
7«9
THE CLOISTER OF THE SEVEN GATES.
WITH THE srOKV OF HUW PAVL AND HIS SISTERS SAW THE WHITE VILA OF THE FOUNTAIN.
Bv K. S. Brooks.
{Author of the *^ Latiii o/ Nod" atui " Comftiies /or ChitJren."}
Three children were swinging and swaying
upon the bending branches of a stout Vistula
cherry-tree — clinging and swinging and swaying
there with shouts and laughter, in the same jolly
way that you and I have swung, many a time, from
the overhanging limbs of some springy willow or
fragrant apple-tree in our own .American meadows.
But these noisy swingers were not Americans.
They were the children of an old race and of
a far-off day. Strong-limbed, fair-haired, blue-
eyed Paul and his two sisters, Rosa and Mira,
were children of Servia, natives of that slighth
known but most interesting section of Eastern
Europe whose plains and passes and wooded hill-
slopes have echoed the war-cries of Roman and
Byzantine, of Barbarian and Turkish conquerors
from distant ages until now. Take your atlas and
turn to the map of Turkej' in Europe, follow the
winding course of the " beautiful blue Danube "
until you reach Belgrade, and there, stretching to
the east and south, ribbed with mountain-ranges
and crossed by several rivers, is the old kingdom
of Serx'ia, the country where, on a verdant hill-
slope, near to the ancient city of Karanovatz, on a
bright June morning away back in the year 1389,
Paul and his two sisters were swinging merrily on
the lower branches of their favorite cherry-tree, or,
as they called it, their vishiiia. .As thus they
swung, they could catch glimpses now and then,
across the dark green fir-tops, of the tall, gray
towers of the ro)al palace of King Lazarus, from
which floated the imperial banner of the double
eagle, and of the ivy-covered walls of the old monas-
tery ofSiczi, "the Cloister of the Seven Gates."
And well they knew, simple children though they
were, the stirring stories of Servian valor and of
Ser\'ia's greatness. Often had they heard, both at
the meetings of the grave elders, and from gray
old Ivan the bard, as he sang to the music of the
rude guitar, or intslc, how the palace «as built in
the early days of the kings; how from it had
marched to victory the royal Stephen, the mighty
Tzar, whose flag had floated over many a battle-
field, until the power of Servia was acknowledged
from the white walls of Belgrade to the azure
waters of the Grecian Seas; how, in the holy clois-
ter of Siczi, each new king of the line of Stephen
had been crowned with the "diadem of Dushan,"
and, sword in hand, had issued from the cloister as
king of Servia, through a new door cut for his
special e.xit in the ivy-covered wall ; and how, now,
seven gates for seven kings had thus been cut, and
the noble Lazarus ruled as the seventh king of
Servia in his palace at Karanovatz. All this they
knew, for they were Ser\'ian children — • proud of
the old tales and legends told at the fireside, and
dearly loving the green hills and fertile valleys of
Servia, and, best of all, the waving forests that cir-
cled and shadowed their own Ser\ian home.
And, as they swung, now high, now low, they
played at their game of king and queen, singing
the song known to every boy and girl of Servia.
It was thus that Paul sang to Rosa :
" The king from the queen an answer craves:
How shall we now employ our slaves ? **
.And Rosa answered :
*' The maidens in fine embroidery-.
The widows to spin fla.\-yam for me,
And the iiien to dig in the fields for me."
Then Paul sang to Mira :
" The king from the queen an answer craves;
How shall we, lady, feed our slaves?"
.And Mira replied :
■' The maidens shall h.lve the honey-comb sweet.
The widows shall feed on the finest wheat,
-And the men of maize-meal bread shall e.TI."
But just as they were about
\ersc, in which the king asks :
to sing the next
"Where for the night shall rest our slaves?"
the)' heard a shout and a rustle, and Mira's pretty,
dappled fawnkin, Lado, all timid and trembling,
came flying for safety up to the children ; and
almost before Mira and Rosa could calm the
frightened creature, and Paul, snatching up a
stout cherry-branch, could stand on guard, a
swooping falcon darted down at poor Lado's head.
The girls screamed, and shook their silken jackets
at the fierce bird ; but Paul, swinging his cherry-
stick, struck the bird on its sleek gray neck, and
stretched it, a dead falcon, at his feet.
" O Paul, Paul ! O Lado, Lado ! " cried both
the girls in mingled joy and fear, as they stroked
their rescued pet and trembled for Paul's safety ;
for he had killed, perhaps, one of the royal falcons.
790
THE CLOISTER OK THE SEVEX GATES.
[August,
They were not kept long in suspense, for there
came galloping up to them, mounted on a swift
Wallachian pony, a stout-built youth of some six-
teen years, richly dressed, his long, yellow hair
streaming out from under his scarlet cap.
" O Paul, run ! Run, dear Paul ! " moaned Rosa.
" It is the young ban .' "
Then Paul knew that he had killed the falcon
of the young prince, or ban, Stephen, the son of
King Lazarus. But he stood his ground. " I will
not run," he said.
The prince looked at the group, saw the trem-
bling Lado, saw the dead falcon, saw Paul's stout
cherry-stick, and, leaping from his pony, he rushed
at the boy, white with rage.
" Thou dog ! " he said, striking at Paul with
his unstrung bow. '•How dar'st thou kill my
falcon ? "
Paul answered as bravel)- as will any boy of
spirit who has justice on his side and the weak
under his protection.
" Strike me not, O Prince ! " he said. " 1 sought
not to kill thy falcon, but to drive him olif, lest he
should tear and blind our fawn."
"Thou wolf! thou pig! thou dog !" screamed
the prince, still furious at his loss ; and flinging
aside his bow, he grasped his yataghan, or short
scimitar, to cut the boy down. Rosa and Mira
threw their arms around Paul, but he shook them
off, parried the prince's stroke with his stick, and,
grasping his arm, said : " Take care what you do,
my prince. My grandfather is Nicholas, an im-
perial officer. 'T will go hard, even with thee,
shouldst thou harm or kill me."
"The vilas of the forest and the vilas of the
mountain choke and smother thy grandfather ! "
said the enraged prince, and he would have struck
at Paul again, but just then there came a clatter of
horses' hoofs and a gleam of shining armor, and
through the trees at full gallop came the prince's
uncle, Milosh Obilitch, the chief captain, or vo'i-
vode, of King Lazarus of Scnia, followed by
three mounted spearmen. A look of displeasure
came into his face as he caught sight of the prince's
angry countenance and Paul's defensive attitude.
"Come here, my prince," he said, sharply;
"why dost thou loiter there? Even now thy
father, the Tzar, is on the march to Kosovo, and
waits but for his son."
" 1 would be even with this vampire though the
Turkish Tzar himself was at our palace gates,"
said the prince, wrathfully, and then he told his
side of the story.
" But his falcon would have killed our fawn, O
mighty /'«//," said Rosa — "our fawn, Lado, dear
to us as life."
The voivode Milosh laughed a mighty laugh.
"Now, by the fist of the Cloud-gatherer," he
swore in roughest Servian, " &;« I may be, and
trusted soldier of the Tzar, but I am no judge
of man or child. Come, we waste words. Get
you to horse, my prince. A gallop through Kush-
aja will cool your hot young head. Fawns and
falcons must wait, for ' When the Tzar rides, all
business bides.' "
The prince stood in great aw-e of his mighty
uncle. He therefore obeyed his command, though
in rebellious silence, and mounted his pony with
angry reluctance.
"As for you, little ones," said the voivode,
" you, too, must wait for justice with fawns and
falcons. Here, Dessimir," he said, turning to one
of his spearmen, "take these children to the
cloister. Greet the abbot Brankovicz for me, and
bid him give these little ones safe keeping till I
return, God willing, from Kosovo. Then shall
the king decide on the right of this affair, for
surely I will not. Now, gallop, my prince ! To
the Turk, to the Turk ! "
There is nothing more unlovely and unforgiving
than a sulky boy balked of his revenge. The
Prince Stephen followed his uncle as commanded,
Ijiit there were black looks on his face and blacker
thoughts in his heart. As for Paul, he was
overjoyed at this fortunate end of an unlucky
quarrel. He knew the kindly old abbot Branko-
vicz, and felt that he and his sisters would be safer
within the protecting walls of the great cloister
than even in the strongest inner chamber of their
grandfather Nicholas' house, now shorn of all its
men for service against the Turkish invaders. So
he took his sisters by the hand, and, following the
spearman Dessimir, they walked rapidly toward the
gates of the old monastery, while Paul sang softly
to himself, as he looked at the giant form of the
I'o'ivodc Milosh, who galloped far in advance, a
popular Servian song :
" ' Swaggering surely is no sin.
Fair I face the battle's din,*
Laughed old Peter Doitchin,
The burly batt of Varadin."
The good abbot Branko\icz, who was the
superior or head of the cloister, at once under-
stood the children's case, and readily took them
under his protection ; but, before they had passed
within the outer gate, Paul's eyes rested upon a
sight that fired his boyish heart with the chiefest
of boyish ambitions — the wish to be a soldier. For
there, along the white road that passed through
fields of growing maize and under arching forest-
trees, the main body of the army of Servia wound
over the mountains toward the rocky ridge that
overlooked the field of thrushes — the fatal field
iSSz.l
THE CI.nlSTKK OK Tllli S K V K N (lATK.S.
791
of Kosovo. The fair June sunlight flashed on
the fast vanishing array of stccl-cappetl casques
and bristhng spears, and, just before the cloister
gates, it touched with a glorious gleam the golden
corselet of King Lazarus himself, as, with his
guards and seigneurs, he rode in the vanguard
of his army. Tall, commanding, and gentle-
featured, he glanced backward but once to the
gray towers of the palace of his queen, and but
once to the ivy-grown walls of the Cloister of
the Seven Gates, from which in brighter days he
had issued as Serbia's acknowledged king. The
shadow of his dream seemed resting upon him —
that dream in which, 't is said, the Lord offered
him the kingdom of Servia or the kingdom of
Heaven — an earthly or a heavenly realm; and
the gentle Tzar made the better choice, for he
said :
"What, then, is the earthly worth?
It is but a day.
It passeth away,
And the glor>' of earth full soon is o'er:
But the gIor>' of God is more and more."
.And so, pointing with his " massy mace of gold"
toward his ad\ancing army, he bent his head to
the priestly benediction as he passed the cloister
gates, and, preceded by the gallant young Hocko
Yougovitch, bearing the great purple standard of
the cross, with his son, the sulky Prince Stephen,
riding at his bridle-hand, with nobles in golden
corselets and gleaming helmets following after,
with stout spearmen, and lusty curtal-axmen, and
trusty archers closing the glittering cavalcade, up
the steeps of the Scardus, and on toward the dis-
tant mountain-passes through the fair June weather
rode Lazarus, the last of the Servian kings to tight
for his fatherland against the hosts of the Turkish
invaders.
Paul gave a great sigh as the cloister gates shut
the inspiring sight from his boyish eyes.
" O that I were a man and a soldier ! " he said.
■•Would to St. Sava that you were, little
brother!" said the patriotic old abbot. "Servia
needs every hand and every heart to guard the
crown and save the cross from infidel robbers."
Hut childish desires quickly change, as childish
hearts quickly open to each new joy, and, through
the few days that followed, Paul found no lack of
incident to blur the memory of shield and helm
and brighten the joys of living pleasures. For the
good monks of the monastery, too engrossed in
prayers for Servia's safety and in anxious and
weary waiting for tidings from the battle to look
after three harmless children, suffered them to
roam at will, unquestioned and unchecked. So
Paul and Rosa and Mira, merry-hearted, and
thinking little of a danger still distant, roamed
alike through cloister and •■ holy forest." Paul
could recall many of the stories and legends that
hovered about the old walls — legends of the saints
it shrined and stories of the mighty Tzar who had
honored and decorated it. These he could tell,
with many boyish embellishments, to his wondering
and adoring sisters. Together they knelt before
the scarlet altar, or looked with curious awe at the
dusty memorials of dead kings or the relics of
Ser\ia's saints; together they stood before each of
tlie seven gates in the cloister wall, rehearsing the
stories of the kings, while Paul, crowned with
maple-leaves and roses, and bearing a white wand
of peeled maple, stood in turn under the shadow
of each royal gate (jersonating each of the seven
kings, while Rosa and Mira wheeled and whirled
before him in the fleet figures of the kolo, the
favorite dance of Sen-ia. When tired of the sunny
cloister and the chapel walls, they would wander
through the forest paths that, to them, led to
fairy-land.
No people \w Europe is so greatly given to
romance and superstition as arc the Servians.
Hut it is an airy and fanciful superstition, full of
fairies and angels and lucky signs or unlucky
omens. And Paul and his sisters were devoted
believers in all the delicious mysteries of their
home-land. To them every tree, and stream, and
grassy mound had its attendant sprite — its fair>'
guardian, or vila, as they called it ; witches and
vampires sought to entrap heedless or wicked chil-
dren, but would quickly disappear at the sound of
a little prayer or at the sign of the holy cross. So
they roamed and romanced through the monastery
woodlands, seeing fairy forms in every waxing bush,
and weaving innocent fairy fancies around each
sunny grotto and shady nook. Hut their favorite
resort was the old moss-grown fountain close to
the cloister walls. Mere they would sit for hours
under the shade of the mountain maples, watch-
ing the bubbling waters and speculating about the
Lady of the Fountain — the White Vila of whom
they had so often heard in the songs of old Ivan
the bard — the White \'ila who haunted the holy
fountain, and appeared only when Servia's glory or
Servia's distress called her forth.
On the fifth day of their stay in the monastery,
the fifteenth of June, 13S9, the children came from
the cloister woods, where they had been playing
at the Fire-festival, Servia's great June festival of
St, John, It was a lovely afternoon, and they were
wrapped in mystery and fancy, and therefore
happy. For Paul had declared that, as he watched
while the girls waved their tiny torches, he had
thrice seen the sun stand still, as it was said to do
on St, John's feast, in honor of that worthy saint.
The girls, of course, devoutly believed it too, and
r92
THE CLOISTER OF THE SEVEN GATES.
[August,
now the three approached their favorite maple-
tree, singing softly the Servian harvest song:
"Take hold of your reeds, youths and maidens, and see
Who the kissers and kissed of the reapers shall be ;
Take hold of your reeds, till the secret be told.
If the old shall kiss young, and the young shall kiss old."
But the song died upon their lips as Rosa, sud-
denly clutching Paul's arm, pointed to the moss-
grown fountain, and whispered:
"Oh, Paul ! Paul ! see there ! "
Paul looked as directed, and there, under their
favorite maple, he saw a white-robed female figure,
standing motionless. Her hands were clasped,
her eyes were turned toward that part of the
cloister where the last of the seven gates, the gate
of King Lazarus, pierced the ivy wall.
" Rosa ! Mira ! " he exclaimed, under his breath,
" 't is she ! 't is she — the White Vila ! "
The figure raised its clasped hands toward the
cloister walls. "O holy Elias ! O saintly Maria!
saintly Sava ! " it said, "guard thou the Tzar
Lazarus ; save thou the golden crown of Servda
from the infidel Turk ! "
Now restrained by childish timidity, now drawn
on by childish curiosity, Paul and his sisters grad-
ually approached the apparition. Then Paul's
curiosity, as is often the case, got the better of his
caution. Stretching far forward to hear the Vila's
words, he tripped and fell forward. At the sound
the figure turned quickly. .A. beautiful but sorrow-
filled face looked upon the children, and a tear-
laden voice asked: "And who are you, O little
ones, here in the cloister gardens ? "
Rosa and Mira drew back in fear, but Paul
answered stoutly enough, though a trifle shakily :
" The grandchildren of the good Nicholas, so
please you," he said; and then added: "We
are here, under safeguard of the holy abbot, for
killing the falcon of the young ban, Stephen."
"The falcon of Stephen killed !" said the white
figure. "Oh, cruel omen ! "
"But it would have killed our fawn, O White
One!" said trembling Rosa — "our fawn Lado.
and Paul struck it down."
" And we wait here till the king's return," said
Paul.
"The king's return?" sadly echoed the White
One. "Ah, little brother, they who wait longest
wait safest."
"But will the king not return?" Paul asked, for the
first time feeling that perhaps all the gleam and glit-
ter of that soldierly array might go down in disaster.
"Who shall say?" the figure replied. "This
morning, when the dawn was dim, two black ra\cns,
flying from Kosovo, perched upon the palace of the
Tzar, and thrice they croaked and thrice they called. "
And Paul, full of Servia's legends and omens,
said sadly :
" When ravens croak and falcons fall.
Low hangs the black cloud over all."
" The falcon has fallen, the ravens have croaked,
the black cloud hangs low over the Seven Gates.
See ! " said the White One, and she pointed where,
across the cloister wall, the heavy shadows lay
across the gateways of the kings.
" But, can you not save Servia, O lady White
Vila?" Paul asked, appealingly. "Old Ivan the
bard has sung that the White Vila of the Fountain
stands Servia's friend in Servia's need."
But, before an answer could be made, the cloister
gates swung open with a sudden clang, and straight
to the holy fountain dashed a black courser, flecked
with foam, while on his back swayed a wounded
rider — the courier of the Tzar.
"O Milontine ! " cried the while lady, rushing
toward him. " The Tzar, the Tzar ? "
The courier dropped from his saddle and kissed
the lady's robe.
" O true-eyed Queen," he said, " the sun of
Servia is down : dead is the great Lazarus ! "
" Ah, woe is me ! " she said ; " the ravens, the
falcon, and the black cloud did show but the
truth !"
And as her fair head drooped in grief, Paul knew
that the White Vila of the Fountain was " the sweet-
eyed Melitza," the widowed queen of Servia.
" And my boy Stephen? How died the young
bail, Milontine?" she asked, raising her head.
The courier hesitated. " Hear the end, O
Queen ! " he said, and then he told in few but weary
words the whole sad tale. He told how gallantly
Servia's army met the foe; how bravely young
Bocko guarded the purple standard of the cross ;
how her brother, the voivodc Milosh, cut his way
through twelve thousand Turkish soldiers to where
King Lazarus stood at bay, and fought the Turkish
sultan himself; ho\x', when they were overpowered
by numbers, Milosh and the king still fought until
vanquished, and how even in his death-struggle
the I'oivodc's blade had cut down the sultan too ;
how the new sultan, Bajazet, in his tent, slew
the great Lazarus; and, last of all, how Stephen —
her son, the young bait, the hope of Servia — had
early in the battle deserted to the enemy, told the
Turks the secret of Ser\'ia's array and the weakest
spot in her battle-line, and now, in the tent of the
Turkish sultan, saluted him as master and lord.
Calm in face and feature, the queen waited till
the last ; but when the story of her son's treachery
was told, she started to her feet.
"O sacred house!" she said, turning to the
monastery walls, " O Cloister of the Seven Gates!
I.KAr-FROG IN THE WOODS.
793
from out whose holy doors have issued Scrvia's
kings, at whose sacred altar the holy christening
drops fell on my baby Stephen's head, fall now
and cover Servia's wretched queen ! "
" And doubt yc, doubt yc, the uilc I IcU ?
Ask of the dead, for the dead know well :
Let them answer ye, each from his mouldy bed,
For there is no falsehood among the dead;
And there be twelve thousand dead men know
Who betray'd the Tzar at Kosovo."
So, under the ivy-covered walls of the Cloister
of the Seven Gates, swooned the sweet queen of
Servia ; so, on the fatal field of Kosovo, fell the
noble Lazarus, the last of Servia's kings; so a
traitor son betrayed a kingly father ; so Lado the
fawn lost the crown of Servia.
And now, why have 1 told this storj- of Ser\ia's
sorrow, this tale of a far-off time, and of a land
so little known to the boys and girls of to-day —
this tale, half fact, half fable, as I have gathered
it from the mist of romance that obscures the
history of a fair land and of a gallant race ?
Five hundred years have passed since the fatal
day of Kosovo, five centuries since the last of
Senia's kings fell, fighting bravely in her defense.
Through all these years, with only now and then
a gleam of light, a bright but transient fiaring-up
of the spirit of liberty, the Turk has ruled as
m;ister of the land. But now her deliverance has
come. In 1868, when but a boy of fourteen, the
young Milan Obrenovitch was acknowledged as
tributary prince of Servia; a young man of twenty-
two he, in the year 1876, revolted against Turkish
misrule and freed Servia from the long tyranny
of her Moslem conquerors. And now, in this very
month of August, 1882, he will, unless some
change of ceremonial occurs, "bear his crown
forth into the world," amid the glad acclaims of an
emancipated people, as King Milan the First of
Servia, passing through a new gate cut in the
time-stained, moss-grown wall of the old Cloister
of the Seven Gates, under the shadow of which
Paul and his sisters saw the White Vila of the
Fountain five hundryd years ago.
I.HAP-FROO IN
794
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
[Al'glst,
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
BV LUCV A. MlLLINGTOX.
l)N THE KLiAU T'
Master Harry Hadley, aged just fourteen at
the time I shall tell )'0U about, was a very genial
boy, and had no fear of making the acquaintance
of strangers whose appearance pleased him. His
sister Anne, two years younger, but almost as tall,
went everywhere with him, and shared in all his
adventures, without a thought of consequences.
They finally tired of the places they had been in
the habit of visiting summer after summer, and,
having recently read Cooper's "Last of the Mo-
hicans," had succeeded in persuading their mother
that, after a brief stay at Saratoga, a visit to Lake
George would be an agreeable change for them all.
' LAKE GEORGE.
So it happened that, on a bright summer morn-
ing, they found themselves actually at the begin-
ning of their long-anticipated journey, and about
to enter the commodious stage drawn up at the
door of the hotel. And when a dark, grave-look-
ing stranger, who occupied an outside seat, beck-
oned to Harry with the air of one who knew the best
places, and generally got them, nothing seemed to
him more natural than at once to accept so friendly an
invitation, in which he also liberally included Anne.
If Mamma made any objections, they were so
fiiint as to be lost in the bustle attending the start,
for the next moment the stage was oft".
lS82.]
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
795
Mamma and her eldest daughter, Marie, settled
themselves comfortably inside the coach, content
to know that Harry and Anne were at least safely
on board, and would need no further care for
the present.
It was a perfect summer day. The six shining
horses trotting smoothly along the planked road ;
the light, bounding motion of the coach, the lofty
seat whence they could look down complacently
on the boys and girls toiling along the sidewalks
or roadsides, — all this made Harry's blood tingle
with a pleasant excitement.
He sat quite still, however, for he was not given
to making a noise when he was pleased ; but
looked about with an interest sharpened by his
keen enjoyment. The swallows dartinj; from low
eaves, sparrows in oak thickets, and a kingljird
poised on beating wings over a fluttering moth, he
passing over had been used by the armies, that
there had often been much fighting along it;
and that the block-houses had been built for shelter
and protection.
Harry became so interested that he began to
make good resolutions about studying colonial
histor)- ; but he forgot all about them when the
stranger beside him asked him if he liked fish-
ing, and pointed out a trout-brook, winding among
meadows and thickets. Sometimes it was lost in
a green level, and anon hid itself in a small piece
of woodland. .\ miserable little scow, managed by
two boys, was coming slowly down the brook,
laden with water-lilies. .Anne shouted with delight
when they threw her a handful. She could not
lind a penny to throw to the boys, for her purse
was at the bottom of a pocket very much like
Harry's, full of all sorts of things accumulated in
THK STEAMER *' GANOUSKIE. '
merely pointed out to Anne. Looking back, he
saw distant purple mountains, which their new
acquaintance told them were the long, outlying
ranges of the Green Mountains. Then Anne re-
membered having read that, during the French
and Indian wars, this very road which they were
Vol. LX.— 51.
their travels. However, that did not matter, for
the stranger threw down some sinall change.
'"Evidently," thought Harry, "he carries his
pennies loose in his pockets."
Then they wound along hill-sides shaded by
huge chestnut-trees, whose little fuzzy burs began
796
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
[Al'GUST,
to peep from among the green leaves. The hills
beyond were high and covered with dark woods.
Anne wondered if there were not bears in those
woods.
"Very likely," said the stranger; ''bears are
very fond of chestnuts and acorns."
"Have you ever seen a bear loose in the
woods ? " inquired Harry.
"Once or twice — yes, twice," said the stranger,
meditatively.
Harry took a good look at him for the first time.
He was a handsome man, with dark eyes and dark
skin, almost like an Indian's, but his hair and beard
were fine and smooth. Anne could not help
noticing his brown hands, with clean nails, and
the "useful " look they had — not at all like most
gentlemen's hands; but he seemed in no hurry to
tell them about the bears.
"Did you see them here?" asked Harry.
"Oh, no — a long way off in the mountains.
We were hunting deer, and our supper depended
on our success. I was not anxious to see a bear,
because I had become tired of eating bear-steak,
and we were wishing for a change. I waited for
a deer to pass me, for the dogs had started one;
but they had started a bear also. Well, when I
heard the small cedar-trees rustle, I thought a deer
was coming, and took up my gun ; but after wait-
ing a long time, a huge black paw was put out from
among the branches, and slowly waved, as though
beckoning me to come forward. It was so like a
great rough hand that I shuddered. Then there
was a silence. 1 took steady aim, and fired where
I had seen the paw. Something or somebody
cried ' Oh ! ' in a deep voice, and a heavy body
plunged off the rocks, and fell with a scramble and
a crash down the hill. I was so sure that I had
shot one of my men that I threw down my gun
and ran forward, calling out, ' Who are you ?
Oh, tell me who it is ! ' -A. howl that was more
dreadful than any thing I ever heard before or
since answered me. 1 had only my knife, but
I knew that my shot would call in the rest of my
men, if they were near me. I could hear the bear
crashing about in the close thicket. It seemed an
age, but it could not have been five minutes, before
I had regained my rifle and faced the bear as it
scrambled up the rocks. As its breast rose over
the hill I fired, and it fell back, dead."
Harry's cheeks tingled, and he panted softly,
looking into the dark eyes before him.
"Was it a verj' large bear?" asked Anne.
"Very large," said the stranger, " and we had
to eat it, for there was no deer killed that day."
"Oh," said Harry, "I wish 1 had been with
you ! "
"To eat bear-meat?" laughed the man. Then
he pointed out to them a bit of blue like the sky,
which he said was Lake George. They rolled
down the long, sloping embankment of the sliding
sand-hill, with its bank swallows wheeling in cir-
cles overhead, and then through the pines, and
across to the hotel — a thing Harry and Anne cared
ver)' little about, and that little only for the sup-
per and the rest, before the glad to-morrow in
which they should see the old fort and the scene
of the massacre of the unfortunate prisoners by
their savage conquerors.
About nine o'clock next morning, Harrj- and
Anne came out of the woods, and climbed the
grassy mound that covers what was once Fort
George. They had walked slowly across the
rough lime-rocks, trying to trace in the confused
heaps of broken stone the lines of defense and
the fire-places of the log-barracks which once stood
there. Harry had grown eloquent in his descrip-
tions, for he knew that he had an admiring audi-
ence, and that gave him a sense of freedom which
made him rather reckless as to numbers and dates.
.After a time he began to be speculative, and he
seriously questioned the possibility of three thou-
sand men getting inside so small an inclosure.
The bit of wall still left, with its half-closed em-
brasure, he considered a trifling affair. Tramping
up and down over the short, fine grass that
covered the piles of stones and mortar, he went
too near the edge, and, in the midst of a flourish
of sneers and gesticulations, disappeared from
.Anne's admiring eyes, as suddenly as if some hid-
den savage had extended a long arm from below
and pulled him down. Indeed, it was several
seconds before she quite understood that he was
gone. Then her screams rang through the woods
and echoed along the rocky mountain-sides, peal
after peal, as, more than a hundred years before,
the screams of the helpless prisoners had waked
the echoes on the day of the massacre. She dared
not look down, though the fall was not great, for
she did not doubt that Harry was killed. So she
stood with clenched hands, crj-ing loudly in a way
that Harry despised and had often scolded her
for, when two strong brown hands clutched her
arms, and she felt herself swung into the air and
carried swiftly along the mound and down the
broken rocks below the wall.
Five minutes later, she was laughing through her
tears to see the mortified look on Harry's face when
he opened his eyes and beheld the grave counte-
nance of their companion of the day before.
Presently, Anne brought some water in Harry's
folding cup, and he sat up as well as ever, but
with a monstrous bump on his forehead where he
liad indented the turf, as their new acquaintance
smilingly showed them.
iSSs.J
S U M M E R DA V S A T L A K K G E ( ) R (J K .
797
"Now," said Harry, "I am Harr>' Hadley, and
this is my sister Anne "
" And I," said the gentleman, interrupting him,
" I am the Old Man of the Mountains, and if
you want to address me by a commoner name,
you may call me John Jones. Suppose you call
me John, and let us shake hands and swear eter-
nal friendship."
" I don't mind if I do," said Harry ; " and if you
are going to the mountains again soon, I wish you
would persuade Mamma to let me go too. I don't
care sixpence for school, and I 'd rather be a good
hunter than any thing I can think of."
"Oh, but 1 am not a hunter," said John, "and
I went to school for many years before I visited
the mountains. I should like to have you go with
me, but you would not be happy yourself, or help
me, until you had a good education. The more
you learn, the more you will enjoy the woods; so,
my boy, stick to school and be a brave man. Just
now, you and 1 and sister Anne are having a play-
spell, so let us enjoy it. Come, if you feel like
walking, we will go back to the place \ou came
from in such a hurry, and I will tell you something
about this old fort."
So they climbed the mound, and John took them
about, and showed them what the shape of the fort
had been before it was blown up, and how easily
the Frenchmen had taken it by planting guns on
a height, and shooting into the inside instead of the
outside of the inclosure.
You can read the whole stor>' in any good
Colonial History.
Harry, kicking carelessly about in a heap of rub-
bish dislodged by recent rains, had unearthed a
round ball of rusty iron — an old grape-shot, which
made him very happy, but not more happy than
Anne, who picked up a bit of glazed ware as large
as a penny. Nothing but the persuasion of their
new friend kept them both from digging with
might and main for more relics.
John led them down across the rocks, among
the pines and thorn-bushes, to the lake, and
then he gathered some waxy white callas and
arrow-leaves to put with Anne's harebells. It was
very late before they thought of dinner — so late
that Mamma and sister Marie began to feel uneasy,
and were looking out for them, when they came up
from the lake along the road shaded by pines.
It did not add to Mamma's pleasure to observe
that the children were accompanied by a stranger,
a dark man whom she took to be a foreigner ; and,
moreover, that both the young people were evi-
dently charmed with him.
However, Mrs. Hadle\' forebore spoiling their
enjoyment by reproving them, but after dinner she
went down and bought tickets for passage on the
" ("lanouskie " to French Point the next day. When
the young folks heard of it, Anne tried to console
Harry by reminding him that the stcani-boat ride
must be delightful, and then there was the whole
afternoon still left for a row.
Harry had learned to row well, so that his
mother readily gave her consent to his taking
Anne for a ride on the lake. They had not long
been on the water before they discovered Mr.
Jones at a little distance in a pretty boat. Though
they did not speak to him, he presently rowed
near them, and kindly showed Harry where to
land on one of the little islands. They were very
much puzzled by his proceedings. He rowed
up and down, and looked through a telescope at '
the mountains for a long time, first from one point,
then from another. When they left the lake he
was still lying down in his boat, with the long
glass resting across the side.
When Mamma took Harry and Anne on board the
" Canouskie" the next morning, she looked all
about the boat and the dock for the dark man, but
he was nowhere in sight ; so she gave herself up to
the enjoyment of the beautiful blue sky, with its
great, fleecy, piled-up banks of white clouds, that
were so perfectly reflected in the lake as to seem
another sky below. Even the ripple made by the
boat when under way did not spread far or fast
enough to break the picture, and rocks, trees, and
mountains all floated in doubles along the shore.
Little steamers, with gay parties on board, trailed
lines of light from point to point, and canoes and
yawls, holding specks of dazzling scarlet, blue, and
white, flitted about like some strange species of
water-beetles. Anne was in ecstasies, and even
sister Marie forgot her fine complexion, and let the
sun and the wind kiss her pink cheeks. Harr)'
v.as having a splendid time watching the boys out
on the water.
So Harry watched the boats, and let the shores,
with their glimpses of houses embowered in trees,
stretches of woods along the water, and bits of
green meadow- land, slip by him unobserved.
When he saw a boy about his own age hauling in
fish, ho could hardly keep from clapping his hands.
Often, the little boats lay so near that he could
look down into them as they danced about in the
swell the "Ganouskie" made, and the little steam-
ers puffing away so spitefully bobbed about in such
a merry way that Mammarand tta; children laughed
to see them.
But there are other ways of traveling than by
steamer, for here, some miles up the lake, pulling
easily along in a pale green tinted boat, built as
long and slim as a trout, was Mr. Jones himself.
He turned his dark face toward them, and nodded
smilingly to both Anne and her brother. Harry
798
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
[August,
FKENCH fOINT FROM THE NORTH.
became thoughtful as he watched him. Of all
ways of traveling, he decided he should prefer ca-
noeing. It cuts one off from the rest of the world —
at least, that part of it which travels in cars and
steam-boats. " Everybody goes this way," said
Harry to Anne, as he confided to her his preference
for small boats: " but to row about wherever you
like, to sleep in your boat, and to cook and eat in
it, would be glorious. I say, Anne, you and I will
go off together that way, some day."
Anne was sure she should like it if Harry did.
After seeing Mr. Jones, Harry began to be in-
terested in the places where the boat made landings.
He could not help being amused by the troops of
children at every little pier. Some were busy witli
rods and lines, and one party of boys had a splen-
did water-spaniel that plunged in and brought back
to shore whatever they threw to him, till one boy
pulled off his shoe, and tossed it out, crying,
" Take it, Charley ! " But before Charley could
reach it, the shoe turned around once and sank out
of sight, to the great amusement of the boys, who
made the hills ring with their shrill laughter. Be-
fore the boat left, Harry saw the boy hobbling up to
the house with but one shoe on, for they had not
been able to make the dog understand that he was
expected to dive for the one tossed out to him.
The pretty pavilion standing on the bank of the
lake, within the line of tall trees, with groups of
ladies in delicately tinted dresses standing about or
sitting on the grassy banks, shone down on the
water like some fairy picture. Harry was mainly
interested in the name, " Trout Pavilion," for
once or twice in his life he had done a little
trout-fishing — enough, however, to make him wish
for more. He thought of the beautiful rod and
the flies that were packed in his trunk, and the
pride and pleasure he had had in buying them.
He did not quite understand whether trout were to
be looked for in the lake or in the brooks, and he
>883.]
SL'MMER DAYS AT I.AKK CEORCK
799
would not have asked about it for the world ; but
he resolved to tr)- the lake on the first opportunity.
Anne tried hard to interest him in the beautiful
scenery, but just now he could think only of good
places to fish from. Shelving Rock, stretching out
along the lake, looked like good fishing-ground,
and he rather wondered at seeing so many people
fishing from boats.
The shores were dotted with tents and tiny cot-
tages, that seemed to swarm with people. Their
flags looked like blossoms among the leaves. Boats
darted in and out of every nook in the rocky shores,
and from among the islands that were covered
with trembling poplars and fragrant cedars. They
swarmed along the steamer's track, and were sup-
plied with ice, milk, fish, bread, and mail-matter
by th<' 1 K ':if-ilr\\":n"(l. The str:nnci"'s \\"hi.,llf \v';is
summer. The stony desert ot the city streets, the
methodical school-drill, the constraint within known
lines of city life had drifted so far into the past
that they seemed to them both but a vague, hazy
memory compared with the ])resent, vivid with
sunshine, sweet airs from excrgreen woods, and
the sheen of crystal water.
After dinner, which proved a pleasant occasion,
as Mamma liked her rooms, and the children
were in high spirits, Harry fished his rod out
of his trunk, and, with Anne's help, arranged his
hnes for use. Just then, he was struck with a sud-
den pang of remorse. It had not occurred to him
before, but he remembered that a good many of
the boats he had seen held boys, no older than
himself, who had young girls fishing with them —
i-\ idnitK- brother'^ :infl sisters.
SHELVING KOCK.
blown every few minutes, and it was generally
the signal for some boat that lay in waiting some-
where near. Young girls in gay flannel dresses,
or boys with bare legs and arms and the broadest of
hats, brought the letters and empty milk-cans from
their camp. There were small cannon mounted
on a hillock on the shore, and the girls fired a
salute as the boat passed. It seemed a general
holiday. Everything and everybody was enjoying
the golden summer days. E\en the leaves on the
trees seemed to rustle happily on their stems, and
the little puffs of wind that roughened long
streaks of the silvery lake and made them look a
steely blue, wandered aimlessly about, as if in the
general enjoyment they too had a share. Long be-
fore they reached French Point, Harry and Anne
had entered into the very spirit of a Lake George
"Anne," said he, "I must go down into the
office; I wont be gone five minutes."
He came back silent and preoccupied. He could
send an order to town for fishing-tackle, but could
not get it until the next day, and he was determined
to try the lake early in the morning.
After the tackle, he must secure his boat; so he
took .Anne to the wharf, and they cliinbed in and
out of every one, tried the seats, and inspected the
tiars carefully.
One of the boys playing \ibout on the beach
came and looked at them with a knowing smirk
on his sunburnt face. Seeing Harry pause at a
1)oat with a rather broad stern-seat, with the name
''F"red" painted above it, he could not restrain
himself, but burst out :
•' Oh, 1 wouldn't take that, if 1 were you. I look
8oo
SUMISIER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
[August,
it once because my name 's Fred ; but it hangs back
so in the water that it is very hard to row."
" What ails it?" asked Harry.
"I don't know, I'm sure, but the man said it
GLIMPSES ALONG THE LAKE.
' hogged ' ; whatever that means I can't say, but
I know it seems as if it touched bottom all the
time."
" Have you a boat ? " inquired Harry.
" Yes, that one with the pink-tipped oars is
mine. It is the 'Anne.'"
"Oh," said Harry, "I should like that. That
is my sister's name," and he looked at Anne, who
blushed when Fred took off his rather rusty straw
hat and made her a bow.
" You might have it if Papa had not taken it
for the month ; but there are others just as good.
Pick out one, and enter your name for it, and then
I should like to have you and your sister try mine.
I 'm going fishing over toward the other shore."
Harr)' looked the boats over once more, and
finally took the one Anne liked best. It was named
the " Susan," to which some school-boy had added
a "Jane" in straggling red chalk letters, so that
it read " Susan Jane." Harry and Fred laughed at
it, but Anne tried to wipe it off with her handker-
chief
" No use, Miss Anne," said Fred. " I 've seen it
tried before, and it wont come off."
"' What do you catch the most of?" asked Harry,
as though he had but to choose the fish he wished
for, and catch them.
'"Perch mostly, and sometimes bass and pickerel.
It is the best time in the season for pouts, too ; but
they are ugly things to handle, though they are
nice eating. I '11 get my bait now and take you
over, if you will go."
" Very well; I will see about the boats first."
Harr)' was ashamed to say, " I will ask my
mother," for he felt himself at the age of fourteen
very tall and old, and he thought he ought to be
able to go fishing without asking permission. How-
ever, his sense of honor was his strongest trait, and
he went at once and told his mother about the boat
and the invitation. Anne, with a keener instinct
as to what her mother would most approve, enlarged
somewhat on Fred's good manners, and the result
was a cordial permission to go fishing with his new
friend.
When they got down to the boat, Harry found
that some cushions and three kettles of bait had
been put in, and he remembered with some chagrin
that poor Anne had no tackle. He had not thought,
when at home, of a girl fishing; but here the girls
had as many privileges as their brothers, and he
was ashamed of his carelessness. He was resolved,
too, that Anne should have a nice dark flannel
dress, so that she could go about without trembling
for her skirts and sister Marie's reproof for a stain
or a water-splash.
Fred then rowed them over quickly to his fishing-
ground.
Harry was a long time in getting out his rod,
in order to see what Fred would do ; then he
followed him as nearly as possible in all things.
Anne watched their floats and the neighboring
boats till she singled out a pale green one that
seemed to be getting all the fish. It made her
nervous to see Harry's fingers pricked till they bled
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
8oi
by the two or three pouts that he caught, but with
Fred's help he presently learned to unhook them
more skillfully. Still, they were not getting many
fish, and Fred put them nearer the green boat, in
which they found their friend Mr. Jones. He was
glad to see them, shook hands cordially, and in-
quired after Harr%'s head. Five minutes later,
Anne found herself in the green boat, dropping a
coil of line into the water, under Mr. Jones's in-
struction. .Anne had never fished before, and
she needed all her Ufe-long habits of prompt
obedience to keep her from rising in the boat and
becoming wildly excited when an active fish ran
away with her line. It darted madly about, now
on this side, then on that, shooting off like an
arrow, flinging itself at last quite out of the water,
before she lifted it over the side of the boat, doing
it all at Mr. Jones's quiet dictation.
" Hurrah for .-\nnc ! " shouted Harry and his
friend, and they pulled over to inspect the prize.
Harry's elation knew no bounds when he found
that it was a trout, and a heavy one at that. Mr.
Jones thought it would weigh five pounds, and he
complimented Anne on her coolness and skill.
Poor Anne ! Her hands certainly trembled very
much, and she wondered more and more how she
ever got the fish into the boat. Harry and Fred
did not waste much time talking about it, but hur-
ried their lines over the side, and waited impa-
tiently for the almost imperceptible signal from
below that a fish was taking the bait.
Twice Fred lost a fish, and then caught a small
trout. Anne caught nothing more, and Harrj'
began to feel hot and flurried over his lack of
success, when the signal came so suddenly as to
almost upset his usual calmness.
"Go slow, or you '11 lose him ! " Fred shouted.
It seemed a long time to Harry, but a delicious
time, too, before his fish lay glistening before him
in the bottom of the boat, and he could feast his
eyes on it and wish that his father was there to see
it. So much absorbed was he, that he did not
see nor hear another boat coming up with them,
until its inmate exclaimed, " My ! but that 's a
bouncer ! " And .Anne cried out in unselfish glee,
" Hurrah ! Harry has beaten me."
Then the happy young people came back to
the Point, for Fred enjoyed their success almost as
much as if it had been his own. Next came the
exhibition to Mamma and sister Marie, and the tri-
umphal procession to the kitchen to hand the fish
o\er to cook to be weighed and dressed, so that
they might have them for tea and breakfast.
In the meantime. Mamma had discovered that
she knew of Fred's fiimily. They were the Leiands,
of Fairton, and she told Harr)- to send Mr. and
Mrs. Lcland a plate of fish from their own table,
which led to further acquaintance and much
pleasure for Anne and the two boys.
Anne told her mother that her fish was caught
from Mr. Jones's boat, and with his tackle. She
at first seemed to be somewhat vexed that Anne
should have allowed herself to be indebted for so
much attention to a perfect stranger ; but when she
learned that Mr. Jones was staying at a neighbor-
ing hotel, she made no further remark.
The next morning, Fred and Harr>' got up early
and went out to catch pouts. The sun had not
risen, and the great mountains that nestle so
closely on all sides of the beautiful lake wore
the loveliest garbs of purple and gold. Light
scarfs of lace-like mist floated across their tops.
The wood-duck led out her brood in the shadows
of the rocks, and the great northern diver called
his mate in the far-ofif, plaintive voice that, once
heard, can never be forgotten. The lake lay still
before them, black in shadow, streaked with steely
blue where the brightening sky w;is reflected on
ihe placid water. The two bo\s laid down their
oars when they reached their fishing-ground, and
sat a moment silent, looking and listening.
" This is glorious," said Harry at last. " 1 wish
it would last forever."
" So do I," said Fred ; " I would fish every day."
The word fish recalled them to the business of
the morning, and they drew their boats away from
each other and put out their lines.
In the meantime, Anne, who was awakened by
Harry's going out, had risen and dressed, and
went out to look at the sky and the mountains.
She could see the boats and the flash of water
from the oars, as they rose and fell. A bittern in
some moist hollow near by called to his mate, and
the kingfisher's clanging cry came from some tall
old trees beside the lake. A bustling robin, that
had already given its brood their breakfast, came
802
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORGE.
[August,
down in the grass on the lawn for a bath, and
fluttered its feathers, and rolled about in the dew,
until it was thoroughly wet ; then flew up and
began to dry itself, with many cunning motions
and twirling of rustling wings. The swallows flew
in and out of the barn, squeaking and twittering,
and sweeping over the trees and down on the lake,
dipping here and there a wing, and then whirling
back again, until Anne forgot, in watching them,
that she lived in a world where breakfasts and
dinners were occasions which well-behaved young
people were expected to remember.
Several happj- days had gone by, when Mrs.
Hadley and the children were invited by the Le-
lands to share in a picnic at the Narrows. They
had hired a large sail-boat, and would land some-
where and have lunch. Fred and Harry could tie
their boats behind if they wished, and then row
about when they reached the picnic ground. The
weather was hot, but when once fairly upon the
water the breeze that wafted them smoothly along
made a delicious coolness in the air. The lake
was alive with saucy little steamers, sail and row
boats, their gay bunting and the brilliant-colored
dresses of their occupants shining in the sun. The
mountains in the distance were faintly tinged with
purple, while the nearer rocks glowed in blended
hues of russet and gold.
The young people were happy. They sang and
whistled to the birds, they clapped their hands,
hurrahed, and waved their handkerchiefs by way
of returning the salutes of the camps they passed.
dodging in and out of all sorts of queer places,
sometimes so close to the shore that they could
look into pleasant camps and see bits of country
roads, where carriages, toiling over the rocks or
through the sand, made their own easy sailing-
boat seem more delightful, until they reached a spot
which seemed to be the very place for their picnic.
The two boys carried the party ashore in their
small boats. They brought out the baskets, gath-
ered sticks for their gypsy fire, and then went down
to the beach to hunt for periwinkles and to catch
crickets for bait.
Harry called them to dinner with a fish-horn.
It was the merriest dinner they had ever eaten,
and though they had laughed until they were
tired, they none the less enjoyed the sail back to
the hotel above, where they were to join another
party going to French Point.
Every wind that blew was favorable, and almost
too soon they swept up to the place where their
boat was waiting for them. It was a small steam-
er, and had been whistling frantically for some
minutes. They threw a line on board the Lelands'
boat, and away they went across the lake. Sailing
was well enough, but being towed was a new
experience, and Fred enjoyed it to the utmost ; and
when they had nearly reached the other shore,
he wished to have Harry and Anne sit near him.
As Harry was helping Anne over, he tripped on
a rope, and in falling gave her such a' pull that they
both fell head foremost into the dark w ater. Their
mother's cry of distress hardly quivered on the air
SAILING ON LAKE GEORGE.
The little steamers whistled to them, and every-
body appeared to be glad with everybody else.
The sail was so delightful that the young people
begged for more, and the boat went on up toward
Shelving Rock, creeping between the islands, and
before there was a splash from the steamer. Some-
body had gone over after them. Fred jumped into
his boat, and some one cast him loose, while the
steamer turned slowly about and lay head on, ready
to go in any direction All eyes were turned toward
SUMMER DAYS AT LAKE GEORlIE.
803
A ROAD-WAY BY THE LAKE.
the bubbling wake of the " Water Witcli " to see
the children rise.
Anne appeared first. Fred rowed with might
and main to reach her, and the swimmer beat the
water with strong arms. Just as poor Harry came
up, groping about for her with both hands while
he gasped for breath, she sank out of sight again.
Fred forged ahead, and, hooking his feet under
a stationar)- seat, lay far over the side, waiting
breathlessly for the child to come in sight. In
the meantime the swimmer had reached Harry,
and was supporting him until he could take breath,
while gasping over and over ; " I tried to find her
— I tried so hard to find her I "
The poor mother moaned, and wrung her hands,
not daring to look on. If she had, she would have
seen Fred lean suddenly far out and plunge his
head and arms into the water, rising again with
Anne's pretty, white face close to his. .\s he after-
ward told Harry privately, it was like something
done in a dream. He had clutched her dress, and
then had giasped both arms.
Fred was able to hold his precious burden until
Harry and his ))reser\er came and lifted her into
the boat, into which they also climbed, and rowed
away with all their might to the hotel at the Point,
not far off, while the rest of the party came on
behind as fast as possible.
Blankets and hot-water bottles were hurried out.
and before very long Anne opened her eyes upon
a rather misty scene. Unknown faces peered at her
through the mist, and hollow voices sounded in
her ears; but presently all faded slowly out of sight
and hearing, and she had a little sleep.
As soon as it was possible to take Anne away
from Harry, he was sent to his room to change his
wet clothes. He would not consent to leave her
until he was assured that she was alive and would
soon be all right. By the time he liad got on some
dry clothes, Fred came to the door with his father
and Mr. Jones, and Harry discovered that his res-
cuer was no other than his friend of the fort.
They clasped hands with an earnest look into each
other's eyes. Fred had a sudden call to the win-
dow, and Mr. Lcland said smilingly : "Harry, you
seem to know this gentleman. I 'm glad you have
found him out, for I have known him a long time.
We knew each other when we were boys, like you
.md Fred. \\"e went to college together, and almost
every summer we meet here at Lake George."
Mamma and sister Marie stepped fonvard and
heartily thanked the stranger for his noble kind-
ness to them, to which he replied with a blush that
showed even through his tanned cheek ; and then
honest, cordial little Anne ran up to him and
threw her arms about his neck, exclaiming: "Dear
John Jones, I think you arc just splendid ! " at
which everybody laughed, especially Mr. Leland,
who, as they went out of the door together, patted
his friend's shoulder, and said smilingly: '^ John
Jones, indeed ! Since when has my old chum, Rob
Hamilton, become John Jones?"
I should like to tell you more about this pleasant
summer trip, but must content myself with saying
that all the rest of the days at Lake George were
golden days, that made their lives brighter and
happier, and the very memory of them filled the
winter with sunshine.
8o4
T I T F O R T A T .
[August,
^><#>?ys»^^
A SEA-SIDE TURN-OUT.
TIT P^OR TAT.
By Eva F. L. Carson.
Grasshopper Goggleyes, down in the clover,
Drearily cries; "Well! I 've traveled all over,
High as the clover-tops, down to the ground ;
Rest for my weary legs never 1 've found.
Over field and through meadow, up hill and down
dale,
There 's a fat little foot coming just at my tail,
And the shrill little voice of that fat little Joe
Exclaims : ' Jump, Mr. Grasshopper, don't be so
slow.
Jump high and low !
Hop, Mr. Grasshopper — get up and go!'"
Would Joe find it pleasant, 1 'd just like to know,
If / suddenly stretched, and, beginning to grow.
Grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger — just so —
And then, gently extending my little green toe,
/ gayly cried out : ' Come, get up, little Joe ?
Jump, little fat boy, and don't be so slow.
Jump high and low !
Hop, little fat boy — get up and go!'"
HU\V JoK BENTLY WON A BOUQUKT.
805
HOW JOE BENTI.V won A BOUQUET FROM
THE QUEEN OF PORTUGAL.'
Bv H. H. Cl.ARK, U. S. N.
emerald banks, crowned with ancient windmills,
quaint castles, and glittering palaces, has been for
centuries the delight of poets and travelers, and
after a passage across the stormy Atlantic it falls
upon the eye with an indescribable charm.
The moment a man-of-war comes to anchor in a
foreign port, all sorts of people throng about her,
all clamorous for patronage. There are washer-
women, bumboatmcn, theatrical agents, guides,
musicians — each setting forth his particular at-
tractions in a very animated manner. Among the
people who came on board was a man who es-
pecially interested Joe. He brought a flaming
advertisement of a bull-fight, which he undertook
to explain in broken English. As nearly as Joe
could make out, there was to be, during the follow-
ing Easter week, a great bull- fight. The wildest
bulls had been brought from Andalusia, a large
number of horses from the royal stables were to be
in the ring, the queen herself would preside and
distribute the favors, and, in short, it was to be the
grandest bull-fight seen in Portugal for many years.
All this had a peculiar fascination for Joe. In all
his allusions to Portugal and Spain, he had declared
to the boys that the only thing he cared to see in
those countries was a bull-fight.
The bull-fights of Portugal are different from
those of Spain in several important particulars.
At every such fight in Spain, where this cruel sport
is conducted in the most barbarous manner, many
horses are killed, and sometimes men, too, fall
victims, and at the close of the fight the bull is
dispatched by the matador, or bull-killer. The law
of Portugal does not allow the bull to be killed, and
his horns are always padded, or tipped with brass,
so that he can not gore the horses. Once in a
while, however, a man is killed, in spite of this
precaution. The excitement is intense, as the ob-
ject is to drive or drag the bull from the inclosure.
In the general liberty-list of the ship some of the
boys were always included, and Joe was rejoiced to
find his name among the fortunate number on the
day of the fight. Long before the hour, he went
ashore and walked impatiently about the city.
At last, with several of his comrades, he started
for the bull-ring. Thousands, bedecked in gay col-
ors, thronged the great highway. Carriages, bear-
ing the coats of arms of noble families, rolled along,
drawn by horses in richly ornamented harness, fol-
JOE Bently lived on a cattle-farm in the interior
of one of the New England States. His rough,
wild life had developed in him great physical
strength and endurance. At sixteen he grew tired
of his surroundings, and havingheard in the mean-
time of the naval apprentice system, made up his
mind tliat the deck of a man-of-war would afford
much larger scope for his talents and be vastly
more congenial to his tastes. Having obtained
his father's consent, at the end of the month he
was an apprentice on board the " Minnesota,"
lying in dock at the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
After a year spent in that great vessel, learning
the drills and exercises of a man-of-war, he, with
about a hundred others, was found qualified for a
cruise at sea. Early in March, he was detailed to
make a summer cruise in the Mediterranean. His
ship, a fine sloop-of-war, sailed late in the same
month for Lisbon.
Never did vessel make a finer voyage. In
nineteen days, driven by a moderate westerly gale,
she brought the heights of Cintra, on the Portu-
guese coast, in full view. In the sunlight they
stood out like a mountain of gold against the sky.
Nearly all the boys had suffered from sea-sick-
ness, and when they saw land once more they felt
somewhat as Columbus did when he knelt and
kissed the soil of San Salvador. In the course of
the day, the ship stood up the Tagus under full
canvas. The beautiful banks seemed to them like
a panorama of Paradise. This noble river, with its
* See ** Letter-box. "
8o6
HOW JOE BENTLY WON A BOUQUET
[August,
SPANISH BULL-FIGHTERS.
lowed by postilions in livery of many hues. Had
Joe not known that all this display was over a bull-
fight, he would have thought that it was coronation
day, or that g. king was coming from some foreign
capital to visit the country, and the people were
going forth to welcome him.
At the ring he had to wait long, with a densely
packed, impatient crowd, for admission. Finally
the doors were tlirown open, and there was a
grand rush for seats. Joe succeeded in getting
one of the best. Whoever knew an American
boy abroad who failed in getting a good seat, if left
to his own ingenuity and activity ?
Joe's position commanded a full view of every
part of the pavilion. He thought that all Lisbon
must be there, from the barefooted water-carriers
to the royal family. All waited in suspense for
the queen to enter the royal box. Presently she
appeared, and was greeted by the audience with
repeated cries of applause. She wa\ed her hand-
kerchief, there was a grand burst of music, and
an officer of the royal household, followed by a
troop of riders dressed in brilliant and fantastic
costumes, mounted on horses in rich housings, gal-
loped into the ring. After they had gracefully
saluted the court and the public, they dashed with
a great flourish of lances to their several stations.
A large number of cainpinos, or bull-fighters, simi-
larly dressed, but unmounted, followed them into
the ring, each bearing a gaudy flag or mantle.
The public imagination was highly wrought up
by this display. Joe now saw a man step forward
and quickly pull open a little door. Standing one
side, he shook a red flag violently in the aperture,
and in an instant a noble bull bounded into the
ring. For a moment he stood regarding the
vast audience with astonishment and anger. Joe
thought he never before had seen so beautiful an ani-
mal. He was as lithe and graceful as a deer, and
as he pawed the ground and lashed his sides furi-
ously with his tail, Joe's admiration burst into an
enthusiastic shout. The bull's debut had been so
handsomely made that the audience cheered him
lustily.
Already the campiiws had begun their feats of
agility and daring. The air was aglow with their
waving mantles and flags. Not only did they
endeavor to exhibit their own bravery, but also
to infuriate the bull for the mounted men, who as
yet remained inactive. So violently did the bull
charge upon them that in a few minutes nearly
every one of them had vaulted over the palings.
For an instant, the bull was master of the ring.
Joe's excitement increased. Up to the present
moment his sympathy was with the bull. He
wished that he were astride one of those mag-
nificent horses, or that he was even afoot in the
ring ; he wduld show the audience some sport.
Led by the royal officer, the knight-errant of
the occasion, each rider had now put spurs to his
horse, and they were all executing a series of quick
evolutions preparatory to a direct attack upon the
bull. Horses and riders were so admirably trained
that even the bull looked as if he were charmed by
the exhibition. The riders now began severally to
confront the bull and provoke his wrath by sharp
thrusts of their lances. Thus insulted and wounded,
he sprang at his tormentors with such force that
they were barely able to evade his stroke by the
utmost dexterity and promptness. One fine horse
was at length struck with such violence that, in
rearing, he lost his balance and fell heavily to the
ground. Both the horse and his rider lay for a
mom.ent stunned, when they were assisted from the
ring. This being repeated, the queen gave orders
for the horsemen to \\ithdraw, as the royal horses
were too valuable to be injured in this manner.
The programme with the first bull was nearly
completed. The band struck up a lively air, and
several men came in to compete in single com-
bats for the honors of the day. One of them,
wrapped in a crimson cape, stationed himself in
a chair. The bull immediately tossed the chair
many feet into the air, the occupant barely saving
himself from a mortifying fall. Another man
stood on his hands, shaking a bright cloth with his
teeth. He recovered his feet within a few inches
of the bull as he rushed madly past.
The most perilous feat of the bull-ring was now
i88x]
FROM THE QUEEN OF PORTUGAl,
807
attempted. A young man, covered with silver
lace hung all over with little bells, undertook to
throw himself between the bull's horns and cling
to them till the bull should be sufficiently exhausted
to be overpowered and taken from the ring. He
courageously made the attempt, but unhappily
missed his aim and fell directly in front of the
enraged animal.
At this moment of terrible suspense, moreover,
Joe suddenly saw what had not yet been discov-
ered by any one else — that the bull had lost the
padding from one of his horns. He stood over
temerity. An Englishman present, fearing for the
life of the unpracticed lad, cried out, "Come
back ! " Several Americans shouted for him to
leave the ring. Hut Joe had made the venture,
and he was not going to be frightened from the
ring. On the farm at home he had conquered
many a steer quite as wild and powerful as even
this maddened bull.
He was conscious that thousands of eyes were
watching him with eager interest ; but without
hesitation he advanced toward the bull, coolly
placing himself so that with one hand he could
JOE JOINS THE BULL-FIGHT.
the young man, his eyes glaring and his whole
attitude one of furious anger. He refused to be
diverted by the colors glancing all around him,
and he seemed to be considering whether he
should trample on his victim or pierce him with the
naked horn. The young man did not dare to
move, for he was aware that the bull possessed
every advantage. The excitement of the audi-
ence was at its highest point, and the overwrought
feelings of our hero would allow him to retain his
seat no longer.
With the sprightliness of a sailor-boy he leaped
the paling. Everybody was astonished at his
grasp the bull's horn, while with the other he could
seize his shaggy mane. The young man, mean-
while, had leaped to his feet and retired to a safe
position, leaving Joe to fight the bull alone. Joe's
mode of attack had never before been seen in
Portugal, and it appeared the extreme of folly. A
murmur of remonstrance was heard in every part
of the audience. Many cried out for the campinos
to rush in and rescue the reckless youth. The bull
did not seem to appreciate the turn events had
taken, and for a moment stood motionless. A
strange silence, almost ominous of defeat to our
hero, settled upon the pavilion. It was a thrilling
8o8
HOW FAR VET?
{August,
scene — the brave sailor boy apparently at the
mercy of the furious animal, and thousands of
spectators looking on with breathless interest.
Suddenly the bull recovered himself, and, with
an angry flaunt of his head, renewed hostilities.
Joe quickly found it more difficult clinging to the
bull's slippery horn than to a )ard-arm in a tem-
pest ; but he was determined to be captain of this
lively craft. Somehow he felt that the honor of
his country depended upon his victory.
As a good seaman favors his ship in a hurri-
cane, so Joe resolved to humor the bull. He
realized that he must take care of his strength, for
he would need it all before he got through with his
antagonist. Now the bull began to exhibit his
wrath. He writhed, and hooked, and stamped.
One instant the audience e.xpected to see poor Joe
dangling from his horns, and the next trampled
helpless beneath his feet. But Joe clung as he
would cling to a life-line in a fearful surf. During
the intervals of the bull's violence, as in the water
on its ebb, he struck gallantly upon his feet. Each
time he did so, cries of " Bravo ! bravo ! " rent the
air. The bull continued to put forth still greater
power. He plunged and tore around the ring.
Alternately he jerked and swung Joe from his
feet, and fairly spun him through the air. The
pavilion tossed, and reeled, and whirled before
Joe's giddy sight. Round and round flew the bull
as in a race for life. Several times he completed
the circuit of the ring ; a circle of dust rose from
his track and hung over it like a wreath of smoke.
How Joe held on! He feared he could not en-
dure the shock and strain for a minute longer, and
he dreaded to let go. He began to lament his
rashness. But all at once the bull's speed slack-
ened. Joe felt a thrill of gratitude as his feet once
more touched the ground. He was tired of flying,
and was ver>- glad to run. The bull, convinced
that he could not liberate his horn from Joe's un-
yielding grip, came to a halt, and with disappointed
anger began to paw the ground. Joe had longed
for this advantage, which, strange to say, a bull
seldom gives till toward the close of a fight, and
he sprang directly in front of him and firmly
grasped both his horns. "Bravo! bravo!" rent the
air. Joe braced himself and waited, and when the
bull threw his foot high in the air with its little
cloud of dust, by a quick, powerful movement, Joe
twisted his head to one side so strongly that the
fierce animal was thrown off his balance, and fell
heavily upon his side.
A score of men rushed in to hold him down
until he should be secured ; then he was rolled
and taken triumphantly from the ring. Joe was
almost deafened by the applause. He suddenly
found himself a hero in the estimation of the audi-
ence, and was overwhelmed by the outbursts of
enthusiasm. He was not allowed to leave the ring
until he had been led to the royal box, where the
queen, with her own hand, passed him a beautiful
bouquet. She also extended to him an invitation
to come to the palace, where she herself would re-
ceive the brave American boy.
HOW FAR YET?
By CELi.'i Thaxter.
Are you so doubtful, poor Nanette ?
So many miles to travel yet !
Your chin within your little hand.
Far gazing o'er the darkening land,
Where, like a dream, the village shows
Against the sunset's golden rose;
And day is done, and night begun- —
Are you so tired, little one ?
And grandmother so weary, too?
Fast comes the dark — what will you do?
Already creeps the twilight down
Above the plain so bare and brown.
Though wide the barren loneliness.
And fear grows more and hope grows less,
And o'er the roofs and towers so far
Trembles the timid evening star,
The village from the fallen sun
Is beckoning, now the day is done.
With many a cheerful twinkling light,
Bright sparkling through the gloom of night.
And every sparkle calls to you:
" Cheer up ! Press on through dusk and dew!
Welcome is waiting you, and rest ;
You shall be comforted and blest."
Poor grandmother and poor Nanette !
To-morrow morn you shall forget,
'Mid voices kind and faces dear,
How sad the long way seemed, and drear.
1 883.]
1 1 ( ) \V !•■ A R V E T ?
809
8io
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[August,
JpiEre-was-an^^rtian-wlio -said;!- '^^
/'m • inven Hn^. ati ■iwTFcM-'pk- ^''ffk'--
'^Jo-k-sold-in-eacli-debor- - %^
J|h^l. really. kricJi-V and- b/^
DONALD AND DOROTHY.*
By Mary Mapes Dodge.
Chapter XXV.
THE SUNSET.
For an instant Mr. Reed was too astonished to
speak.
" Tell me," implored Donald, " is n't Dorothy
my sister ? "
" Hush ! hush ! " was the hurried response.
" She '11 hear you ! "
" Is she or not ? " insisted Donald, his eyes still
fixed on his uncle's face. It seemed to him that he
had caught the words, " She is." He could not be
certain, but he stepped hopefully forward and laid
his hand upon Mr. Reed's shoulder.
" She is ! " he exclaimed joyfully, bending over
till their faces almost met. " I knew it ! Why
did n't you tell me the fellow lied 'i "
" Who ? What fellow ? "
"First, Uncle — /? she or not? 1 7/nisf know."
Mr. Reed glanced toward the door, to be sure
that it was closed.
"Oh, Uncle, do answer my question."
" Yes, my boy — 1 think — that is, I /n/s/ she is.
Oh, Donald," cried Mr. Reed, leaning upon the
table and burying his face in his hands, " I do
not know myself ! "
" What don't you know, Uncle ? " said a merry
voice outside, followed immediately by a light rap
at the door. " May I come in ? "
" Certainly," said Mr. Reed, rising. But Don
was first. He almost caught Dorry m his arms as
she entered.
" Well! " she e.xclaimed, " I thought 1 'd never
get dressed. But where 's the sense of shutting
yourselves in here, when it 's so beautiful outside
after the shower ? It 's the grandest sunset I ever
saw. Do come and look at it ! "
With these words, and taking an arm of each,
she playfully led them from the room, out to the
^ Copyright, i88i, by Mary Mapes Dodge,. All rights reserved.
l882.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
8ll
piazza, where they could see the glorj- of the
western sky.
"Is n't it wonderful?" she went on, as they
stood looking over the glowing lake. " See, there 's
a splendid, big purple cloud with a golden edge for
you. Uncle, and those two little ones alongside are
for Don and me. Oh ! " she laughed, clapping her
hands, "they're twins, Don, like ourselves; what
a nice time they're having together! Now, they
are separating — further and further apart — and
yours is breaking up too. Uncle. Well, I do
declare," she added, suddenly turning to look at
her companions, " I never saw such a pair of dole-
ful faces in all my life ! "
" In all your life?" echoed her uncle, trying to
laugh carelessly, and wishing to divert her atten-
tion from Don.ild.
" Yes, in all my life — all our life I might say^
and it is n't such a very short life either. I 'vc learned
ever so many things in it, I 'd have you know, and
not all of them from school-books, by any means."
" Well, what have you learned, my girl ? "
" Why, as if I could tell it all in a minute ! It
would take volumes, as the story-tellers say. I '11
tell you one thing, though, that I 've found out for
certain " (dropping a little courtesy) : " 1 've the
nicest, splendidest brother ever a girl had, and the
best uncle."
W'ith these words, Dorothy, raising herself on
tiptoe, smilingly caught her uncle's face with both
hands and kissed him.
" Now, Don," she added, " what say you to a
race to the front gate before supper ? Watch can
try, too, and Uncle shall see which Why,
where is Don? When did he run off?"
"I 'II find him," said Uncle George, passing her
quickly and reaching his study before Dorry had
recovered from her surprise. He had seen Donald
hasten into the house, unable to restrain the feelings
called up by Dorry's allusion to the clouds, and
now Mr. Reed, too, felt that he could bear her un-
suspecting playfulness no longer.
Dorry stood a few seconds, half puzzled, half
amused at their sudden desertion of her, when
sounds of approaching wheels caught her atten-
tion. Turning, she saw Josie Manning in a new
rockaway, driven by Mr. Michael McSwiver, com-
ing toward the house.
" Oh, Dorothy ! " Josic called out, before Michael
had brought the fine gray steed to a halt; "can
you come and take supper with me ? I drove over
on purpose, and I 've some beautiful lichens to
show you. Six of us girls went out moss-hunting
before the shower. So sorr)' you were not with us ! "
"Oh, I don't think I can," hesitated Dorry.
" Donald and 1 have been away all day. Can't
you stay here with us ? "
Vol. IX.— 52.
"////-possible," was Josie's emphatic reply.
" Mother will wait for me — Oh, what a noble
fellow ! So this is Watch ? Ed Tyler told me
about him."
Here Josie, reaching out her arm, leaned for-
ward to pat the shaggy head of a beautiful New-
foundland, that, with his paws on the edge of the
rockaway, was trying to express his approbation
of Josie as a friend of the family.
" Yes, this is our new dog. Is n't he handsome ?
Such a swimmer, too ! You ought to see him leap
into the lake to bring back sticks. Here, Watch ! "
But Watch would not leave the visitor. " Good
fellow," said Josie, laughingly, still stroking his
large, silky head. " I admire your taste. But I
must be off. I do wish you 'd come with me. Dot.
Go and ask -your uncle," she coaxed; "Michael
will bring you home early."
Here Mr. McSwiver, without turning his face,
touched the rim of his hat gravely.
" Well, 1 '11 see," said Dorothy, as she ran into
the house.
To her surprise, Mr. Reed gave a ready consent.
" Shall I really go ? " she asked, hardly satisfied.
"Where is Donald?"
" He is readying himself for supper, I think.
Miss," said Kassy, the housemaid, who happened
to pass at that moment. " I s.iw him going into
his room."
" But you look tired. Uncle dear. Supi>ose I
don't go this time."
"Tired? not a bit. Never better, Dot. There,
get your hat, my girl, and don't keep Josie wait-
ing any longer."
" Well, good-bye, then. Tell Don, please, I 've
gone to Josie's — Oh, and Josie and I would like
to have him come over after tea. He need n't,
though, if he feels very tired, for Josie says Michael
can bring me home."
" Very well, my dear. If Donald is not there
by half-past nine o'clock, do not expect him.
Wait, I '11 escort you to the carriage."
Chapter XXVI.
UNCLE GEORGE TELLS DONALD.
"Come in here, Don," said Uncle George,
after the quiet supper, slowly leading the way to
his study ; " we can have no better opportunity
than this for our talk. But, first tell me — Who
was the 'fellow' you mentioned ? Where was he?
Did Dorry sec him ? "
Donald, assuring his uncle that Dorry had not
recognized the man, told all the particulars of the
interview at Vanbogen's, and of Jack's timely
appearance and Slade's beating.
8l2
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[August,
Disturbed, even angry, as Mr. Reed was at hear-
ing this unwelcome news, he could not resist Don-
ald's persistent, resolute desire that the present hour
should be given to the main question concerning
Dorry.
Twilight slowly faded, and the room grew darker
as they sat there, until at last they scarcely could
see each other's faces. Then they moved nearer
to the open window, conversing in a low tone, as
star after star came softly into view.
Donald's large, wistful eyes sometimes turned to
look toward the front gate, through which Dorry
had passed, though he gave close attention to every
word Mr. Reed uttered.
It was a strange story ; but it need not all be
repeated here. Suffice it to say, at last Donald
learned his uncle's secret, and understood the many
unaccountable moods that heretofore had perplexed
Dorry and himself.
What wonder that Mr. George had been troubled,
and had sometimes shown signs of irritation ! For
nearly fifteen years he had suffered from peculiar
suspense and annoyance, because, while he be-
lieved Dorothy to be his own niece, he could not
ascertain the fact to his complete satisfaction. To
make matters worse, the young girl unconsciously
increased his perplexity by sometimes evincing
traits which well might be inherited from his
brother Wolcott, and oftener in numberless little
ways so reminding him of his adopted sister Kate
in her early girlhood, that his doubts would gain
new power to torment him.
All he had been able to find out definitely was
that, in the autumn of 1859, in accordance with his
instructions, Mrs. Wolcott Reed, his brother's
widow, with her twin babies, a boy and girl of six
weeks, and their nurse, had sailed from Europe,
in company with Kate and her husband, George
Robertson, who had with them their own little
daughter Delia, a baby of about the same age as
the twins.
When about seven days out, the steamer had
been caught in a fog, and, going too near the
treacherous coast of Newfoundland, had in the
night suddenly encountered a sunken rock. The
violence of the shock aroused every one on board.
There was a rush for the pumps, but they were of
no use — the vessel had already begun to sink.
Then followed a terrible scene. Men and women
rushed wildly about, vainly calling for those belong-
ing to them. Parents and their children were
separated in the darkness — nearly every one,
officers and crew ahke, too panic-stricken to act in
concert. In the distracting terror of the occasion,
there was barely time to lower the steamer's boats.
Several of these were dangerously overloaded ;
one, indeed, was so crowded that it was swamped
instantly. The remaining boats soon were sepa-
rated, and in the darkness and tumult their crews
were able to pick up but a few of the poor creat-
ures who were struggling with the waves.
Two of the three babies, a boy and a girl, had
been rescued, as we already know, by the efforts
of one of the crew. Sailor Jack, known to his com-
rades as Jack Burton. He had Just succeeded in
getting into one of the boats, when he heard
through the tumult a wild cry from the deck
above him :
"Save these helpless little ones! Look out! I
must throw them ! "
"Aye, aye! Let 'em come!" shouted Jack in
response, and the next moment the babies, looking
like little black bundles, flew over the ship's side
one after the other, and were safely caught in
Jack's dexterous arms. Just in time, too, for the
men behind him at once bent to the oars, in the
fear that the boat, getting too near the sinking
ship, was in danger of being ingulfed by it.
Against Jack's protesting shout of "There 's
another coming! — a woman!" the boat shot
away on the crest of a wave.
Hearing a helpless cry. Jack hastily flung off his
coat, thrust the babies into the arms of his com-
rades, shouting out: "Keep them safe for me.
Jack Burton ! It may be the mother. Wait for
me, mates ! " and with a leap he plunged into the
sea.
Jack made gallant efforts for a time, but returning
alone, worn out with his fruitless exertions, he
was taken into the boat. If, after that, in the se-
vere cold, he remembered his jacket, it was only to
take real comfort in knowing that the " little kids "
were wrapped in it safe and sound. In the dark-
ness and confusion he had not been able to see who
had thrown the babies to him, but the noble-
hearted sailor resolved to be faithful to his trust,
and never to lose sight of them until he could
leave them safe with some of their own kindred.
All night, in the bitter cold, the boat that carried
the two babies had tossed with the waves, the men
using their oars as well as they could, working
away from the rocks out to the open sea, and
hoping that daylight might reveal some passing
vessel. All, excepting the babies, suffered keenly ;
these, wrapped from head to feet in the sailor's
jacket, and tucked in between the shivering women,
slept soundly, while their preserver, scorning even
in his drenched condition to feel the need of his
warm garment, did his best at the oars.
With the first streaks of dawn a speck ap-
peared on the horizon that at last proved to be the
"Cumberland," a fishing-vessel bound for New
York. Everything now depended upon being able
iSS:.]
DONALD AND D ( ) R ( iT 1 1 \-
8l
to attract her attention. One of the women, who
had on a large white woolen mantle, snatched it
off, begging the men to raise it as a signal of dis-
tress. As soon as practicable, they hoisted the
garment upon an oar, and, heavy and wet though it
was, waved it wildly in the air.
"She 's seen us!" cried Sailor Jack at last.
'• Hooray ! She 's headin' straight for us ! "
And so she was.
Once safely on board. Sailor Jack had time to
reflect on his somewhat novel position — a jolly tar,
as he expressed it, with two helpless little kids to
take ashore as salvage. That the babies did not
now belong to him never entered his mind ; they
were his twins, to be cared for and to keep, he in-
sisted, till the '■ Cumberland " should touch shore ;
and his to keep and care for ever after, unless some-
body with a better right and proof positive should
meet him in New York and claim them, or else
that some of their relatives should be saved in one
of the other boats.
So certain was he of his rights, that when the
captain's wife, who happened to be on board,
offered to care for the little creatures, he, concealing
his helplessness, accepted her kindness with a lordly
air and as though it were really a favor on his part.
"Them twins is Quality," he would say, "and I
can't have 'em meddled with till I find the grand
folks they belong to. Wash their leetle orphan
faces, you may — -feed 'em, you may — and keep 'em
warm, you may, but their leetle night-gownds and
petticuts an' caps has got to stay just as they are,
to indentify 'em; and this ere gimcrack on the
leetle miss — gold it is, you may well say"
(touching the chain on the baby's neck admir-
ingly)— " this ere gimcrack likely 's got a legal
consequence to its folks, which I could n't and
would n't undertake to state."
Meantime the sailors would stand around, look-
ing reverently at the babies, until the kind-hearted
woman, with Jack's gracious permission, would
tenderly soothe the little ones to sleep.
.Among the survivors of the wreck, none could
give much information concerning the babies.
Only two were women, and one of these lay ill in a
rough bunk through the remainder of the voyage,
raving in her fever of the brother who bent anx-
iously over her. (In her delirium, she imagined
that he had been drowned on that terrible night.)
Sailor Jack held the twins before her, but she took
no notice of them. Her brother knew nothing
about them or of any of the passengers. He had
been a fireman on the wrecked vessel, and scarcely
had been on deck from the hour of starting until
the moment of the wreck. The other rescued
woman had seen a tall nurse with two very young
infants in her lap, and a ])ale mother dressed in
black standing near them ; and she remembered
hearing some one say that there was another mother
with a baby on board, and that the two mothers were
sisters or relatives of some kind, and that the one
with twins had recently become a widow. That
was all. Beyond vaguely wondering how any one
could think of taking such mites of humanity across
the ocean, she had given no more thought to them.
Of the men, hardly one had even known of the ex-
istence of the three wee p;issengers, the only babies
on board, as they had been very seldom taken on
deck. The two mothers were made so ill by the
voyage that they rarely left their state-rooms. Mr.
Robertson, Kate's husband, was known by sight to
all as a tall, handsome man, though very restless
and anxious-looking ; but, being much devoted to
his wife and child, he had spoken to very few
persons on board the vessel.
Jack never wearied of making inquiries among
the sur\ivors, but this was all he could find out.
He was shrewd enough, however, to ask them to
write their names and addresses for him personally,
so that, if the twins' people (.as he called them) ever
were found, they could in turn communicate with
the survivors, as they naturally would want to in-
quire about " the other baby and its poor father,
and the two mothers, one of which was a widow
in mournin' — poor soul! and the nurse-girl, all
drowned and gone."
Long weeks afterward, one other boat was heard
from — the only other one that was ever found. Its
freight of human beings, only seven in all, had
passed through great privation and danger, but
they finally had been taken aboard a steamer going
east. The list of persons saved in this boat had
been in due time received by Mr. Reed, who, after
careful investigation, at last ascertained to a cer-
tainty that they all were adults, and that neither
Mr. and Mrs. Robertson, nor Wolcott Reed's widow,
were of the number. He communicated in person
or by letter with all of them excepting one, and
that one was a woman, who was described as a tall,
dark-complexioned girl, a genteel servant, who had
been several times seen, as three of the men
declared, pacing up and down the deck of the ill-
fated vessel during the early part of its voyage,
carrying a "bundled-up" baby in her arms. She
had given her name as Ellen Lee, had accepted
assistance from the ship's company, and finally she
had been traced by Mr. Reed's clerk, Henry
Wakeley, to an obscure boarding-house in Liver-
pool. Going there to see her, Mr. Wakeley had
been told that she was "out," and calling there
again, late on the same day, he learned that she
had paid her bill and "left for good," four hours
before.
After that, all efforts to find her, both on the
Si4
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[Al'Gl'ST,
part of the clerk and of Mr. Reed, had been una-
vailing ; though to this day, as the latter assured
Donald, detectives in Liverpool and London had
her name and description as belonging to a person
'• to be found."
"But do the\' know your address?" asked
Donald.
" Oh, yes, 1 shall be notified at once if any news
is heard of her ; but after all these years there is
hardly a possibility of that. Ellen Lees are plenti-
ful enough. It is not an uncommon name, 1 find;
but that particular Ellen Lee seems to have van-
ished from the earth."
Chapter XXVII.
DELIA OR DOROTHY?
Donald listened to his uncle
by the study-window, on
that starlight evening, part
of the strange story was fa-
miliar to him ; many things
that he had heard from
Sailor Jack rose in his
memory and blended with
Mr. Reed's words. He
needed only a hint of the
shipwreck to have the scene vividly before him.
He and Dorry had often heard of it and of their
first coming to Nestletown. They knew that
Uncle George had established his claim to the
babies very easily, as these and the one that
was lost were the only babies among the passen-
gers, and that he had brought them and Sailor
Jack home with him from New York ; that Jack
had been induced to give up the sea and to
remain with Mr. Reed ever since ; and that they,
the twins, had grown up together the happiest
brother and sister in that part of the country, until
the long, lank man had come to mar their happi-
ness, and Uncle had been mysteriously bothered,
and had seemed sometimes to be almost afraid of
Dorry. But now Donald learned of the doubts
that from the first had perplexed Mr. Reed ; of the
repeated efforts that he had made to ascertain
which one of the three babies had been lost ; how'
he had been baffled again and again, until at last
he had given himself up to a dull hope that the
little girl who had become so dear w-as really his
brother's child, and joint heir to his and his
brother's estates ; and how Eben Slade actually
had come to claim her, threatening to blight the
poor child with the discovery that she might per-
haps be his niece, Delia Robertson, and not
Dorothy Reed at all.
Poor Donald ! Dorry had been so surely his
sister that until now he had taken his joy in her as
a matter of course — as a part of his existence,
bright, and necessary as light and air, and never
questioned. She was Dorry, not Delia — Delia,
the poor little cousin who was lost ; certainly not.
She was Dorry and he was Donald. If she was
not Dorry, then who was he ? Who was Uncle
George? Who were all the persons they knew,
and what did everything in life mean ?
No, he would not give her up — he could not.
Something within him resented the idea, then
scouted it, and finally set him up standing before
his uncle, so straight, so proud in his bearing, so
joyfully scornful of anything that threatened to
take his sister away from him, that Mr. George rose
also and waited for him to speak, as though
Donald's one word must settle the question for-
ever.
"Well, my boy?"
" Uncle, I am absolutely sure of it. Our Dorry
is Dorothy Reed — here with us alive and well, and
I mean to prove it ! "
" God grant it, Donald ! "
" Well, Uncle, 1 must go now to bring my sister
home. Of course, I shall not tell her a word of
what has passed between us this evening. That
scoundrel ! to think of his intending to tell her that
she was his sister's child ! Poor Dot ! think of the
shock to her. Just suppose he had convinced her,
made her think that it was true, that it was her
duty to go with him, care for him, and all that —
Why, Uncle, with her spirit and high notions of
right, even you and 1 could n't have stopped her;
she 'd have gone with him, if it killed her ! "
" Donald ! " exclaimed Mr. Reed, fiercely,
"• you 're talking nonsense ! "
" So 1 am — sheer nonsense ! The man has n't
an argument in his favor. But, L'ncle, there is a
great deal yet to be looked up. After Dot has
bidden us good-night and is fast asleep, may I not
come down here to the study again ? Then you
can show me the things you were speaking of —
the pictures, the letters, the chain, the little clothes,
the hair, and everything — especially that list, you
know. We '11 go carefully over every point. There
must he proof somewhere."
Donald was so radiant with a glad confidence
that for an instant his uncle looked at him as one
inspired. Then sober thoughts returned ; ob-
jections and arguments crowded into Mr. Reed's
mind, but he had no opportunity to utter them.
Donald clasped his uncle's hand warmly and was
off, bounding down the moon-flecked carriage-way,
the new dog leaping after him. Both apparently
were intent only on enjoying a brisk walk toward
the village, and on bringing Dorry home.
Dorry was ver\- tired. Leaning upon Donald's
I
i883.|
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
815
arm as they walked homeward — for they had de-
dined Mr. McSwiver's ser\ices — she had but Uttle
to say, and that httle was all about the strange
adventure at Vanbogen's.
" Who in the world was that man, Don ? " and
then, without waiting for a reply, she continued :
" Do you know, after I started for home, I really
suspected that he was that horrid person — the
long, lank one, you know — come back again. I 'm
glad it was n't ; but he may turn up yet, just as he
did before. Why does n't he stay with his own
people and not wander about like a lunatic ? They
ought to take care of him, any way. Ugh ! I
can't bear to think of th.it dreadful man. It gives
me cold shivers ! "
"Then why 1/0 you think of him?" suggested
Donald, with forced cheerfulness. " Let us talk of
something else."
" Very well. Let 's talk — let 's talk of — of — oh,
Don, I 'm so tired and sleepy ! Suppose we don't
talk at all ! "
"All right," he assented. And so in cordial
silence they stepped lightly along in the listening
night, to the great surprise of Watch, who at first
whined and capered by way of starting a conversa-
tion, and finally contented himself with exploring
ever)- shadowed recess along the moonlit road, run-
ning through every opening that offered, w.aking
sleeping dogs in their kennels, and in fact taking
upon himself an astonishing amount of business for
a new-comer into the neighborhood, who naturally
would be excused from assuming entire charge of
things.
Mr. Reed met Don and Dorr)' on the piazza.
Greetings and good-nights were soon over ; and
before long, Dorry, in her sweet, sound sleep, for-
got alike the pleasures and adventures of the day.
Meantime, Mr. Reed and Donald were busih
engaged in examining old family ambrotypes,
papers, and various articles that, carefully hidden
in the uncle's secretary, had been saved all these
years in the hope that they might furnish a clew
to Dorry's parentage, or perhaps prove that she
was, as Mr. Reed trusted, the daughter of his
brother Wolcott. To Donald each article was full
of interest and hopeful possibilities, but his uncle
looked at them wearily and sadly, because their
very familiarity made them disappointing to him.
There were the Uttle caps and baby-garments,
yellow, rumpled, and weather-stained, just as they
had been taken off and carefully labeled on that
day nearly fifteen years ago. (Donald noticed
that one parcel of these was marked, " The boy,
Donald," and the other simply " The girl." )
There were the photographs of the two babies,
which had been taken a week after their landing,
labeled in the same way — poor, pinched, expres-
sionless-looking little creatures, both of them —
for, as Uncle George explained to the slightly
crest-fallen Donald, the babies were really ill at
first from exposure and unsuitable feeding. Then
there were the two tiny papers containing hair, and
these also were marked, one, " The boy, Donald,"
and the other simply "The girl." Donald's had
only a few pale brown hairs, short ones, but "the
girl's " paper, when opened, disclosed a soft, yellow
little curl.
" She had more than you had," remarked Uncle
George, as he carefully closed the paper again ;
" you '11 see that, also, by the descriptive list that I
wrote at the time. Here it is."
Donald glanced over the paper, as if intending
to read it later, and then took up the chain with a
square clasp, the same that Uncle George held
in his hand when we saw him in the study on the
day of the shooting-match. Three delicate strands
of gold chain came together at the clasp, which
was still closed. It was prettily embossed on its
upper surface, while its under side was smooth.
" Was this on Dor on /u-r neck or on mine,
Uncle?" he asked.
" On the little girl's," said Mr. Reed. " In
fact, she wore it until she was a year old, and then
her dear little throat grew to be so chubby, Lydia
fancied that the chain was too tight. The catch
of the clasp seemed to have rusted inside, and it
would not open. So, rather than break it, wt
severed the three chains here across the middle.
I 've since "
Donald, who was holding the clasp toward the
light, cut short his uncle's remark with the joyful
exclamation :
"Why, see here! The under side has letters
on it. D. R.— D for Dorothy."
" Yes, yes," said Mr. Reed, impatiently, " but
D stands for Delia, too."
" But the R," insisted Donald ; " D. R., Doro-
thy Reed— it 's plain as day. Oh!" he added
quickly, in a changed tone, " that does n't help us,
after all ; for R would stand for Robertson as well
as for Reed. But then, in some way or other such
a chain as this ought to help us. It 's by no means
a common chain. I never saw one like it before."
" Nor I," said Mr. Reed.
By this time, Donald had taken up " the
girl's" little garments again. Comparing them
with " Donald's " as well as he could, considering
his uncle's extreme care that the two sets should
not get mixed, he said, with a boy's helplessness in
such matters : " They 're about alike. I do not see
any difference between them, except in length.
Hoho ! these little flannel sacques are of a different
color — mine is blue and hers is pink."
" I know that,"his uncle returned, despondingly.
8i6
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[August,
" For a long time I hoped that this difference
would lead to some discovery, but nothing came of
it. Take care! don't lay it down; give it to me"
(holding out his hand for the pink sacque, and
very carefully folding it up with " the girl's "
things).
" How strange! And you wrote at once, you
say, and sent somebody right over to Europe to
find out everything ? "
" Not only sent my confidential clerk, Henry
Wakeley, over at once," replied Mr. Reed, "but,
when he returned without being able to give any
satisfaction, 1 went myself. I was over there two
months — as long as I could just then be away from
my affairs and from you two babies. Lydia was
faithfulness itself and needed no oversight, even
had a rough bachelor like me been capable of giv-
ing it ; but I — I felt better to be at home, w-here I
could see how you were getting along. As Liddy
and Jack and everybody else always spoke of you
as ' the twins,' my hope that you were indeed
brother and sister became a sort of habit that often
served to beguile me into actual belief"
" Humph ! well it might," said Donald, rather
indignantly. "Of course we 're brother and
sister."
" Certainly," assented Mr. Reed, with pathetic
heartiness, "no doubt of it ; and yet 1 would give,
1 can not say how much, to be — well, absolutely
certain."
Chapter XXVIII.
DON RESOLVES TO
MATTERS.
SETTLE
"OR a time, an outsider looking
on would have seen no great
change at Lakewood, as the Reed
homestead was called. There
were the same studies, the same
sports ; the same every-day life
with its in-comings, its out-go-
ings, its breakfasts, dinners, and
pleasant home-scenes ; there were
drives, out-door games, and sails and rambles and
visits ; Uncle George always willing to take part
when he could leave his books and papers ; and
Lydia, busy attending to household matters, often
finding time to teach her young lady some of the
mysteries of the kitchen.
" It 's high time Miss Dorry learned these
things, even if she !s to be a grand lady, for she '11
be the mistress of this house in time ; and if any-
thing should happen to ;«t-, I don't know where
things would go to. Besides, as Mr. G. truly says,
every lady should understand housekeeping. So,
Miss Dorry, dear, if you please to do so, we '11 bake
bread and cake on Saturday, and 1 '11 show you
at to-morrow's ironin' how we get Mr. G.'s shirt-
bosoms so lovely and smooth ; and, if you please,
you can iron one for him, all with your own pretty
hands, Miss."
As a consequence of such remarks, Mr. G. some-
times found himself eating, with immense relish,
cake that had only "just a least little heavy streak
in the middle," or wearing linen that, if any one
but Dorry had ironed it, would have been cast
aside as not fit to put on.
But what matter ! Dorry's voice was sweet and
merry as ever, her step as light and her heart
even more glad; for LIncle was always his dear,
good self now, and had no mysterious moods and
startling surprises of manner for his little girl. In
fact, he was wonderfully relieved by having shared
liis secret with Donald. The boy's stout-hearted,
manly way of seeing the bright side of things and
scouting all possible suspicions that Dorry was not
Dorry, gave Mr. Reed strength and a peace that
he had not known for years. Dorry, prettier,
Ijrighter, and sweeter every day, was the delight
of the household — her very faults to their partial
eyes added to her charm ; for, according to Lydia,
■• they were uncommon innocent and funny. Miss
Dorry's ways were." In fact, the young lad\', who
had a certain willfulness of her own, would have
been spoiled to a certainty but for her scorn of
affectation, her love of truth, and genuine faithful-
ness to whatever she believed to be right.
Donald, on his part, was too boyish to be utterly
cast dov\n by the secret that stood between him
and Dorry ; but his mind dwelt upon it despite his
efforts to dismiss every useless doubt.
Fortunately, Eben Slade had not again made his
appearance in the neighborhood. He had left
^'anbogen's immediately after Jack had paid his
rough compliments to him, and he had not been
seen there since. But, at any moment, he might
re-appear at Lakewood and carry out his threat of
obtaining an interview with Dorry. This Donald
dreaded of all things, and he resolved that it should
not come to pass. How to prevent it was the
question. He and his uncle agreed that she must
be spared not only all knowledge of the secret, but
all anxiety or suspicion concerning her history; and
they and Jack kept a constant lookout for the dis-
agreeable intruder.
Day by day, when alone, Donald pondered over
the case, resolved upon establishing his sister's
identity, recalling again and again all that his
uncle had told him, and secretly devising plans
that grew more and more settled in his mind as
time went on. Jack, who had been in Mr.
Reed's confidence from the first, was now taken
i882.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY,
817
fully into Donald's. He was proud of the boy's
fervor, but had little hope. Fourteen, nearly fif-
teen, years was a long time, and if Ellen Lee had
hidden herself successfully in 1859 and since, why
could she not do so still ? Donald had his own
opinion. Evidently she had some reason for
hiding, or fancied she had ; but she must be
found, and if so, why should not he, Donald
Reed, find her ? Yes, there was no other way.
His mind was made up. Donald was studying
logic at the time, and had committed pages of it to
memory in the most dutiful manner. To be sure,
while these vital plans were forming in his brain,
he did not happen to recall any page of the logic
that exactly fitted the case, but in some way he
flattered himself that he had become rather expert
in the art of thinking and of balancing ideas.
'■ A fellow can't do more than use his wits, after
all," he said to himself, " and this getting fitted for
college and expecting to go to Columbia College
next year, as Uncle says I may, will do well enough
aftcnuard ; but at present wc '\e something else
to attend to."
And, to make a long story not too long and tedi-
ous, the end of it w-as that one bright day, months
after that memorable afternoon at Vanbogen's,
Donald, after many earnest interviews in the inter-
im, obtained his uncle's unwilling consent that he
should sail alone for England in the next steamer.
Poor Dorry — glad if Don was glad, but totally
ignorant of his errand — was too amazed at the
bare announcement of the voyage to take in the
idea at all.
Lydia, horrified, was morally sure that the boy
never would come back alive.
Sailor Jack, on his sea-legs in an instant, gave
his unqualified approbation of the scheme.
Uncle George, unconvinced but yielding, an-
swered Donald's questions, agreed that Dorry
should be told simply that his uncle was sending
him on important business, allowed him to make
copies of letters, lists, and documents, even trusted
some of the long-guarded and precious relics to his
keeping ; furnished money, and, in fact, helped
him all lie could; then resolved the boy should not
go after all ; and finally, holding Dorry's cold hand
as they stood a few days later on the crowded city
wharf, bade him good-bye and God bless him !
C To be continued. )
OFF FOR EUROPE.
8i8
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
[August,
( JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Now is the time to put your thermometers in
ice-water, my friends. They can not be kept too
cool, — for my birds tell me that, in August, the
moment an English or American thermometer
feels the heat, it straightway lets the fact be
known ; and the moment the fact :s known, the
weather gets the blame of it.
Now, that 's too bad !
It 's surprising how much a willing-minded
Jack-in-the-Pulpit may get from his birds. The
keen little obser\-ers, you see, not knowing any
better, peep from vines and tree-tops into people's
windows, and in that way really learn a good deal
about human nature.
Sometimes I fancy that is what makes them sing
so joyfully, for human nature at its best is quite
enough to make every bird in creation happy.
Don't you say so, my hearers ?
A LITTLE EXERCISE.
Yes, here *s a little exercise for you, my dears,
Dut — your Jack's word for it, in advance — not
too severe for even this warm vacation month.
All you have to do is to turn the pages of a Web-
ster's or a Worcester's Unabridged, and I 've
reliable information that — if you know how — you
can do that in such a way as to fan yourselves
with the breeze from the leaves while you 're
searching for your word.
This exercise conies from the Little School-
ma'am's friend, Cornelia Lesser, who sent it to her,
and now she, in turn, sends it to your Jack. ** It is
quite easy and simple, dear Jack," writes the learned
little lady, "as it is merely a story in verse con-
taining a number of words that are not now in
general use. Please tell your young friends from
me that, no matter how queer and foreign the
verses may look at first sight, if they will turn to
the dictionary' for each of these strange words, as
they come to it, and then pencil the definition
above the word itself, they will find a complete
and quite simple story in the verses when they
come to re-read them with the Dictionary mean-
ings substituted for the queer-looking word's."
A DICKER OF DOWLES.
Once a culver roiled a corby,
Chiding his furacious prowls ;
And the corby from the culver
Tozed in wrath a dicker of dowles.
" Give me back my dowles, O Corby !
Tozed from me with cruel force. "
" When you bring a cogue of cullis.
Fribble Culver, we will scorse ! "
Through the dorp beyond the hill-top.
To appease the knaggy rook.
Flew the culver ; spied some cullis
Left to cool, and to the cook :
" Let me have a cogue of cullis,
JDafF me not with angry scowls,
I will take it to the corby
And get back my dicker of dowles."
" Fetch me first a trug of cobbles,"
Said the cook ; and, undismayed,
To the collier sped the culver.
And a trug of cobbles prayed.
"Collier, give a trug of cobbles
For the cook, who Ml give to me
Cullis for the edacious corby.
Then I '11 once more heppen be."
" Fetch me first a knitch of chatwood.
Culver," said the collier grim.
Culver sought a frim woodmonger
And the chatwood begged of him.
" Give to me a knitch of chatwood,
From the collier that will buy
For the cook a trug of cobbles.
Then with cullis I will fly
To the roiled, dicacious corby,
And he '11 give me back once more
All my pretty dowles, the dicker
That he tozed from me before."
'■ Vou shall have the knitch of chatwood
If you '11 through the hortyard pass,
And this rory croceous pansy
Give to yonder sonsy lass."
Through the hortyard twired the culver,
With the rory croceous paunce;
Hattle, cocket, vafrous, pawky,
Hoiting, chirring, did advance.
There, beside a muxy dosser.
With a spaddle in her hand
Cruddled close the sonsy lassie
Whin excerping from her land.
Down he dropped the paunce so rory,
Pegging her with dew-drops sweet;
Back he flew to the woodmonger,
Claiming chatwood for the feat.
Next he this, the knitch of chatwood,
Quickly to the collier took :
Collier gave the trug of cobbles
Which won cullis from the cook.
Back, then, with the cogue of cullis —
Cullis made from fubby fowls —
Flew the culver, and the corby
Gave to him his dicker of dowles.
Now for it ! Who will be the first to send me
word of having successfully read this queer speci-
men of English verse ?
i883.)
J A C K - I N - T H E - P U L r I T .
819
A YOUNG GARDENER.
Here is a letter from Lynn S. Abbott, Esq., a
young gentleman who evidently is not afraid of
work, and has no objection to stating the fact. He
wrote it to St. Nichoi,.\s when the editors printed
some little black pictures and asked for stories
about them for the \'ery Little Folk, and Deacon
Green, taking a fancy to the little man, obtained
permission to show the letter to us — that is, to you
and your Jack.
Dear St. Nicholas : I have chosen the picture of the little
gardener as the subject for mv story. I know considerable about
Kardening. My garden was planted to vegetables. 1 raised canta-
loupes, water-melcms, sweet potatoes, and pop-corn. 1 spent many
days hoeing and weeding them, and they were hot summer days.
1 thought of the har\'est, when 1 could have them at my pleasure ;
though the cant.aloupes Wert: a failure, the pop-cont yielded very
well. When I came to gather my cn>ps, 1 saw it paid me well for
my trouble, and we have had pop-corn all winter. 1 would like
to take care of Howers also, and see them blossom, and smell their
sweet odor. Hut I h.ad no ground to grow flowers, so I grew only
vegetables. Besides. 1 have had no experience in growing flowers.
I wish that every little boy and girl could have a vegetable garden,
for it affords so much pleasure. I suppose that every one would
like a garden of either kind. And this is my story.
Lynn S. Abbott (aged nine).
A TWO LEGGED STEED.
An artist with a lively fancy sends me a picture
of his favorite steed, so to speak, and says 1 may
show it to you, my chicks — so here it is.
It strikes mc that this mode of riding is no more
peculiar or out of the way than bicycling, and cer-
tainly the gentleman in the picture seems to be
having an easier time of it than some of the boy-
bicyclers who dash past my meadow these hot
days. And I 'm informed by birds well .icquainted
with this two-legged steed that he would give a
trained bicycler a close contest in the matter of
speed. Ostriches, they say, are remarkably fast
travelers, for birds that can't fly, and it 's a good
horse that can overtake one in a fair race.
THAT ■CLOUDY SATURDAY" QUESTION.
New Bedford, Mass., May 28. 1882.
Dear Jack : In St. Nicholas for May the statement was made
by '* L. B. G." that " there is only one Saturday in the year when
the sun does not shine some part of the day." This is a mistake,
for, since that number of St. Nichoi-as came out, there have been
fTvo Saturdays when the sun h.-is nut shone at all — May 13th and
20th being the days. Alfred C. P.
-Alfred's answer seems to be complete and satis-
factory, and, in your Jack's humble opinion, settles
the question concerning the sun's dealings with the
.Saturdays. There 's nothing like /ac/s in such
matters, I find.
ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Waterloo, N. V., M.ty 8, 1882.
Dear Jack : I think I have found the correct answer asked by
F. in St. NichoI-AS for May, 1878 : " When did the ancients leave
off and the modems begin?" I think the " ancients left off" at
the fall of Rome, 476 a. D-, and the " moderns began " at the close
of the Middle Ages, in the fifteenth century. Will you please tell
me whether I am right or not? Yours truly, L. K.
Thank you, my little girl. Jack will show your
letter to the other girls and boys, and if you do
not hear from them to the contrary right away,
you will know that your answer is right.
-A.l^.
III ^/r '.'ff.'- ■:.: -,V ' \
f^m-
-^^^^■^4^.^^'^22'->fCiMJ^.
A TWO-LEGGED STEED.
820
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[August^
f^.i.l
'NOW, SUSIE, YOU CAN REST WHILE I FINISH IT. I M GOING TO MAKE IT THE BIGGEST HILL IN THE WORLD.
LITTLE-FOLK STORIES.
[Dear Little Folks: We think you will like these stories that three kind friends of about
eleven years of age have written for you, to explain the pretty black pictures that were printed in
St. Nicholas for April, page 497. As some of you may not have that number of St. Nicholas
to look at, we give you the same pictures made small. You will see that Mildred and Violet
each tell about one picture, but Willie mentions them all. — The Editor.]
NEDDIE AND LILLIE MELVILLE.
By Mildred E. T.
" Come, Neddie," said Lillie, " put down your toy horse that the kind
lady gave you, and let us wind this worsted for Mother. You Icnow,
ever since Father was lost at sea, she has to knit stockings at night and
sell them to buy us bread. Let us wind the worsted so she will not
have so much trouble."
So Neddie put down his toy horse, and gladly ran to hold the skein
for his sister.
After a while Mrs. Melville came home, but she stopped on the door-
step and stood still — for she thought how a merciful God had blessed
i883.|
FOR VERY LITTLP: FOLK.
821
her. She said : " Look in there at the children ! " But who was it that
she was talking to? Mr. Melville! It was all a mistake about his being
drowned, and he had come home to his wife and children.
HERBIE'S GARDENING.
I?Y Violet.
Hekhik was a little boy seven years old. His real name was Her-
bert, but they called him Herbie for short. This little Herbie was very
fond ol flowers, and lie loved to watch his sisters, Clara and Bertha,
with their plants.
One spring, when they were planting some seeds and raking their
beds, and asked him to help them about some of the work, he thought :
" Now, I 'd like to know why I can't have a garden just as well as the
girls ; " and he went and asked his mother for
a bed, — "'cause, you see," he said, "the girls
have 'em, and I d like to know why I can't."
"You can, ni)- boy, if you will i)C faithful
and attend to your plants, water them, and
weed them, even though you want to do
something else. Will you ? "
"I '11 try. Mamma," said Herbie; and his
mother knew that his " I '11 try" meant that he
would try.
The next day he was given a little bed and
some seeds, and Mamma, Clara, and Bertha
showed Herbie how to make his bed, rake it,
plant it, and water it. It soon grew to be a
pleasant task to Herbie, and he got so he dearly
loved to tend his flowers. But when the warm weather came, and school
was out, he was very much tempted to go and play with the boys ; but
Mamma's cheery words of help, and above all his " I '11 try," and even the
twitter of the birds that seemed to say, " Keep on, keep on," helped him,
and he did "keep on."
Every day he would water his plants, and when his garden was in
bloom he felt fully repaid for all his care.
There were geraniums, petunias, roses, mignonettes, pansies, and many
other lovely and sweet flowers. Those are long, hard names, are n't
they ? Get some one to say them for )ou.
822 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [August,
Herbie, when he had all his flowers grown, could make beautiful bouquets
to put in the parlor or give to his friends, which the other boys could not
do; and he considered this, his first attempt at gardening, a great success,
and thought he would surely try it again ; and Mamma softly whispered :
"I am glad I have a little boy who can say 'I'll try' and mca)i it."
FANNIE AND JOHNNY.
By Willie D. O.
These little children's names are Fannie and Johnny. They are
brother and sister, and love each other dearl)-. Johnny is the youngest
of the two, and is always very glad to help Fannie in any way that he
can. So in the first picture we see him holding some worsted on his
hands for her to wind. They are both very good children, and help their
mamma and papa a great deal. If a cup of coffee is wanted, Fannie
does not wait to be told to get it, but jumps up and says, " Let me get
you some coffee. Mamma." She has a pet kitten, and it never goes
hungry, for she is very careful that her pussy shall have all it wants.
Johnny tries to help, too, and sometimes brings things to his papa.
In the next picture we see Johnny playing horse with a chair. We see,
too, that he has a cannon planted in front of him, and that on his head
he has a cap, which looks ver)- much as if he was a captain in the army,
but he is rather too young to be that, don't you think so ? Now we see
Fannie coming home from the store, where she has been on an errand
for her mamma, and in her hand she has a bandbox, which, I guess, has
a new hat in it. What do we see now ? Why ! Master Johnny has
turned gardener, and is watering the flower-bed. By his side lies his
rake, and behind him there are some birds which are trying to see what
that little boy is doing. The next time we see Johnny he is painting,
and the last time we shall look at our little friend he is making- a bridge
out of blocks.
Nearly three hundred stories were written and sent in by older brothers and sisters in response to
the invitation on page 497 of the April number of this magazine, and St. NICHOLAS thanks one and
all most heartily for the kind attention. Many of the stories are excellent in some respects, but not
suited to very little readers ; and others, that have the great merit of simplicity, are not quite up to the
desired standard. Therefore, we print, just as they were sent, the above three as being the best, consider-
ing the required conditions and the ages of the writers. The competition has been so close that it is
verv difficult to make the selection. Indeed, if space permitted, we would give many others and a long
roll of honor, containing the names of those children whose work deserves praise. As it is, we must confine
ourselves to three stories, and specially mention only " Alice and Marion," ten and eleven years old,
who sent in a little story written in three languages (French, German, and English), and little Oliver
E. and Emily M., two eight-year-olds, whose stories are too good to be passed by in silence.
i83i.]
THE LETTER-BOX.
823
THE LETTER-BOX.
For the interesting illustrations, in this number, of the interior of
the home of Sir Walter Scott, we arc indebted to the counesy of
Messrs. George W. Wilson & Co., of Aberdeen, Scotland, who
kindly allowed us to copy these pictures from a scries of very beau-
tiful photographs of Abbolsfurd. issued by their house.
Readers of the exciting story of '* How Joe Bcntly won a Bou-
quet from the Queen of Portugal " may be interested to know that
the narrative is founded on fact. The author's letter concerning it
says: " The account Ls essentially true, and based upon an actual
occurrence. A young man belonging to the United States man-of-
war Trenton once saved the life of a bull-6ghtcr, in the ring at Lis-
bon, by throwing the animal in the manner described in this story."
Nevcnhcless, St. Nicholas would caution the average American
boy against making a daily practice of similar performances.
Deli.\M. L. Shekrill: You will find an explanation of the "lit-
tle white things" covering a "large green worm found on the
woodbine " in Mrs. Ballard's " Insect Lives," under the title of ** A
Hundred to One."
Reader
of print.
The first and second volumes of St. NichoI-as arc out
Alta : A competent authority to whom wc have referred your
question says that the coins mentioned arc of no great value, and
would not be likely to find a purchaser.
A correspondent sent us last month, as a Fourth of July item,
this interesting sketch, showing that, by a slight exaggeration of out-
linn, the map of the State of New Jersey may be made to form a
respecuble portrait of Gcnr^c Wi^hinj'ton:
/VCtVAKK e»Y
THE AGASSIZ AS SOCIATION— SEVENTEENTH REPORT.
Agassiz's Birthday.
The Lenox Chapter celebrated the birthday of Professor Agassiz
by an excursion and picnic by the side of Stockbridge Bowl. An
essay on the life of the great naturalist was read, -also a history of
the A. .\. %L'iny interesting specimens were found, and the pleas-
ure of the day was many times multiplied by the thought that sn
many of the rest of you were uniting with us in honoring a grand
and good man. Doubtless many others observed the day, but we
have heard from the following only : Warren, Me., Brooklyn, N. Y.
(B), Easton, Pa. (C), Davenport, Iowa, Depere, Wis., Hyde Park,
Mass., Philadelphia, Pa. (C), Hoosac, N. Y., Lansing, Mich.,
Independence, Kan.
Longfellow's poem on Agassi/'s fiftieth birthday is especially ap-
propriate for reading or recitation on the 28th of May.
The highest number on our register is now 3,395, and new Chap-
ters are forming like pop-corn over fresh coals. So much of our
space is necessarily devoted to the list of Chapters that wc can give
only the most concise epitome of the hundreds of interesting reports
which have cheered us during the month, many of which richly de-
serve to appear in full.
Chapter 292 dwells on "a prairie covered with flowers which wc
arc tr>-ing to analyze." The London, Eng., Chapter has a new
idea. "Once a month wc take turns in giving a lecture to our
friends. Several ladies and gentlemen attend, and do all ihey can
to help us."
A Letter from Ireland.
You will be pleased, I am sure, to hear that we have formed .1
Chapter of the " .Agassiz Association " in Dublin. We meet once a
fortnight and are growing rapidly, having nearly thirty members
already. Wc have chosen a bright crimson ribbon for our badge.
It is to have shamrock -leaves and the initials A. A. worked on it
with silver thread. Great enthusiasm is manifested in collecting
specimens. Ellen J. Woodward, Sec,
5 Carlton Terrace, Upper Rathmincs, Dublin.
(Letters reporting the organization of this Chapter in Dublin,
and the London Chapter, reached us by the same mail. Rose and
Shamrock arc heartily welcome. May we not have a Thistle ?]
WiLKESBARKE, PA., CHAPTER 77.
Since our last letter, our Chapter has grown from five to eighteen
members, and the meetings are well attended. Our principal study
has been conchology. We have studied, too, about minerals, and
after wc know a little chemistry we arc going to learn more. We
are pretty familiar with quartz in its crystallized and amorphous
forms, and recognize micas and some feldspar. Our collection is all
arranged, labeled, and catalogued, and we have duplicate minerals
and shells for exchange. A silver medal was awarded by our Chap-
ter to Arthur Hlllman, for best solution of St. Nicholas questions
for January, 1882, and to Helen Reynolds, for best solution of same
for March. We have a balance in the treasury and want to buy a
picture of Professor Agassiz. Can you tell us where one can be
had, and the price ? Helen Reynolds.
Buffalo, May 13, 1882.
We now number twenty-two active members, with the names of
several more candidates for admission before the committee. Last
Friday evening we celebrated the anniversary of the establishment
of our Chapter. Just a year ago, four of us, enthusiastic over the
plan suggested in the St. Nicholas, met for the first time to try to
form a branch of the A. .-V, in Buffalo. Now, as the result of our
efforts, we have a delightful company of interested workers, all alive
to the beauties of Nature, and eager to study her wonders. The
entire club is busy preparing for an entertainment, the object of
which is to buy a microscope. We have $11.50 in the bank already,
but $50 remains to be gained, as wc wish to procure a good instru-
ment. Cora Freeman, Cor. Sec. B. C. A. A.
Linville H. Wardwell, Secretary of Chapter 127, Beverly, Mass.,
wntes that they arc raising a large number of butterflies and moths
from the larva state, and will uke notes upon their transformation.
Entomological correspondence desired.
Andrew Allen, of Newburyport, Mass., reports his Chapter so
enthusiastic that It required seven meetings in April to satisfy the
members. A live alligator is their pride.
Chapter C, Washington, D. C, through its secretary, Emily K.
Ncwcomb, sends a well-written, business-like report. The regu-
lation badge has been adopted.
William Carter, Chapter 123 A, Watcrbury, Conn., says: "We
have now about one hundred and ten different kinds of mmerals on
our shelves, and have introduced debates at each meeting."
Harry E. Sawyer, Secretary of Chapter 1:2 A, South Boston,
Mass., says: " We have about one hundred and twenty-five differ-
824
THE LETTER-BOX.
[August,
ent kinds of minerals, thirty shells, etc. . thirty kinds of eggs and a
few insects, almost all collected in less than ten months, and we
expect to greatly enlarge our collection this spring and summer.
Luther Moffitt's Chapter of nine-year-olds is especially welcome.
Nashua A is among the wise. It has started a library. We
hope that many valuable public libraries may be started by the A. A.
Hugh Stone and his sister have found a flying-squirrel's nest
It contained three young squirrels rolled up in a ball of grass They
squeaked just like a new shoe, until their mother sailed down from a
tree, took them by the back of the neck, as a cat takes her kittens,
and carried them away.
.t^'*}??^"'^', Ohio, wants to know why striking the ice on a pond
will kill fish beneath; whether snails can leave their shells ; whether
the shells of oysters, etc., grow with the animal, and whether /;>-
>i,im 77te grows in the United States. They have had four meet-
ings, and everj- member has been present each lime— " so slight
hinderances as rain and mud— in some cases two miles of it— mak-
ing no difference." (The Secretary told me confidentially a little
incident, which I will just whisper to you, because it pleased me so
much: ■' I went the other day to one of our neighbors to buy some-
thing needed for use. She filled my pail and said : ' I take noting
lor It \ou gif dose children such goot dimes. It ees shust all the
goot dimes dey haf in dis coontry. Dey shust cand wait for Sadur-
day nighd. ')
Hame Hancock asks information about a curious stone of India,
which will bend a little, and which, when set on end, " will swing to
and fro while the base remains firm."
St. Helena. Cal., is studying mosses. "The most noticeable is a
pale sage-green vanetj-, hanging straight down on trees. It is from
one to three feet long, and like beautiful lace. I have counted
sixteen vanelies on one small branch."
A. B. G. has discovered that "every single little branch of a com-
mon bur IS provided with a hook at the end, and a \ery strong one.
II a hair be stretched between, two pins and then hooked with a
piece of a bur, the force that must be employed before the tiny
thing will break is really surprising."
•*■ ^- R'^'H" writes: "The other day I tried to determine the
rate of \nbration of a fly's wing. I imprisoned it in a box, where
It buzzed in a lively manner: and I found, on producing the
same tone on my violin, that the insect emitted the ■ -\ ' below fun-
damental • C- ' From this I computed that the fly beat its wbgs
two hundred and thirteen times per second."
Boston B, "to a man," "are keeping aquaria and watching
inosquito larva and dragon-fly lar\ae preparing to leave the water;
also, tadpoles whose legs are visible beneath the skin." The same
chapter has a librarj- and a life-size bust of Professor Agassiz. An
excursion was recently made to Cambridge, where -Agassiz's museum
was visited and thoroughly enjoyed.
Providence, R. I., A, is going to hold field-meetings. "My
brother and I," wntes the Secretary, " knew Professor Agassiz at
Penikese Island."
Willie Sheraton (not quite eleven) speaks from Toronto, Canada,
to say that he thinks, "when tadpoles turn into frogs, their tails are
tucked up underneath." [Some of our Boston (B) aquaria will
solve this problem for us.]
^ Burlington, Kan., June 6th.
One of our members introduced something quite nice, each
member receives a topic from the President, to which he reads an
answerat the following meeting. Forthepastweek curicusbirdshave
been seen near our city. They resemble the black-headed gull ;
measure twenty-four inches from tip to tip of wing ; have very small
bodies, jet black head and bill, and their wings very much longer
than their tail. Can any one tell me what they are ?
P. M. Floyd, Sec
Exchanges Desired.
Pressed flowers correctly named. Correspondence, West and
South. — G. C. Baker, Comstock, N. Y.
Pyrites, fossils, ferns, for gold, silver, or copper ore. — Geo. Row-
ell, Box loS, St. Clair, Pa.
Fossils, for nests and eggs.— Walter M. Patterson, Chapter G
loio W. Van Buren St., Chicago, Ills.
Other minerals, for sapphire, cairngorm, and butterflies — E S
Foster, 1 8 Chestnut St, Boston, Mass.
Iron ore, insects, plants — Geo. C. McKee, State College, Pa.
Copper carbonate, silver, fossils, and insects, all labeled neatly
for labeled minerals and insects.— Fred. .M. Pease, Sec. Chapter 276'
114 W. Sbcth St., Kansas City, Mo.
'Three-ounce specimens from St. Johns River, for others as heavy.
— F. C. Sawyer, Beauclerc, Fla.
Manganese ore, for tin or zinc ore — F. E. Coombs, 65a O St
N. W., Washington, D. C. . Jt V .
Iron ore, for bugs.— J. C. Winne, Sec. Chapter 209, Brownsville,
Rare fossils, minerals, and marine specimens, for rare fossils. — H
U. Williams (Chapter B), 163 Delaware St., Buffalo, N. Y. Our
Chapter will also ofier the following prize: A good specimen of
Euriftcriis, seven inches long, for the best TrilebiU sent within
two months after this notice appears.
Iron ore, fossils of Lower Silurian, coal, and pressed flowers —
rred. Clearwaters, Brazil, Ind.
One variety Pectea and several species of Unw, and fresh-water
snails. Also correspondence on entomology.— John P Gavit Sec
Chapter A. 3 Lafayette St., Albany, N. Y.
,„F^^*' ^S^ ^88'' '""^ '"=^=' °^<^' fc"' D'her minerals.- Alvin S
Wheeler, Sec. Chapter 285, Dubuque, Iowa.
Bu-ds' eggs or minerals, for eggs. Write before sending speci-
mens—Reginald I. Brasher, 107 Sands street. Brooklyn N Y
Viola cucullata, for geodes.— Marie Stewart, South Easton, Pa
Correspondence.— Wm. R. Nichols, Sec. Chapter 288, 10 Hawk
street, .'\lbanv, N. Y.
Kansas fossils,— P. M. Floyd, Chapter A, Buriington, Kans.
Cecroha, polyphemus, and promestrea, for other lepidoptera or
cokoptera -C. C Beale, Sec. Chapter 297, Box 13,, Faulkner, Mass.
Petnhed wood from California and shelb from Sandwich Islands
— .'5amuel Engs, Newport, R. I.
Petrified moss.— Wm. E. Loy, Eaton, Ohio.
Fortification agates.— John J. O'Connell, Fort Stockton, Texas.
1 he name of Greenwood Lake, Ky., has been changed, by order of
c .7^ ■• '° Erlanger. Those wishing to exchange with the
former Greenwood Lake" Chapter, for crnioid stones and fossils
please notice.— Lillie M. Bedinger.
Eggs of red-head duck, fish-hawk, willet, and black skimmer, for
other rare eggs.— Ch. E. Doe, 28 Wood street, Providence, R. I.
List of New Chapters.
257.
• 58.
259.
260.
261.
Na?pu of Clutpter.
Tiflin, O
Saratoga, N. Y. (A) . . .
Nanuet, N. V. (A)
Poynette, Wis. (A)
Fulton, N. Y. (A)
Chester, Pa. (A)
Newton Upper Falls, Ma
Plantsville, Conn. (B). . .
Reading, Pa
ox 15.
Dixon, 111. (Al
Mercer, Pa. (A) . . .
East Boston, Mass .
262. Denver, Col. (B).
Gardiner, Me. {A) . .
Gainesville. Fla. {A) . .
Indianapolis, Ind. (B).
Sl Clair, Pa. (A).
Chicago, 111. (G) . .
2bb,
267.
263.
269.
270.
271.
272.
273.
274
275-
276.
277.
276.
279.
280.
281.
282.
283.
284.
=85.
286.
287.
288.
289.
290.
294.
295.
296.
Members. Address.
Please send it to us.
.... 4..H. A. Chandler, Box
4..C. D. Wells.
.... 6. .Harry Russell.
... 7. . H. C. Howe.
. 5 . . Frank R. Gilbert.
. 6..Josie M. Hopkins.
. 4. .L. Jennie Smith.
.11..W. W. Mills,
205 South Fifth St-
. 7. .Eddie Shepherd.
4.. Mrs. H. M. Magoflin.
II -Edith M. Buffum,
284 Meridian St.
4.. Ernest M. Roberts.
-■Address, please ?
14. .-A. C- Brown.
8 Paul E. Rollins.
7. -Cornelia McKay, 156 Ash St-
10 . . Geo. Powell.
6..W. M. Patterson,
1010 Van Buren Sl
30. .Alice Briscoe.
10.. H. M. Humphrey.
7. .Chas. Plank.
6..R. E. Curtis.
W. Evans.
F K. Gearing,
2oth and Sidney Sts.
5 Clive Day, 655 Asylum Av.
X2. .Ch. Beardsley, Jr,
214 4th, S. E.
6. .F. M. Pease, 114 W. 6th.
6.. Geo. Piper.
4- .J. F. McCune.
-\ddress, please?
-■\ugustus Tyler,
1313 Ferry St.
Victor C. Lewis.
R. G. Leavitt.
AlUe D. Williamson.
C. H. K. Sanderson.
.Lucy A. Whitcomb,
Marlboro Depot.
Alvin S. Wheeler.
W. J. Fisher.
Edgar Eldredge.
.Wm. R. Nichols,
10 Hawk St.
6 ..E. P. Oberholtzer.
30. .Ellen J. Woodward, 5 Carlton
Terrace, Upper Rathmines.
6 . , Mattie W. Packard,
T J , ,- "5 -'Vngell St.
Independence, Kan 18. .Willie H. Plank
Syracuse, N. Y. (A) 10. .Clara White,
99 W. Onondaga St.
4. .Wm. R. Kitchen.
6.. Franklin C. Johnson.
8 . , Bertha L. Rowell,
416 Sacramento St.
7 C. C. Beale,
Box 131, Faulkner, Mass.
Thompsonville, Ct. (A).
Wareham, Mass. (A.)..
Severance, Kan
Newbur>-port, Mass. (B'l... 1
Westtown, N. Y. (.A)
Pittsburgh, Pa. (B) i
Hartford, Ct. (D)
Washington, D. C. (E) .
Kansas City, Mo. (A) . .
Altoona, Pa. (A)
E. Pittsburgh, Pa. (C) . .
Easton, Pa. (A) 6.
(A) 4..
Little Rock, Ark
Webster, Mass. .
Zellwood, Fla. . .
Greenfield, Mass
Swanzey, N. H.
(A.)..
(A)....
292.
293.
Dubuque, Iowa (A) . .
Stockport, N. V. (Al .
Ottawa, 111. (A)
Albany, N. Y. (Bl.
Cambria Station, Pa. -
Dublin, Ireland (A) . .
291. Providence, R. I. (A) . .
.18.
■ 5.
Garden Citv, L. I. (A) .
Boonville, N. Y. (A) . . .
San Francisco (D)
297. Maiden, -Mass. (A) . . .
i883.]
T HE R 1 D I ) L E - B U X .
82^
iim[s
ILLl'STRATED FIZZLES IN THE IIEAD-IMEI'E.
I. A DoL'iU.E Acrostic : Divido each of the six letter-circles in
such a way that the letters, in the order in which they now stand,
will form a word. The six words, when rightly placed, will make
a double acrostic; the initials will name an agricultural implement,
and the finals a word meaning; to gather for preservation.
II. An Kasv Diamond: From the names of the objects here
pictured, form a five-letter diamond.
III. A WoKU: What adjective is here represented? g. f.
WORD-SQlJAltE.
Each of the following lines describes one word ; when the six
words are rightly selected and placed one below another, iii the
order here given, they will form a word-square:
1 A sultry month of scorching sun;
2. Of muses nine a "heavenly" one;
3. Part of a house much used for store ;
4. Our state when griefs are pondered o'er;
5. A nap from which, refreshed, one rouses:
6. In India, fnunes fur cooling houses. j. P. n.
A LATIX-GEOGKAPIIICAI^
For Older Puzzlers.
PUZZLE.
Each of the following ceographical questions may be answered
by one word, and the initial letters of these words, placed in the order
here given, will spell a I^tin phrase used by Suetonius in writing of
the Emperor Titus.
I. A ^oup of islands belonging to I'ortui^al. 2. An island in
the Mediterranean. 3. A river of South America. 4. A city of the
Netherlands. 5. .An inland sea in Asiatic Russia. 6. A commer-
cial city of China. 7. A kingdom of Western Europe. 8. A
country in the western part of South America. 9. .An important
manufacturing city of France. 10. The lake in which the Mississippi
River rises. 11. The principal city of Uritish India. 12. Oneofihe
United States, noted for its silver mines. 13. A country of East-
era Africa. 14. .\ countrv of Africa, famous for its historical mter-
est. 15. .A. city of Spain. 16, A lake situated between the United
States and Canada. 17- A republic of Central America. 18. A
river of Asia, which empties into the Persian Gulf. 19. A city of
France, located on the Seine. 20. A great river of Southern Asia.
21. A classic name for a great peninsula of Northern Europe. 22.
A cape on the coast of Delaware. 23. A city of the Netherlands.
24. A channel cast of Africa. 25. A city which was, for ages, the
centcrof European civilization. 26. A rivc-r of Russia. 27. A river
of Asia, emptying into the Bay of Bengal. " virginius."
The initials spell the name by which a celebrated novelist is often
<alled : the finals, one of his most noted poems, which was published
in i8io.
Cross-words: r. What " brevity is the soul of " 2. A measure
of length. 3. A girdle. 4. A sprite introduced in one of Shake-
speare's dramas. 5. A girl's name. 6. A number which is to be
divided into equal parts. 7. Customary. 8. A celebrated opera by
Beethoven. 9. A pilferer. 10. Upright. 11. The dry land. 12.
A famous river in Africa, ^-x,. That which precedes all others of its
class. 14. The name of a novel by George Eliot. 15. An inhabit-
ant of a country of Europe. 16. The surname of a celebrated Ger-
man poet, born in 1800. tantallon.
REVERSIBLE DIAMOND.
Across (from left to right) : 1. In reversible. 2. A name by which
catnip is sometimes called. 3. A noisy feast. 4. To surrender. 5.
Drags. 6. A snare. 7. In diamond.
Reversed (from right to left) : 1. In reversible. 2. To write. 3.
A mechanical power. 4. Reproached. 5. A scriptural word, fre-
quently occurring in the Psalms, supposed to signify silence. 6. A
number. 7. In diamond. hosmer clark.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of twenty-seven letters, and am a quotation from
" Midsummer Night's L'ream."
My 6-10-25-1-11-27 is to mock. My 26-3-14-2-4-13-7 is to
issue. My 24-12-15 is to adapt. My 20-18-21-17-2^ is to worry.
My 19-5-8 is an inhabitant of a country of Northern Europe. My
9-16-22-26 are troublesome rodents. d. d. t.
<;reek cross.
• » ♦ » - ■ ■ .
■ V * « « t
r 41 « « * •
♦ ♦*♦»•
I. Upper SprARK: i. (Jbscurity. 2. .'\ mark of respect. 3. A
British officer who was hung in 1780 as a spy. 4. Pertaining to
an order of Grecian architecture. 5. Upright.
il. I.cft-hnnd Square: i. To strike. 2. Inferior. 3. Empty.
4. K medicine that gives vigor to the system. 5. Upright.
III. Central Square: i. Upright. 2. .A boy's name. 3. The
joint of the arm. 4. End. 5. A high building.
IV. Right-hand Square: 1. A high building. 2, The emblem
of peace. 3. To extend. 4. Occurrence. 5. Leases.
V. Lower Square: i. A high building. 2. Oxygen in a con-
densed form. 3. Formed into a fabric. 4. A Latin epic poem,
written by Virgil. 5. Tears asunder. *' alciliades."
A
826
THE RIDDLE-BOX.
[August.
PICTORIAIi CHARADE.
pealing. 2. Encountered.
In promenading. IV.
of tea. 4. A jewel. 5.
The above should first be read as a rebus. The answer will be a
charade consisting of five lines, each line of pictures representing a
line of the stanza. This should, in turn, be solved as if it were
printed like similar charades. The compound word which is the
answer to the charade is hinted at in the illustration. c. f.
FOUR EASY DIAMONDS.
I. I. In supposing. 2. A body of water. 3. A fruit. 4. A
unit. 5. In chasing. II. i. A common article. 2. To imitate.
3. A common^fruil. 4. A sprite. 5. In foreign. III. i. In ap-
' 3. A tropical fruit. 4, A measure. 5.
I. In abi'uptly. 2. A marsh. 3. A kind
In inclination.
"FRANCIS CO./' AND C. D. H.
SYNCOPATION AND TRANSPOSITION.
My whole 's a name for anything —
A comprehensive word,
And yet 'l is sometimes definite.
Unless I 've greatly erred.
Remove one letter, then transpose.
And you can spell a wine —
Perhaps too common on the board
Where gentlemen may dine.
Subtract another letter now.
Rightly transpose the rest.
And you at once will get the clew
By which some things are guessed.
Remove one more, transpose again.
And the result, you '11 say.
Is very useful in New York
Upon the first of May.
Repeat the process once again,
And you may now unfold
A certam little tiresome thing
E'en in the best household.
Remove its head (would that you might.
Of every living one !)
And leave "near to, in, by, on, with,"
"And now my tale is done." aunt sue.
SYNCOPATIONS.
The syncopated letters, placed in the order here given, spell a
w<ird meaning majestic.
I. Syncopate a garment and leave a humble dwelling. 2. Syncopate
a spy and leave an inhabitant of Great Britain. 3. Syncopate hu-
morists and leave a verb. 4. Syncopate was able and leave chilly.
5. Syncopate a kind of pipe and leave a gardening instrument. 6.
Syncopate part of a barrel and leave to succor.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER.
Illustrated Puzzle in the Head-piece. Roman candle.
Did X^G first go to bed by the second's light.
Or shoot off the iv/wie on a gala night ?
Double Diagonals. Left to right, Pompey; right to left,
Taurus. Cross-words: i. PackeT. 2. COevAl. 3. SaMUel.
4. TuRPin. 5- SUrrEy. 6. ShabbY.
Central Sm^cop.^tions and Remainders. Pocahontas. 1.
Co-P-al. 2. Al-O-es. 3. Fa-C-ts. 4. Lo-A-ch. 5. Sc-H-io. 6.
Mo-O-re. 7. Ca-N-to. 8. Mi-T-re. 9. Co-A-sL ic. Ca-S-ts.
Cross Puzzle, i to 2, keel: 5 to 2, reel; 3 to 2, pool; 4 to 2,
evil. Cross-word Enigma. Excalibur.
Pi. Events are only winged shuttles which fly from one side of
the loom of life to the other, bearing the many colored threads out
of which the fabric of our character is made.
Double Acrostic. Initials, Calhoun; finals, Webster. Cross-
words: I. CaW. 2. ArchivE. 3. LimB. 4. HarasS. 5. Oce-
ioT. 6. UtilizE. 7. NavigatoR.
Numerical Enigma. Of making many books there is no end;
and much study is a weariness of the flesh. — Ecciesiastes, xii., 12.
Illustrated Puzzle. A few easels (few (w)easels).
Anagrams, i. Home, Sweet Home, by John Howard Payne.
2. The Star Spangled Banner, by Francis Scott Key. 3. Battle
Hymn of the Republic, by Julia Ward Howe. 4. The Old Oaken
Bucket, by Samuel Woodworth. 5. Woodman, Spare that Tree,
by George P. Morris. Charade. Manage.
Novel Cross-word Enigma. Fourth of July.
Octagon. Across: i. Pan. 2. Cares, s- Parcels. 4. Arcadia.
5. Needing. 6. Slink. 7. Sag.
Answers to all of the Puzzles in the June Number were received, before June 20, from Mama and Bae and Helen E. Mahan.
Answers to Puzzles in the June Number were received, before June 20, from Paul, Frank, and John, i — Arthur A. Moon, 2
— Helen M. Dunnan, 3 — "A Solver," 6 — Daisy, 2 — A. Hawthorne, 2 — Annetta \V. Peck, i — Lightner Witmer, 5 — Charlie Wright, 3
— B. H., 1 — Natie P. Cutler, i — G. C. Southard, 1 —May Fuller, i — Lannie Daniels. 3— Julia P. Ballard, 11 — Maidie R. Lang, 2 —
F. Peari Holden, i — E. A. W. and J. C. N., i — Willie Witherle, 2 — Sara M. and Edith Gallaudet, 7 — Bessie Ammerman, 2 — S. R. T.,
II — Omer T. Trash, i — B. F. E., 3 — Edward Dana Sabine, 3 — "Wilmington," 6 — Aggie Rhodes, 8 — Frankie Crawford, 7 — Thomas
H. Miller, 3 — Alice S. Rhoads, 9 — Frank Benedict, i — CharUe S., 2 — Emeline Tungerich and Clara Small, 7 — F. Edith Case, 7 —
Daisy F. and Ethel B. Barry, 7 — Eva M. Hoadley, i — Anna K. Thompson, 2 — Frederica and Andrew Davis, 11 — "Leather Stock-
ing," I — Etta U. Taylor, 3 — Willie H. Bawden, 5 — "Youle," 5 — " Alcibiades," 11 — George Leonard, Jr., 1 — Harvey F. Phipard, 1 —
Effie K. Talboys. 9 — E. L. Jones, 2 — C. O. B., 3 — Leslie Douglass, 8 — Asenath B. Hosmer, 1 — Ruth and Samuel Camp, 5 — A. M.
and M. W., 8 — Ethel M. Eager, 7 — Gertrude Lansing and Julia Wallace. 6 — Maud T. Badlam, 2 — Mabel Thompson, 5 — Polywog and
Tadpole, 5 — Anna Buell Ely, i — A. F. and B. L., 7 — Pau Z., 10 — Ralph and Josephine, 10 — Annie, Mabel, and Florence Knight,
10 — Bessie P. McCollin, 10 — Virginia M. Giffin, i — May Beadle, 7 — Mary Bumam, 6 — Charles P. Shoemaker, 2 — No Name, 7 —
Minnie B. Murray, 11 — Grace P. Ford, i — Howard Smith, 1 — Violette, i — James R. Moore, 3 — "The Houghton Family," n — Jim
Hutchinson, 8 — From Canada, 5 — Lottie Foggan, 4 — Mollie W'eiss, 4 — Anna Clarke, 3 — Anna R. Warner, 8 — Vin and Ale.x, g —
May, Bess, and Vema, 8 — Rory O'More, 6 — "Joe B.," 5 — Florence G. Lane, 4 — Winnie, 2 — Clara, Luzia, and Elsie, 9 — S. W. Mc-
Clearj', 2 — Wiley P. Boddle, i — Mamie Baker, i — "Professor and Co.," 10 — D. S. Crosby and H. W. Chandler, Jr., 11 — James
Herbert Jordan, 2 — Alice Maude Kyte, 9 — Florence E. Provost, 5 — Paul England and Co., 2 — A. P. Redington, 3 — Nellie Caldwell,
7 — J. S. Tennant, 11 — Fred. Thwaits, 11 — Eliza L. McCook, 7 — Maud and Sadie, 3 — Georgia Harlan, 5 — Charles H. Parmly, 7 —
Kate Flemming, 5 — Nathalie and Mary. 8 — Sadie L. Rhodes, 3 — Mother and 1,4 — Ruhtra and Oeht, 5 — Daisy Vail, 3 — Allen H. C, 8
— Anne Lo^^tt, 9 — W. Manchester, 11 — Clara and her Aunt, 10 — Clara J. Child, 11 — M. S. G., 6 — Wilde, 2 — Madge Tolderlund, 8
— Sallie Viles, n — Three Robins, 7 — Lyde McKinney, 5 — Sid and I, 8 — Geo. J. Fiske, 7 — Appleton H., 10 — Edith McKeever and
Amy Elliott, 10 — Florence Leslie Kyle, 10 — Harry Johnston, 7. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.
WHAT MAKES IT GO?'
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol. IX.
TEMBER, 1882.
No. II.
(Copyright, 1882, by The CENTURY CO.)
THE DOLE THAT COULD XT SPELL HER NAME.
Bv Sophie Swett.
Tom was really at the bottom of it. It very
often turned out that Tom 7iiiiis at the bottom of
things.
In the Belknap household, when the pot of jam
tumbled off the top shelf of the pantry, when the
cream was all drunk up, when the Sevres china
cups were broken, they never suggested that it
was the cat; they merely groaned, "Tom ! "
Sometimes there was mischief done for which
Tom was not accountable, but, being proven guilty
of so much, of course he was blamed for all.
Bess had Tom for a brother. She had no sister
and no other brother, so, of course, she had to
make the best of Tom. And sometimes he was
really quite nice ; he had once taken her out into
the park, and let her fly his kite — a beauty, with
Japanese pictures all over it, and yards and yards
of tail ; once in a while he would draw her on his
sled — though I am sorry to say he generally did n't
want to be bothered with girls; and now and then,
though not often, he had more caramels than he
wanted.
He put on as many airs with liess as if he were
the Great Mogul, and, if he had been, Bess could
not have had greater faith in him, or obeyed him
more implicitly. When you arc a boy thirteen
years old and study Latin, it is easy to be the
Great Mogul to a little body not quite eight, who
is only a girl, any way, never went to school in her
life, and can't go out when it rains, because she is
delicate.
Bess was sure that a boy who studied Latin and
could ride on a bicycle, as Tom could, must know
everything. So when Tom told her that, if her doll
was going to give a kettledrum, she (the doll) ought
to write the invitations herself, she did not think
of questioning it. She could n't quite see how it
was to be done, Ijut it must be the proper way, if
Tom said so.
" It 's the fashion now for ladies to write their
own invitations," said Tom. " Have n't you no-
ticed that Mamma writes all her cards ? Never has
them engraved, as she used to. It would n't be at
all stylish, or even proper, for your doll to have a
kettledrum, unless she wrote the invitations her-
self"
" But Lady Marion can't write," said Bess,
mournfully. " I was going to ask Mamma to write
them."
" Oh, you have only to put the pen in her hand,
and guide it slowly, and she will write them well
enough. I will tell jou what to have her write.
.-\nd she must draw a kettle at the top of the sheet
and a drum at the bottom, like those that Miss
Percy sent to Mamma, you know."
" It would be beautiful. Tom, but Lady Marion
never could do it in the world ! " said Bess.
" Oh, pooh ! I '11 show you just how, and you can
help her. It will be just the same as if she did it
all herself There ! that is the way to draw a
kettle, .and th.at 's a drum," and Tom drew, with just
a kw strokes of his pencil, a kettle that was just
like a kettle, and a drum that you would have
known anywhere, while Bess looked on in breath-
less admiration, and thought Tom was almost a
magician.
830
THE DOLL THAT COULD N T SPELL HER NAME.
[September,
" And this is what you 're to write — to make the
doll wTite, I mean." And he repeated a formula
several times, until Bess had learned it by heart.
" Oh, Tom, it will be perfectly splendid ! How
good you are to me ! " said Bess, gratefully.
" You shall have my new Roman sash for a tail to
your kite ! "
" Mamma would n't like that, and she would be
sure to find it out ; but 1 '11 tell you how you can
pay me : you can lend me )0ur two dollars and
fifteen cents. I am awfully short, and I must have
a new base-ball bat."
Bess's face fell at this suggestion. She had been
hoarding that two dollars and fifteen cents for a
long time, to buy Lady Marion a new traveling
trunk, her old one being very shabby, and having
no bonnet-box in it, so that her bonnets got fright-
fully jammed whenever she went on a journey ;
and Nurse advised her never to lend money to
Tom, because his pay-day was so long in coming;
and when he got to owing too much he often went
into bankruptcy, and paid but very little on a
dollar.
But when one has been ver>- kind, and shows
you how to get up beautiful invitations, it is not at
all easy to refuse to lend him your money. And,
besides, if Bess should refuse, Tom would be very
likely to tear up the beautiful kettle and drum
that he had drawn, and, without a pattern to copy,
Lady Marion could never draw them.
So Bess produced her purse, and poured its
contents into Tom's hand.
" I '11 be sure to pay you, Bess, the very first
money I get," said Tom, as he always said.
" 1 hope you will, Tom," said Bess, with a sigh,
" because Lady Marion is suffering for a new-
trunk. She '11 have to stay at home from Saratoga
if she does n't get it."
" Oh, you '11 get the money long before summer.
And, I say, Bess, I shall expect you to save me
some of the goodies from that kettledrum — though
I don't suppose you can save much, girls are such
greedy things ! "
"I will, Tom," said Bess, earnestly. "1 will
save lots of meringues and caramels, because those
are what you like. And I 'm very much obliged
to you."
" Well, you ought to be ! I don't know how
you 'd get along without me." And Tom went off,
singing, at the top of his voice, about the "ruler
of the queen's navee."
Left alone, Bess went to work diligently. Lady
Marion's kettledrum was to come off next week ;
it was high time that the invitations were out.
Lady Marion had been invited out a great deal,
but she had never yet given a party. She was
well fitted to be a leader of fashion, but hitherto
her mamma's health had prevented her from
assuming that position. Nature had been very
bountiful to her, giving her cheeks just the color
of strawberry ice-cream, eyes like blueberries, and
truly hair the color of molasses candy that has
been worked a long, long time. She was born in
Paris, and had that distinguished air which is to
be found only in dolls who have that advantage.
She had, it is true, been out for a good many sea-
sons, and looked rather older than several of her
doll associates ; her cheeks had lost the faintest
tinge of their strawberry ice-cream bloom, and her
beautiful hair had been so tortured by the fashion-
able st)le of hair-dressing — bangs and crimps and
frizzes and Montagues and water-waves and puffs —
that it had grown very thin in front, and she was
compelled to wear either a Saratoga wave or a Mar-
guerite front to cover it. The Saratoga wa\'e was
not a perfect match for her hair, so she wore that
only by gas-light. She had also been in delicate
health, the result of an accident which strewed
the nursery floor with saw-dust, and made poor
Bess fear that her beloved Lady Marion would be
an invalid for life. The accident happened at the
time when Tom had decided to be a surgeon, and
had bought three new knives and a lancet to prac-
tice with, and the dreadful cut in Lady Marion's
side looked, Bess thought, very much as if it had
been done with a knife.
Tom, however, affirmed that it was caused by
late hours and too much gayety, and Bess did not
take Lady Marion to a party again for more than
two months. The accident destroyed her beauti-
ful plumpness, but Mamma thought that slender-
ness added to her distinguished appearance, so Bess
was comforted. This kettledrum was intended to
celebrate Lady Marion's return to society, and Bess
was anxious that it should be a very elegant affair.
It was to be held in the drawing-room, and Bess
had permission to order just what she liked for
refreshments. There was to be more than tea and
cake at that kettledrum.
And the invitations must be in the very latest
style. Bess felt as if she could not be grateful
enough to Tom for telling her just what was the
latest style.
She aroused Lady Marion from her afternoon
nap and forced a pen into her unwilling fingers —
being such a fashionable doll Lady Marion had
neither time nor taste for literary pursuits, and I
doubt whether she had ever so much as tried to
write her name before. But at last the pen was
coaxed to stay between her thumb and forefinger,
and Bess guided her hand. After much patient
effort and many failures, a tolerably legible one was
written, and Bess thought it was a great success
for a doll's first effort, although the kettle and
i88i.l
THE DOLL TIIA r CoULD N T SPELL HER NAME.
831
drum were not by any means perfect like Tom's,
and, indeed, she felt obliged to write their names
under them, lest they should not be understood.
^i;i0
-s'
J/'
BESS Gt'lDEU IIEK HAND.
They did not all look quite so well as the first.
After one has written twenty-five or thirty invita-
tions, one's hand grows tired, and one is apt to get
a little careless; but, on the whole, Bess thought
they did Lady Marion great credit. Not one was
sent that had a blot on it, and Bess was satisfied
that the spelling was all quite correct. Before six
o'clock they were all written and sent, and Bess
had a great weight off her mind. But she was
very tired, and Lady Marion was so exhausted
that she did n't feel equal to having her hair
dressed, and was not at home to visitors.
Before she slept, however, Bess made out a list
of the refreshments she wanted for the kettledrum,
and she ga\-e especial orders that there should
be plenty of meringues and caramels, that Tom
need not come short — he was so fond of them, and
he would make such unpleasant remarks about
the girls if they were all eaten.
And having settled all this, Bess felt that there
was nothing more to do but to wait for that slow
coach of a Tuesday to come around ; party days
always are such slow coaches, while the day on
which you are to have the dentist pull your tooth
comes like the chain-lightning express ! There
was nothing more that she could do, but there was
one little thing that did n't quite suit her : she
wanted to invite the nice little girl who lived
around the corner of Pine street, and when she
had asked leave. Mamma had said :
" Oh, hush, dear ! No, no ! you must n't ask her.
You must n't speak of her ! Papa would be very
angry ! "
Bess thought that was very strange. She was a
very nice little girl. Bess had made her acquaint-
ance in the park; they had rolled hoops together,
and exchanged a great many confidences. Bess
had told her about her parrot that could say
" Mary had a little lamb," and about the funnv
little mice that Tom had tamed, and described
Lady Marion's new dresses that Aunt Kate had
sent her from Paris ; and the strange little girl
told her that her name was Amy Belknap, — Bel-
knap, just like Bess's name, which Bess thought
was very strange, — and that she had three
brand-new kittens, as soft and furry as balls of
down, with noses and toes just like pink satin,
with dear little peaked tails, and the most fascinat-
ing manners imaginable ; and she had invited
Bess to come and see them. But her mamma
would not let her go, and told that if she ever
talked to the little girl again her papa would be
angry. And Mamma looked very sad about it ;
there were tears in her eyes. It was all ver)-
strange. Bess did not know what to think about
it, but Papa was very stern when he was angry, so
she did not say anything more about Amy, al-
though she met her two or three times at parties.
But she did so want to have Lady Marion invite
her doll to the kettledrum that she could not
help .isking; but it was of no use, and Mamma said
" Hush! hush!" as if it were something frightful
that she had proposed. And last night she had
heard Nurse talking with N'orah, the parlor maid,
when they thought she was asleep, and Nurse had
said that Amy Belknap's father was Papa's o^vn
brother, but they had quarreled years before
about a will, and were so angr>' still that they
would not speak to each other. And Amy's
mother was Mamma's cousin, and had been
brought up with her, so that they were just like
sisters, and Mamma felt very unhappy about the
quarrel.
It did not seem possible to Hess that her papa
w ould quarrel, when he alwa\'S told Tom and her
that it was so wicked, and when he got down on
his knees and said, " Forgive us our trespasses as
we forgive those who trespass against us," just as
if he meant it !
Just what a will was, Bess did not know, but she
had a vague idea that it had something to do with
money. Surely her father would not quarrel
about money ! She had heard him say that it was
very wrong to think too much of it.
There must be a mistake somewhere, Bess
thought, and she wished ver>- much that it might
be set right, so that Amy and she might be friends.
Tuesday came at last, and long before four
o'clock Bess and Lady Marion had their toilets
completed, and were perched up on the window-
seat to watch for the coming of their guests. It
was not ver)' dignified, certainly — Mamma never
did so when she expected guests; but then Lady
Marion was of a nervous temperament, and could
not bear to sit still.
Lady Marion had on a lovely "tea-gown" of
Japanese foulard over blue satin, trimmed with
832
THE DOLL THAT COULD N T SPELL HER OWN NAME. [Septembbr,
beautiful lace, and carried a new Japanese fan,
with pearl sticks and lace, and her hair was
arranged in a new style that was extremely be-
coming.
The refreshments and flowers had all come :
there was nothing wanting to make the kettle-
drum a complete success — nothing but the guests.
Strangely enough, they did not appear ! Four
o'clock came, and half-past four, and not one of
the dolls that Lady Marion had invited came, but
all the time a stream of carriages had been going
around the corner of Pine street, and stopping at
and some locks of golden hair. And Amy de-
clared that she never would have another doll
that looked in the least like Flora ; it would
break her heart. But she had another doll, who,
strange as it may seem to you when I tell you
how she looked, was very popular in society. She
was a colored doll, and her name was Mary Ann.
A very black doll indeed she was, with the kink-
iest wool that ever was seen, eyes that would roll
up so that you could see only the whites, and
very big, red lips, that were always smiling and
showing her white teeth. She looked so jolly that
' SHE RAN OUT, NOT WAITING FOR HAT OR CLOAK.
Amy Belknap's door ; and Bess could see gayly
dressed little girls tripping up the steps, every one
with her doll in her arms !
Had Amy Belknap sent out invitations for this
afternoon, and did all the girls prefer to go to her
party ? It was very strange. And a doll's party,
too, apparently ! Amy's best doll, Flora McFlim-
sey, had been left carelessly on the mantel-piece
when a very hot fire was burning in the grate, and
there was nothing left of her when Amy found her
but a pool of wax, a pair of lovely blue glass eyes.
it made one laugh just to see her. She could turn
her head from side to side and give you a friendly
little nod, and if you pulled a string she could
walk and dance. It was not a dance suited to
polite society that she danced — it was a real negro
break-down ; indeed, I do not think that Nature
had intended Mary Ann for polite society, but for
all that she was very popular in it. No doll's party
was thought to be complete without her. and her
mamma paid as much attention to her toilet as to
the lamented Flora McFlimsey's. Was Mary Ann
J
i883.]
THK OOI.I, THAT COULD X T Sl'Kl.I. 1 1 K R N A M K .
833
having a party this afternoon ? A suspicion darted
into Bess's mind. The names were a good deal
aUkc — Marion and Marj- Ann. Could they have
made a mistake ?
She rushed up to the nursery, and found one of
the invitations which had been discarded by reason
of many blots. It seemed to her that the o was
plain enough, but, oh, dear ! Mamma had told her
once that Marion was spelled with an / and not
with a.y.
"It was Lady Marion's fault! If 1 had been
writing by myself I should have thought. It does
look like Mary Ann, and Amy's Mary Ann had so
many parties, and goes so much, they thought it
must be her kettledrum, and they have all gone
there ! "
Bess wrung her hands, and hid her face on
Lady .Marion's sympathizing bosom. Only for one
moment ; in that moment she decided that she
could not bear it. She rushed to the table, in a lit-
tle ante-room, where the refreshments were spread,
and taking up her over-skirt, apron fashion, she
filled it full of goodies, tossing them all in helter-
skelter, never minding that the candied fruit was
sticky and the grapes juicy. Then she seized Lady
Marion upside down, actually with her head down-
ward and her feet sticking up in the air, so that she
was in imminent danger of apoplexy — not to men-
tion her feelings, which were terribly wounded by
such an indignity — and ran out of the street door,
not waiting for hat or cloak !
Mamma was away, and would not be home until
night, but if Nurse saw her she probably would
not allow her to go, so she closed the door very
softly behind her. In her eagerness she quite
forgot that there was a mysterious reason why she
should not go to Amy Belknap's house ; she only
realized that Lady Marion's kettledrum had gone
astray, and she was fully determined not to lose
it entirely.
The servant who opened the door \\m\ been sur-
prised at the appearance of so many little girls and
dolls, when none had been invited, but she was
still more surprised when she opened the door to a
little girl without hat or cloak, with her over-skirt
full of bon-bons, and her doll's legs waving wildly
in the air !
Amy had thought it a surprise party, and there
had been no explanations until Bess and Lady
Marion appeared. The girls were all very much
surprised at the mistake, and said they did not
understand why "Lady" was prefixed to Mary
Ann's name, and some of them thought they ought
to go at once to Lady Marion's house, since the
invitations had really come from her ; but Bess was
quite willing to stay where she was, and Lady
Marion made no objection.
The only difference was that there were two
hostesses instead of one, Lady Marion and Mary
Ann being seated side by side in state. Lady
Marion was very elegant and polite, and was
greatly admired ; and as for Mary Ann, she fairly
outdid herself, setting everybody into roars of
laughter with her dancing; and the refreshments
were not so ^'oy much mixed up.
Bess and Lady Marion staid after the others
were gone. Bess wanted to see the kittens and the
other pretty things that Amy promised to show her;
and, besides, she had begun to realize by this
time that she had done wrong in coming, and she
did n't want to go home and tell how n.iughty she
had been.
If it were wrong merely to mention .■\my's name,
how dreadfully wrong it must be to have run away,
without asking leave of anybody, and stay so long
in Amy's house ! She must be as bad as Tom was
when he got acquainted with the circus clown, and
went home with him and staid all night. Tom
was kept shut up in his room all day, on bread and
water, and Papa said he would " rather have no
boy at all than a boy he could n't trust." Would
he wish that he had no girl at all? That was a
dreadful thought.
But why should n't she visit Amy, who was the
very nicest little girl she knew, and never got cross
and said she would n't play if you did n't do just as
she wanted to, as some of the girls did?
Bess turned it over and over in her small mind,
and decided that it was very unjust. But she was
very tired, and while she was puzzling over it her
thoughts got queerly mixed up, and, before she
knew what she was going to do, she had " taken
the boat for Noddle's Island." They were sitting
on the warm, fluffy rug, before the fire, in the nur-
serv. Amy's nurse had given them some bread and
milk, and then she had hinted, very strongly, that
it was growing late, and Bess had better go home.
Bess did n't choose to pay any attention to the
hints. She dreaded going home, and it was very
pleasant where she was. They had the three kit-
tens, who were twice as furry, frolicsome, and
fascinating as Amy had said; a toy mouse, with a
spring that, when wound up, would make him run
and spring so like a "truly" mouse that it made
one's blood run cold, and nearly drove the kit-
tens frantic ; a music-box that played the love-
liest tunes, and a Jack-in-the-box that fired off a
tiny pistol when he ])oppedout; all these delightful
things they had on the hearth-rug, besides Lady
Marion and Mary Ann, who were a little neglected,
I am afraid, but so tired and sleepy that they did n't
mind.
After such an exciting day as Bess had spent,
one can't keep awake long, even when there is so
834
THE Dol.l. THAT COCLD X T SPELL HER NAME.
[September,
much fun to be had, especially when it is past They had discovered her absence two or three
one's bed-time. hours before, and had been seeking her far and
Nothing but politeness had kept Amy's eyes near, in the keenest anxiety and distress. They
'LADY MARION AND MARY ANN SEATED SIDE BY SIDE IN STATE.
open so long, and when she saw that Bess was
asleep she gave a great sigh of relief, and she, too,
got into Noddle's boat. The three kittens, finding
it very tame to play with a mouse that would n't
go for the want of winding up, curled up together
in a little furry, purring heap, and went fast
asleep, and the Jack-in-the-box, losing all hope of
getting another chance to pop out, did the same.
Lady Marion had long ago been lulled to sleep by
the soft strains of the music-box, and, last of all.
Mary Ann. who ached in every joint from so much
dancing, and whose eyes were strained and smart-
ing from continual rolling up, but who never left
the post of duty while there was anybody to be en-
tertained, stretched herself comfortably out on the
soft rug and, like the others, forgot her weariness
in slumber.
The nurse stole out to have a chat with a crony.
Amy's mother was out, and there was no one to
notice that it was very quiet in the nursery, or thmk
that it was time for the strange little girl to go
home. But in the strange little girl's own house
they were thinking that it was time for her to come
home !
had visited every house where they thought she
would be at all likely to go ; they had given notice
of her loss at several police stations, and secured
the aid of two or three police officers in the search.
Last of all, having heard that Amy Belknap had
had a party that afternoon, they came there : Papa
and Mamma almost beside themselves ; Nurse never
ceasing to weep and wring her hands ; Tom out-
wardh- stolid, and with his hands in his pockets,
but inwardly wishing heartily that he had been a
great deal better to Bess, and resolving that, if
they ever found her, he would pay her that two
dollars and fifteen cents right away.
'• I am sure she is n't here, " said Bess's mamma,
as they rang the door-bell. " Bess never does what
she knows 1 would not wish her to."
But when the door was opened the servant said
she thought she was up in the nursery. And up-
stairs rushed Bess's father and mother imme-
diately, scarcely remembering whose house they
were in, but thinking only of their lost little girl
who might be found.
It happened that they opened one door into the
nursery just as .Amy's papa opened another. .And
TllK DOLL THAT COULU N T SI'LLL HER NAME.
835
when Bess opened her eyes, almost smothered witli
her mother's hugs and kisses, there stood her papa
and Am\ 's papa, looking at each mher, as Tom,
afterward, rather disrespectfully remarked, "just as
his big Newfoundland Rover and Bobby Sparks's
big Caisar looked at each other, when they had n't
made up their minds whether to fight each other, or
go together and lick Dick Jefferd's wicked Nero ! "
Bess discovered that she was not going to be
scolded, but was the heroine of the hour; even
Tom, who hated '• making a fuss," was actually
crying and kissing her; and Bess began to feel
very important and thought she might set things
to rights. She tugged at her father's coat-tails to
gain his entire attention.
"Papa," she began, "don't you know 'Birds
in their little nests agree,' and • Let dogs delight
to bark and bite ' ? I '11 get Nurse to say them
to you, if you don't. It is n't right for you to
quarrel just because you 're big ! And he 's your
brother, too — just like Tom and me. And he 's
Amy's father, and Amy 's my pertikler friend.
You kiss him, now, and say you 're sorry, and —
and I '11 buy you something nice ! "
In her eagerness, Bess had fallen into Nurse's
style of bribery.
There was one very good thing about it — it made
everybody laugh ; and sometimes a laugh will
swallow up more bitterness than tears can drown.
They did not kiss each other, to Bess's great dis-
appointment ; but the very next day Amy came to
see her, and Amy's mamma too, and she and
Bess's mamma kissed and cried over each other,
just as if they were school-girls; and they called
Bess "a blessed little peace-maker;" so Bess is
quite sure that it is all coming out right, and that
she shall always have her cousin Amy for her
■' pertikler friend."
When Bess's mamma heard that it all came
about because Lady Marion could n't spell her own
name, she praised Lady Marion, and said her
ignorance was better than all the accomplishments
that she ever knew a doll to have !
But as for Tom, who was really at the bottom
of it, nobody thought of praising him.
But Bess had saved a great many meringues and
caramels for him — more than anybody but a boy
could eat — so he did n't mind.
\ . IJM'i-siaas and mm",
na 0^ lik^a it so cMi . Inat pa
wVot'e U all /siimmci^
836
THE COCKATOOS.
[September,
THE COCKATOOS.
By Celia Thaxter.
Empty the throne-chair stood;
mayhap
The king was taking his royal
nap,
For early it was in the afternoon
Of a drowsy day in the month
of June.
And the palace-doors were
open wide
To the soft and dreamful airs
outside,
And the blue sky burned
with the summer glow,
And the trees cool masses
of shade did throw.
The throne-chair stood in
a splendid room.
There were velvets in ruby and purple bloom.
Curtains magnificent to see,
And a table draped most sumptuously.
And on the table a cushion lay
Colored like clouds at the close of day,
And a crown, rich-sparkling with myriad rays.
Shone on the top in a living blaze.
And nobody spoke and nobody stirred
Except a bird that sat by a- bird —
Two cockatoos on a lofty perch.
Sober and grave as monks in a church.
Gay with the glory of painted plume
Their bright hues suited the brilliant room ;
Green and yellow, and rose and blue.
Scarlet and orange and jet black, too.
Said one to the other, eyeing askance
The beautiful fleur-de-lis of France
On the cushion's lustrous edge, set round
Said one to the other, "Rocco, my dear.
If any thief were to enter here.
He might take crown and cushion away.
And who would be any the wiser, pray ? "
Said Roccu, "How stupid, m\- dear Coquette !
A guard is at every threshold set;
No thief could enter, much less get out.
Without the sentinel's warninsr shout."
She tossed her head, did the bright Coquette.
" Rocco, my dear, now what will you bet
That the guards are not sleeping this moment
as sound
As the king himself, all the palace round ?
" 'T is very strange, so it seems to me,
That they leave things open so carelessly ;
Really, I think it 's a little absurd
All this should be left to the care of a bird !
" And what is that creaking so light and queer?
Listen a moment. There! Don't you hear?
And what is that moving the curtain behind?
Rocco, dear, are you deaf and blind ? "
The heavy curtain was pushed away
And a shaggy head, unkempt and gray,
From the costly folds looked doubtful out,
And eagerly everywhere peered about.
And the dull eyes lighted upon the blaze
Of the gorgeous crown with a startled gaze,
And out of the shadow the figure stepped
And softly over the carpet crept.
And nobody spoke and nobody stirred,
And the one bird sat by the other bird ;
Both overpowered by their surprise.
They really could n't believe their eyes !
Swiftly the madman, in fear's despite,
Darted straight to that hill of light;
The frightened birds saw the foolish wretch
His hand to the wondrous thing outstretch.
Then both at once such an uproar raised
That the king himself rushed in, amazed.
Half awake, in his dressing-gown,
And there on the floor lay the sacred crown !
And he caught a glimpse through the portal
wide
Of a pair of flying heels outside.
And he shouted in royal wrath, " What ho !
Where are my people, I 'd like to know ! "
They ran to the rescue in terror great.
" Is this the way that you guard my state?
Had it not been for my cockatoos
My very crown I had chanced to lose ! "
Tllli COCKATOOS.
837
They sought in the shrubbery to and fro,
Wherever they thought the thief might go ;
They looked through the garden, but all in vain.
They searched the forest, they scoured the plain.
They 'd a special servant on them to wait.
To do their pleasure early and late :
They grew so haughty and proud and grand,
Their fame was spread over all the land.
They gave it up, for they could not choose.
But oh, the pride of those cockatoos !
If they were admired and petted before,
Now they were utterly spoiled, be sure !
.•\nd when they died it made such a stir !
And their skins were stuffed w-ith spice and myrrh^.
And from their perch they still look down.
As on the day when they saved the crown.
838
OUR LARGEST FRIENDS.
[September,
ELEVEN OR NONE.
Bv Malcolm Douglas.
A kindly looking gentleman one day accosted me :
Do you know any one who wants eleven dogs ? " asked he.
" They 're so gentle and so good
That 1 'd keep them if 1 could,
But I really can't gratify their appetite for food."
1 told him I 'd take one, but he slowly shook his
head ;
" There are many who have told me that they
wanted one," he said,
■' But I 've such a tender heart
That I could n't bear to part
Eleven little doggies all so loving in their sport !
" They would soon pine for each other, and the
person who wants one
Must either take the family or be content with none !
' Impossible ! ' you say ?
Then 1 '11 bid you a good-day,"
And, followed by his many pets, he sauntered
on his way.
O^
'X
OUR LARGEST FRIENDS.
By John Lewees.
Few persons will deny that an elephant is as
large a friend as any of us can expect to have.
There is but one other living creature that is
larger than an elephant, and that is a whale ; but,
on account of the peculiarity of his residence, it
would be difficult for any one to keep company
with a live whale long enough to form a lasting
friendship. Even Jonah and his whale staid to-
gether only three days, and, after that, it is quite
certain that they never met again.
But strong friendships have been formed be-
tween elephants and men, and it is on this account
that I call these great beasts our largest friends.
And who could chide a person on good terms with
an elephant for boasting that he had an extensive
acquaintance ?
At the present time of writing there is no animal,
not domestic, which occupies so prominent a posi-
tion before the public as the elephant ; and the
great interest which is now taken in these ani-
mals is probably due to the fact that we have
some extraordinarj- specimens of them among us.
One of the most remarkable of these is the baby
elephant recently born in this country. This
OUR LARGEST K K I K N DS.
839
little animal, not higher tfian a table, is certainly
the most amusing and interesting creature of its
kind that 1 ever saw. He is very frisky and play-
ful, and trots about on his stumpy little legs in a
way that is very surprising to those who have al-
ways considered elephants among the steadiest
and most solemn creatures in the world. The
fact that, with the exception of being ever so much
smaller, he is exactly like a full-grown elephant,
makes him all the more interesting and peculiar.
In color and proportions he resembles a full-sized
elephant looked at through the wrong end of a
telescope. If he should never grow any larger
than he is now, he would be the most valuable
elephant in the world.
Another very noticeable elephant is the great
beast Jumbo, recently brought from England to this
country. This is one of the very largest animals of
his kind ; and although he has been a long time in
captivity, he is occasionally very difficult to manage,
and, until recently, there was only one man who
was able to control him. Most of us know what an
undertaking it was to bring him to this country.
It was neccss<ary to put him into a great box, as
strong as iron and wood could make it, which was
hoisted on board of a ship, and in this way
Jumbo was brought across the ocean.
It is very unusual to have such trouble in trans-
porting elephants from place to place; for, al-
though I have classed them among the animals
that are not domestic, it is generally quite easy to
train and tame them. I suppose, in some coun-
tries where they are extensively used as beasts of
burden and for other purposes, they may be said
to be domesticated. But, after all, an elephant,
howe\cr kind and gentle he ma\- be, is not the
sort of animal we would like to have about our
houses, like a cat or dog.
Most of us are so familiar with elephants, whicli
we frequently see in menageries and circuses, and
which are generally so gentle and docile, obeying
the slightest'word or sign of their keepers, that
we are accustomed to look upon them as the most
peaceable and quiet, as well as the slowest and
most awkward animals on the face of the earth. It
is therefore difficult sometimes to imagine what an
active and often terrible fellow an elephant is in
his native wilds. He can run very rapidly, and
when his temper is aroused there is no more savage
creature to be found. Sometimes two of these pon-
derous beasts, who have imagined themselves in-
sulted or injured in some way, or. from their natural
viciousness, feel inclined to vent their bad temper
upon any animal they may meet. Join themselves
together, and range forest and plain in search of a
victim. It would be a terrible thing indeed, to
meet a pair of such elephants on murderous
thoughts intent, for it would be almost impossible
for any man to defend himself against two such
assailants. With one of the heavy rifles used in
elephant-hunting, a steady eye, and an unflinch-
ing soul, it might be possible to stop the onward
progress of one such mass of savage fury. But if
two creatures of the kind should be met, there
would be no safety but in a very high tree with a
very thick trunk.
Apart from man, there is no animal that can suc-
cessfully combat with a full-grown elephant. The
largest tiger can be crushed beneath hi^ feet or
knees. His great tusks can be driven even into
tlie body of a rhinoceros ; and, although a savage
enemy may spring upon his back, and keep out of
the way of his ehistic and powerful trunk, it is not
easy for even the fiercest tiger to make much of an
impression upon his thick hide and enormous body.
Sometimes, indeed, when attacked by two ani-
mals at once, such as a lion and a lioness, who
surprise him at his favorite drinking-place, an ele-
phant may be thrown into a state of considerable
agitation. In such a case, he would feel very much
as a boy would who should be attacked by two
hornets, for the teeth and claws of the lion and
lioness would inflict painful wounds ; but, if he
were not able to throw off his antagonists, so as to
pierce them with his tusks or trample them with
his feet, he would soon feel as the boy would if a hor-
net had got down his back, and his impulse would
doubtless be to rush into deep water, whe.re he
could breathe with nothing but his trunk in the
air, but where his enemies would have to swim
ashore, or be drowned ; and they might be obliged
to swim away with much alacrity, for it would
doubtless please the elephant as much to seize a
swimming lion with his trunk and hold his head
under water, as it would [jlease the boy to clap his
hat over a half-drowned hornet and help him to
sink.
In warm countries the borders of rivers are
favorite places for hunters, whether they be men
or animals, to wait and watch for their game or
prey ; and when a herd of elephants approaches
one of these drinking-places it is customary for the
leader to go on ahead, and if, when he reaches the
edge of the water, he perceives or suspects the
presence of enemies, he throws up his trunk and
loudly trumpets an alarm. His companions then
halt, and the whole band retreats, unless it is
thought better to stand and make a fight. If the
latter plan is determined upon, it is quite certain
that the affair will be well managed and carried on
with spirit, for the elephant is endowed with good
sense as well as courage.
But if the enemies lying in wait happen to be
hunters, armed with murderous rifles, it is probable
840
OUR LARGEST FRIENDS.
[September,
SOUNDING THE ALARM.
that several of the huge animals will soon lie life-
less on the sands, and that their tusks will be
carried away to make billiard-balls and piano-keys.
Considering the elephant as a fighting animal,
we should not forget to include his trunk among
his weapons of offense and defense. With his
powerful and sinuous trunk, which the elephant
uses for so many and such different purposes, he
can seize almost anv animal and hurl it to the
ground. But wily and savage creatures, such as
tigers, almost always attack an elephant in the
rear, and spring upon some part of him which he
cannot reach with his trunk. It is not likely, how-
ever, that lions and tigers often attack elephants.
OUR LARGEST FRIENDS.
841
unless there is some unusual reason for so doing.
When, for instance, a Bengal tiger springs upon
an elephant which is trampling through his jungle,
it is because there are men upon the huge creat-
ure's back who arc hunting the tiger, and who have
wounded or otherwise enraged him. It is scarcely
possible to suppose that any wild beast would be so
hungry as to try to kill a full-grown elephant for
his dinner.
A great deal has been written about the ele-
phant's trunk, but 1 bclie\c that few persons thor-
oughly understand the variety of uses to which it is
put. Not only is everything the elephant eats or
drinks conveyed to his mouth by the trunk, but
the little hand or finger at the end of the long
proboscis is used ver\- much as we would use our
hands and fingers. Not long ago, I saw the great
elephant Jumbo receive from one of his visitors a
package of candy, neatly wrapped in white paper.
He curled up the end of his trunk and laid the
and carried it to his mouth without dropping a
single piece.
In regard to Jumbo, who is one of the largest, and
is perhaps the best known elephant in the world,
I must say something more. We have all heard
of the sacred wliite elephants of Siam and Bur-
mah ; but if one of these revered beasts had
been carried away from either of those countries, it
is scarcely possible that the Siamese or Burmese
could have been more excited or troubled than
were the English people when their fa\orite ele-
phant Jumbo was carried away from the Zoological
Gardens in London, and brought to the United
States. Great public fceHngwas aroused, and there
was a general demand that he should not be taken
away. Lords and ladies, and even high public
officers, signed petitions protesting against his re-
moval. He had been in ICngland for nearly thirty
years ; thousands and thousands of children had
ridden upon him, and even the Queen of Great
i?)^lMea;V¥i:iVi
package in the hollow of the cur\e; then he rubbed Britain had mounted upon his back. If the Prime
it with his finger until the paper was broken and Minister had left the country, it is not likely that
the candy fell out on his trunk. He threw the there would have been such public grief,
paper away, gathered up the candy with his finger. In looking at Jumbo, it is easy to see that it is
842
OUR LARGEST FRIENDS.
[September,
not on account of his beauty that the English peo-
ple wished to keep him among them. He is one of
the ugliest beasts alive. But he is enormously
large, and towers far above other elephants. He
was bom in Africa, and, like the other elephants of
that country, has verj- large ears and a slightly
humped back. The Indian elephant has a much
handsomer head. His ears are smaller, and his
tusks grow more gracefully from his upper jaw.
It seems a curious thing for elephants to work
on a railroad, for we generally consider these ani-
constructed, elephants were used to pack the earth
down firml)'. Long lines of the great creatures
walked backward and forward on an embank-
ment, their immense weight pressing the earth
into a solid and compact mass. It is not likely
that in that country anything else could have been
found so serviceable for this purpose as the wide feet
and ponderous bodies of elephants.
In connection with the employment of the ele-
phant by man, there is an allegorical fable which,
although it has probably no basis of fact, may
LION AND LIONESS ATT.^CKING AN ELEPHANT.
mals as either inhabitants of forests and jungles,
or the servants of oriental masters who have no
idea of the improvements and inventions of mod-
em times. And yet, elephants have been employed
on railroad work. On a road recently built in
Burmah, from Rangoon to the city of Prome, there
were many embankments to be made where the
road ran over low lands. While these were being
possess a certain interest for those who are fond
of investigating the reasons of things.
According to this storj- there was, at one time, a
comparatively small number of elephants upon
the earth, and these lived together in one great
herd. They were quiet, docile animals, and did
no injurv' to any one. They were formed, how-
ever, somewhat differently from the elephant of the
I
i883.]
(JUK LARGEST l-RIliXDS.
»43
them the heavy loads which they were often
oblifjcci to carry from place to place.
One day, several of the men saw the leader of
the herd of elephants standing in the shade of a
clump of trees, and they went to him to talk
upon this subject. They told him of the diffi-
culty they had in taking journeys with their
wives and children, especially in the rainy sea-
son, when the groimd was wet and muddy, and
explained to him how hard it was for them to
carry loads of provisions and other things from
'>nc village to another.
" Now, twenty of these loads," said the spokes-
man of the men, " would be nothing for one
(if you to carry; and if one of us, and all his
lamily, and even some of his household goods,
\\erc upon your great back, you could walk off
xiith ease. Now, what we wish to propose to
\ou is this: If sohie of your herd will consent
tn carry us when we wish to make a journey,
.ind to bear about our heavy goods for us, we
will give you grass, rice, and banyan-leaves and
melons from our gardens, and such other things
as may be proper, for your services. By this
arrangement both sides will be benefited."
present day. You ma\'
have noticed that the hind
legs of these animals bend
forward like the legs of a
man, while the hind legs
of nearly all other quad-
rupeds bend out backward.
In the days of which this
allegory tells, the ele-
phant's hind legs were
formed in the same way :
they bent out backward
like the legs of a dog, a
horse, or a cow. The
people in that part of the
coimtry where these ele-
])hants lived had no beasts
of burden, or wagons, or
carts, and they often
thought what an excellent
thing it would be if the
great, strong elephants
would carr)' them and their
families about on their
broad backs, or bear for
Vol. IX.— 54.
ur Ai-KICAN LLLIJIAM.
844
OUR LARGEST FRIEXDS.
[September,
The elephant listened with great attention, and
when the man had finished speaking he replied :
" Melons are very tempting, for these we seldom
find in the forest, and fi-esh leaves from the luxuri-
ant banyans which grow about your houses are
highly attractive to elephants ; but, in spite of the
inducements you offer, there are objections to
the plan you propose which will, 1 fear, prevent it
from being carried out. If, for instance, one of
your families wished to get upon my back, or if
you desired to place a heavy load thereon, it would
be necessary for me to lie down, would n't it ? "
"Oh, yes," said the man. " Our women and
children could never climb up to your back while
you are standing, and we could not reach high
enough to place loads upon it unless you should
lie down."
" There comes in the difficulty," said the ele-
phant. "Our bodies are so large and heavy that
when we lie down it is as much as we can do to
get up. Indeed, most of us prefer to sleep leaning
against a tree, because when we lie down at night
we often find in the morning that it is almost im-
possible for us to rise. Now, if we find it difficult
to get up from the ground when we have nothing
but ourselves to lift, it is quite plain that we could
not rise at all if we had a load upon our backs.
That is clear to your mind, is it not? "
"Yes," said the man, rather ruefully. "I see
that what you say is true. You would be of no
service to us if you could not get up after we had
placed our loads upon your backs."
And he and his fellows returned sadly to their
village.
But some of the people, when they heard this
story, were not willing to give up the matter so
easily. There was a witch of great wisdom who
lived in the neighborhood, and they went and con-
sulted her. She considered the matter for three
days and nights, and then she told them that, if
they would give her twenty pots of rice and a
bronze gong, she would make it all right. The
twenty pots of rice and the bronze gong were
speedily brought to her; and that night, when the
elephants were all fast asleep, she went to the
place where they were lying on the ground, or
leaning against the trees, and bewitched them.
She managed her witcheries in such a way that
the hind legs of the elephants all bent inward in-
stead of outward, as they had done before.
When the head elephant awoke and walked
from under the tree against which he had been
leaning, he was very much surprised at the change
in his gait. He shuffled along in a very different
way from that in which he had always walked
before.
"1 feel as if 1 were all shoulders," he said to
his wife.
" And well you may," said she, " for your hind
legs bend forward, exactly like your fore legs."
"And so do yours! " he cried, in utter amaze-
ment.
The elephants who were hing down were awak-
ened by this loud conversation, and, noticing that
many of their companions were moving about in a
very strange way, thought it would be a good idea
to get up and see what was the matter. To their
astonishment they arose with great ease. Their
hind legs were bent under their heavy bodies, and
they were enabled to lift themselves up with what
seemed to them no trouble at all.
When all this was made known to the men of
the village, they immediately urged upon the head
elephant that he and his companions should enter
into their ser\-ice. An elephant was thereupon or-
dered by his chief to lie down and be loaded, and
when the men had tied an immense number of
packages upon his back, he arose with apparent
ease and shambled away.
There being now no possible objection to an
elephant becoming a beast of burden, these great
animals began to enter into the service of man.
But many of them did not fancy labor, no matter
how able they might be to perform it, and these
separated from the main herd and scattered them-
selves over various parts of Asia and Africa, where
their descendants are still found.
As has been said before, it is quite likely that
this story may not be true ; but still the facts
remain that the elephant's hind legs bend forward
just like his fore legs, and that he shambles along
verv much as if he were all shoulders.
1883.)
I.ITTLli BROWN BETTY
845
NONSENSE SONG.
Bv A. K. Wki.i.s.
/^ Jack and tlie Jolick and the Jamboric,
Vi? They chnibed up into the banyan tree.
They dinibcd to the top,
But they had to stop,
For no more foot-hold coukl they see.
The Jack and the Johck and the Jamborie
To climb still farther did all agree,
So the Jack stood up on the topmost limb,
And then the Jolick climbed over him.
Over the two went the Jamborie, —
lie climbed up quickly the world to see, —
And then the Jack from the topmost limb,
With grin and chuckle, climbed after him.
To the top climbed he.
The world to see,
.And there in the air swung all the three:
The Jolick gleefully followed the Jack,
And quickly reached the topmost back.
And then again went the Jamborie
Up to the top, the world to see.
On they are going, and on and on ;
They '11 reach the stars before they arc done !
LITTLE BROWX BETTY.
Bv Ada Neyl.
Little brown Betty looks out in the morning, .And nearer the tinkle of baby's tin rattle.
And sees the great dew-drops the bushes adorn- And the hum of the bees o'er the dainty white
ing, clover.
The sky all aglow, and the clouds in a flurry.
Where the sun has jumped out of his bed in a Little brown Betty fills deftly her bowl,
hurry. And splashes and gurgles and laughs as the
water
She he.ars in the distance the low of the cattle. Goes trickling and tickling from forehead to sote;
The shout of the herd-boy, the bark of old Then she brushes her curls as her mother has
Rover, taught her.
846
LITTLE BROWN BETTY.
[September,
Then neatly puts on all her clothes in a twinkle. Then back to the house, with her dusky cheeks
With her little brown hands patting out every glowing,
wrinkle; C.ocs little brown Betty, and takes out her sew-
Then softly she kneels at her bedside, and prays ing,
That God will watch over her words and her And in her small rocker she patiently matches
ways. On apron and stocking the wearisome patches.
Now little brown Betty is helping her mother. Now little brown Betty, knee-deep in the clover,
And merrily flitting from cupboard to table ; Stands watching the mower's harmonious motion,
Now stooping a moment to fondle her brother, While the tender cloud-shadows go hurrying
Now giving a pat to the black kitten Sable. over
The meadows like ships on an emerald ocean.
She sets up the chairs, and she goes for the
water, The bobolink sings o'er his nest in the meadow,
And sings as she comes with her pail running The breezes blow cool from the distant blue
over, river,
Then she watches for Father, — the dear little The grasshopper sleepily whirs in the shadow,
daughter ! — And Betty's head droops and her soft eyelids
And picks him a posy of daisies and clover. quiver.
Little brown Betty, when breakfast is ended, And now on a bed of the newly mown hay
Trips into the garden, by Rover attended, Sleeps little brown Betty as sweet as the clover.
And waters her pansies, and ties up her roses. .A.nd here we must leave her, half hidden away.
While Rover lies under the lilacs and dozes. While her father is searching the meadow all over.
Mr*- ^^^"
I883.J
A DOZEN SQUIRRELS.
847
h^^M&f^
A liuZKX squirrels, red ami gray,
Set forth to travel on a d^.
'T was easy on Ihe tend to go ;
To cross the streams what did thev do ?
Pieces of bark and woodmen's chips
Furnished them all with ready ships.
What did they use for oars or sails?
They curled aloft their bushy tails,
And every chip that squirrel bore
Was safely blown from shore to shore
Four days they traveled, then they found
A grove where beech-nuts did abound;
And there they staid, devoid of fear,
And happy lived for many a year.
848
JIRti A JAPANESE BOV
[September,
JIRO — A JAPANESE BOY.
By C. a. W.
ONCE knew a little boy
who was not at all
like the little boys
whom you are accus-
tomed to see every
day. He did not
have blue eyes and
curly brown hair,
nor did he wear
gray trousers and
short jackets.
No ; his eyes and
hair were jet black,
and he was troubled with no other clothing than
a loose, wrapper-like garment, which he bound
about his waist with a long sash, using its wide
sleeves for pockets. Perhaps, from the descrip-
tion of his dress, you will think that he looked
like a girl ; but he was a real boy, and would
have felt indignant if you had taken him for any-
thing else.
In fact, Jiro — for that was the young gentleman's
name — was an inhabitant of that country some-
where down under our feet known as Japan, and
sometimes called the "Children's Paradise."
Now, Jiro was very proud of his country, and
believed, as did all his countrymen, that the
inhabitants had descended from the gods. Al-
though he was only eight years old, because his
father was one of those terrible fellows called
samurai, or retainers (who would lop your head
off in a minute and think nothing of it), little Jiro
was allowed to carry in his belt a real sword. He
was not ignorant of its use, either, as he took
lessons in fencing twice a w-eek.
Jiro's elder sister, Miss Koto, was learning to
handle the lance and spear — an accomplishment
of Japanese ladies of position, which is considered
as necessary as learning to sew, or read, or paint ;
and Jiro longed for the time to come when his
own hands would be strong enough to lift these
heavier weapons. One day, as our little friend was
returning from fencing-school, he thought that,
instead of making his way homeward through
the crowded streets, he would take a shorter cut
he knew of, across the fields, where he would be
able to find some tall lotus-flowers for his sister's
deft fingers to arrange in the parlor flower-vases.
On reaching the pond where the lotus grew, he
found that several children were already there,
some busily engaged in collecting the sweet lotus-
roots for eating, and others, who were more fond
of play than of work, strutting about, holding up
the great lotus-leaves for parasols, or wearing
them as jaunty sun-hats. Jiro did not care for the
roots (as his mother frequently bought them of
the vegetable-man), and, as he felt too busy to
play, he set manfully to work and cut down some
of the most beautiful buds growing high above
his head. When he had cut enough he started
for home, sturdily trudging along with his arms
full of the rosy flowers and their great, wide
leaves.
He had not gone very far, however, before one
of those long snakes which, in Japan, inhabit trees
or low shrubs, lifted up its ugly head right in
Jiro's path, and made him drop his fragrant bundle
and grasp the hilt of his little sword. The serpent
looked very ugly, seeming to say, "No! no!
Master Jiro, you can't pass here until I have a bite
of you ! " and I rather suspect that Jiro's first im-
pulse was to run away. But, remembering that his
father was the retainer of a great prince, and that
some day he would be a retainer too, Jiro felt
braver, and as the snake continued to rear its head
right in his path, Jiro cut at it with his sharp little
sword and lopped its head right off; giving it an-
other cut to make quite sure it was dead, the lad
picked up his flowers and went on, feeling very
proud of his triumph.
Jiro went to school like other boys, and sat on
the floor, as every one does in Japan. The school-
room was full of children, who studied their les-
sons aloud, without disturbing each other in the
least. He had plenty of holidays, so you need not
be afraid that he hurt himself by studying too hard.
Perhaps you will think it strange that, among
all Jiro's holidays, he had never counted a birthday.
Birthdays are so important over here, that 1 fancy
the boys would be inclined to object if they were told
that such days were not to be celebrated any more.
Jiro, however, did not even know the day of the
month when he was born, but, like all good Japan-
ese, counted his age from the first New Year's
day of his life. So you will understand how much
the people over there love New Year's, which
comes, like ours, on the first of January. But I
think that our friend Jiro, together with the other
boys of Japan, was most pleased when old Father
Time brought around the fifth of May, which is
called "Boys' Day," because especially devoted to
the boys of Japan. Oh, they do have good times
i883.]
JIRO A JAl'AXESE BOV,
849
y
then ! And I have no doubt that the
little, olive-tinted, almond-eyed A
lows look forward with as much
pleasure to that day as our boys do
to the fourth of July. The little
girls feel very much cast in the shade
Vo^,': »J^V■■'.:»»^
JIKO KILLS TNii SNAKE.
on "Hoys' Day"; but then they
have their time to rejoice on the
third of March, which is dedicated
to them.
I suppose you would like to know
what the boys do on their " day,"
so I will tell you some things our
young friend did.
There was no need of a breakfast-
bell to arouse Jiro on that eventful
morning, for he was up and dressed
long before Tama, the maid, had
finished dusting the sitting-room,
from which he was therefore shut
out. So he amused himself by teas-
ing his sister's cat, Sir Tora-no-ske,
until he could have his breakfast
of rice, which he ate with chop-
sticks instead of a spoon. He walked
out into the garden and tried to
count the numerous canvas fishes
which floated from nearly every
house in the neighborhood. Per-
8 so
JIRO A JAPANESE BOY
[September,
haps you would like to know the meaning of
the curious fishes which, on the fifth of May, float
from every house where a boy lives. You are
probably familiar with the round, red sun-flag of
Japan, which suggests the "Rising Sun Land,"
as the Japanese call their country, and if you lived
there you would soon learn to distinguish the flags
of the different provinces and their peculiar designs.
Well, then, the fish is the boys' flag, and I will tell
you why. Did you ever see a shoal of fish swim-
ming one by one down a water-fall ? Salmon and
trout do this, but there are few fishes which can
ascend a cataract, as well as leap down it. There
is one kind, however, which can do this, and the
Japanese call it nn. but we know it as the carp. As
is readily apparent, to be able to swim up the rapids
as well as to descend them requires both strength
and courage; so the fanciful Japanese decided
that the carp would be a good emblem for their
boys, and in presenting the image of this fish ex-
press a wish that they may be as strong and as
brave as the carp in overcoming the difficulties of
life. I do not suppose that little Jiro quite under-
stood the meaning of the boys' flag, but he felt very
proud as he looked at the swelhng monster floating
from his father's roof in his especial honor.
Jiro was presently told to go into the parlor,
where he found that the loving hands of friends
had prepared a surprise for him. The deep niche
which usually contained his sister's flower-vases
and his father's favorite pictures had been robbed
of these ornaments, and was now filled by a com-
plete set of miniature weapons. A large picture of
a battle scene hung against the wall, and below it
was a rack filled with crested standards, lances,
spear-heads, and shields, surmounted by a plumed
helmet. In front of these, but a little lower, were
arranged some pretty bows and a quiver full of
arrows. To crown all were two figures of fully
equipped warriors, each bearing in his hand a
small but exact copy of the provincial flag under
which his father once fought.
You ought to have seen how Jiro's eyes sparkled
when he beheld all these wonders ! The first
thing he did was to make a low bow to his parents
(for Jiro was a well-taught boy), and thank them
ver\- politely for the pleasure they had given him.
All day long the presents of kind friends were left
at Jiro's door — among them numerous represen-
tations of the favorite carp, and plenty of highly
colored storj-books about great generals and fa-
mous soldiers. That night, when it was time to go
to bed, I do not believe there was a happier boy in
Japan than little Jiro as he laid down to dream of
famous warriors of ancient times and their thrilling
deeds of bravery.
JIRO S SALUTATION OF THANKS TO HIS FATHER.
i883. ]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
lUcould, sail JoliiiTfioinasle Spinnet,
yAstaWe I'd tuild im minute,-
for \h\s slice 1 hm found, T
/Ind now Til be tound
Isliall soon tiaue a horse to JDut
n it.
STCIRIES OF -ART .-\ND ARTISTS.— NINTH PAPER.
Bv Clara Erskine Clement.
BRUNELLESCHI.
In reading about art we often find something
concerning a certain time which is called the Re-
naissance, and the art of that period bears the same
name — the art of the Renaissance. This is a word
meaning a new birth or a rc-awakening, and in
art it denotes the time when the darkness and
ignorance of the Middle .Ages was passing away,
and men were arousing themselves and endeavor-
ing to restore literature and art to the high places
they had once occupied. The artists who took the
lead in this movement were a remarkable class of
men, and merit remembrance and gratitude from
all those of later times who have profited by their
example.
Some authors call Kilippo Hrunelleschi, or Bru-
nellcsco, the "Father of the Art of the Renais-
sance." He was born in Florence in 1377, and died
in 1446. His mother was of a noble family, and on
his father's side he had learned notaries and phy-
sicians for his ancestors. Filippo's father desired
that his son should be a physician, and directed
his education with that end in view ; but the boy
had such a love of art, and was so fond of the study
of mechanics, that his father at length allowed him
to learn the trade of a goldsmith, which trade was,
in that day, more closely connected with what we
call the fine arts than it is now.
Fiiippo made rapid progress, now that he was
doing something that pleased him, and soon learned
to excel in the setting of precious stones, and this,
too, in exquisite designs drawn by himself He
also made some beautiful figures in niello. This
art was so interesting that I must describe it to
you, especially because to it we owe the origin of
engraving. '.
The niello-worker drew a design upon gold or
silver, and cut it out with a sharp tool called a
burin. He then melted together some copper, sil-
8.S2
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ver, lead, and sulphur, and when the composition
was cool ground it to a powder. He covered his
drawing with this, and over it sprinkled some
borax ; he then placed it over a charcoal fire, and
the powder and borax melted together and ran into
the lines of the drawing. When this was cool, the
metal on which the drawing had been made was
scraped and burnished, and the niello then had the
effect of a drawing in black upon gold or silver.
Niello-work was known to the ancients, and there
are very rare old specimens of it in some museums.
The discovery of the art of taking impressions on
paper from these drawings on metal is ascribed to
Maso Finiguerra, who flourished about the time
when Brunelleschi died.
After Filippo had perfected himself as a gold-
smith and niello-worker he studied sculpture and
executed some designs in bass-relief, but he was
always deeply interested in such mathematical and
mechanical pursuits as fitted him to be the great
architect which he finally became.
He went to Rome with his friend Donatello, and
there Filippo was untiring in his study of architect-
ure, and made innumerable drawings from the
beautiful objects of ancient art which he saw. One
day, when these two artists were digging among
the ruins in the hope of finding some beautiful
sculpture, they came upon a vase full of ancient
coins, and from that time they were called "the
treasure-seekers." They lived very poorly, and
made the most of their small means, but even then
they suffered many privations. Donatello returned
to Florence, but Filippo Brunelleschi studied and
struggled on, and there grew up in his heart a great
desire to accomplish two things in his native city —
to revive there a pure style of architecture, and to
raise the dome upon the then unfinished cathedral.
He lived to sec the realization of both these am-
bitious hopes.
The Cathedral of Florence is also called the
Church of Santa Maria del Fiore, which means St.
Mary of the Flower ; this may also be rendered
St. Mary of the Lily, and is better so, since the
lily is the emblem of the Virgin Mary, the chief
patron saint of Florence. St. Reparata is another
favorite Florentine saint, who,^ in pictures, holds
in her hand a banner, on which is a lily. The
same device was on the red shield of the republic ;
indeed, the very name of Florence is popularly
believed to have had its origin in the abundance
of its flowers, especially the lily known as the Iris
Florentina, which grows wild in the fields and in the
clefts of the old walls in various parts of the cit)-.
In 1407 Brunelleschi returned to Florence, and
soon after the superintendents of the works upon
the cathedral listened to the plans of various
architects for raising the dome. Filippo proposed
his views, but they were considered far too bold.
He made models in secret and convinced himself
that he could accomplish the great work. After a
time he wearied of the waiting and returned to
Rome, always thinking and planning about the
dome, the erection of which had now become the
one passionate wish of his heart. The struggle
was long, and he suffered from the ignorance and
indecision of the officials of Florence ; at length,
in 1420, a call was made for the architects of all
countries to come w ith their plans, and, after many
meetings and debates, the commission was finally
given to Brunelleschi, thirteen wearisome years
having passed since he had first asked for it.
At this meeting of architects, Filippo refused to
show his models, and when he was criticised for
this it is said that he proposed that, if any one
present could make an egg stand upright on a
smooth marble, he should be the builder of the
dome. The eggs were brought, and the others all
tried in vain to make one stand. At last Filippo
took his egg, and, striking it a little blow upon the
marble, left it standing there. Then the others
exclaimed that they could have done the same.
To this Filippo replied : " Yes, and you might
also build a dome if you had seen my design ! " *
The story of the building of the dome is very
interesting, but it is too long to be given here.
There were endless difficulties placed in Filippo's
way, but he overcame them all and lived to see
his work almost completed ; only the outer coat-
ing was wanting at the time of his death. It is
the largest dome in the world. The cross on the
top of St. Peter's at Rome is farther from the
ground than is that above Santa Maria del Fiore,
but the dome of the latter is larger than th»^
dome of St. Peter's. It was also the first dome
that was raised upon a drum, as the upright part
of a dome or cupola is called, and this fact alone
entitles Filippo Brunelleschi to the great fame
which has been his for more than four centuries.
He designed many other fine architectural works
in and about Florence, among which are the
church of San Lorenzo, that of Santo Spirito,
some beautiful chapels for Santa Croce and other
chutx:hes, the Hospital of the Innocents, and the
Badia at Fiesole. That he had also a genius for
secular architecture is proved by his having de-
signed the famous Pitti Palace.
Its builder, Luca Pitti, was a very rich rival
of the great Medici and Strozzi families, and he
* This story of the egg is also told of Columbus, but it doubtless originated as given above, as many Italian writers thus tell it, and,
if true of Brunelleschi, the incident must have happened some fourteen years before Columbus was bom. The astronomer Toscanelli was
a great admirer of Brunelleschi, and there is little doubt of his having told this story to Columbus.
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determined to erect a palace which should excel
theirs in grandeur and magnificence. This palace
stands in the midst of the Boboli gardens, and was
for a long time the residence of the sovereigns of
Tuscany and Italy, but was given up by Victor
Emmanuel when he removed to Rome and made
that city the capital in 1870.
The visitor to the Pitti Palace has his interest
and attention divided between the beauty of its
surroundings, the splendor of the palace itself, and
the magnificent treasures of art preserved there,
the collection being now best known as the I'itti
Gallery.
Filippo's enthusiasm for art made him willing to
endure any amount of fatigue for the sake of see-
ing beautiful things. One day he heard Donatello
describe an ancient marble vase which he had
seen in Cortona. .^s Filippo listened he was pos-
sessed with the desire to see it, and quietly walked
away, saying nothing of his intentions. He went
on foot to Cortona, a distance of seventy-two miles,
saw the vase and made accurate drawings from
it, and was again in Florence before he was really
missed by his friends, who supposed him to be
busy with his inventions in his own room.
A very interesting story concerning himself and
Donatello is that the latter received an order for a
crucifix, carved from wood, for the church of Santa
Croce, and when it was finished asked lirunelleschi's
opinion of it. Relying on their long friendship,
Filippo frankly said that the figure of Christ was
like that of a day-laborer, whereas that of the Sav-
iour sliould represent the greatest possible beauty.
Donatello was angry, and replied: " It is easier to
criticise than to execute ; do you take a piece of
wood and make a better crucifix."
Brunelleschi did this, and when he had com-
pleted his work invited Donatello to dine with him.
He left the crucifix in a conspicuous place in his
house while the two went to the market to buy the
dinner. He gave the parcels to Donatello and
asked him to precede him, saying that he would
soon be at home. When Donatello entered and
saw the crucifix, he was so overcome with admira-
tion that he dropped eggs, cheese, and all on the
floor, and stood before the carving as motionless
as if made of wood himself. When Brunelleschi
came in he said, " Wh.at arc we to do now ? You
have spoiled all the din-
ner ! " "I have had din-
ner enough for to-day,"
replied Donatello. "You,
perli.ips, may dine with
better appetite. To you,
1 confess, belongs the
power to carve the figure
of Christ; to me that of
representing day-labor-
ers." This crucifix is now
in the chapel of the Con-
di in the Church of Santa
Maria Novella, while that
of Donatello is in the
chapel of Saints l.udo-
vico and Bartolommeo,
in the Church of Santa
Croce.
On the south side of
the square which sur-
rounds the cathedral,
called the Piazza del Du-
onio, there is a modem
statue of Brunelleschi. He is represented as sitting
with a plan of the great dome spread upon his
knee, while his head is raised and he looks at the
realization of his design as it rises above the cathe-
dral. He was buried beneath the dome. His
monument is the first in the southern aisle, where
he was interred at the expense of the city. A
tablet in the wall bears his epitaph, and above it
is his bust, made by his pupil Buggiani.
giiii'.i:k II.
Lorenzo Ghibf.kti also belonged to the early
(lays of the Renaissance, and took a leader's place
in the sculpture of bass-reliefs, as Brunelleschi did
in architecture. He was born at F"lorence in 1378
and died in 1455. He was both a goldsmith and a
sculptor, and all his works show that delicate finish
8,54
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
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and exquisite attention to detail which is so im-
portant when working in precious metals. When
the plague broke out in Florence in 1398, Ghiberti
fled to Rimini, and while there painted some pict-
ures ; but his fame is so closely linked with one
great work that his name usually recalls that alone.
I mean the bronze gates to the Baptistery of Flor-
ence, and these are so grand an achievement that
it is fame enough for any man to be remembered
as their maker.
Andrea Pisano had made the gates to the south
side of the Baptistery, which is octagonal in form,
many years before Ghiberti was born. When the
plague again visited Florence in 1400, the people
believed that the wrath of Heaven should be ap-
peased and a thank-offering made, so that they
might be free from a return of this dreadful scourge.
The Guild of Wool-merchants then decided to add
these gates to their beloved Church of St. John the
Baptist.
They threw the work open to competition, and
many artists sent in models of a bass-relief repre-
senting the sacrifice of Isaac. Finally all were
rejected but those of Brunelleschi and Ghiberti,
and for a time there was a doubt as to which of
these artists would be preferred. It had happened
that, while Brunelleschi had been struggling for the
commission for the building of his dome, Ghiberti
had annoyed him very much, and. indeed, after the
work was begun, he did not cease his interference.
For this reason it could scarcely have been ex-
pected that Brunelleschi should favor Ghiberti ;
but the true nobility of his character declared it-
self, and he publicly acknowledged that Ghiberti's
model was finer than his, and retired from the
contest.
The gates on the north were first executed ; they
were begun in 1403 and finished twenty-one years
later. They contain twenty scenes from the life of
Christ, with the figures of the Evangelists and the
four Fathers of the Church, in a very beautiful
frame-work of foliage, animals, and other orna-
ments, which divides and incloses the larger com-
positions. These gates are in a style nearer to
that of Pisano and other artists than are his later
works ; however, from the first Ghiberti showed
original talent, for even his model of the Sacrifice
of Isaac, which is preserved in the Museum of the
Bargello together with that of Brunelleschi, proves
that he had a new habit of thought.
Beautiful as these gates are, those on the east are
finer and far more famous ; it is of these that
Michael Angelo declared, " They are worthy to be
the gates of Paradise ! " Here he represented
stories from the Old Testament in ten compart-
ments: I. Creation of Adam and Eve. 2. His-
tory of Cain and Abel. 3. Noah. 4. Abraham
and Isaac. 5. Jacob and Esau. 6. History of
Joseph. 7. Moses on Mount Sinai. 8. Joshua
before Jericho. 9. David and Goli.ath. 10. Solo-
mon and the Queen of Sheba.
Ghiberti showed great skill in composition, and
told these stories with wonderful distinctness ; but
I fancy that every one who sees them for the first
time must have a feeling of disappointment on
account of the confusion which comes from the
multitude of figures. But when they arc studied
attentively this first effect passes away, and the
wonderful skill of their maker is revealed. They
must ever remain one of the great monuments of
this most interesting age of the Renaissance.
Ghiberti also made the Sarcophagus of Saint
Zenobius, which is in the Cathedral of Florence, and
is his greatest work after the gates. Other sculpt-
ures of his arc in the churches of Florence and
Sienna.
DONATELLO.
The real name of this sculptor was Donato di
Betto Bardi. He was born in 1386 and died in
1468. He was a realist; that is to say, he fol-
lowed nature with great exactness, and this was
not productive of beauty in his works ; indeed,
many of his sculptures were painfully ugly. Don-
atello is important in the history of art, because
he lived at a time when every advance was an
event, and he made the first equestrian statue of
any importance in modern art. This is at Padua,
in the square before the Church of San Antonio ;
it represents Francisco Gatta-Melata, and is full
of life and power.
He made some beautiful marble groups of danc-
ing children for the front of the organ in the
Cathedral of Florence, which have since been re-
moved to the Uffizi Gallery. One of these groups
is shown in the illustration on page 858. Several
of his statues of single figures are in Florence,
Sienna, and Padua. He considered his "David,"
which is in the Uffizi, as his masterpiece. It is
familiarly known as " Lo Ziicconc," which means
the bald-head ; he was so fond of this statue that
he had the habit of affirming his statements by
saying, " By the faith I place in my Zuccone !" In
spite of Donatello's opinion, however, it is gen-
erally thought that his statue of "St. George"
(shown on page 856) is far more admirable than
the "David."
The German art-writer Grimm says of this
statue; "What a man is the St. George in the
niche of the Church of Or San Michele ! He stands
there in complete armor, sturdily, with his legs
somewhat striding apart, resting on both with equal
weight, as if he meant to stand so that no power
could move hitn from his post. Straight before
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THE GHIBERTl GATES.— THE EAST DOOR OF THE BAPTISTERY AT FLOREN'CE.
8.^6
STORIES OF ART AXD ARTISTS.
[September,
him he holds up his high shield ;
both hands touch its edge, partly
for the sake of holding it, parti)-
in order to rest on it ; the eyes
and brow are full of expectant
boldness. » « * We approach
this St. George, and the mere
artistic irtterest is transformed
suddenly into a more lively sym-
pathy with the person of the
master. * * * Who is it, we
ask, who has placed such a man
there, so ready for battle ? "
The story we have told of
Donatello, in connection with
Brunelleschi, shows that he was
impetuous and generous by nat-
ure. Another anecdote relates
that a rich Genoese merchant
gave him a commission to make
a portrait bust of himself in
bronze. When it was finished,
Cosimo de' Medici, the friend
and patron of Donatello, admired
it so much that he placed it on
a balcony of his palace, so that"
all Florentines who passed by
might see it.
When the merchant heard the
artist's price for his work he ob-
jected to it ; it was referred to
Cosimo, who argued the case
with the merchant. In this con-
versation the Genoese said that
the bust could be made in a
month, and he was willing to
give the artist such a price that
he would receive a dollar a day
for his time and labor. When
Donatello heard this he ex-
claimed, "I know how to destroy
the result of the study and labor
of years in the twinkling of an
eye ! " and he threw the bust
into the street below, where it
was shivered into fragments.
Then the merchant was
ashamed, and offered Donatello
double the price he asked if he
would repeat his work ; but,
though the sculptor was poor, he
refused to do this, and remained
firm in his decision, though
Cosimo himself tried to persuade
him to change his determination.
When Donatello was old, Cosimo gave him a sum
ot money sufficient to support himself and four
.-vMJ
workmen. In spite of this generous provision the
sculptor paid little attention to his own appearance,
iSSz.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
857
and was so poorly dressed that Cosimo sent him a
gift of a red surcoat, mantle, and hood, but Uona-
tello returned these with thanks, saying that they
were far too fine for his use.
His patron and friend died before him, and dur-
ing the last of his life the sculptor was a bedridden
paralytic. Piero dc' Medici, the son of Cosimo, was
careful to supply all Donatello's wants, and when
he died his funeral was conducted with great pomp.
He was interred in the Church of San Lorenzo, near
to the tomb of his friend Cosimo. The artist had
purchased the right to be thus buried — "to the
end," he said, " that his body might be near him
wlien dead, as his spirit had ever been near him
when alive.'' Several of Donatello's sculptures are
in this church, and are a more suitable monument
to his memory than anything could be that was
made by others after his death.
BENVENUTO CELLINI.
This sculptor had an eventful hfe, and the story
of it, written by himself, is one of the most inter-
esting books of its class in existence. He was born
in Florence in 1500, and died in 1571. He gives a
very interesting though improl^able account of the
origin of his family, which is that '"Julius Cajsar
had a chief and valorous captain named Fiorino da
Ccllino, from a castle situated four miles from
Monte Fiascone. This Fiorino having pitched his
camp below Fiesole, where Florence now stands,
in order to be near the river Arno, for the conven-
ience of the army, the soldiers and other persons,
when they had occasion to visit him, said to each
other, ' Let us go to Fiorenza,' which name they
gave to the place where they were encamped,
partly from their captain's name of Fiorino, and
partly from the abundance of flowers which grew
there ; wherefore Ca-sar, thinking it a beautiful
name, and considering flowers to be of good au-
gur>', and also wishing to honor his captain, whom
he had raised from an humble station, and to whom
he was greatly attached, gave it to the city which
he founded on that spot."
When the child was born, his father, who was
quite old, named him Benvcnuto, which means
welcome, and, as he was passionately fond of music,
he wished to make a musician of this son. But the
boy was determined to be an artist, and his time
was divided between the two pursuits until he was
fifteen years old, when he went as an apprentice to
a celebrated goldsmith. We must not forget that
to be a goldsmith in the days of the Renaissance
meant in reality to be a designer, a sculptor — in
short, an artist. They made altars, reliquaries,
crucifixes, caskets, and many sacred articles for the
churches, as well as the splendid services for the
t.ables of rich and royal patrons; they made weap-
ons, shields, helmets, buttons, sword-hilts, coins,
and many kindred objects, besides the tiaras of
[jopes, the crowns, scepters, and diadems of sov-
ereigns, and the collars, clasps, girdles, bracelets,
rings, and numerous jeweled ornaments then worn
by both men and woman. So exquisite were the
designs and the works of these men that they are
now treasured in the museums of the world, and
belong to the realm of art as truly as do pictures
and statues.
Benvenuto was of so fiery a temper that he was
early involved in a serious quarrel and fled to
Sienna, and then to Bologna. When he dared he
returned to Florence and resumed his work, but
soon again became angry because his best clothes
were given to his brother, and walked off to Pisa,
where he remained a year. Meantime he had be-
come skillful in the making of various articles, and
not only his execution but his designs were so fine
that in some respects he has never been excelled.
When Cellini was eighteen years old, the sculp-
tor Torregiano — who had given Michael Angelo
a blow upon the nose which disfigured the great
sculptor for life — returned to Florence to engage
workmen to go with him to England to execute a
commission which he had received. He desired
to have Cellini among the number, but the youth
was so outraged by Torregiano's boasting of his
disgraceful deed that he refused to go, in spite of
the natural desire of his age for travel and variety.
Doubtless this predisposed Michael Angelo in his
favor, and led to the friendship which he aftervvard
showed to Cellini.
During the next twenty-two years he lived princi-
pally in Rome, and was largely in the ser\ice of
Pope Clement VII., the cardinals, and Roman
nol5les. The Pope had a magnificent diamond, —
for which Pope Julius II. had paid thirty-six thou-
sand ducats, — and he wished to have it set in a
cope button. Many artists made designs for it, but
the Pope chose that of Cellini. He used the
great diamond as a throne upon which sat a figure
representing God ; the hand was raised to bless,
and many angels fluttered about the folds of the
drapery, while various jewels surrounded the whole.
The other artists shook their heads at the boldness
of Cellini and anticipated a failure, but he achieved
a great success.
Cellini, according to his own account, bore an
active part in the siege of Rome, May 5, 1527.
He claims that he slew the Constable di Bourbon,
the leader of the besieging army, and that he also
wounded the Prince of Orange, who was chosen
leader in place of Bourbon. These feats, however,
rest upon his own authority. Cellini entered the
castle of St. Angelo, whither the Pope retired for
858
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[September,
safety, and he rendered such services to the cause of
the Church that the Holy Father pardoned him for
all the "homicides he had committed, or might
commit, in the service of the Apostolic Church."
But, in spite of all his boasted bravery on this
In 1534, Cellini committed another crime in kill-
ing a fellow goldsmith, Pompeo. Paul III. was
now the pope, and because he needed the ser\-ices
of Cellini he pardoned him, but the artist felt that
he was not regarded with favor. He therefore
GROIP OF DANCING CHILDREN
DON.^VTELLO.
occasion, Cellini acted a cowardly part a few years
later, when he was called upon for the defense of
his own city : he put his property in the care of a
friend and stole away to Rome.
went to France, but returned at the end of about
a year, to find that he had been accused of having
stolen certain jewels, the settings of which Clement
A'll. had commanded him to melt down, in order
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859
to pay his ransom when he was kept a prisoner in
the castle of St. Angelo. Cellini's guilt was never
proved, but he was held a prisoner for nearly two
years.
In 1540, his friend Cardinal Ippolito d'Este
obtained his release on the plea that P'rancis 1.,
king of France, had need of his services. He
remained five years in France, and received many
gifts and honors. He was made a lord and was
presented with the Hotel de Petit Nesle, wliich was
on the site of the present Hotel de la Monnaie.
The story of his life in France is interesting, but
we have not space to give it here, and he never
made the success there which he merited as an
artist, because Madame d'Etanipes and other per-
sons who had influence with the King were the
enemies of Cellini. Francis I. really admired the
sculptor, and on one occasion expressed his fear
of losing him, when Madame d'litampes replied
that " the surest way of keeping him would be to
hang him on a gibbet." A bronze nymph which
he made for the Palace of Fontainebleau is now
in the Renaissance Museum at the Louvre, and a
golden salt-cellar, made for King Francis, is in the
" Cabinet of Antiques " in Vienna ; these are all
the objects of importance that remain of his five
years' work in France.
At length, in 1545, Cellini returned to Florence,
never again to leave it for any considerable time.
He was favorably received by Duke Cosimo, and
received a commission to make a statue of Perseus
to be placed in the Loggia dei Lanzi. When Cel-
lini heard this, his ambition was much e.xcited by
the thought that a work of his should be placed
beside those of Michael Angelo and Donatello.
The Duke gave him a house in which to work,
and a salary sufficient for Iiis support. Nine years
passed before this statue was in place and uncov-
ered. Meantime the sculptor had suffered much
from the hatred of his enemies, and especially
from that of Baccio Bandinelli. In one way and
another the Duke had been influenced to with-
hold the money that was necessary to carry on
the work; but at last the time came for the cast-
ing; everything was prepared, and just at the im-
portant moment, when great care and watchfulness
were needed, Cellini was seized with so severe an
illness that he was forced to go to bed and believed
that he should soon die.
.\s he lay tossing in agony, some one ran in and
exclaimed, " Oh, Bcnvenuto ! your work is ruined
past earthly remedy ! " III as he was he rushed to
the furnace, and found that the fire was not suffi-
cient and the metal had cooled and ceased to flow
into the mold. By superhuman eftbrts he reme-
died the disaster, and again the bronze was liquid ;
he prayed earnestly, and when he saw that his
mold was filled, to use his own words, " I fell on
my knees and thanked God with all my heart, after
which 1 ate a hearty meal with my assistants, and
it being then two hours before dawn, went to bed
with a light heart, and slept as sweetly as if 1 had
never been ill in my life."
When the statue was at last unveiled it was as
Cellini had predicted : " It pleased all the world
excepting Bandinelli and his friends," and it still
stands as the inost important work of his life.
Perseus is represented at the moment when he has
cut off the head of Medusa, who was one of the
(iorgons and changed e\ery one who looked at
her into stone. The whole story of what he after-
ward did with this dreadful head before he ga\e it
to Minerva to put in her breast-plate you will find
one of the most interesting in your mythology.
After the completion of the Perseus, Cellini
visited Rome and made a bust of Bindo Altoviti,
concerning which Michael Angelo wrote : "My
Benvenuto, I have long known you as the best
goldsmith in the world, and I now know you as an
equally good sculptor, through the bust of Messer
Bindo . Altoviti." This was praise indeed. Redid
no more great work, though he was always busy as
long as he lived. A marble crucifix which he
made for his own grave he afterward gave to the
Duchess Eleanora ; later it was sent to Philip II. of
Spain, and is now in the Escurial.
We have spoken of his autobiography, which was
honored by being made an authority in the Ac-
cademia della Crusca on account of its expressive
diction and rich use of the Florentine manner of
speech ; he also wrote a valuable treatise upon the
goldsmith's art, and another upon sculpture and
bronze-casting. He takes up all the departments
of these arts, and his writings are of great value.
He also wrote poems and verses of \arious kinds.
But his association with popes, kings, cardinals,
artists, men of letters, and people of all classes,
makes the story of his life by far the most interest-
ing of all his literary works.
His life was by no means a good one, but he had
a kindly spot in his heart after all, for he took his
widowed sister with six children to his home, and
treated them with such kindness that their depend-
ence upon him was not made bitter to them.
When he died, every honor was paid to his
memory and he was buried in the Church of the
Annunziata, beneath the chapel of the Cumpany
of St. Luke.
Vol.. IX.
-55-
.86o
S E V E X IDLE LI T T L E ME X .
[September,
V '■
^ <;
SEVEN IDLE LITTLE MEN.
BV E. ViNTOX BLAK.1'.
Seven idle little men were sitting on a tree.
Discussing all that 's happened and all that 's sure to be.
Seven giant bumble-bees, from off a bush of posies,
Stung the seven little men upon their seven noses.
^V»i^5^
Seven shrieks arose at once and seven wives did run:
All the seven noses were bandaged, one by one ;
Seven messengers were sent, in seven separate
flurries,
To bring back seven doctors in seven awful hurries.
^fU Into bed the men were put, still groaning loud and dazed,
f) And seven solemn doctors upon their patients gazed ;
' Hum ! the case is dangerous ! to hinder further ills.
We must give you boncset, and castor-(iil, and squills!"
Seven little backs arose without the least delay ;
Seven fearful" somersaults were turned, right away ;
All the clothes were scattered on all the seven beds; —
S/iip went all the medicines at all the doctors' heads !
Seven doctors scurried in very serious fright;
Seven little men sat down and laughed with all
their might ;
Then their seven hats they put, each, on his curly pate —
Sallied out together and walked abroad in state.
i883.]
THE STORY OK THE A KB A LIST.
86 1
Tin-. STORY OF THE ARHAI.IST.
1S\ Mai KICK rHOMfSON.
Have you ever seen one of those old-time
Southern kitchens ? Think of a room twenty-four
feet long and twenty feet wide, with a huge fire-
place and a heavy, rudely carved mantel. Over-
head are great beams of hewed pine, smoked until
they look like ebony, upon which rest the broad
planks of the ceiling. In one corner is a cup-
board, of triangular form, in which may be seen
pottery plates and dighcs of curious shapes and
brilliant colors. Several four-post chairs are scat-
tered around, and the tall, black andirons spread
out their crooked legs and seem to gaze at you
from beneath the charred wooden crane. The
walls are smoked and dingy, but the floor is clean
and white. In such a kitchen I saw my first cross-
bow. It was a heavy piece of finely carved oak,
with a steel lathe or bow. It was hung obliquely
across a raw-hide shield, or buckler, just above the
mantel. Two or three arrows, called quarrels,
stood beside it, and the head of an ancient spear
projected from a rude stone jar just beyond. In
this kitchen, two brown- haired bo^s heard their
father tell all about cross-bows. It was a windy
night and a told rain was falling. The blackness
and dreariness out-doors made the flaring pine-
knot fire on the wide hearth seem doubly bright
and comforting. The mother of the boys, a sweet-
faced woman, was sewing near a round cherry
table whose feet had claws like those of a lion.
On this table stood a brass candlestick in which
burned a tallow candle, and beside the candle-
stick lay a Ijig Hible bound in undressed calf-skin,
with the hairy side out. The father sat in front
of the fire. The boys sat one on either side of
him. The pine-knots flamed and sputtered, and
black, fleecy-looking smoke rolled heavily up the
yawning chimney.
" I will now tell )ou about the cross-bow," said
the father, settling himself deeper into the wide-
armed chair.
"Oh, 1 'm so glad ! " said the older boy.
'• Oh, good, good ; " cried the younger, clapping
his hands and laughing happily.
The mother looked up from her sewing and
smiled at the joyful faces of her children. The
rain swasned and throbbed on the roof, the wind
shook the house.
•• That cross-bow was sent to me fiom England.
It is said to be of Spanish make, and to date back
to the fourteenth or fifteenth century. It may have
boen used in the terrible battle of Crcssy, for all
any one knows. The cross-bow was the most
deadly of all the ntissile weapons before the per-
fecting <)f fire-arms. The Spaniards brought
it to the greatest degree of efficiency, but the
French and English also made very fine cross-
bows. You see how simply it is constructed.
The stock is of black oak, carved to suit the taste
of the maker, whilst the lathe, or bow, is of spring
steel. The stocks of some cross-bows are straight,
others arc crooked, somewhat after the shape of the
stock of a gun. A great many of these weapons
had wooden bows in the place of steel lathes ;
these were made of yew-wood. The arrows of the
cross-bow were called quarrels, or bolts. They
were shorter, thicker, and heavier than the arrows
of the English long-bow. The place in the cross-
bow where the string is fastened when it is pulled
back, ready to shoot, is called the nut. From the
nut to the fore end of the stock the wood is hol-
lowed out, so that, when a quarrel is placed in posi-
tion for firing, it does not touch the stock, except
at the tip of its notch and the point where it lies
on the fore end. The trigger, as you sec, works
on a pivot, causing the nut to free the string, where-
upon the bow discharges the quarrel.
862
THE STORY OF THE ARBALIST.
[September,
"The history of the cross-bow is very interest-
ing. You will find that Richard the Lion-hearted
was a great cross-bowman. He used to carry a
very strong arbalist (the old name for cross-bow)
with him wherever he went. Even on his long
expedition to Palestine against the Saracens his
favorite weapon (possibly it may have been that
one hanging over the mantel there) was his con-
stant companion."
"Oh, Papa!" cried the younger boy, in an ex-
cited voice, "do you really think that can be
King Richard's bow ? "
" I have no means of telling whose bow it may
once have been," replied his father. "But
I was going to tell you that Richard Cceur
de Lion, at the ciege of Ascalon, is said
to have aimed his quarrels so skillfully that
many an armed warrior on the high walls
was pierced through and through.
" The steel bolts fired from the strongest
cross-Ijows would crash through any but
the very finest armor. There are breast-
plates and helmets of steel, preserved among
British antiquities, which have been
pierced by quarrels. 1 have read in old
books, written in French and
Spanish, all about how these
terrible weapons were made ._ i
and used."
"Tell us more about Rich-
ard the Lion-hearted," urged
the younger bo>', who deliglit
ed in stories of battle.
" Richard was killed
by a quarrel from a
French cross-bow," re-
plied the father.
" Oh, dear ! " cried
the boys.
'■ Yes, I will tell you
the story as I have gath-
ered it from the old
accounts : A plowman
in the province of Com-
piegne unearthed a gold
statuette of Minei-va, a
most valuable thing.
This he divided, send-
ing one half to Richard, and keeping the other
half himself. But, you know, in those days a
king wanted everything. Richard's lion heart
could not brook to divide a treasure with one of
his vassals. So he peremptorily demanded the
other half of the treasure, which being refused, he
called together a small army and went to la\' siege
to the strong castle of Chains, in Normandy,
wherein the treasure was said to be hidden. But
it was a dear expedition for the bold king. A
famous cross-bowman by the name of Bertram de
Jourdan, standing on the tall turret of the castle,
Saw Richard riding around in the plain below and
LISTENING TO THE STORY OF THE ARBALIST.
took steady aim at him. This Bertram de Jourdan
had cause to hate the king, for Richard had killed
his two brothers with his own hand. So when he
pressed the trigger of his powerful cross-bow he
sent a hiss of revenge along with the steel-headed
quarrel. Richard heard the keen twang of the
bow-string and bent low over the bow of his saddle,
but the arrow struck him in the shoulder and he
died of the wound. So, you see, he would have
1 883. J
THE STORY OF THE ARBALIST
863
done better to leave that gold alone. However, his
men stormed the castle and brought Bertram de
Jourdan before him while he lay dying. Richard
was too noble to mistreat a prisoner, so he gave
the cross-bowman a magnificent present and ordered
him to be set at liberty. But one Marcadee. an
infamous brute, who was next in command to
Richard, as soon as the king was dead ordered De
Jourdan to be flayed alive and hung up for the
vultures to eat."
'■ Oh, how mean and cowardly ! " exclaimed the
younger boy, indignantly. •" If I'd been there and
had a cross-bow, 1 'd have shot that miserable
Marcadee ! "
" Yes," said the older boy, •' and then his
soldiers would have hacked you to pieces in a
minute."
" It may be," said their father, reflectively,
" that our cross-bow up there is the very one
with which Bertram de Jourdan killed the lion-
hearted king."
'■ If it is, let 's burn it up I " said the younger boy.
'• I would n't have a cross-bow about that would do
so mean a thing."
"On the 2d of August, in the year iioo," con-
tinued the father, " William II., surnamed Rufus,
a famous king of England, and a son of the con-
queror, was killed by a cross-bow bolt in the forest
at Charningham, accidentally, it is said, by Sir
Walter Tyrrel, his bow-bearer. A nephew of King
Rufus had been killed in May of the same year by
a like mishap. But the deeds done w ith the cross-
bow were not all so bloody and terrible. From a
very early date in the history of France companies
of cross-bowmen have existed, among which those
at Lisle, Roulaix, Lennoy, Comines, Le Guesnoy,
and Valenciennes may be mentioned as prominent.
That at Roulaix was instituted by Pierre de Roulaix
in 1 49 1, a year before America was discovered by
Columbus. The members of these societies shot
at targets and marks of various kinds, and their
meetings were often the occasion for great pomp
and splendor. Many of these companies have been
suppressed by law in comparatively recent times.
"The sportsmen of Spain and France used the
cross-bow as their principal hunting weapon up to
the time when the flint-lock fire-arm had reached
a degree of power and accuracy at short range
second only to the perfected weapon of the nine-
teenth century. In England, as far back as the
reign of William Rufus, laws were passed forbid-
ding the use of the arbalist, excepting by persons
having especial royal permit. This was because
the cross-bow, particularly the kind with a wind-
lass attachment to draw the string, was so destruc-
tive to the king's deer. You will at once see the
great advantage the arbalist gave to huntsmen who
used it instead of the long-bow ; for he could
shoot from any tangled thicket where a long-bow-
man could not use his weapon at all. Then, too,
it required years of patient practice before a man
could shoot well enough with a long-bow to hit a
deer, while any one, with but a day or two's expe-
rience, could successfully aim a cross-bow.
"The mediaeval arbalister, as the cross-bowman
was called, is represented in old drawings and
THE MODEHN BOV WITH HIS CROSS-BOW.
engravings as a strong, heavy-limbed man, wear-
ing a helmet and a coat of chain mail, or of quilted
silk and thongs of raw-hide, and a loose, shirt-like
garment over all, belted at the waist. He stands
in the attitude of aiming, with his feet planted
firmly on the ground, his bow-stock resting in the
hollow of his left hand, whilst his right forefinger
presses the trigger. He takes sight over the point
of his quarrel. His altitude is very much like that
of a rifleman aiming a rifle.
'•I have told you that the Spaniards were proba-
bly the most skillful arbalist-makers in the world,
864
THE STORY UF THE A RB A LIST.
[September,
but I forgot to relate how I once came near becom-
ing the owner of a genuine old Spanish weapon. I
was at St. Augustine, that strange old town on
the coast of Florida, and was having a man dig up
a plant which grew close beside the crumbling
wall that flanks the famous gate, when his hoe
struck something hard, and he dragged out of the
loose sand a rusty bow of iron set in a piece of
rotten oak-wood."
" That was luck ! " exclaimed the older boy.
" But it belonged to the man who dug it up,"
interposed the younger.
" Not when Papa had hu'ed him," replied the
elder.
" As 1 was proceeding to tell you," continued
their father, •' it proved to be "
" Oh, how came it there.' ' cried the younger
boy, excitedly. " Tell us the story 1 "
" Well, he was telling it, and you went and
stopped him," said the elder.
" Now Claude," said the younger, whose name
was Jesse, " you know I did n't mean it I "
" You know," said their father, " that when that
celebrated captain, the blood-thirsty Menendez,
was fighting everybody, white or Indian, that he
could find in Florida, his cross-bowmen used to
prowl all through the woods where St. .Augustine
now stands, and they no doubt had many a deadly
trial of skill with the cunning Indian archers.
WHAT HE AIMED AT,
AND WHAT HE HIT [sHE PAGE 866.]
This, of course, might be one of Menendez's arbal-
ists, or even one of De Soto's. To be sure, it was a
mere fragment, which the teeth of time had lett
for me ; but would n't the merest rotten splinter
and rusty remnant of those knightly days be worth
a good deal ? "
" I should think so," said Claude.
"Tell us about fighting the Indians and the
wild game and all," said Jesse.
"Oh, for that matter," said the father, " those
Spanish soldiers were great murderers. Once
when De Soto and his men were pursuing some
flying savages, a warrior suddenly turned his face
toward the Spaniards and halted. He was anried
with a long-bow and arrows, and was just across a
narrow river from his foes. He made signs that
he challenged any one of the Spanish cross-bow-
men to fight a duel with him. The challenge was
accepted by one Juan de Salinas, a most expert
arbalister, who stepped forth and faced the Indian.
The comrades of Salinas offered to cover him with
their shields, but the brave soldier scorned to take
advantage of a naked savage. So he refused the
cover, and placing a quarrel on the nut of his drawn
bow made ready to shoot. The Indian also was
ready by this time, and both discharged their ar-
rows at the same moment. But Salinas was cooler
under such stress of danger than the Indian was, and
so took truer aim. His quarrel pierced the savage
warrior's heart, and he fell dead. The bows of the
savages «ere puny things when matched against
the steel arbalists of the trained Spanish soldiers.
The Indian's slender reed arrow passed through
the nape of Juan de Salinas' neck, but without
seriously hurting him. A quilted shirt of doubled
silk was sufficient protection against most of the
Indian missiles, and a man in steel armor was
proof against all."
" But did the man let you have the old cross-
bow he dug up .' " asked Claude, as his father
stopped speaking.
" I picked it up," said his father, " and found
it to be a rotten barrel-stave with an arc of old
rusted hoop fastened to it." '
"Oh, pshaw ! " cried Jesse. " You were badly
sold, were n't you '' "
" But to go back to hunting with the cross-bow,"
said his father. " I have seen a picture of Queen
Elizabeth of England, representing her in the act
of shooting at a deer with an arbalist. "
" Oh, Papa ! May be our cross-bow was the one
she used ! " said Claude, breathlessly.
"Why, Claude," exclaimed Jesse, in a tone of
voice that indicated surprise, " you know very well
that a woman never could have handled that
bow ! "
" But Oueen Elizabeth had a strong man for her
bow-bearer," said his father, "and all she had to
do was to take aim and pull the trigger after the
bow-bearer had made the arbalist all ready for
shooting. Nevertheless, I think she would not
have chosen so heavy a weapon. Its recoil might
have hurt her. "
iSSa.)
THE STOKV UF THE AKUALIST.
865
"The manner of hunting deer in those days
was to stand in a spot whence you could see in all
directions through the forest, while a number of
expert woodsmen drove the game near to you as
you held your arbalist ready
to shoot. If you shot at a
running deer you would have
to aim far ahead of it in
order to hit it.
■' Hare or rabbit shooting
was great sport for the cross-
bowmen. For this purpose
lighter arbalists were used.
The hunter kept carefully
trained dogs, somewhat like
our pointers and setters,
whose business it was to find
the game. Twenty-five yards
was about the usual distance
for shooting at rabljits. They
were rarely shot while run-
ning.
"A cross-bow for throwing
pebbles, called a stone-bow,
was used in small bird shoot-
ing. This weapon was also
called a rodd. .At short dis-
tances it shot with great force
and precision. The rodd dif-
fered very little from tlic or-
dinary arbalist. Its string
was armed with a sort of loop
or pouch at the middle for
holding the pebble or small
stone. Some men became
very expert in the use of the
stone-bow. There are old
pictures which seem to con-
vey the idea thiil birds were
shot on the wing ; but I doubt
if that could be done with so
clumsy an instrument as the ,,
rodd."
■■ Papa, 1 think my rubber guji must be some-
what like a rodd," said Jesse. " You know it has
an attachment for shooting bullets."
"Yes," replied his father; '"it is the same
principle. But your rubber gun shoots by the
elasticity of its string;, while the rodd was a real
cross-bow, or arbalist, many of them having power-
ful lathes of steel.
"The long-bowniL-n of Kngland cordially hated
the .arbalisters, especially when it came to shooting
game in the green woods. The good yeomen who
had spent years of unremitting practice to become
proficient w'ith the famous Norman long-bow, could
not bear to see lazy fellows, who had never given a
month to practice, coming into the best hunting-
grounds armed with those murderous steel cross-
bows. A great deal of quarreling and bloodshed
was the result. So, as I have said, the Government
of England passed stringent laws against the arbal-
ist, and the weapon became somewhat dishonored.
But in France and Spain it held the supreipacy
over all the weapons of the chase. Even to this
day in Spain a hunter is called ballastcro, which
means cross-bowman or arbalister.
" Uc Espinar, a Spanish writer of the seventeenth
century, in a curious and most delightful book on
hunting and field sports, gives minute details of the
^and royal hunting matches in the time of Philip
IV. of Spain; but 1 think the arbalist fell into
comparative disuse at about the end of the first
half of the seventeenth century.
" The strongest and most deadly arbalists were
866
THE STORY OF THE A REALIST.
[September,
those constructed with monlinet pulleys and mov-
able handles or cranks, which gave a man power to
spring a bow of enormous strength. These were
clumsy instruments and rather uncouth in appear-
ance."
"But, Papa," exclaimed Jesse, "why don't you
sometimes take the old cross-bow and go hunting ?
I should think it would be just splendid fun ! "
His father gazed into the fire and smiled rather
grimly, as if some curious recollection had been
suddenly called up.
" I did tr)' that once," he presently said.
" Oh, tell us about it ! " cried both boys, drawing
their chairs closer to him and leaning forward in
their eagerness.
" It was soon after I got the arbalist," continued
their father, "when the idea of trying its shooting
qualities came into my mind. I think I must have
allowed the poetry of the thought to get the better
of me, for I never once stopped to consider the
chances of any disastrous result to the experiment.
For some time the hares had been gnawing at my
young apple-trees. This afforded me a good ex-
cuse, if any was needed, for shooting the little
pests. So one morning I took do\vn the old cross-
bow and its quarrels and went forth, as I imagine
the poachers of the fourteenth century used to do
in Merrie Englande, to have an hour or two of
sport. It chanced that the first live thing I saw
was a gold-shafted woodpecker. It was on an old
stump, and I thought I would try a shot at it.
But I found it no easy task to pull the string back
to the nut. I tell you that steel bow ^vas strong.
The string came near cutting my hands, 1 had to
pull so hard. At last I got the weapon sprung and
a quarrel in the groove, ready for firing ; but when
I looked for my bird it was gone and I could not
find it any more. So I kept the bow set and my
thumb on the nut to prevent any accidental dis-
charge, as I pursued my search for game. Hares
were plenty in this region then, and it was not long
before I discovered one lying in its form. A form
is the shallow bed a hare sleeps in during the day-
time. I was not more than fort)' feet distant from
it as it lay in its peculiar crouching attitude, amid
the thin weeds and briers. I raised the arbalist,
and took careful aim at the little animal. When I
thought all was right, 1 pressed the trigger « ith the
forefinger of my right hand. Clang ! whack ! you
ought to have heard that racket. The recoil was
astonishing, and painful as well. The stock had
jumped against my chin and hurt it; but I did not
take my eyes off the hare. You never saw any-
thing so badly scared. The quarrel had hit the
ground just a little short of the game and was
sticking there. The hare had turned its head and
was gazing wildly at the quarrel, but the next second
it leaped from its form and scudded away, soon dis-
appearing in a thicket of sassafras and persimmon
bushes. Upon another occasion I tried the same
feat again, with a somewhat different but equally
unsatisfactory result. Though my aim this time
was truer, the second hare was too quick for me.
Simultaneously with the 'clang' of the bow it
disappeared in the thicket, my arrow burying itself
harmlessly in the hollow it had just quitted. This
was the last of my cross-bow shooting, however.
The recoil of my second shot had snapped one limb
of the steel lathe of the arbalist short off."
" Oh, Papa, that would spoil it ! " said Jesse.
" So it did. I got a skillful workman to rivet
the lathe, but of course it is spoiled for all shooting
purposes, and must hang over the mantel as a
mere relic of the past. Sometimes I half imagine
it broke in sheer resentment at having a nineteenth-
century man presume to disturb the long rest it had
enjoyed since Richard Coeur de Lion, or Bertram
de Jourdan, or Sir \Valter Tyrrcl, or Queen Eliza-
beth, or Ponce de Leon had last fired it."
" I am sorrv it is broken," said Claude, rue-
fully.
Soon after this the boys kissed their mother good-
night, and went to bed to dream of mediaeval days
and mighty feats with the arbalist.
1882.1
THE MARLBOROUGH SANDS.
867
DO YOU KNOW SUCH HOYS?
(A TaU 0/ the M,irlbarvugh Sands.)
By Eliot McCormick.
Tom Kidder lay stretched up(in tlu- hay 111 the
loft of his father's barn, idly whittling a piece of
wood with his new knife, and listening to the
superior conversation of his latest acquaintance,
Dick Jones. Tom had never been out of .Sconsett
in his life, — except once when he went to Portland,
— and heard with deep interest the marvelous tales
which Dick, who was a summer visitor down at the
beach, had brought from Ikjston. The two boys
were about the same age, but Tom regarded Iiis
friend with as deep veneration as though Dick had
been Methuselah. It was a beautiful summer
afternoon, the air was perfectly still and not very
warm, and Dick, having exhausted for the time his
stock of adventures, began to find the haymow too
confining for his restless ambition.
•■ Say," he remarked,'- don't you want to harness
up the horse and take me down to the beach ? It
would be a nice afternoon for a drive, and I ought
to be going home."
Tom looked a little uncomfortable.
" I don't believe 1 can do that," he said. ■" Kather
has gone off with the buggy and old Sam."
" So much the better," remarked Dick. " That
leaves the other horse for you and ine, don't you
see? Only it's a nuisance that \vc shall have to
take the wagon."
" But 1 can't," remonstrated Tom. •' Father never
lets any one drive Prince but himself, and never
harnesses him to the wagon. I '11 row you down to
the ferry-pier, though, and you can take the train
thereover to Marlborough."
Dick curled up his lip in a disagreeable way,
rising at the same time to his feet. "Thanks,"
he said, "but I guess I'll walk. Only I don't
see how 1 can get up here very often if it is such
hard work to get back. It is n't any joke, you
know, to walk two miles through the heat and
dust."
Tom was in an agony of mortification.
•• Oh, I say, Dick ! " he cried, " you know I don't
want )'ou to walk : let me row you down to the
pier. The tide will be running out in ten minutes,
and it will be an easy row. Or, stay here all night,
wont you .' and 1 '11 row up to tow n and telephone
down to the beach that you wont be home."
But Dick was quite inflexible.
"No," he declared, "I am not going to be
drowned in the river, and I can't stay all night. I
have got an appointment at six o'clock, at the hotel.
868
THE MARLBOROUGH SANDS.
[September,
If you can't harness up Prince, as you call him,
why, I '11 have to walk."
" But he balks," faltered Tom.
" Balks, does he ? Well, if there 's one thing I 'm
more glad to get hold of than another it 's a balk\-
horse. Why, my dear boy, 1 know a trick that
will cure the worst case you ever saw. "
Tom hesitated. Had not his father said, only the
day before, that if some one could not cure Prince
of his balking the horse must be sold ? What a
grand thing it would be if he could take Prince out
and bring him back cured ! Deacon Kidder did
not like FJick, as Tom very well knew, but if Dick
should cure Prince the Deacon could have no reason
for not liking him.
" How do you do it ? " Tom asked at length.
Dick surveyed him with an air of surprise.
"How do I do it?" he asked. "Well, I guess
that 's my secret. May be you wont find out how
when you 've seen it done, but I '11 do it all the
same. Does he balk when you drive him ? "
" I never drove him," said Tom, meekly.
" Never drove him ? Well, before 1 'd let a
horse like that stand idle in my father's stable while
my father was awa) , I 'd know it. It 's time you
began, young fellow. You can drive him part of
the way this afternoon.''
Now, considering that the horse belonged to
Tom's father, and that if either of the two boys had
a right to drive him it was not Dick, this offer
was not so magnanimous as it seemed. Indeed, it
was what Tom himself, if he had not been dazzled
by Dick's air of superiority, would have called
impudent ; but just now he was under a spell which
blinded his judgment and made him willing to do
things that at other times he would not have
dreamed of doing.
"Well, I 'd like to drive Prince," he admitted.
■"Of course you would, and if \ou 'd had any
pluck you 'd ha\e driven him long ago. The idea
of a fellow like you having to take that old cow
every time you go out ! Why, your father ought
to buy you a light wagon and let you drive Prince
out every afternoon. I dare say you could train
him so that he 'd go inside of three minutes.
Come, let 's go down and harness."
Tom still deliberated. He felt flattered by
Dick's sugared compliments and enticed by his
wily suggestions and stung by his contempt. Per-
haps it was the contempt that decided him ; for
when Dick rather sneeringly remarked. "Afraid,
are you ? " Tom with a quick, angry flush jumped
to his feet and faced his friend.
" No, I 'm not afraid ! " he said. " 1 dare say
Father '11 thrash me for it ; but I 'm not afraid."
"Oh, he wont thrash you, if you bring the
horse back cured."
" W'ell. 1 don't know." said Tom, reflectively.
■' Father would n't believe he was cured until he 'd
tried him himself; but we '11 go down just the
same and harness him."
Tom had not lived on a farm all his life without
knowing how to harness a horse, but Dick, when
it came to putting Prince in the wagon, did not
display that proficiency which his somewhat boast-
ful conversation had led Tom to expect from him.
Tom, indeed, had to go over his work, straighten-
ing out the trace, readjusting the breeching strap,
and making things generally safe and sure. It
was strange, he thought, that a fellow «ho knew
so much about horses should not know more about
harnessing them ; but then, perhaps, that had al-
ways been done for him. At any rate, the job was
now complete and they were ready to start.
" Which way did your father go ? " asked Dick,
as they got in the wagon.
"Oh, father went up to Lyman," said Tom.
"We sha'n't meet him anywhere. Which road
shall we take ? "
" Let 's keep down your road." returned Dick.
" That will take us to the Ferry Beach, then we
can drive along the beach to Marlborough."
" You forget about the quicksands," objected
Tom. Dick threw back his head and laughed.
" Of all ridiculous tales," he declared, "that
quicksand story is about the worst I ever heard !
Why, I drove over there the other day, and it was
like a floor the whole way."
" A horse and wagon were swallowed up there
once," observed Tom, soberly.
Dick's lip curled, "Oh, pshaw !" he said, "1
don't believe a word of it. I 'm not afraid."
By this time they were fairly on their way. The
horse as yet had not shown the slightest symptom
of balking, which, though it certainly made the
drive more agreeable, left Tom without the excuse
which he had been making to himself for taking
the horse out.
" It 's always the way," he said, gloomily. " If
nobody \Nanted him to balk, he would be sure to
do it."
"Who wants him to balk?" said Dick, flecking
a fly oft" of Prince's flank with the whip. " I 'm sure
I don't; perhaps he '11 gratify you coming back."
This possibility had not struck Tom before.
" Suppose he should ? " he exclaimed.
Dick laughed. For the first time it struck Tom
what a cold, disagreeable laugh Dick's was.
"Well, you 'd have to get along the best way.
you could," he said, mdifferently.
" And wont you tell me your trick ? "
Dick smiled, and made no response.
There was a few minutes' silence while the wagon
rolled swiftly along the road. However much
1882.]
THE MARLBOROUGH SAN US.
869
Dick might be enjoying it, the ride was already
becoming to Tom a very unpleasant experience.
The sense of his disobedience and of his father's
displeasure, his fear lest the horse might balk when
he should be alone, and his dread of the Marlbor-
ough Sands combined to make his situation ex-
tremely uncomfortable.
" Fine, is n't it? ' remarked Dick at length.
Tom mumbled something which might have
been either yes or no.
" It '11 be finer, though," Dick continued, "when
we get down to the beach."
This time Tom did not say a word, and tlio\
drove along without speaking until another turn
brought them in sight of the Bay View House.
In a moment more they had passed the house and
crossed the railroad track and gained the hard sur-
face of the sand beyond.
" (ilorious 1 " Dick cried. "Reminds me of
Nantasket."
" Nantasket ! " exclaimed Tom, indignantly;
" there isn't another beach like the Marlborough
in the world."
It seemed, indeed, as if Tom must be right. Far
away in the direction which they were taking
curved the hard, level sand — so far, indeed, that
the eye could not discern the end ; and though it
was high tide, there were yet a himdred feet be-
tween them and the rippling waves. They were
leaving the Ferry Beach, as it was called, behind
them, and were approaching the little river whicli
marked the boundary of Marlborough Beach
and concealed, as Tom had said, the dreaded
quicksands. Already they had crossed or.e or
two little rivulets when Tom, who had been keep-
ing a sharp watch, saw the glitter of a wider stream
not far ahead.
"Now look out for the sands," he cried.
" They 're right along here where one of these
inlets sets in from the sea."
Dick hit the horse with the whip.
"Oh, bother take the sands!" he exclaimed.
" 1 don't believe there are any."
"Here it is!" cried Tom, excitedly, "right
ahead ^ Dick, you shall stop! " and leaning over
he grasped both reins and pulled up the horse on
the brink of a stream about fifty feet wide, the
appearance of which certainly gave no cause for
alarm. One could hardly imagine that under-
neath the rushing water lurked the terrible power
to seize and drag down those who might venture to
cross it.
"Let go!" shouted Dick, angrily, tearing the
reins away from Tom's hold. " What a fool you
are ! Don't you know that 's the worst thir^ in
the world to do ? I 'm going through here, quick-
sands or no quicksands. There 's a wagon ahead
that has been through, and where one man has
gone another can go, I guess."
There was a wagon ahead, — that was a fact, —
and, as the tracks showed, it had been through the
stream. The marks of the wheels going down one
bank were quite plain, and they were equally plam
going up the other. Seeing that, Tom felt some-
what reassured and withal a little ashamed of his
own haste.
"Well," he said, "perhaps it may be further
on, but this looks just like the place."
"Of course it is further on," said Dick, mock-
ingly, " if it 's anywhere. 1 don't believe it's
anywhere. Get up ! " he cried, striking Prince
again with the whip.
The horse, still obedient, started forward and
walked cautiously into the river. Then, as he felt
the water rising about his fetlocks, he raised his
feet nervously and showed a disposition to stop.
•' Get up ! " said Dick again, with a snap.
But Prmce did not get up. On the contrary, he
stood still. They were by this time a dozen feet
past the water's edge; the water was rushing vio-
lently under the body of the wagon, and Tom
noticed, to his dismay, not only that the body
was nearer the surface of the water than it had
Ijeen a moment before, but that the wagon
tracks on the opposite side, at which they had
aimed, were several feet up stream.
'■ It is the Marlborough Sands ! " he cried; " and
oh, Dick ! we arc going down ! "
.At the same moment, the man in the wagon
ahead happened to turn around and discovered
their perilous position.
" Whip your horse ! " Tom could hear him cry;
" for heaven s sake, whip your horse ! "
Dick had already been whipping the horse, but
whether the wagon was too heavy to be pulled out
of the shifting sand, or the animal himself was con-
trary, they did not move an inch, except as the swift
current carried them down the river, and the sand
threatened to swallou' them up. .Already the
wagon had sunk to the hubs of the wheels.
" Jump ! " cried the man, driving back to the
Ijank; "jump now ! It 's your only chance ! "
Dick threw down the whip and flung the reins
over the da.shboard. " I was a fool to trust myself
lo a balky horse ! " he said. " You 'd better jump,
Tom, while you 've got a chance, and leave the
brute to take care of himself 1 'm going now."
With these words he clambered into the back of
the wagon, coolly removed the second seat, tossed
it into the river, and then jumped in after it. The
seat served as a buoy to keep him above the dan-
gerous sands, and with a few rapid strokes he
gained the shore which they had left. Without
waiting to see how Tom came nut of the scrape, he
87C
THE M A K L B O R U U G H SANDS.
[SEITtMBER,
made his way up the stream to where it might be
crossed, and thence as quickly as he could go to
the hotel.
Tom, meanwhile, sat hopeless and dazed. Rather
than go back to his father without the horse he
would go down with the wagon. It would n't be
long, if he sat there, before he would be drowned.
How terribly he was paying for his disobedience,
and how ill prepared he was to die ! The cries of
the man urging him to jump fell on deaf ears. He
could not jump and leave Prince to drown.
But need he leave Prince ? A sudden thought
roused him from his stupor. Leaning over the
dashboard he cut the traces with two strokes of
his sharp knife. Another stroke severed the strap
that connects the saddle with the breeching ; then,
gathering the reins in his hands and stepping care-
fully on the shaft, he mounted Prince's back and
hit him sharply with the reins. The horse, alive to
the situation, plunged forward. Tom's feet pushed
the tugs awa}' from the shafts, and with another
plunge the shafts dropped into the river. The
horse stood free. Another plunge — the reins
were not needed now to urge him — and his feet
were extricated from the shifting bottom. Another,
and Prince, quivering like a leal, was scrambling
up the farther shore. The whole operation had
taken but a moment, but when Tom had leaped
from the horse's back and looked around for the
wagon, he discovered with a thrill of horror that it
had disappeared from sight.
" Well ! " exclaimed the man, who had watched
the proceeding with eager interest, " that was a
smart thing to do, but let me tell you, young fel-
low, you had a pretty narrow escape."
Tom's face had not yet regained its natural
color, nor his voice its usual steadiness.
" Yes," he said, soberly, " I suppose 1 did."
" Horse balk ? " inquired the other.
Tom nodded.
" Wont do it again," said the man, " no more'n
you '11 cross the Marlb'ro' Sands again with a heavy
wagon at a high tide."
" 1 guess 1 wont," said Tom. '" I did n't want to
do it to day."
" The other fellow led you into it, did he ? Well,
you wont be led so easy the next time. Going up
Sconsett way ? "
" Yes," said Tom; " 1 'm Deacon Kidder's son."
The man whistled. " Deacon Kidder your pa !"
he exclaimed. " Land's sake ! wont you get it when
you get home ! Guess 1 'd better stop in and
tell them how cute you saved the horse. You
can ride up with me, if you like."
'•Thank you," said Tom, "I'll be glad to ride
up with you, but I '11 tell father myself about
The fact is, I took the horse and wagon without
leave, and 1 shan't feel quite easy until 1 've made it
right."
"You '11 get a thrashing," said the man. who
seemed to be intimately acquainted with the
deacon's peculiarities.
■' All right ! " said Tom cheerfully. "I'd rather
be thrashed than feel mean."
" Well," said the man, as he whipped up his
own horse and the two started off, leading Prince
behind, " so would I ; but I '11 tell you what I 'd do
— I 'd take it out of that other fellow the next time
1 met him."
Tom laughed.
" Oh ! " he said, " I don't want to take it out of
anybody. 1 'm too glad to have got out of that
place alive to feel mad."
" Well, you had a mighty narrow escape," said
the man again, as though that, after all, was the
chief impression which the affair had left upon his
mind.
Did Tom get a thrashing r Well, 1 am obhged
to admit that he did. He brought back the horse,
to be sure, but then he had had no business to
take the horse out ; beside which he had lost the
wagon. He bore the chastisement, however, very
philosophically, knowing that he deserved it, and
after it was all over told his father that Mr. Chase
— John Chase, of Lyman, which Tom had discov-
ered to be the man's name — had said that the horse
would never balk again. The deacon was ver)'
incredulous, but as it turned out Mr. Chase was
right. Prince never did balk again — except once
when the deacon tried to drive him through the
Marlborough Sands at low- tide. Then he rebelled ;
and not all Mr. Kidder's persuasions could induce
him to take one step until he had been turned
around, when he went willingly enough in the
opposite direction.
The credit for the horse's cure Dick Jones hast-
ened to take to himself.
" Yes," he would say, in answer to people's in-
quiries, " 1 drove him out one day, and he has n't
balked since."
Unfortunately, however, he repeated this tale in
the hotel office one evening when Tom's friend, Mr.
Chase, whom Dick did not recognize, happened to
be present.
"Was that the day," Mr. Chase asked, quietly,
"when you drove the horse into Marlborough
Sands and then jumped out of the wagon, leaving
Tom Kidder and the horse to drown ? "
Dick flushed scarlet.
" Tom need n't have staid," he stammered.
"Tom staid to look after the horse ; and if you
had been any kind of a man you 'd have done it,
too. It was Tom Kidder who got the horse out,
1882.]
•PHK M A R LlioRiilc; H SANUS.
871
and if anybody cured his balking it was Tom Kid- " Well, I 'ni glad of it," he said. " When he
der who did that. Don't toll your stor)' around jumped out of that wagon it seemed as though a
here any more, Uick Jones. People might not ray of light lit him all up and showed what a mean
believe it, you know." little soul he had. People get e.xpcriences," he
Dick took the advice, leaving the next day for added, meditatively, " in very queer ways. I am
Boston and nev'er re-appearing in the place. Tom sure I never got so much in all my life as in
was not sorr)' when he heard Dick had gone. that one moment on the Marlborough Sands."
rnK SKITFMBER Nt'MBER — JVST OUT.
872
LAUGHING I.ILL
[September,
LAUGHING LILL.
Bv M. J.
Laughing Lill lives on the hill.
Where runs the water to the mill,
And be the day or fair or gray,
She sings her merry roundelay :
" Come weal or woe, come good or ill,
The stream goes dancing to the mill :
The robin sings, whate'er the skj-,
And so do I ! "
The rain ma\- fall, the loud winds call.
And stormy clouds be over all.
But laughing Lill she carols still.
While sweeter grows her merry trill:
Come weal or woe, come good or ill,
The stream goes rippling by the mill ;
The robin sings, though dark the sky,
And so will 1 ! '
iSSi )
Till!: LAND Ul" NODDY
873
Tin: LAM) OF NODDY.— A LULI.ARV
By Rossiter Johnson.
Put away the bauble and the bib.
Smooth out the pillows in the crib.
Softly on the down
Lay the baby's crown.
Warm around its feet
Tuck the little sheet, —
Snug as a pea in a pod !
With a jawn and a gap.
And a dreamy little nap.
We will go, we will go,
To the Landy-andy-pandy
Of Noddy-oddy-poddy,
To the Landy-andy-pand
Of -Noddy-pod.
There in the Shadow-maker's tent.
After the twilight's soft descent.
We 'II lie down to dreams
Of milk in flowing streams :
And the Shadow-maker's baby
Will lie down with us. may be,
On the soft, mossy pillow of the sod.
In a drowse and a doze,
.All asleep from head to toes,
We will lie, we will lie,
In the Landy-andy-pandy
Of Noddy-oddy-poddy,
In the Landy-andy-pand
Of Noddy-pod.
Then when the morning breaks,
Then when the lark awakes,
We will leave the drowsy dreams,
And the twinkling starry gleams ;
We will leave the little tent.
And the wonders in it pent.
To return to our own native sod.
With a hop and a skip.
And a jump and a flip,
We will come, we will come,
From the Landy-andy-pandy
Of Noddy-oddy-poddy,
From the Landy-and\-pand
Of Noddy-pod.
Thk sail-boat and tlie catamaran,
riiey had a race in the frying-pan ;
Hut the water was rough, and the sail-boat sank.
.\nd the other thing, somehow, ran into the bank.
So the race was done.
Though nobody won,
.And the frying-pan had all tliu fun.
874
S E P T E M B E R .
iSSi.]
HOW THE CHILUKliN KAKXEL) MONEY FOR CHARITY
875
HOW THE CHILDREN i-:arm;i) mum:y 1-or charity.
Bv (',. ]}. liAuii.i- rr.
Many years ago, in a little village among the
hills, lived sonic children whose names you would
know \er)- well if you saw them here ; but it would
not do to make them public, for, to tell the trutli,
some of them have not grown any older yet in
heart, although their merry faces are wrinkled
with the smiles of age, and the tops of their heads
resemble snow-drifts. As they lived long before
the iron horse had dug through the mountain bar-
riers, only one of them had ever seen a city. He
had made a trip to Boston on the stage, starting
before daylight, and riding all the next day and
night over the route now traveled by the express
train in a few hours. The hero of this remark-
able expedition was named Joseph, and, like the
"dunces who have been to Rome," he seldom failed
to allude in every possible manner to his advent-
ures abroad. So, when the children met to dis-
cuss the project of giving a theatrical performance
in order to raise money enough to buy a Thanks-
giving turkey for a poor widow, Joseph was, of
course, chosen manager, because he had seen a
real play at the Museum.
" My friends," said the oracle, in his opening
speech, "you will need a curtain, and a place in
which to hang it."
" My father will let us use the mill-chamber,"
said blue-eyed Katy, the miller's daughter; "for
the stream is so low that he will not work there for
a month, and there are lots of boards which we can
use if we do not spoil them."
" Very well," said Joseph; "to-morrow will be
Saturday, and we w^ill meet at the mill to build the
stage and cast our plays ; so let us all bring any
pieces of cloth we can borrow, and as many play-
books as possible."
So that bright afternoon sun, as it shone cheerily
through the chinks and cracks of the mill-garret,
lit up the bright faces of the children who were
preparing for the opening of their theater. The
boys first brought up the boards and carefully
piled them at the western end of the room, until
they had formed a platform three feet high across
one end of the chamber, while the girls sewed into
three curtains the motley strips of cloth which they
had borrowed from their mothers' rag-bags — the
odd combinations of materials and shades thus
obtained producing an elTect very much like some
of the grotesque draperies which the modern
art-lovers profess to admire. The most showy
Vol. IX.— 56.
piece was chosen for the central curtain, upon the
edge of which brass rings were sewed. The boys
next stretched a wire across the room at just the
same distance from the stage as the height of
the curtain, on which the girls had strung the
rings before it was fastened in place. A post
was then put up at each side of the curtain,
and securely nailed to the stage and to the top
beams of the room, and the two other pieces
of cloth tacked, one on each side, to the post
and to the sides of the room. Two other cur-
tains were made, large enough to fill the spaces
from the posts to the back of the room, thus
forming a dressing-room on each side of the
stage, the entrances to which were made by
pushing away the curtains at the front and rear
corners, as required. The only change of scene
from interior to exterior was made by pine-trees
fastened into wooden blocks, which could be
placed in various positions. The setting sun
lighted up the completed stage, and the busy
children grouped themselves in restful attitudes
upon it, to select and cast the play. Dramatic
works had, at that time, little place among the
libraries of the simple farm-folk, who were content
with " Pilgrim's Progress,"" F"ox's Martyrs,"and the
weekly visits of T/w Plouglniiaii. But the lawyer's
daughter, Annie, had brought a volume of Shake-
speare's plays, and golden-haired Mabel had her
"Mother Cioose," the best and only play-book she
had ever known.
" Shakespeare," said Joseph, " is a good writer,
for I saw one of his plays myself ' Hamlet' was
the name of it, and 1 will Ijc Ilamhi, for 1 know
how to act."
The children, of course, agreed, and each accepted
the part which the manager assigned to him or
her. Maggie was to be the Queen, because she was
so tall, and Dick was unanimously chosen for the
Ghost, because he was so thin. Bill Jones was
ofTered the part of Poloniii.t, because he liked to
use big words ; and sweet Mabel Drake took
Ophelia, because she had lovely long hair and a
brand-new white dress. Laertes was given to .Sam
Williams, because he was a good fighter — for they
decided to ha\-e the combat with fists, as swords
were very dangerous, even if they could get any,
which they could not. The only sword in the
village was somewhat damaged through long use
as a poker by old Squire Hawks, who was mad
876
H O W THE C H I L D R E X EARNED M O A E V FOR C H A R I T V
[September,
when he was not chosen captain of the mihtia.
The minor parts of the play were given out by lot,
and thus some of the children had two or three
each, as there were so many, and all were told to
come again on Wednesday, ready for rehearsal.
But, when Wednesday afternoon came, they did
not know their parts, for the words were so long
and hard they could not remember them, and it
seemed impossible even to the energetic Joseph
to have "Hamlet" ready by Saturday afternoon,
the day announced for the opening of the show.
So Shakespeare was given up, and little Maud
ventured to say that he was not half so good as
Mother Goose. Struck with this idea, the chil-
dren gave up their search for the unknown, and
wisely resoh'ed to content themselves with some-
thing less ambitious. Mabel Drake, in full cos-
tume copied from the picture, read the rhymes
as they were acted with spirit by those who
knew and loved them. Joseph resigned the part
of Hamlet for that oi BMy Shaftoe, and sweet Effie
Jones brought tears to the eyes of all as she knelt
at the flax-wheel in grief for the drowned sailor,
who returned triumphant in the next scene, in a
neat sai!or-suit, which seemed to have passed
through the shipwreck uninjured. Maggie looked
and acted the tall daughter to perfection, and little
Maud was lovely as the bride, in poke-bonnet, as
she rode proudly in the wheelbarrow, the chosen
bride of little Eddie, who preferred her to the
short, the greedy, or the progressive girl of the
period. The hall was filled by the delighted par-
ents of the children on that memorable Saturday,
and the entrance fee of ten cents each gave the
Widow Simpkins such a Thanksgi\ing dinner as
she had never had before. But this was not all
that the children earned for charity ; for, when
one of them grew up, he wished to write for the
St. Nichol.\S something that would interest the
hosts of children who read the magazine, and he
wrote for them a full account of the pantomime
of " The Rats and the Mice," and the operetta of
" Bobby Shaftoe," which have since been acted in
hundreds of parlors, to the delight of old and
young.
And even this was not the end. A few years
later he was asked to assist in raising a very large
sum of money for charity ; and remembering the
funny old mill theater, he caused lovely airs to be
composed for these pieces, and, in connection with
many other scenes, had them presented in large
opera-houses by young ladies and children, to
audiences of their friends, who gathered in such
numbers that as much as one thousand dollars has
been realized in a single evening from the simple
and natural representation of these Mother Goose
plays. In every city of note from Montreal to St.
Louis, with three exceptions, these Gems of Nurser)-
Lore have earned money for charitable purposes,
and in many of the representations the costumes
and appointments have been very costly and ele-
gant ; but none of them have given more pleasure
to actors and spectators than was enjoyed by the
simple country people who witnessed the original
performance in the old mill on the hillside, in
which all these greater and more elaborate exhi-
bitions originated. This little tribute of respect
to the dear old Dame, to whose early inspiration
so man)- poets and wise men owe their best efforts,
will not be considered out of place ; but there are
those who feel that Mother Goose has had her day,
and that her old rhymes have become a little hack-
neyed by oft-repeated representation. To such as
these, St. Nichol.4S has offered many panto-
mimes and operettas on wholly new themes, and
these may be readily used by young folk to earn
money for charity.
The children of to-day are constantly asking :
" How can we also make money to help carr)- on
our Sunday mission schools and to help the poor?"
Letters of inquiry come often from distant cities and
towns in the Far West. In reply to these queries
we would recommend the Children's Carnival as
the simplest and newest method. To encourage
the little ones in this endeavor, a true story may
not be out of place In one of the chief cities of
Western New York the largest church in town con-
templated an entertainment for charity and became
discouraged, when two young school-girls took up
the abandoned idea and carried it out with im-
mense success, using the operetta and pantomime
from this magazine.
To get up a Children's Carnival, first give notice
of your plan in the schools, asking those inter-
ested to meet for the choice of manager, treasurer,
and committees for the alcoves, refreshments, and
amusements, which may consist of three or more
girls and boys for each. The first committee has
the duty of arranging a stage at the end of the hall,
unless one is already built, as is the case in many
town-halls, and also the choice of twenty-five per-
formers and the selection of the pantomime, oper-
etta and tableau from their magazines. The
manager is responsible for all performances on this
stage, which should occupy an hour after the supper,
and before the sales in the alcoves. The refresh-
ment committee prepare tables across the end of
the hall opposite the stage, and attend to the sup-
per, which is solicited from the homes of all inter-
ested. They also choose four waiters for each
table, who bring the refreshments from a side room
and collect the money for them. The treasurer has
charge of all receipts and pays all expenses, and
appoints door-keepers, ushers, and ticket-sellers.
1 833.1
IX SCHOOL A CAIN.
877
The committee on alcoves prepare three on each
side of the hall, draped with cambric or any hangings
suitable for the periods represented. They also
choose attendants foi cacli, in appropriate costumes,
as for instance: the Curiosity Shop, with '"Little
Nell "and "Grandlather," who show or sell antique
furniture and bric-a-brac in the upper alcove on the
left side of the hall. In the next, three Turkish girls
sell coffee, and in the third, two Japanese sell tea
and fans. Across the hall, "Simple Simon" sells
pies and cakes, and " Dame Trot " fancy-goods and
toys; and in the last alcove, on the right side of the
hall, three little fairies sell candy. Flower-girls
Ilit around the hall with bouquets, and music is fur-
nished from a piano or orchestra, in case of a dance
or promenade at the end of the evening. The
performance on the stage is of course the principal
attraction, and may be very effectively used in any
parlor or hall, with or without the carnival ; but the
latter, when the work is divided, is not as laborious
as you might suppose, and can not fail to please
as well as to earn money for charity.
1\ SCHOOL AGAIN.
^ ^ jz. ' ^^ n
er
. .A
^ he-n/i J- it
878
YOUNG WOLVES AT PLAY.
[Septembeh,
i883.]
STORIES I-KOM THE .NUKTllEK.N MYTHS.
879
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
By James Baldwin.
BALDER.
Balder, the god of the summer, was Odin's son,
and he was the brightest and best of all the Asa-
folk. Wherever he went, there were gladness and
mirth, and blooming flowers, and singing birds,
and murmuring water-falls. Balder, too, was a
hero, but not a hero like Siegfried. For he slew
no giants, he killed no dragons ; he was not even
a warrior ; he never went into battle, and he never
tried to make for himself a great name. There
still are some such heroes, but they make little
noise in the world ; and, beyond their own neigh-
borhood, they often are unnoticed and unknown.
Hoder, the blind king of the winter months, was
Balder's brother, and as unlike him as darkness
is unlike daylight. While one rejoiced and was
merr)' and cheerful, the other was low-spirited and
sad. While one scattered sunshine and blessings
everj'where, the other carried with him a sense of
cheerlessness and gloom. Yet the brothers loved
each other dearly.
One night Balder dreamed a strange dream, and
when he awoke he could not forget it. All day
long he was thoughtful and sad, and he was not
his own bright, happy self. His mother, the Asa-
queen, saw that something troubled him, and she
asked :
"Whence comes that cloud upon your brow?
Will you suffer it to chase away all your sunshine,
and will you become, like your brother Hoder, all
frowns, and sighs, and tears? "
Then Balder told her what he had dreamed,
and she, too, was sorely troubled ; for it was a
frightful dre.am and foreboded dire distress.
Then both she and Balder went to Odin, and to
him they told the cause of their uneasiness. And
he was dismayed at what he heard ; for he knew
that such dreams dreamed by Asa-folk were the
forewarnings of evil. So he saddled his eight-
footed horse Slcipner, and, without telling any one
where he was going, he rode with the speed of the
winds down into the Valley of Death. The dog
that guards the gate-way to that dark and doleful
land came out to meet him. Blood was on the
fierce beast's jaws and breast, and he barked loudly
and angrily at the Asa-king and his wondrous
horse. But Odin sang sweet magic songs as he
drew near, and the dog was charmed with the
sound, and Sleipner and his rider went onward in
safety. They passed the dark halls of the pale-
faced queen, and came to the eastern gate of the
valley. There stood the low- hut of the witch who
lived in darkness and spun the thread of fate for
gods and men. Odin stood before the hut, and
sang a wondrous song of witchery and enchant-
ment, and he laid a spell upon the weird woman,
and forced her to come out of her dark dwelling
and answer his questions.
"Who is this stranger?" asked the witch.
"Who is this unknown who calls me from my
narrow home and sets an irksome task for me ?
Long have I been left alone in my quiet hut, and
little recked 1 that the snow sometimes co\ered
w ith its cold, white mantle both me and my resting-
place, or that the pattering rain and the gently
falling dew often moistened the roof of my house.
Long have I rested quietly, and I do not wish now
to be aroused."
" 1 am Valtam's son," said Odin, "and I come
to learn of thee. Tell me, I pray, for whom are
the soft and beautiful couches prepared that I saw
in the broad halls of Death ? For whom are the
jewels and rings and rich clothing, and the
shining shield?"
And she answered :
" .All arc for Balder, Odin's son; and the mead
which has been brewed for him is hidden imder
the shining shield."
Then Odin asked who would be the slayer of
Balder, and she answered that Hoder was the one
who would send the shining Asa to the halls of
Death. And she added : " But go thou hence,
now, Odin ; for I know thou art not Valtam's son.
(io home, and none shall again awaken me nor dis-
turb me at my t;isk until Balder shall rule over
the new earth in its purity, and there shall be no
death."
Then Odin rode sorrowfully homeward ; but he
told no one of his journey to the dark valley, nor
of what the witch had said to him.
Balder's mother, the Asa-queen, could not rest
because of the ill-omened dream that her son had
had ; and, in her distress, she called together all
the Asa-folk to consider what should be done.
But they were speechless with alarm and sorrow,
and none could offer advice nor set her mind at
ease. Then she sought out every living creature
and ever)' lifeless thing upon the earth, and asked
each one to swear that it would not on any account
hurt Balder, nor touch him to do him harm. And
this oath was willingly made by fire and water,
88o
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[September,
earth and air; by all beasts and creeping things
and birds and fishes ; by the rocks ; b\- the trees
and all metals. For everything loved Balder the
Good.
Then the Asa-folk thought that great honor was
shown to Balder each time an object refused to
hurt him ; and, to show their love for him, as well
as to amuse themselves, they often hewed at him
with their battle-axes, or struck at him with their
sharp swords, or hurled toward him their heavy
lances. For every weapon turned aside in its
course, and would neither mark nor bruise the
shining target at which it was aimed ; and Balder's
princely beauty shone as bright and pure as ever.
When Loki, the mischief-maker, saw how all
things loved and honored Balder, his heart was
filled with jealousy, and he sought all over the
earth for some beast, or bird, or tree, or lifeless
thing that had not taken the oath. But he could
not find one. Then, disguised as a fair maiden, he
went to Fensal Hall, where dwelt Balder's mother.
The Asa-queen was busy with her golden spindle,
and her maid-sen-ant, Fulla-of-the-flowing-hair, sat
on a stool beside her. When the queen saw Loki.
she asked :
" Whence come you, fair stranger, and what
favor would you ask of Odin's wife ?"
" 1 come," answered the disguised mischief-
maker, "from the plains of Ida, where the gods
meet for pleasant pastime, as well as to talk of the
weighty matters of their kingdom."
"And how do they while away their time to
day ? " asked the queen.
" They have a pleasant game which they call
Balder's Honor. The shining hero stands before
them as a target, and each one tries his skill at
hurling some weapon toward him. First, Odin
throws at him the spear Gungner, but it passes
harmlessly over his head. Then Thor takes up a
huge rock and hurls it full at Balder's breast, but
it turns in its course and will not strike the sun-
bright target. Then Hoenir seizes a battle-ax,
and strikes at Balder as though he would hew him
down ; but the keen edge refuses to touch him.
And in this way the Asa-folk show honor to the
best of their number."
The Asa-queen smiled in the glad pride of her
mother-heart, and said: "Yes, everything shows
honor to the best of Odin's sons ; for neither metal,
nor wood, nor stone, nor fire, nor water will touch
Balder to do him harm."
" Is it true, then," asked Loki, "that everything
has made an oath to you, and promised not to hurt
your son ? "
And the queen, not thinking what harm an un-
guarded word might do, answered: "Everything
has promised, save a little, feeble sprig that men
cull the mistletoe. So small and weak it is that I
know it could never harm any one ; and so I passed
It by and did not ask it to take the oath."
Then Loki went out of Fensal Hall and left the
Asa-queen at her spinning. And he walked briskly
away, and paused not until he came to the eastern
side of \'alhalla, where, on the branches of an old
oak-tree, the mistletoe grew. Rudely he tore the
plant from its supporting branch and hid it under
his cloak. Then he walked leisurely back to
the place where the Asa-folk were wont to meet in
council.
The next day the Asas went out, as usual, to en-
gage again in pleasant pastimes. When they had
tired of leaping, and tilting, and foot-racing, they
placed Balder before them as a target again ; and,
as each threw his weapon toward the shining
mark, they laughed to see the missile turn aside
tVom its course and refuse to strike the honored
one. But blind Hoder stood sorrowfully away
from the others and did not join in any of their
sports. Loki, seeing this, went to Hoder, and said :
" Brother of the gloom\- brow, why do you not
take part with us in our games? "
"I am blind," answered Hoder, "and I can
neither leap, nor run, nor throw the lance."
"But you can shoot arrows from your bow,"
said Loki.
" Alas !" said Hoder, "that I can do only as
some one shall direct my aim. For I can see no
target."
"Do you hear that laughter?" asked Loki.
" Thor has hurled the straight trunk of a pine-tree
at your brother, and, rather than touch such a
glorious target, it has turned aside and been
shivered to pieces upon the rocks over there. It
is thus that the .Asa-folk, and all things living and
lifeless, honor the sun-bright Balder. Hoder is
the only one who hangs his head and fears to do
his part. Come, now, let me fit this little arrow in
your bow, and then, as I point it, do you shoot.
When you hear the gods laugh, you will know that
your arrow has shown honor to the hero by refusing
to hit him."
And Hoder, thinking no harm, did as Loki
wished, and allowed him to fit the mistletoe to his
bow. And the deadh- arrow sped from the bow
and pierced the heart of shining Balder, and he
sank lifeless to the ground. Then the Asa-folk who
saw it were struck speechless with sorrow and
astonishment ; and, had it not been that the Ida
plains whereon they were standing were sacred to
peace, they would have seized upon Loki and put
him to death. Forthwith the world was draped in
mourning for Balder the Good ; the birds stopped
singing and flew with drooping wings toward the
far Southland ; the beasts sought to hide them-
STORIES FROM TUK NORTHERN' MVlllS.
88 1
selves in their lairs and in the holes of the grounil ;
the trees shivered and sighed until their leaves fell
withered to the earth ; the flowers closed their
eyes and died ; the rivers ceased to flow, and dark
and threatening billows veiled the sea ; even the
sun shrouded his face and withdrew silently toward
the south.
When Balder's good mother heard the sad news,
she left her golden spindle in Feii'-.il Hall, and
beach, and bewailed the untimely death of their
hero. First came Odin with his grief-stricken
queen, and then his troop of handmaidens the
Valkyrien, and his ravens llugin and Munin. Then
came Thor m his goat-drawn car, and Heimdal on
his horse tiold-top. Then Frey in his wagon,
behind the boar (iullinbrusteof the golden bristles;
then Freyja, in her chariot drawn by cats, came,
weeping tears of gold. Lastly, poor lilind llodcr,
^■^f
HONOR — liVl-.RV WKAPOrJ n KNKD ASIDH.
with her maidens hastened to the Ida plains, where
the body of her son was lying. Nanna, the faith-
ful wife of Balder, was already there, and wild was
her grief at sight of the lifeless loved one. And
all the Asa-folk, save guilty Loki, who had fled for
his life, stood about them in dumb amazement ;
but Odin was the most sorrowful of all, for he knew
that, with Balder, the earth had lost its gl.ulsonic
life.
They lifted the body and carried it down to the
sea, where the great ship '' Ring-horn," which Balder
himself had built, lay ready to be launched. And
a great company followed, and stood upon the
overcome with grief, w;is carried thither on the
back of one of the Frost giants. And old /Egir,
the Ocean-king, raised his dripping head above the
water and gazed with dewy eyes upon the scene,
and the waves, as if affrighted, left off their playing
and were still.
High on the deck they built the funeral-pile;
.uid they placed the body upon it, and covered it
with costly garments and woods of the finest scent;
and the noble horse which had been Balder's they
slew and placed beside him, that he might not
have to walk to the halls of Death ; and Odin took
from his finger the ring Draupner, the earth's
882
STORIES FROM THE NORTHERN MYTHS.
[September,
enricher, and laid it on the pile. Then Nanna, the
faithful wife, was overcome with grief, and her gen-
tle heart was broken, and she fell lifeless at the
feet of the Asa-queen. And they carried her upon
the ship and laid her by her husband's side.
When all was in readiness to set fire to the pile,
the gods tried to launch the ship ; but it was so
heavy that they could not move it. So they sent,
in haste, to Jotunheim for the stout giantess,
Hyrroken ; and she came with the speed of a
whirlwind, riding on a wolf which she guided
with a bridle of writhing snakes.
"What will you have me do?" she asked, as
she looked around upon them.
'• We would have you launch the great ship
' Ring-horn,' " answered Odin.
"That I will do," roared the grim giantess;
and giving the vessel a single push, she sent it
sliding with speed into the deep waters of the bay.
Then she gave the word to her grisly steed, and
she flew onward and away, no one knew whither.
The " Ring-horn " floated nobly upon the water, a
worthy bier for the body that it bore. The fire
was set to the funeral pile, and the red flames shot
upward to the sky; but their light was but a flick-
ering beam when matched with the sun-bright
beauty of Balder, whose body they consumed.
Then the sorrowing folk turned and went back
toward their homes ; a cheerless gloom rested
heavily where light gladness had ruled before.
And when they reached the high halls of Asgard,
the Asa-queen spoke and said :
"Who now, for the love of Balder and his
stricken mother, will undertake an errand .' Who
will go down into the Valley of Death and seek for
Balder, and ransom him and bring him back to
Asgard ? "
Then Hermod the Nimble, the brother of
Balder, answered :
"I will go. I will find him, and, with Death's
leave, will bring him back."
And he mounted Sleipner, the eight-footed
steed, and galloped swiftly away. Nine days and
nine nights he rode through strange valleys and
deep mountain gorges where the sun's light had
never been, and through gloomy darkness and
fearful silence, until he came to the black river
and the glittermg golden bridge which crosses it.
Over the bridge his strong horse carried him,
although it shook and swayed and threatened to
throw him into the raging black waters below. On
the other side a maiden keeps the gate, and
Hermod stopped to pay the toll.
" What is thy name ? " asked she.
"My name is Hermod, and I am called the
Nimble," he answered.
" What is thv father's name ?"
" His name is Odin ; mayhap thou hast heard
of him."
" Why ridest thou with such thunderous speed ?
Five kingdoms of dead men passed over this
bridge yesterday, and it shook not with their
\\eight as it did with thee and thy strange steed.
Thou art not of the pale multitude that are wont
to pass this gate. What is thy errand, and why
ridest thou to the domains of the dead ?"
" I go," answered Hermod, " to find my brother
Balder. It is but a short time since he unwillingly
came down into these shades."
"Three days ago," said the maiden, "Balder
passed this way, and b)- his side rode the faithful
Nanna. So bright was his presence, even here,
that the whole valley was lighted up as it had
never before been lighted ; the black river glit-
tered like a gem ; the frowning mountains smiled
for once, and Death herself slunk far away into
her most distant halls. But Balder went on his
way, and even now he sups with Nanna in the
dark castle over yonder."
Then Hermod rode forward till he came to the
castle-walls ; and they were built of black marble,
and the iron gate was barred and bolted, and none
who went in had ever yet come out. Hermod
called loudly to the porter to open the gate and let
him in ; but no one seemed to hear or heed him,
for the words of the living are unknown in that
place. Then he drew the saddle-girths more
tightly around the horse Sleipner, and urged him
forward. High up the great horse leaped, and
sprang clear over the gates, and landed at the
open door of the great hall. Leaving Sleipner,
Hermod went boldly in ; and there he found his
brother Balder and the faithful Nanna seated at
the festal board, and honored as the most worthy
of all the guests. With Balder Hermod staid until
the night had passed ; and many were the pleas-
ant words they spoke. When morning came,
Hermod went into the presence of Death, and
said :
"O mighty queen, I come to ask a boon of
thee. Balder the Good, whom both gods and
men love, has been sent to dwell with thee in
thy darksome house. And all the world weeps
for him, and has donned the garb of mourning,
and will not be consoled until his bright light shall
shine upon them again. And the gods have sent
me, his brother, to ask thee to let Balder ride back
with me to Asgard, to his noble mother, the Asa-
queen. For then will hope live again in the hearts
of men, and happiness will return to the earth."
Death was silent for a moment ; and then she
said, in a sad voice :
" Hardly can I believe that any being is so
greatly loved by things living and lifeless ; for
A PRIVATE REHEARSAL.
883
surely Balder is not more the friend of earth than
1 am. And yet men love me not. But go you
back to .Asgard, and if everything shall weep for
Balder, then 1 will send him to you ; but if any-
thing shall refuse to mourn, then I will keep him
in my halls."
So Hermod made ready to return home, and
Balder gave him the ring Uraupner to carry to his
father as a keepsake, and Nanna sent to the
queen-mother a rich carpet of the purest green.
Then the nimble messenger mounted his horse
and rode swiftly back over the dark river and
through the frowning valleys, and at last reached
Odin's halls.
When the Asa-folk found upon what terms they
might have Balder again with them, they sent
heralds all over the world to beseech everything to
mourn for hi;.i. And men and beasts, and birds
and fishes, and trees and stones, — all things living
and lifeless, — joined in weeping for the lost Balder.
But, on their road back to .Asgard, they met a
giantess named Thok, whom they asked to join
in the universal grief .And she answered :
'■ What good deed did Balder ever do for Thok?
What gladness did he ever bring her? If she
should weep for him, it would be with di\ tears.
Let l>t.ath kei'p him in her halls."
Here Dame (Uidrun paused, and little Ingeborg
said :
" How cruel of Death to keep the sun-bright
Balder forever in her halls, when no one but the
ugly giantess failed to weep for him ! "
" She did not keep him there," answered Gud-
run. " For some say that every year Balder
comes back with Nanna to his halls in Breidablik,
wlicre he stays through the summer season ; and
then the earth throws off its mourning, and gods
and men feast at his table and bask in his smiles,
until the time comes for their return to the \alley
of Death. And during their half-year of absence,
the earth is not altogether sad, for all know that
Balder and his faithful bride will come back with
the spring, and in the joy of anticipation the
months glide suiftlv bv."
i
884
LONG AGO.
[September,
LONG AGO.
Round the house
the birds were fixing.
Long ago.
Came the little children,
erying,
" Teach us, we are tired of trying,
Hov\ to fly like you,
In the far off blue," —
Came the eager cliildren, crying,
Long ago.
From the house-top lightly springing,
^ong ago,
'Mid the birds' enraptured singing.
Over hill and valley winging,
All the day they flew,
Vp and down the blue ;
While the blithesome birds were singing.
Long ago.
When tlie summer day was dying,
Long ago.
Suddenly, their mothers spying,
Down the children came, swift-flying,
And in cozy beds
Hid their weary heads.
Ended then the children's flying,
Long ago.
iSSi.)
DONALD AND UUKOTHV,
885
DONA 1. 1) AND DoRorilV.'
Hv i\I.\K\ Mapes Dodge.
Chapter XXIX.
an unexpected letter.
" It was all so sudden," explained Dorothy to
Charity Danby, a few weeks afterward, in talking
over her brother's departure, " that I feel as if I
were dreaming and that Don must soon come and
wake me up."
" Strange that he should 'a' been allowed to go
all the way to Europe, alone so — and ho barely
fifteen yet," remarked Mrs. Danby, who was iron-
ing Jamie's Sunday frock at the time.
" Donald is nearly sixteen," said Dorry with
dignity, "and he went on important business for
Uncle. Did n't Ben go West when he was much
younger than that ? "
" Oh, yes, my dear, but then Ben is — different,
you know. He 's looked out for himself ever since
he was a baby. Now, Ellen Eliza," suddenly chang-
ing her tone as the tender-hearted one came in
sight, " where in the world are \ou going with
that face and hands ? You 've been playin' in the
mud, I do believe. (lo straight in and wash 'em,
and change your feet, too, they 're all wet — and
don't lay your wet apron down on your sister's
poetry like that, you forlorn, distres-scd looking
child. She 's been writin' like wild this mornin',
Mandy has, but 1 aint took time to read it. It 's
a cryin' shame, Dorothy, her writin's is n't all
printed in a book by this time. It would sell like
hot-cakes, I do believe, — and sell quicker, too, if
folks knew she was n't going to have much more
time for writin'. She 's going to be a teacher,
Mandy is ; young .Mr. Ricketts got her a situation
in a 'cademy down to Trenton, where she 's to study
and teach and make herself useful till she perfects
herself. ' T is n't every girl gets a chance to be
perfected so easy, either. Oh, Charity — there 's so
much on my mind — I forgot to tell you that Ben
found your 'rithmetic in the grass, 'way down past
the melon-patch, where baby Jamie must ha\e left
it. There, put up your scwnig. Charity, and you
and Dorothy take a run ; you look jaded-like.
Why, mercy on us ! " continued the good woman,
looking up at this moment and gently waving her
fresh iron in the .lir to cool it off a little, "you
look flushed, Dorothy. \'ou aint gone and got
malaria, have you ? "
" Oh, no," said Dorry, laughing in spite of her
sadness. " It is not malaria that troubles me : it's
living for three whole weeks without seeing
Donald."
" Dear, dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Danby. " I
don't wonder if it is, you poor child — only one
brother so, and him a twin."
Dorry laughed pleasantly again, and then, with
a cheerful " good-bye," walked slowly homeward.
The next morning, when she awoke, she felt so
weary and sleepy that she sent a good-morning
message to her uncle and told Lydia she would not
get up till after breakfast-time. " Be sure," she
said to Liddy, '■ to tell Uncle that I am not really
ill, — only hizy and sleepy, — and by-and-bye you
may let Kassy bring nic a cup of very weak coffee."
Lydia, secretly distressed, but outwardly cheer-
ful, begged her dear young lady to take a nice,
long nap. Then lighting the fire, for the morning
was raw and chilly, though it was May, she bustled
about the room till Dorry was very wide awake
indeed. Next, Uncle George came up to bid her
good-morning, and make special inquiries, and
when he went down re-assured, Kassy came in
with her breakfast. By this time Dorothy had
given up all thought of sleep for the present.
" Why, Kassy ! " she exclaimed in plaintive
surprise, " you 've brought enough to feed a regi-
ment. I can't eat all that bread, if I am ill "
"Oh, but I'm to make toast for you, here in
your room. Miss," explained Kassy, who seemed
to have something on her mind. "Lydia, — I
mean Mr. Reed said so."
" How nice ! " exclaimed Dorry, listlessly.
Kassy took her place by the open fire, and be-
gan to toast the bread, while Dorry lay looking at
her. feeling neither ill nor well, and half inclined
to cry from sheer loneliness. This was to be the
twenty-third day without Donald.
" I wonder what the important business can be,"
she thought; "but, most likely, L'ncle will tell me
all about it before long."
Meanwhile, Kassy continued to toast bread. Two
or three brown slices already lay on the plate, and
she was attending to the fourth, in absent-minded
fashion, much to Dorry's quiet amusement, when
the long toasting-fork dropped aimlessly from her
hand, and Kassy began fumbling in her pocket ;
then, in a hesitating way, she handed her \oung
lady a letter.
"I — I should have given it to you before," she
* Copyright, 1881, by Mary .Mapcs Dodge. All righls reserved.
886
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[September,
faltered, " but kept it because I thought — that —
perhaps — I "
But Dorry already had torn open the envelope,
and was reading the contents.
Kassy, watching her, was frightened at seeing
the poor girl's face flush painfully, then turn deadly
pale.
"Not bad news, is it, Miss? Oh, Miss Dorry, I
feel I 've done wrong in handing it to you, but a
gentleman gave me half a dollar, day be
fore yesterday, Miss, to put it secretly into
your hands, and he said it was something
you 'd rejoice to know about."
Dorry, now sitting up on the bed, hardly
heard her. With trembling hands, she held
the open letter, and motioned toward the door
"Go, call Uncle! No, no — stay here —
Oh, what shall I do ? What ought I to do ' '
she thought to herself, and then added aloud,
with decision : " Yes, go ask Uncle to come
up. You need not return."
Hastily springing to the floor, Dorry thrust
her feet into a pair of slippers, put on a long
white woolen wrapper that made her look like
a grown woman, and stood with the letter m
her hand as her uncle entered.
She remained motionless as a statue while
he hastily read it, her white face in strange
contrast to the angry flush that rose to Mr
Reed's countenance.
" Horrible !" he exclaimed, as he reached
the last word. " Where did this letter come
from ? How did you get it ? "
" Kassy brought it. A man gave her half
a dollar — she thought it had good news in
it. Oh, Uncle ! " (seeing the wrath in Mr
Reed's face), " she ought not to have taken
it, of course, but she does n't know any better
— and 1 did n't notice either, when I opened
it, that it had no post-mark."
" Did you read it all ? "
Dorothy nodded.
" Well, 1 must go. I '11 attend to this letter
The scoundrel ! You are not going to faint,
my child.'"' putting his arm quickly around her.
" Oh, no. Uncle," she said, looking up at him
with an effort. " But what does it mean? Who
is this man ? "
" I '11 tell you later, Dorry. 1 must go now "
" Uncle, you are so angry ! Wait one moment.
Let me go with you. "
Her frightened look brought Mr. Reed to his
senses. In a calmer voice he begged her to give
herself no uneasiness, but to lie down again and
rest. He would send Lydia up soon. He was just
going to open the door, when Josie Manning's
pleasant voice was heard at the foot of the stair :
" Is any one at home? May I come up?"
'■ Oh, no," shuddered Dorothy.
"Oh, yes," urged Mr. Reed. " Let your friend
see you, my girl. Her cheerfulness will help you
to forget this rascally, cruel letter. There, good-
bye for the present," and, kissing her, Mr. Reed
left the room.
Josic's bright face soon appeared at the door.
"Well, I declare !" she exclaimed. "Arc you
rehearsing for a charade, Miss Reed? And who
are you in your long white train — Lady Angelica,
or Donna Isabella, or who? "
"I don't know who I am!" sobbed Dorothy,
throwing herself upon the bed and hiding her face
in the pillow.
" Why, what is the matter? Are you ill ? Have
you heard bad news? Oh, I forget," continued
Josie, as Dorry made no reply; "what a goose I
must be ! Of course you are miserable without
Don, you darling I But I 've come to bring good
news, my lady — to me, at least — so cheer up.
Do you know something ? Mamma and Papa are
T883.1
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
88:
going to start for San Francisco on Wednesday.
They gave nie my choice — to go with them or
to stay with you, and I decided to stay. So they
and your uncle settled it last night that I am to be
here with you till they come back — two whole
months, Dot ! Is n't that nice?"
" Ever so nice ! " said Dorry, without lifting her
head. " 1 am really glad, Jo; but my head aches
and I feel dreadfully this morning."
" Have you had any breakfast ? " asked the prac-
tical Josie, much puzzled.
" N-no," sobbed Dorry.
" Well, no wonder you feel badly. Look at this
cold coffee, and that mountain of toast, and not
a thing touched. I declare, if 1 don't go right
down and tell Liddy. We '11 get you up a good
hot breakfast, and you can doze quietly till we
come."
Dorry felt a gentle arm round her for an instant,
and a warm cheek pressed to hers, and then she was
alone — alone with her thoughts of that dreadful
letter.
It was from Ebcn Slade, and it contained all thai
he had told Donald on that day at \'anbogen's,
and a great deal more. He had kept quiet long
enough, he added, and now he wished her to un-
derstand that, as her uncle, he had some claim
upon her ; that her real name was Delia Robertson
— she was no more Dorothy Reed than he was,
and that she must not tell a liv'ing soul a word
about this letter or it would make trouble. If she
had any spirit or any sense of justice, he urged,
she would manage for him to sec her some day
when Mr. Reed was out. Of course — the letter
went on to say — Mr. Reed would object if he
knew, for it was to his interest to claim her ; but
truth was truth, and George Reed was no relation
to her whatever. The person she had been taught
to call Aunt Kate, it insisted, was really her moth-
er, and it was her mother's own brother, Eben,
who was writing this letter. All he asked for was
an inter\'iew. He had a great deal to say to her,
and Mr. Reed was a tyrant who would keep her a
prisoner if he could, so that her own uncle Eben
could not even sec her He had been unfortunate
and lost all his money. If he was rich he would
see that he and his dear niece Delia had their
rights in spite of the tyrant who held her in bond-
age. She tniist manage somehow to sec him, — so
ran the letter, — and she could put a letter for him,
that night, under the large stone by the walnut
tree behind the summer-house. He would come
and see her at any time she mentioned. No girl
of spirit would be held in such bondage a day.
The writer concluded by calling her again his dear
Delia, and signing himself her affectionate uncle.
Eben Slade.
Chaitkr X.W.
A TIMK OK SUSPENSE.
That morning, after Josie had gone home to
assist her mother in preparations for the trip to
California, Dorothy, exhausted by the morning's
emotions, fell into a heavy sleep, from which she did
not waken till late in the afternoon. By the bed
stood a little table, on which were two fine oranges,
each on a \'enctian glass plate, and surmounted by
a card. On one was written : " Miss Dorothy
Reed, with the high, respectful consideration of her
sympathizing friend, Edward Tyler, who hopes she
will soon be well " ; and the other bore a limping
verse in Josie's familiar handwriting :
" To this fair maid no tjiiat tcr show.
Good Orange, sweet and yellow.
But let her eal you — in a certain way
That Domthy and I both know —
That 's a good fellow ! "
It must be confessed that Dot most implicitly
followed the hint in Josie's verse, and that she
felt much refreshed thereby. That evening, after
they had had a long talk together, she kissed Uncle
George for good-night, and, though there were
tears in her bright eyes, she looked a spirited little
maiden, who did not intend to give herself up to
doubting and grieving so long as "there was more
than hope " that she was Dorothy.
Half an hour later, the young girl stole softly
down to the deserted sitting-room, lit only by the
glowing remains of a wood-fire, and taking an un-
lightcd student's lamp from the center-table, made
her rapid way back to her pretty bedroom upstairs.
Here, after putting on the soft, Lady-Angelica
wrapper, as Josie had called it, she sat for a long
time in a low easy-chair, with little red-slippered
feet in a rug, before the fire, thinking of all that
the eventful day had brought to her.
"There is more than hope," she mused, while
her eyes were full of tears ; "those w^ere L'ncle's very
words — more than hope, that I am Dorothy Reed.
But what if it really is not so, what if I am no rela-
tion to my — to the Reed family at all — no relation
to Uncle George nor to Donald ! " From weeping
.ifresh at this thought, and feeling utterly lonely
and wretched, she began to wonder how it would
feel to be Delia. In that case, Aunt Kate would
have been her mother. For an instant this was
some consolation, but she soon realized that, while
Aunt Kate was very dear to her fancy, she could
not think of her as her mother ; and then there
was L'ncle Robertson — no, she never could think
of him as her father ; and that dreadful, cruel Eben
Slade, her Jdicic ? Horrible ! At this thought her
soul turned with a j^reat longing toward the un-
888
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[September,
known mother and father, who, to her childish
mind, had appeared merely as stately personages,
full of good qualities — Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott Reed,
honored by all who knew them, but very unreal
and shadowy to her. Now, as she sat half-dream-
ing, half-thinking, their images grew distinct and
loving ; they seemed to reach out their arms ten-
derly to her,, and the many good words about them
that from time to time had fallen tamely upon her
ears now gained life and force. She felt braver
and better clinging in imagination to them, and
begging them to forgive her, their own girl Doro-
thy, for not truly knowing them before.
Meantime, the night outside had been growing
colder and there were signs of a storm. A shutter
in some other part of the house blew open violently,
and the wind moaned through the pine-trees at the
corner of the house. Then the sweet, warm
visions that had comforted her faded from her
mind and a dreadful loneliness came over her. A
great longing for Donald filled her heart. She
tried to pray, —
** No thought confessed, no wish expressed.
Only a sense of supplication."
Then her thoughts took shape, and she prayed
for him, her brother, alone in a foreign land, and
for Uncle, troubled and waiting, at home, and for
herself, that she might be patient and good, and
have strength to do what was right — even to go
with Eben Slade to his distant home, if she were
really his sister's child.
The storm became so dismal that she started
up, poked the fire into a blaze, and lighted the
student's lamp on the table behind the arm-chair.
Then she took a photograph from the mantel and
a large hand-glass from her dressing-table, and,
looking hurriedly about her to be doubly sure that
she was alone, she sat down resoluteh', as if saying
to herself :
" Now, we '11 see ! "
Poor Dot ! The photograph showed Donald,
a handsome, manly boy of whom any loving sister
might be proud ; but the firm, boyish face, with its
square brows, roundish features, and shining black
hair, certainly did not seem to be in the least
like the picture that looked an.xiously at her out
of the hand-glass — a sweet face, with its oval out-
line, soft, dark eyes and long lashes, its low,
a-ched eyebrows, finely modeled nose and chin,
expressive mouth, and sunny, dark brown tresses.
Feature by feature, she scanned the two faces
carefully, unconsciously pouting her lips and draw-
ing in her warm-tinted cheeks in her desire to
resemble the photograph, hut it was of no use.
The two faces would not be alike — and yet, as she
looked again, was there not something similar
about the foreheads and the lower line of the faces ?
Hastily pushing back her hair with one hand, she
saw with joy that, excepting the eyebrows, there
really was a likeness: the line where the hair began
was certainly almost the same in both faces.
" Dear, dear old Donald ! Why, we are just
alike there ! 1 '11 show I'nclc to-morrow. It 's
wonderful."
Dorry laughed a happy little laugh, all by her-
self
•• Besides." she thought, as she laid the mirror
away, "we are alike in our natures and in our
ways and in loving each other, and I don't care
a bit what anybody says to the contrary."
Thus braced up, she drew her chair closer to the
table and began a letter to Donald. A vague con-
sciousness that by this time every one in the house
must be in bed and asleep deepened her sense
of being alone with Donald as she wrote. It seemed
that he read every word as soon as it fell upon the
paper, and that in the stillness of the room she
almost could hear him breathe.
It was a long letter. At any other time, Dorry's
hand would have wearied « ith the mere exercise of
wTiting so many pages, but there was so much to tell
that she took no thought of fatigue. It was enough
that she was pouring out her heart to Donald.
" I know now," the letter went on to say, "why
you have gone to Europe, and why I was not told
the errand. Dear, dear Donald ! and you knew it
all before you went away, and that is why \ou some-
times seemed silent and troubled, and why you were
so patient and good and gentle with me, even
when I teased you and made sport of you. Uncle
told me this afternoon all that he has to tell, and 1
have assured him that I am Dorry, and nobody else,
and that he need not be bothered about it any
more (though you know, Don, I can not help feel-
ing awfully about it). It 's so dreadful to think of
us all being so mixed up. The idea of my not
being Dorry makes me miserable. Yet, if I were
anybody else, would I not be the first to know it ?
Yes, Donald, whether you find proof or not, you
dear, good, noble old fellow, / am yoitr sister — I
feel it in my very- bones — and you are my brother.
Nobody on earth can make me believe you are
not. That dreadful man said in his letter that
it was to George Reed's interest that I should be
known as Dorothy Reed. Oh, Don, as if it were
not to my interest, too, and \ours. But if it is not
so, if it really is true that 1 am not Dorothy, but
Delia, why I must be Deha in earnest, and do my
duty to my — her mother's brother. He says his
wife is sick, and that he is miserable, with no com-
forts at home and no one to care whether he is
good or bad. So, you see, I 7)uist go and leave you
and Uncle, if I am Delia. And, Don, there 's
DONAl.l) AMI I)()R(JTIIV.
889
another thing, though it 's the least part of it ; if I
am Delia. I am poor, and it is right that I should
earn my living, though you and Uncle should both
oppose it, for 1 am no relation to any one, — 1 mean
any one here, — and it would not be honorable for
me to stay here in luxury.
'■ I can see your eyes flash at this, dear brother,
or perhaps you will say 1 am foolish to think of
such things yet awhile. So I am, may be, but I
must talk to you of .ill that is in my thoughts. It
is very lonely here to-night. The rain is pouring
against the windows, and it seems like November;
and, do you know, I dread to-morrow, for I am
afraid I may show in .soiiu- way to dear Uncle
George that 1 am not absolutely certain he is any
relation to me. I feel so strange ! Kvcn Jack and
Liddy do not know who I really am. Would n't
Josie and Ed be surprised if they knew about
things? 1 wish they did. I wish everyone did,
for secrecy is odious.
" Donald dear, this is an imbecile way of talking.
I dare say I shall tear up my letter in the morn-
ing. No, I shall not. It belongs to you, for it is
just what your loving old Dorry is thinking.
" Good-night, my brother. In my letter, sent
last Saturday, I told you how delighted Uncle and
I were with your descriptions of London and
Liverpool.
■' I show I'ncle your letters to me, but he does not
return the compliment — that is, he has read to me
only parts of those you have written to him. May
be he will let me read them through mnc, since I
know ' the important business.' Keep up a good
heart, Don, and do not mind my whining a little
in this letter. Now that I am going to sign m\-
name, 1 feel as if every doubt I have expressed is
almost wicked. So, good-night again, dear Donald,
and ever so much love from your own faithful sister,
'■ Dorry.
"P. S. — Uncle said this afternoon, when I begged
him to start with me right away to join you in
Europe, that if it were not for some matters need-
ing his presence here we might go, but that he
can not possibly leave at present. Dear Uncle ! 1 '11
be glad when morning comes, so that I may put
my arms around his neck and be his own cheerful
Dorry again. Liddy does not know yet that 1 have
heard anything. 1 forgot to say that Mr. and
Mrs. Manning arc going to California and that
Josie is to spend two months with me. Wont that
be a comfort ? How strange it will seem to have a
secret from her! But L'ncle says I must wait.
"P. S. again. — Be sure to answer this in ICng-
lish. I know we agreed to correspond in French
for the sake of the practice, but I have no heart for
it now. It is too hard work. Good-night, once
more. The storm is over. Your loving Dorry. "
Ch.aptrr X.X.XI.
ONLY A lUr OK RAG.
DoRRV's long letter reached Donald two weeks
later, as he sat in his room at a hotel in .Aix-la-
Chapelle. He had been feeling lonely and rather
discouraged, notwithstanding the many sights that
had interested him during the day ; and from
repeated disappointments and necessary delays in
the prosecution of the business that had taken him
.across the sea, he had begun to feel that, perhaps,
it would be just as well to sail for home and let
things go on as before. Dorry, he thought, need
nexer know of the doubts and anxieties that had
troubled Uncle George and himself, and for his
part he would rest in his belief that he and she
were Wolcott Reed's own children, joint heirs to
the estate, and, as Liddy called them," the happiest
pair of twins in the world."
But Dot's letter changed everything. Now that
she knew all, he would not rest a day even, till her
identity was proved beyond a possibility of doubt.
But how to do it ? No matter. Do it he would, if it
were in the power of man. (Donald in these days
felt at least twenty years old.) Dorry's words had
tired his courage anew. He felt like a crus.uler, as
he looked over the roof-peaks, out upon the starry
night, and Dorothy's happiness was his 1 loly-land
to be rescued from all invaders. The spirit of
grand old Charlemagne, whose bones were in the
Cathedral close by, was not more resolute than
Donald's was now.
All this he told her in the letter written that
night, and more, too, but the "more" did not
include the experiences of the past twelve hours of
daylight. He did not tell her how he had that
day, after some difficulty, found the Prussian physi-
cian who had attended his father.Wolcott Reed, in
his last illness, and how impossible it had been at
first to make the old man even remember the fam-
ily, and how little information he finally had been
able to obtain.
" Vifteen year vas a long dime, eh ?" the doctor
had intimated in his broken Enghsh, and as for
'• dose dwin bapics," he could recall " nothing
aboud dat at all."
But Don's letter suited Dorothy adminibl) . and
in its sturdy helpfulness and cheer, and its off-hand,
picturesque account of his adventures, it quite
consoled her for the disappointment of not reading
the letter that she was positively sure came to Mr.
Reed by the same steamer.
The full story of Donald's journey, with all its
varied incidents up to this period, would be too
long to tell here. But the main points must be
mentioned.
890
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[September,
Immediately upon landing at Liverpool, Donald
had begun his search for the missing Ellen Lee.
who, if she could be found, surely would be able to
help him, he thought. From all that Mr. Reed
had been able to learn previously, she undoubtedly
had been .Mrs. Wolcott Reed's maid, and had
taken charge of the twins on board of the fated
vessel. She had been traced fifteen years before, to
Liverpool, as the reader knows, and had disap-
peared at that time, before Mr. Reed's clerk,
John Wakely, had seen her. Donald found the
house in Liverpool where she had been, but
could gain there no information whatever. The
house had changed owners, and its former occu-
pants had scattered, no one could say whither. But,
by a persistent search among the neighboring
houses he did find a bright, motherly woman, who,
more than fifteen years before, had come to an
opposite house, a bride, and who remembered a
tall, dark-complexioned young woman sitting one
night on the steps of the shabby boarding-house
over the way. Some one had told her that this
young woman had just been saved from a ship-
wreck, and had lost everything but the clothes she
wore, and from sheer sympathy she, the young
wife, had gone across the street to speak to her, and
had found her at first sullen and uncommunicative.
" The girl was a foreigner " (said the long-ago
bride, now a blooming matron with four children).
" Leastwise, though she understood me and gave me
short answers in English, it struck me she was
French-born. Her black stuff gown was dreadful
torn and ruined by the sea-water, sir, and so, as 1
was about her height, I made bold to offer her one
of mine in its place. I had a plenty then, and me
and my young man was accounted comfortable
from the start. She shook her head and muttered
something about ' not bein' a beggar,' but do you
know, sir, that the next day she come over to me.
as I was knitting at my little window, and says she,
'I go on to London,' she says, "and I '11 take that
now, if you be pleased,' or something that way,
I don't remember her words, and so I showed
her into my back room and put the fresh print
gown on her. I can see her now a-takin' the
things out of her own gown and pinning them so
careful into the new pocket, because it was n't so
deep and safe as the one in her old gown was :
ind then, tearin' off loose tatters of the black skirt
and throwing them down careless-like, she rolled
it up tight, and went off with it, a-noddin' her head
and a-maircying me in French, as pretty as could
be. I can't bring to mind a feature of her, except-
in' the thick, black hair and her bein' about mv
own size. I was slender then, young master : fifteen
years makes "
" And those bits of the old gown," interrupted
Donald, eagerly, "where are they? Did you save
them ?"
" Laws, no, young gentleman, not I. They
went into my rag-bag like as not, and are all thrown
away and lost, sir, many a day agone, for that
matter.''
•• I am sorr\-," said Donald. " Even a scrap of
her gown might possibly be of value to me."
" Was she belonging to your family? " asked the
woman, doubtfully.
Donald partly explained why he wished to find
Ellen Lee ; and asked if the girl had said anything
to her of the wreck, or of two babies.
"Not a word, sir. not a word, though 1 tried to
draw her into talkin'. It 's very little she said at
best, she was a-grumpy like."
"What about that rag-bag?" asked Donald,
returning to his former train of thought. "Have
you the same one yet ? "
"That I have," she answered, laughing; "and
likely to ha\e it for many a year to come. My good
mother made it for me when I was married, and so
I 've kept it and patched it till it 's like Joseph's
coat; and useful enough it 's been, too — holding
many a bit that 's done ser\ice to me and my little
romps. ' Keep a thing seven year,' my mother
used to say, ' keep it seven year an' turn it, an'
seven year again, an' it '1! come into play at last.' "
" Why may you not have saved that tatter of
the old gown twice seven years, then?" persisted
Donald.
" Why, bless you, young sir, there 's no knowin'
as to that. But you could n't find it, if I had. For
why? the black pieces, good, bad, and indifferent,
are all in one roll together, and you nor I could
n't tell which it was."
■■ Likely enough.'' said Donald, in a disappointed
tone; "and yet. could you — that is — really, if
you would n't mind, I'd thank you very much if
we could look through that rag-bag together."
" Mercy on us ! " exclaimed the woman, seized
with a sudden dread that her young visitor might
not be in his right senses.
" If I could find those pieces of black stuff," he
urged, desperately, " it would be worth a golden
guinea to me."
Sure, now, that he was a downright lunatic, she
moved back from him with a frightened gesture ;
but glancing again at his bright, boyish face, she
said in a dift'erent tone :
" And it would be worth a golden guinea to me.
young master, just to have the joy of finding them
for you. Step right into this room, sir, and you,
Nancy " (to a shy little girl who had been sitting,
unobserved, on the lowest step of the clean, bare
stair-way), "you run up and bring Mother down the
old piece-bag. You shall have your way, young
1882.)
DONALD AND 1 ) U R () T 1 1 V
891
gentleman — though it's the oddest thin^ imj
happened to me."
Alas ! To the boyish mind a bundle made of
scores of diflferent sorts of black pieces rolled
together is anything but expressive. On first
opening it, Don looked hopelessly at the motley
heap, but the kind woman helped him somewhat
by rapidly throwing piece after piece aside, with,
" That can't be it — that's like little Johnny's trous-
ers," •• \or that, — that's what I wore for poor
mother;" "Nor that — that's to mend my John's
Sunday coat," and so on, till there were not more
than a dozen scraps left. Of these, three showed
that they had been cut with a pair of scissors, but
the others were torn pieces and of different kinds
of black goods. Don felt these, held them up to
the light, and, in despair, was Just going to beg her
to let him have them all. for future investigation,
when his face suddenly brightened.
He put an end of one of them into his mouth,
shook liis head with rather a disgusted expression,
as though the flavor were anything but agreeable,
then tried another and another (the woman mean-
time regarding him with speechless amazement), till
at last, holding out a strip and smacking his lips,
he exclaimed :
" I have it ! This is it ! It 's as salt as brine ! "
"Good land!" she cried; "salt! who ever
heard of such a thing, and in my rag-bag? How
could that be ? "
Don paid no attention to her. Tasting another
piece, that proved on a closer examination to be
of the same material, he found it to be equalh
salt.
His face displayed a comical mixture of nausea
and delight as he sprang to his feet, crying out :
" Oh ! ma'am, 1 can never thank you enough.
These are the pieces of Ellen Lee's gown, I am
confident — unless they have been salted in some
way since you 've had them."
"Not they, sir; I can warrant that, liut who
under the canopy ever thought of the taste of a
shipwrecked gown before ! "
" Smell these," he said, holding the pieces
toward her. " Don't you notice a sort of salt sea
odor in them? "
" Indeed, 1 fancy so," she answered, sniffing
cautiously as she continued : " Fifteen years ago !
How salt docs cling to things ! The poor woman
must have been pulled out of the very sea ! "
" That does n't follow," remarked Donald :
" her skirt might have been splashed by the waves
after she was let down into the small boat."
Donald talked awhile longer with his new
acquaintance, but finally bade her good-day, first,
however, WTiting down the number of her house,
and giving her his address, and begging her to let
Vol. IX.— 57.
him know if, at any time, she and her husband
should move from that neighborhood.
" Should what, sir? "
" Should mox'e — go to live in another place."
'■ Not we," she replied, proudly. " We live
here, we do, sir, John and myself, and the four
children. His work 's near by, and here we '11 be
for many 's the day yet, the Lord willing No,
no, please never think of such a thing as that," she
continued, as Donald diffidently thrust his hand
into his pocket. " Take the cloth with you, sir,
and welcome — but my children shall never have it
to say that their mother took pay for three old
pieces of cloth — no, nor for showing kindness
cither" (as Don politely put in a word), "above all
things, not for kindness. God bless you, young
master, an' help you in findin' her — that 's all I
can say, and a good-day to you."
"That nurse probably went home again to
France," thought Donald, after gratefully taking
leave of the good woman and her rag-bag.
" Mother must have found her in Prussia, as we
were born in Aix-la-Chapelle."
Before going to that interesting old city, how-
ever, he decided to proceed to London and see what
could be ascertained there. In London, though he
obtained the aid of one James Wogg, a detective,
he could find no trace of the missing Ellen Lee.
But the detective's quick sense drew enough from
Donald's story of the buxom matron and the two
gowns to warrant his going to Liverpool, "if the
young gent so ordered, to work up the search."
" Had the young gent thought to ask for a bit
like the new gown that was put onto Ellen Lee?
No ? Well, that always was the way with unpro-
fcssionals — not to say the young gent had n't been
uncommon sharp as it was."
Donald, pocketing his share of the compliment,
heartily accepted the detective's serv'ices, first
making a careful agreement as to the scale of
expenses, and giving, by the aid of his guide-book,
the name of the hotel in Aix-la-Chapelle where a
letter from the detective would reach him. He also
prepared an advertisement "on a new principle,"
as he explained to the detective, very much to that
worthy's admiration. " Ellen Lee has been adver-
tised for again and again," he said, "and promised
to be told ' something to her advantage ; ' but,
if still alive, she evidently has some reason for
hiding. It is possible that it might have been she
who threw the two babies from the sinking ship
into the little boat, and as news of the rescue of all
in that boat may not have reached her, she might
have felt that she would be blamed or made to suf-
fer in some way for what she had done. I mean
to advertise," continued Donald to the detective,
" that information is wanted of a Frenchwoman,
892
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[September,
Ellen Lee, by the two babies whose lives she saved at
sea, and who, by addressing so-and-so, can learn
of something to her advantage, and we '11 see what
will come of it."
" Not so," suggested Mr. Wogg. " It 's a good
dodge, but say, rather, by two young persons whose
lives she saved when they were babies. There 's
more force to it that way ; and leave out ' at sea '
— it gives too much to the other party. Best have
'em address Mr. James Wogg, Old Bailey, N. Lon-
don." But Donald would not agree to this.
Consequently, after much consulting and pains-
taking, the following advertisement appeared in
the London and Liverpool papers :
IF ELLEN LEE, A FRENCHWOMAN, WILL KINDLY
send her address to D. R., in care of Dubigk's Hotel, Aix-la-
Chapelle, Prussia, she shall receive the grateful thanks of two young
persons whose lives she saved when they were infants, and hear of
something greatly to her advantage.
Again, Ellen Lees, evidently not French, came
into view, lured by the vague terms of the adver-
tisement, but as quickly disappeared under the de-
tective's searching inspection ; and again it seemed
as if that particular Ellen Lee, as Mr. Reed had
expressed it, had vanished from the earth. But
Mr. Wogg assured his client that it took time for
an advertisement to make its way into the rural
districts of England, and he must be patient.
Donald, therefore, proceeded at once to Dover,
on the English coast, thence sailed over to Ostend,
in Belgium, and from there went by railway to his
birthplace, Aix-la-Chapelle. As his parents had
settled there three months before his mother started
for home, he felt that, in every respect, this was
the most promising place for his search. He had
called upon George Robertson's few family con-
nections in London, but these knew very little
about that gentleman, excepting that he had been
reckless and unfortunate in business, and that his
wife in her poverty had received help from some-
. body traveling in Prussia, and that the couple had
been sent for to meet these people at Havre, when
his little girl was not two months old, and all had
sailed for America together. Donald knew as
much as this already. If, fifteen years before, they
could give Mr. Reed no description of the baby,
they certainly could give Donald no satisfaction
now. So far from gathering from them any new
facts of importance, in regard to their lost kins-
man and his wife and child, they had all this time,
as Donald wrote to Mr. Reed, been very active in
forgetting him and his affairs. Still Donald suc-
ceeded in reviving their old promise that, if any-
thing shflulii turn up that would throw any light on
the history of "poor Robertson's" family, they
would lose no time in communicating the fact —
this time to the nephew — Donald. No word had
been heard from them up to the evening that
Dorothy's letter arrived at Aix-la-Chapelle. No
satisfactory response, either, to the Ellen Lee adver-
tisement, and Donald, who had had, as we know, a
disappointing interview with his father's physician,
was weary and almost discouraged. Moreover,
every effort to find the store at which the gold
chain was purchased had been in vain. But now
that Dorothy's letter had come, bringing him new
energy and courage, the outlook was brighter.
There were still manj- plans to try. Surely some
of them must succeed. In the first place, he would
translate his Ellen Lee advertisement into French,
and insert it in Paris and Aix-la-Chapelle news-
papers. Strange that no one had thought of doing
this before. Then he would — no, he would n't —
but, on the other hand, why not send — And at
this misty point of his meditations he fell asleep, to
dream, not, as one would suppose, of Dorothy —
but of the grand Cathedral standing in place of the
chapel from which this special Aix obtained its
name ; of the wonderful hot springs in the public
street ; of the baths, the music, and the general
stir and brightness of this fascinating old Prussian
city.
CH.A.PTER XXXII.
DONALD MAKES A DISCOVERY.
The new French advertisement and a companion
to it, printed in German, were duly issued, but,
alas ! nothing came from them. However, Don-
ald carefully preserved the black pieces he had
obtained in Liverpool, trusting that, in some way,
they yet might be of service to him. He now
visited the shops, examined old hotel registers, and
hunted up persons whose address he had obtained
from his uncle, or from the owners of the "Cum-
berland." The few of these that were to be found
could, after all, but repeat what they could recall
of the report which they had given to Mr. Reed
and John Wakely many years before.
He found in an old book of one of the hotels the
names of Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott Reed on the list of
arrivals; — no mention of a maid, nor of a child.
Then in the books of another hotel whither they had
moved, he found a settlement for board of Wol-
cott Reed, wife, and maid. At the same hotel a
later entry recorded that Mrs. Wolcott Reed
(widow), nurse, and two infants had left for France,
and letters for her were to be forwarded to Havre.
There were several entries concerning settlements
for board and other expenses, but these told Don-
ald nothing new. Finally, he resolved to follow as
nearly as he could the course his mother was known
to have taken from .'\ix-la-Chapelle to Havre, where
she was joined by Mr. and Mrs. Robertson and
i8Sa.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
89-
their baby daughter, a few days before the party
set sail from that French port for New York.
Yes, at Havre he would be sure to gain some
information. If need be, he could settle there for
a while, and patiently follow every possible clue
that presented itself. Perhaps the chain had been
purchased there. What more likely, he thought,
than that, just before sailing, his mother had bought
the pretty little trinket as a parting souvenir? The
question was, had she got it for her own little twin-
daughter, or for Aunt Kate's baby? That point re-
mained to be settled. Taking his usual precaution
of le.iving behind hini an address, to which all com-
ing messages or letters could be fonvarded, Donald
bade farewell to .-Vix-la-Chapelle, and, disregarding
every temptation to stop along the way, hurried on,
past famous old cities, that, under other circum-
stances, would have been of great interest to him.
"We, all three, can come here together, some
time, and see the sights," he thought to himself;
"now I can attend to but one matter."
At Havre he visited the leading shops where
jewelry and fancy goods were sold or manufactured.
These were not numerous, and some of them had
not been in existence fifteen years before, at the
time when the sad-hearted widow and her party
were there. There was no distinctive maker's
mark on the necklace, and no one knew- anything
about it, nor cared to give it any attention, unless
the young gentleman wished to sell it. Then they
might give a trifle. It was not a rare antique,
they said, valuable from its age ; jewelry that was
simply out of date was worth only its weight, and
a little chain like this was a mere nothing. As
Donald was returning to his hotel, weary and in-
clined to be dispirited, he roused himself to look
for Rue de Cordcrie, niimcro 4/, or, as we Ameri-
cans would say. Number 47 Corderic Street.
As this house is famous as the birthplace of
Bernardin de St. Pierre, author of " Paul and
\'irginia," Donald wished to see it for himself and
also to be able to describe it to Dorothy. He did
not visit it on that day, however, for on his way
thither his attention was arrested by a very small
shop which he had not noticed before, and which,
in the new-looking city of Havre, appeared to be
fully a century old. Entering, he was struck with
the oddity of its interior. The place was small,
not larger than the smallest room at Lakewood,
and though its front w indow displayed only watches,
and a notice in French and English that Monsieur
Bajeau repaired jewelry at short notice, it was so
crowded with rare furniture and bric-a-brac that
Donald, for a moment, thought he had entered the
wrong shop. But, no! There hung the watches, in
full sight, and a bright-faced old man in a black
skull-cap was industriously repairing a bracelet.
" May I see the proprietor of this store, please ? "
asked Donald, politely.
" Oui, monsieur," replied the old man, with
equal courtesy, rising and stepping forward. " Je
siiis — 1 am ze proprietaire, yV iic comprcitd pas.
I no speak ze Ingleesh. Parles-vous Fraitfois —
eh?"
" Oh, yes," said Donald, too full of his errand
to be conscious that he was not speaking French, as
he carefully took a little red velvet case from an
inside pocket, " 1 wished to show you this neck-
l.ace — to ask if you "
The old man listened with rather an aggrieved
air. " Ah ! Eh ! I sail re-paire it, you say ? " then
adding wistfully, " You no speak ze French ?"
" Old, oui, monsieur, — pardon itcz," said Donald,
thus reminded. From that moment he and the
now radiant Monsieur Bajeau got on finely together,
for Donald's French was much better than mon-
sieur's English ; and, in truth, the young man was
very willing to practice speaking it in the retirement
of this quaint little shop. Their conversation shall
be translated here, however.
"Have you ever seen this before, sir ?" asked
Donald, taking the precious necklace from the box
and handing it to him over the little counter.
■' No," answered the shop-keeper, shaking his
liead as he took the trinket. " Ah ! that is very
pretty. No, not a very old chain. It is modern,
but very odd — very fine — unique, we say. Here
are letters," as he turned the clasp and examined its
under side. " What are they ? They are so small.
Your young eyes are sharp. Eh ? " Here mon-
sieur bent his head and looked inquiringly at
Donald from over his spectacles.
"D. R.," said Don.
•' Ah, yes ! D. R. : now I see," as he turned
tliem to the light. " D. R., that is strange. Now,
1 think 1 ha\c seen those same letters before. Why,
my young friend, as I look at this little chain, some-
thing canies the years away and I am a younger
man. It brings very much to mind — Hold! — No,
it is all gone now. 1 must have made a mistake."
Donald's heart beat faster.
" Did you make the chain ? " he asked, eagerly.
"No, no, never. I never made a chain like
it — but I have seen that chain before. The clasp is
very — ver)' — You know how it opens?"
" It is rusty inside," explained Donald, leaning
forward anxiously, lest it should be injured. "We
need not open it." Then controlling his excitement,
he added as quietly as he could :
" You have seen it before, monsieur ? "
" 1 have seen it. Where is the key ? "
" The key, monsieur ? What do you mean ? "
"The key that opens the clasp," returned the
Frenchman witli sudden impatience. This Amer-
894
DONALD AND DOROTHY
[September,
ican boy began to appear rather stupid in Mon-
sieur's eyes. Donald looked at him in amazement.
"Doc's it lock?"
" Does it lock?" echoed monsieur. " Why, see
here ; " and with these words he tried to press the
upper part of the clasp aside. It stuck at first, but,
finally yielded, sliding around from the main
part on an invisible little pivot, and disclosing a
very small key-hole.
Donald stared at it in helpless bewilderment.
Evidently his uncle had failed to find this keyhole,
so deftly concealed ?
The old man eyed his visitor shrewdly. Having
been for some time a dealer in rare bric-a-brac, he
prided himself on being up to the tricks of persons
who had second-hand treasures to sell.
" Is this chain yours ? " he asked, coldly. " Do
you bring it to sell to me? All this is very strange.
I wish I could remember "
" Oh, no, indeed. Not to sell. Yes, the chain is
mine, my sister's — my uncle's, I mean — in America."
Monsieur drew back with added distrust, but he
was re-assured by Donald's earnest tone. '' Oh,
monsieur, pray recall all you can about this matter.
I can not tell you how important it is to me — how
anxious I am to hear ! "
" Young man, your face is flushed, you are in
trouble. Come in and sit down," leading the way
into a small room behind the shop. " As for this
necklace, there is something — but I cannot think —
it is something in the past years that will not come
back — Ah ! I hear a customer — I must go. Pardon
me, I will return presently."
So saying. Monsieur left him. bending slightly
and taking short, cjuick steps, as he hurried into the
shop. Donald thought the old man was gone for an
hour, though it really was only five minutes. But
it had given him an opportunity to collect his
thoughts, and when Monsieur returned, Donald
was ready with a question :
" Perhaps a lady — a widow — brought the chain
to you long ago, sir ? "
■'A widow!" exclaimed Monsieur, brightening.
" a widow dressed in mourning — yes, it comes back
to me — a day, ten, twenty years ago — I see it alii
A lady — two ladies — no, one was a servant, a gen-
teel nurse ; both wore black and there was a little
baby — two little babies — very little: I see them
now."
"Two ! " exclaimed Donald, half wild with eager-
ness.
" Yes, two pink little fellows."
"Pink! " In a flash, Donald remembered the
tiny pink sacque, now in his valise at the hotel.
" Yes, pink little faces, with lace all around —
very droll — the littlest babies I ever saw taken into
the street. Well, the pretty lady in black carried
one, and the nurse — she was a tall woman — car-
ried the other."
"Yes, yes, please," urged Donald. He longed
to help Monsieur on with the account, but it would
be better, he knew, to let him take his own way.
It all came out in time, little by little — but com-
plete at last. The widow lady had gone to the old
man's shop, with two infants and a tall nurse.
With a tiny gold key she had unlocked a necklace
from one of the babies' necks, and had requested
Monsieur Bajeau to engrave a name on the under
side of its small square clasp.
" A name? " asked Donald, thinking of the tivo
initials.
" Yes, a name — a girl's name," continued the
old man, rubbing his chin and speaking slowly, as
if trying to recollect. " Well, no matter. Intend-
ing to engrave the name later in the afternoon, I
wrote it down in my order-book, and asked the
lady for her address, so that I might send the
chain to her the next day. But, no ; she would
not leave it. She must have the name engraved
at once, right away, and must put the necklace
herself on her little daughter. She would wait.
Well, I wished to obey the lady, and set to work.
But I saw immediately there was not space enough
for the whole name. She was very sorry, poor
lady, and then she said I should put on the two
letters D. R. There they are, you see, my own
work — you see that ? And she paid me, and locked
the chain on the baby's neck again — ah me ! it is so
strange ! — and she went away. That is all I know."
He had spoken the last few sentences rapidly,
after Donald had asked, excitedly, " What name,
monsieur. What was the name, please ? "
Now the old man. hardly pausing, deliberately
went back to Don's question.
" The name ? the name ? — I can not quite say."
'• Was it — Delia ? " suggested Donald, faintly.
" Yes, Delia. I think that was the name."
If Donald had been struck, he could scarcely
have been more stunned.
" Wait ! " exclaimed Monsieur ; "" We shall see.
I will search the old books. Do \ ou know the year ?
1850? — 60 ? — uhat ? "
" 1S59, November," said Donald, wearily, his
joy all turned to misgiving.
" Ha! Now we can be sure ! Come into the
shop. Y'our young limbs can mount these steps.
If you please, hand down the book for 1859; you
see it on the back. Ah, how dusty ! I have kept
them so long. Now" — taking the volume from
Donald's trembling hands — " we shall see."
Don leaned over him, as the old man, mumbling
softly to himself, examined page after page.
"July, August, September — ah, I was a very-
busy man in those days — plenty to do with my
i883.]
DONA ID AND DOROTHY.
S95
hands, but not making money as I have been since
— different hne of business for the most part — Octo-
ber— November — here it is — "
Donald leaned closer. He gave a sudden cry.
Yes, there it was — a hasty memorandum ; part of
it was unintelligible to him, but the main word
stood clear and distinct.
It was Dorothy.
sure to write just what the lady told me." An
antique-looking clock behind them struck " two."
'•Ah, it is time for me to eat something. Will
you stay and take coffee with me, my friend. We
arc not strangers now. "
Strangers, indeed ! Donald fairly lo\ ed the
man. He did not accept the invitation, but thank-
ing him again and again, agreed lo return in the
K BAJEAi: BECOMES INTERESTED IN LiUN \i.[»
"Ah! Dorothy." Echoed the other. "Yes,
that was it. 1 told you so."
" You said Delia," suggested Don.
The old man gave a satisfied nod. " Yes, Delia."
•' But it 's Dorothy,'" insisted Donald firmly, and
with a gladness in his tone that made the old man
smile in sympathy. '• Dorothy, as plain as day."
To Monsieur Bajcau the precise name was of little
consequence, but he adjusted his glasses and
looked at the book again.
" Yes — Dorothy. So it is. A pretty name. I
am glad, my friend, if you arc pleased." Here
Monsieur shook Donald's hand warmly. "The
name in mv book is certainlv correct. I would be
evening, for Monsieur wished to know more of the
strange story.
Donald walked back to the hotel lightly as
though treading the air. Everything looked bright
to him. Havre, he perceived, was one of the most
delightful cities in the world. He felt like sending
a cable message home about the chain, but on
second thought resolved to be cautious. It would
not do lo raise hopes that might yet be disap-
jjointed. It was just possible that after the visit
to Monsieur Bajeau, his mother, for some reason,
had transferred the necklace to babj- Delia's neck.
He would wait. His work was not yet finished,
but he had made a splendid beginning.
896
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[September,
More than one tourist hurrying through Havre
that day, bound for the steamer or for that pride
of the city, the hill of Ingouville, to enjoy the
superb view, noticed the young lad's joyous face
and buoyant step as he passed by.
Donald walked briskly into the hotel, intent
upon writing a cheery letter home ; but, from
habit, he stopped at the desk to ask if there was
anything for him.
"Mr. D. Reed?" asked the hotel clerk, point-
ing to a bulky envelope half covered with postage
stamps.
■' That 's my name." returned the happy boy as
he hurriedly tore open one end of the envelope.
"Whew! Six!"
There were indeed six letters ; and all had been
forwarded from Aix-la-Chapelle.
One was from Mr. Wogg, inclosing a bit of
printed calico and a soiled memorandum, stating
that he sent herewith a piece like the gown which
the party in Liverpool had given to the young
Frenchwoman fifteen years before. He had ob-
tained it, Mr. Wogg said, "from an old patch-work
quilt in the possession of the party, and had paid
said party one crown for the same." Two letters
were from Mr. Reed and Dorothy, and the rest,
three in number — addressed to D. R., in care of
Dubigk'^ Hotel, .Aix-la-Chapelle — were from three
persons with very different hand-writings, but each
an Ellen Lee ! (Comiusion next month.)
DANDELION.
Bv W. B. .Allen.
A DANDELION in a meadow grew.
Among the waving grass and cowslips yellow ;
Dining on sunshine, breakfasting on dew.
He was a right contented little fellow.
One afternoon, in sad, unquiet mood,
1 paused beside this tiny, bright-faced flower.
And begged that he would tell me, if he could.
The secret of his joy through sun and shower.
Each morn his golden head he lifted straight,
To catch the first sweet breath of coming day :
Each evening closed his sleepy eyes, to wait
Lentil the long, cool night had passed away.
He looked at me with open eyes, and said :
" 1 know the sun is somewhere, shining clear.
And when I cannot see him overhead.
1 trv to be a little sun, right here ! "
A QUEER BOAT AND A FUNNY CREW.
Bv C. 1. T.
Once there was a riv-er with too much wa-ter in it. It had been
rain-ing for a long time, and all the small streams which ran in-to this
riv-er were ver-y full, and they poured so much wa-ter in-to the large
riv-er that it rose a-bove its banks and spread far out o-ver the shore on
both sides. This ris-ing of a riv-er is called a fresh-et, and it of-ten
hap-pens that hous-es on the banks of the riv-er are car-ried a-\vav by
the wa-ter, and that peo-ple and an-i-mals are drowned.
The wa-ter in this large riv-er rose so quick-ly that a great man-y
liv-ing creat-ures did not have time to get to dry land. Some men
i88».l FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. 897
were on horse-back, and mack- thc-ir hors-es swim a-shore ; and some
peo-ple saved them-selves by climb-ins^ up on lit-tlc isl-ands, or banks
of earth a-bove the wa-ter.
There was a big, fat hog, wlio was so la-zy that he did not run to-
ward the dry land as did the lit-tle pigs when the wa-ter reached the
place where thej- were feed-ing, and it was not long be-fore the wa-ter
was so deep a- round him that he could not run at all. Then he be-
gan to be a-fraid he would be drowned, for he had never tried to
swim, and he did not know wheth-er he could do so or not. Pres-ent-ly,
he saw a laryfe wood-en trougfh, which liad bc-en made for th(; hors-es
to drink out of come float-ing down cjuite near him.
" Hel-lo ! " said the hog to him-self, "if here is n't a boat! I re-
mem-ber when it was a horse-trough; but it must be a boat now, for it
floats on the wa-ter. At a-ny rate, it is a good e-nough boat for me.
If I can, I '11 get in-to it and float a-shore."
So the hog wad-ed close up to the trough, and. af-ter a great deal
of trou-ble, he climbed in-to it. He was so big and clum-sy that he
came ver-y near up-set-ting it, and a good deal of wa-ter did get in-to
the trough, but the hog was so glad to get in liiin-self that he did not
mind stand-ing up to his knees in wa-ter. He now float-ed a-long ver-y
well, but he did not float to the shore. The wa-ter was run-ning down
the riv-er, and so, of course, his boat went that way too.
"If I on-Iy had a sail, or a pair of oars," thought the hog, "I
could make the boat go straight to shore. I have often seen a man in
a boat, and when he had a sail or oars lie could make the boat go just
where he pleased. Hut I don't know liow to man-age a sail, and I am
not sure that I could hold oars with my fore feet ; so, af-ter all, it may
be just as well that I have n't ei-ther of them. Per-haps I may float
a-shore be-fore long, and, at a-ny rate, this is a ver-y pleas-ant boat,
and the wa-ter in it keeps my legs nice and cool."
Just then he came near an old hen-house which had once stood on
dry land, but which was now far out in the wa-ter. On the roof of this
house stood three hens and a cock, who had flown up there to keep
dry.
"Cock-a-doo-dle-doo-00-00 ! " crowed the cock, as soon as the hog
came near. "Don't you want some pas-sen-gers ? "
"No," said the hog, "there 's only room e-nough here for me. My
boat is half-full of wa-ter a-ny-how, and you coukl n't stand in wa-ter, as
I can. "
" But we could perch on one side." said one of the hens.
898 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [September,
"That would nev-er do at all," said the hog. "You would make that
side heav-y and up-set us all. Why don't you fly a-shore?"
"It is too far," said an-oth-er ot the hens; "we would flop in-to the
wa-ter and be drowned."
" It is a great pit-y you are not ducks," said the hog ; " then you
could swim to the land."
"That's ver-y -true," said the cock. "I nev-er be-fore wished to be
a duck ; but I think now it would be very nice to be one, and to swim
a-shore. But, since we are not ducks and can not swim, I wish you would
let us come on your boat. We might all sit on the mid-die of your back,
and then we would not tip the boat at all."
"Ver-y well," said the hog, "if you can do that you can come a-board ;
but do not fly down all at once, for that would rock my boat too much.
You must come one at a time."
The three hens now flew, one at a time, on the hog's back. The
cock was ver-y po-lite, and did not fly un-til the hens were all com-fort-a-bly
on board. By this time the trough had float-ed past the hen-house, and
the cock had to fly a good deal be-fore he reached the hog's back, but
he got there safe-ly, and did not rock the boat at all.
" Now, then," said the cock, " this is real-Iy pleas-ant. I nev-er be-
fore made a trip on the wa-ter."
" I nev-er did either," said the hog. " If we only had some-thing to
eat, we should do very well."
" As for me," said one of the hens, " I think it is per-fect-ly charm-
ing. And I am not a bit hun-gry."
" I am al-ways hun-gry," said the hog.
They float-ed, and they float-ed, and they float-ed un-til it was dark,
and then they all went to sleep. About the mid-die of the night the
boat ran a-shore, and the hog, who was ver-y tir-ed of be-ing in the
wa-ter, scram-bled out upon dry land. The fowls slipped off his back, and
flut-tered on shore.
" This would do ver-y well," said the hog, " if we on-ly had some-
thing to eat."
" We could n't see how to eat a-ny-thing if we had it," said one of
the hens.
" If there was any food here I could eat it with-out see-ing it," said
the hog. " I be-lieve I smell corn now."
With that he hunt-ed about un-til he found a corn-stack which stood
near, and there he feast-ed un-til morn-ing. When it was day -light the
fowls came to the corn-stack.
iSSi.)
FOR VKRV LITTLE FOLK.
899
THE HOG AND HIS PASSENGERS.
"Oho!" said th(: lioi;, "I am sor-ry for you. You have had to stay
o-ver there in the dark, and I have been eat-ing- corn all night."
"We could n't see what we were eat-ing if we ate in the dark,' said
one of the hens.
"Thai makes no dif-fer-ence to me," said tin- hog.
" But we are not hogs," ixi-litc-ly rc-marked the cock.
900
J A C K - I N - T 1 1 E - 1' IM, I' T T .
[September,
] JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
Tread lightly this time, my dears, and take your
places without saying a word. We are going to
lead off with something a little bird brought me in
a letter :
WOVEN WIND.
It is said that in India a muslin is manufactured
which is so fine that it has received the poetic name
of " Woven Wind." When laid upon the grass to
bleach, the dew hides it from sight. It used to be
spun only by native women who had been trained
to the task from infancy ; and so nice was the sense
of touch required for the spinning of this yarn, that
they were constantly waited upon b)' a retinue of
servants, whose duty it was to relieve them of all
menial offices that might endanger the fine faculty
which long practice and seclusion had bestowed on
their delicate finger-tips.
This "woven wind" is certainly a wonder of
spinning, but your Jack happens to know of some
spinners that are capable of still finer workmanship.
The Deacon tells me that spiders have been seen
as small as a grain of sand, and these spin a thread
so fine that it takes many hundreds of them to
equal in size a single hair.
WHO HAS TASTED IT?
I 'M told that a certain fruit called the diirion
is the most delicious fruit in the world. The eat-
able part is a sort of cream-colored pulp, and this
is enclosed in a hard shell covered with sharp
spikes. It is a native of Borneo and grows on a
tree like an elm. Has any one of my hearers ever
tasted one ? If so. Jack begs him, her, or it to report.
Is it sweet, sour, high-flavored, or spicy? Does
it resemble any North American fruit, and can it
be raised in one of those glass buildings that prove
such a puzzle to my birds ? What of the durion ?
By the way, I 've just been informed that this
fruit, which must be pretty heavy, sometimes falls
on persons passing under the high trees and hurts
them seriously. It even has been known to kill
people.
It does n't do to trust entirely to a thing being
absolutely good because it is delicious, 1 find.
THE TREMBLING TREE.
Maflewood, N. J., July 24th.
Dear Jack : We have a very strange plant, called sensitive plant,
and it dislikes to be touched. If you put your finger on it, the fine
little leaves shrink away from you, and for a moment look decidedly
wilted. But they soon brighten up if you let them alone. Having
seen this plant every day, I was very much interested when a girl
who belongs to the St. Nicholas Agassiz Association sent me a
printed account of a wonderful sensitive plant which grows in Aus-
tralia. She had cut the piece out of a newspaper. Will you please
show it to the boys and ^rls, and then if any of them have ever seen
just such a plant they will let you know. I do wonder if it is true.
It says the tree is a kind of acacia, and ours is one of that kind, too,
though it does not cut up so much.
This specimen, the account says, was grown from a seed brought
from Australia, and already it has grown to be a sapling eight feet
in height.
Regularly, every evening, when the chickens "go to roost," the
tree performs very much the same duty. The leaves fold together
and the ends of the tender twigs coil themselves up. After one of
the twigs has been stroked or handled, the leaves move uneasily and
are in a sort of mild commotion for a minute or more. Lately, the
tree being in a comparatively small pot, which it was fast outgrow-
ing, it was deemed best to give it one of much larger size, but, when
removed to its new quarters, it resented the operation to the best of
its ability. When it had been fairly transplanted it acted as if furiously
enraged. The leaves began to stand up in all directions, like the
hair on the tail of an angry cat, and soon the whole plant was in a
feverish quiver. This could have been endured, but at the same time
it gave out an odor most sickening and pungent — just such a smell
as is given ofl^ by rattlesnakes and many other kinds of venomous
serpents when disturbed. The odor filled the house. It was fully
an hour before the plant calmed down and folded its leaves in peace,
and it appeared that it had given up the battle only because the hour
for its peculiar manner of "retiring" had arrived. It is probably
needless to say that the children, and in fact the whole household,
now stand in abject awe of the strange tree, as being a thing vastly
more reptile than vegetable. Many similar experiences, and some
even more remarkable, have been had with the different forms of
highly sensitive plant-life. Yours truly,
Jennie C. R.
WAYS OF THINKING.
Once there was a man who did n't know what to
do with himself He had traveled twice around
the world, he said, and there was nothing more to
be seen. He was only twenty-eight years old.
And there was another man who said that life was
too short, even what is called a long life would be too
short for one to be able to thoroughly see a patch
of growing grass a foot square.
Each of these men was right according to his
way of thinking. But what a' difference in the .
ways
A TIDE 1296 FEET HIGH.
" Now you certainly must be mistaken. Jack,"
do 1 hear you say? "Why, in such a case the land
would nearly all be covered by water, and — well,
we never heard of such a thing, anyway. "
But, my dears, this was long ago — ages and ages
ago, — and I have the word of an eminent English
astronomer for it. This learned man bases his
calculations on the fact that, through lunar action
on tides, the earth reacts on the moon, and is con-
stantly driving it farther away. According to this
scientist, who reasons backward, at one time the
sun and the earth were so close together that the
days were but three hours long instead of twent;-
i882.]
I AC K - 1 N-rii K- rr limt.
901
four. The earth then made one complete revolu-
tion every three hours. It was in these ages that,
as estimated, an ordinary tide would rise about
1296 feet.
But you don't understand all this, you say? And
vou want to know how the earth, through its tides,
reacts on the moon? Well, this matter is not very
clear in your Jack's mind; and the dear Little
Schoolma'am is away, enjoying her "vacation,"
My birds can not help me this time, either. If we
only had a wise old Dodo here, he might be able
to explain. But the Dodo is an extinct bird, 1 'm
told. It would Ijc a joke, now, if these remarkable
tides were before his time, even !
Anyway, if you consult an encyclopedia and read
what it says about tides, you will probably either
understand this business or not. more or less.
HOW THE FLAT-FISH DISAPPEARED.
Here is a true story from a friend of the dear
Little School-ma'am :
Kate and Robbie were on the bridge crossing a small creek near
their house: Kate was eight years old and Robbie ten. They were
watching the fish and the crabs and the shrimps, and whatever
might come along. The water was only ab<»ut a foot deep, and the
bottom bright, clean sand, so that they could see with perfect cle.-ir-
ness everything that passed.
Presently along came a flat-fish swimming up the creek. Flat-fish
always swim close to the bottom, and when they stop swimming
they lie flat on the bottom. This one was corning slowly along and
slopping every few feet, and then gomg on agam. He was about
eight inches long and was of a dark brown color, and of course, as
he contrasted with the bright sand, his dark color showed very
Strongly. The children saw him coming and were watching him,
hoping that he would stop near them. He did so, making a halt
just as he reached the bndge. They were very quiet for fear that
they might frighten him, not even speaking, but some movement or
other disturbed him, and he disappeared. " Why, Robbie ! Where
is the flat-fish?" "I am sure 1 cannot tell, Kate. Did yoij see
him go?" "No, and I was looking straight at him all the time.
How could it be that he got away so quick ? "
And so tiiey went on talking over the matter, and wondering
where the flat-fish was, while all the time he lay just where they had
seen him stop.
After a few minutes Robbie's sharp eyes detected two black spoLs
on the while s-ind. "Katie, don't you see those two specks? I
wonder what they can be. I don't believe ihey were there before
the flat-fish came." *' Why, Robbie, they look to mc like eyes. Do
you suppose he has gone away and left nis eyes there? " " I don't
know, Kate, but you just keep still a minute and I will punch the
place with a stick." He brought the stick, put it down carefully,
and was about to touch the black spots, when away darted the flat-
fish from the very spot under the stick, and as he swam off he
looked ;ls d.irk brown as he was when he came.
Now, how was it that he disappeared? Where did he go? I will
tell you. He did not go ; he lay still all the lime, but he changed
his color on the instant, so thai instead c)f being dark he was as
light as the sand, and thus the children were unable to see him,
and when Robbie started him with the stick he resumed his dark
color xs suddenly. Isn't that strange? And yet it is absolutely
true. I have seen it done many and many a time. You have
probably read stories about the chameleon and its power of chang-
mg color. Probably all that you have ever read may be correct,
but you ought to understand that other animals can change their
color as well. I have seen chameleons often, and they change aston-
ishingly, but a number of our fishes, can do it more strikingly.
I have seen cuttle-fish, which are commonly called squids, change
from dark chocolate-brown to clear white, and then back to brown
again, and do it repeatedly, as rapidly as I could open and shut
my hand.
WHAT WOULD YOU DO, IF-?"
Don't be frightened ! I only want to say that
the above is a good question to ask yourselves
occasionally, and a careful consideration of it ver)'
helpful now and then. And here is a brief docu-
ment in evidence of this fact:
Dkar Jack: My bnjther used to forget to arrange his clothes
neatly at night, when goin^ to bed, and .Mamma chose a very
novel way to cure him of his carelessness. Wdie was very much
afraid of our house taking fire, or of fire in our neighborhood; so
Mother said to him one night: " Eddie, what would you do if there
was a fire in the night ? You would not be able to find your clothes,
and would occasion a deal of trouble to us all. Now lay them over
a ch.iir, in just the order in which you would wish to find them in
case of fire.
Eddie thoughtfully did just as Mother said, and though he had to
be reminded a few times after thai, three years have now passed by,
and I heard him say lately : " I never go to bed now without arrang-
ing my clothes neatly close at hand." D.
Talking of " what-ifs," moreover, I 'm informed
that historians say of Napoleon that, before be-
ginning a battle, he thought little of what he
should do in case of success, but a great deal
about what he would do if surprised or defeated.
And the mere fact that he won so many victories
is no proof, in your Jack's opinion, that his taking
defeat into consideration, and pondering awhile
over resorts and emergencies, was a waste of time.
BABIES AMONG THE FLOWERS.
Dear Jack-in-the-Pui.i*it: I'elle found such wonderful things
growing dtnun in the ground, in one of her flower-beds, that I must
tell your children about them. I had never seen such growing,
cither in flower-garden or woodland, and probably some of your
liiilc folk can say the same.
One cold day last spring, while sweeping withered leaves into
heaps for burning. Belle heard a strange little noise, right under her
broom, as it seemed. *' Queak, queak," it sounded, to the alarm of
the little maiden, who having great fear of snakes, thought it must
be one. The noise ceasing with her broom, she again commenced
sweeping, and "queak, queak," came from the pile of leaves.
She took a long stick, and stirring among the leaves found — what
do you suppose? Only a hole scooped out, and well lined with
soft gray fur, and in it what seemed to be a moving, wriggling ball
of gray fur. It was a rabbit's nest, containing three tiny rabbits not
larger than grown mice, but so much prettier ! Their eyes were
closed : but such long, dainty ears and be:iutiful sleek coats ! Each
had a straight Hue of while in each forehead, as though Mother
"Cotton-tail" had combed and parted each little head, like any
other mother who wishes her children to look very nice. After ex-
amining them, even taking one out of the nest. Belle replaced the
hair-blanket and leaf-coverfct just as she found ihcm, and concluded
not to bum that heap of leaves.
The gray babies received many visits, but soon grew so large and
wide awake that one day, when Belle was taking a peep, out they
scampered and were never more seen in the garden. Perhaps they
came home to sleep every night, but they were not seen by Belle
again. Yours truly, .^.nn N. N.
WHAT ARE THEY?
The queer things shown in this picture are not
alive, I 'm told, and yet they seem to have an
uncommonly lively look for what the Little School-
ma'am calls "inanimate objects." Who can tell
just what they are, and who can explain those
strange black marks upon them tliat look like slits
in their backs ?
902
THE LETTER-BOX.
[September,
THE LETTER-BOX.
WHAT A CORKESFONDENT OF ST. NICHOLAS S.\W IN A SEPTEMBER CORN-FIELD.
Washington, D. C.
Dear St. Nicholas: Almost alt children like to hear stories about
animals. I would like to tell you one about a dop that is owned by
a neighbor of ours. This neighbor has a good many handsome
chickens which he prizes very highly, also a young hunting-dog.
This dog takes it upon himself to watch over these chickens, and
he treats them pretty much as he pleases. In the morning, when the
door of the coop is opened, he is tno busy with his nwn breakfast to
attend to them; but, as soon as that is finished, he starts for his
charge.
First, he chases them around the yard until they take refuge in the
shed or his kennel ; then he will sit down before the door, and, from
the way in which he wags his tail and shows his teeth, I am sure he
laughs at the fright he has given the poor, innocent things.
By and by a very daring chicken gets out, but the dog runs round
and round it, until he runs it into the shed. This he keeps up all
day, if necessary, or as long as it seems to worry the poor chicks.
I sometimes see one of the children come out with food for the
dog; or chickens. If the food is for him, he leaves the chickens im-
mediately; but when it is for them, he is very sad indeed, for the
child stays out there to see that he does not molest them while eat-
ing, or steal away their food. I have seen bread thrown out to the
chickens, and he would chase them all away and eat it himself, wag-
ging his tail ver}' contentedly.
After that he has his fun. for, as the children cannot stay out all
day and the chickens cannot defend themselves, he again can imprison
them.
Not long ago Mr. Bergh came here and gave a lecture on the
prevention of cruelty to animals, and spoke of the organization of a
society for the prevention of cruelty to children, which they have now
in operation.
Now, as twelve chickens is a larger numlicr than one dog, and as
most people think the happiness of the greater number should be
considered first, I think that Mr. Bergh should come here again and
organize a society for the prevention of cruelty to chickens by dogs.
Your faithful reader, Amy Mothershead (age n).
George W. Barnes, of Philadelphia, sends a letter saying that
he has been trying to make as many words as possible out of the
letters contained in the words " Saint Nicholas " — and he incloses a
list of seventy-two. Who will make more than this number?
Kansas C;tv. Mc, January 30.
The other day my sister found a very odd bug. It was green and
about two and a half inches long. The lower part of the body was
quite large, and then there was a long slim part about -)4 inches
long. It had a three-cornered head. The eyes wereon two comers,
and the mouth on the third. When approached it turned to look at
us. It had six legs, and when it wanted to pick its teeth [?] it put
its foreleg over the second, and brought the second up to its mouth,
BiNA J. Rav.
Who recognizes the bug ? Vv'ho can tell what it really does when
it appears to " pick its teeth ? " Do * bugs ' have teeth ?
THE LETTER-BOX.
903
The following list, for which there was not room at the close of
the Scpiembcr installment of "Art and Artists," comprises the most
impurtant existing works of the artists named therein :
Bri'NElleschi : The Dome of the Cathedral. Florence ; The
Pazz! Chapel in the Church of Santa Croce, Florence : The Piiti
Palace.
Ghiderti: The Bronze Gates of the Baptistery, Florence: Sar-
cophagus of St. Zcnobius. Cathedral, Florence.
Benvenlto Cellini: Perseus, Loggia de" Lanzi, Florence;
Nymph in bronze, Renaissance Museum, Ixjuvre, Paris; Golden
salt-celbr. Cabinet of Antiques, Vienna ; Crucifix in black and white
marble, F-scurlnl, Spain ; A Reliquar>-, Royal Palace, Munich.
Three cups and a flask, Plate-room, Pi»i Palace, Florence; Cup ol
Lapis lazuli, Uffizi Gallcr>- ; Bust of Bindo Altoviti, Altoviti Palace.
Rome.
DoSATELi^ : Dancing children, Uffizi Gallery, Florence : Statue
of David, Uffizi Gallery, Florence ; St. George and Sis. Peter and
Mark, Or San Michcle, Florence; Statue of Francesco Gattn-
Melata, Padua : Magdalene, Baptistery, Florence : Judith, Loggia
dc* Lanzi, Florence.
Had it not been for his enthusiasm, the Chapter would have dis-
banded long ago. We are a Chapter no longer.
Yours sorrttwfuUy, F. E. Coombs.
[The members of Chapter so8 have our most sincere sympathy
and that of the whole A. A. in their sorrow.]
I give what I have found out about one kind of pollen. I shall
not ir>- 10 examine flowers in any order. I suppose my results and
those of others will be arranged together.
Common rmmc. Buttercup. 5//a/c, globular, having three dU-
linct lobes divided by chink.s or depressions. (I infer this from the
outline of the grains in the field ol the microscope. The majority
of ihe grains showed as at A, but many were like B.) Ci^/w, yel-
low. Sur/iue, smooth. A. B. G.
LENOX
MASS
A.
THE AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION - EIGHTEENTH
REPORT.
The Baik-.e.
The question of a badge for our
Association has caused a great deal
of discussion and awakened a great
deal of interest. We have adopted
Inne suggested by Kenneth Brown,
which is here figured. It is a Swiss
1 ross. This is doubly appropriate
from the fact that Louis Agassiz
was bom in Switzerland, and that
Switzerland was also the birth-place
of school scientific societies like our
own. The figure on the upper arm
of the cross represents the number which each Chapter has in the
general organization. The other letters explain themselves. Wc
consider ourselves peculiarly fortunate in having secured the services
and interest of Mr. \V. A. Hayward, 202 Broadway, New York.
He has agreed to make badges for the members of the A. A. who
wish them, at the following prices:
1. Blue ribbon, printed in gold. . $0.10
2. Solid silver, engraved 50
3. Solid silver, blue enameled letteis ■. i.oo
4. Solid gold, engraved 3.00
5. Solid gold, blue enameled letters 4.00
Mr. Hayward may be considered the authorized badge-maker of
the A. A., and all orders should be sent directly to him. Wc can
not attend to them under any circumstances.
Exchanges.
Bird-skins and eggs. — A. C. Bent, Sec. Chapter 219, Taunton,
Mass.
Sicmpra vivas, for marine curiosities. — J. J. O'Connell. Jr., Fort
Stockton, Texas.
Will some one furnish the A. A. information regarding a genus
of flics — Offersia^ I believe — which, instead of hatching eggs, pro-
duces chrysalides?— Fred. E. Kcay, North Cambridge, Mass.
Answer to W. Llghton : Philip Meeker.
Leaves and pressed flowers. — W. Evans, Sec, West Town, N. Y.
Shells and stones.— Miss S. M. Coster, Flatbush, L. L
A buffalo's horn and a piece of lava. — Jesse Burgster, Saratoga,
Dakota Tcr.
Petrified siag-hom, shells, and white coral, for a Kansas grass-
hopper and three good specimens of other insects. — Miss Mamie
Barker, 114 West Onondaga St., Syracuse, N. Y.
Scorpion from Palestine, lizard from South America, and minerals,
for fossils.— E. C. Mitchell, 115 West Thirteenth St., New York.
Reports from Chapters.
Washington, D. C.
Mine is the painful task of informing you that W. B. Emor>'. the
Secretary of our Chapter, is dead. We all mourn him sincerely.
^
J^.
[If each Chapter which owns a microscope would continue this
study of pollen, as here indicated, and send us the results for com-
parison, it would be worth while.]
I have been much troubled in conducting exchanges, particularly
eggs, as the identifications have seldom been sent. Let each col-
lector give, at least, the locality in which a nest was found, the date,
and number of eggs in nest. Harry D. White.
We have had the pleasure of watching the hatching of a butterfly's
egg into a liny dark caterpillar. May H. Prentice.
Chicoper, Mass.
A verj- tittle thought will show the error of " A. B. G.*s " theoiy
(which was Agassiz's) that the hexagonal shape of bee-cells is
caused by the crowding together of cylindrical cells. Examine the
base of a cell, where a bee begins operations, and it will be found
to be a "triangular pyramid,' whose three faces are rlictmbs, and
whose apex forms the center of the floor of the cell. I send you a
sample of the artificial comb foundation now almost universally used
by bee-keepers. To support the present theory, we must also
assume that the drone cells in a comb are built by the drone bees,
as their bodies alone are of the correct size to ser\'c as a " model."
In view of the fact that drones have neither wax-glands nor the or-
gans necessary for cell-building, this is absurd. Finally, qucen-woj/*
invariably build hexagonal cells, unaided and alone.
Respectfully yours, John D. White.
I have lately received a fine skin of the puma or American lion
( Ltopardtts coHColor). It measures six feet eleven and a half inches
from tip to tip. It has a dark line down the center of the back.
The general color is tawny, and it is very beautiful.
John L. Hanna, Fort Wayne, Ind-
H. Hancock writes: *' I have been copying some of the snow-
crystals figured in March Sr. Nicholas. I noticed that one had
twenty-four points, and several had twelve. I read the other day
that snow-crystals invariably had six points. How about that?"
[It has usually been said that snow-crystals have angles to the
number of some multiple of three- this would allow both twelve
and twenty-four; but, if the drawings which have been sent us are
correct, there seems to be no law in the matter, for we have them of
three, four, five, and six angles. ]
We are pupils of the Waco Female College, Texas. About four
years ago our teacher began to teach us to love nature, and, to keep
our eyes and ears open, often took us to the woods. Oh, how wc
enjoyed those rambles 1 Such rides to and from the woods! We
soon got a collection, and determined to form a Natural History
Society. We were deliberating on a name when, to our great joy,
your first article in St. Nicholas was read to vis. With a few
variations we forthwith adopted the name, constitution, and by-laws.
Since then we have varied with wind and weather, but have now
launched upon a smooth-sailing sea. Wc have twenty-six members-
Some of our prominent citizens have joined us. By carefully hoard-
ing our dues of .id mission, etc., wc have been able to buy a fine
microscope, a number of shelK, and a few books .and pictures. We
have a book in which the librarian pastes articles and pichires
.•^elected by some one member every week. We have another into
which the Secretary transcribes the papers read by the members be-
904
THE LETTER-BOX.
[September,
fore the Society, and also articles of interest which can not be cut
from valuable books. The President always appoints one member
to ask three questions to be answered at the next meeting. The
correct answers are copied into our manuscript scrap-book. We
often take questions from the St. Nicholas. Oh ! we have so
much to say to you, and to ask, I hardly know where to begin or
leave off. We have a specimen of the Texas centipede for exchange,
also a stinging Hzard and a homed frog.
Miss Jennie Wise, Box 454, Waco, Texas.
Union St., Taunton. Mass.
Our Chapter has just held its first anniversary. We are about to
hold a field meeting. It will be at Lake Assawampsett, which is
about ten miles from Taunton, and the largest lake in Massachusetts.
Our meetings continue to be interesting. We have lessons in tax-
idermy, mounting botanical specimens, preserving marine objects,
etc. Harry G. White, Curator Chap. 93.
Buffalo, N. V.
Our report is somewhat tardy, owing to an entertainment given
for our microscope fund. We realized $85, which, with the amount
on hand, gives us about $100 to invest in a good instrument. Our
Chapter has increased to twenty-four active and two honorary mem-
bers. Owing to the lateness of the season, we have collectively
made but one excursion, though individually we have not been idle.
Cora Freeman, Cor. Sec. B. Chapter A. A.
Condensed Reports from Chapters assigned to
Jno. F. Glosser, Berwvn, Pa.
The Treasurer of Chapter 127, Beverly, Mass., reports finances
in good condition, which means no debts and a balance in hand.
Report from Secretary of Newburyport, Mass., gives account of
Agassiz's birthday celebration, which was interesting throughout and
enjoyed by all. The alligator, now named " Dr. Tanner," still holds
his own, eating almost nothing.
It is readily seen that Chapter 109 is located at the National Cap-
taJ, for they are up to all sorts of parliamentary' rules in their weekly
meetings. Think of their going into a committee of the whole to
discuss the question of celebrating Agassiz's birthday. There are
many grown people who could learn how to conduct a public meet-
ing by reading the reports of this Chapter.
Master Frank Ramaley, Sec. St. Paul, Minn.. Chapter, saj^s
they are successful so far as filling their cabinet with specimens is
concerned, but fears they are not learning enough. [A most hope-
ful sign.]
Jennie Hughes, Sec. Minneapolis, Minn., Chapter, reports seven
new members, a picnic and woods meeting on the 27th of May. An
oriole and grossbeak decorate their cabinet.
Mamie L. Kimberly, Sec. Auburn, N. Y., Chapter, sends a very
encouraging report. Their cabinet contains specimens of ores from
nearly all the Territories; quicksilver from California; moss, ferns,
and leaves from Arizona; shells, fossils, silk- worm cocoons, and a
dainty humming-bird's nest. A regular course of reading in botany
and zoology occupies part of their time.
I would mention, for amphibious animals, the seal, walrus, climb-
ing perch, and beaver. In answer to your question regarding what
becomes of the tail of the tadpole, I would say it is gradually ab-
sorbed into the body. I send these questions for the A. A. ; i. De-
scribe the kuda-ayer and its habits. 2. Why is the oufuc so called?
3. What is a squid? Frank R. Gilbert, Chap. 255.
I found a small green caterpillar on a raspberry bush, and kept him
under a tumbler. Pretty soon he began to act sick. I looked at
him closely, and he had little green things sticking on his sides.
Next morning he was yellow and the green things were as big as
his head almost, and you could see them swallowing his blood.
Pretty soon he turned black, and then they went off and died, and
it was good enough for them. Good-bye. Irene Putnam.
Chapter 303 is in Vancouver, Washington Territory. The ad-
dress in the Hand-book is the result of an error in pnnting. By the
way, we must repeat that all orders for the Agassiz Hand-book, and
all correspondence concerning the A. A., should be addressed to
Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox,
Mass., and 7iot to St. Nicholas.
Other reports cover our table, but for lack of space can barely be
mentioned.
Miss Olive Cansey sends an excellent report from Scituate, Mass.,
containing the elaborate by-laws of Chapter 241.
Miss Ruegg sends us some beautiful pressed flowers from Stroud,
England, among which the "wee modest crimson-dpped " daisies
and the "small celandine" particularly please us.
H. H. Bice promptly sends a correction to one of his former an-
swers, and mentions as amphibious the frog, newt, salamander, and
proteus. [Who will write us a paper on the ' proteus ' ?]
Miss Leila Mawer, of a London. Eng., Chapter, thinks "A. B. G."
is right about the bees. She says: "The outer cells of a honey-
comb are always more or less circular on their sides. Some bees,
too, form free cells, which are always roughly cylindrical." [See
Mr. White's letter in this report.]
The Hartford Chapter has been studying natural history under
P. T. Barnum, but did n't learn much about insects.
Jackson, Mich., celebrated the 28th of May with the following
programme: i. Life of A. 2. Notes about A. 3. Notes from A. 's
trip to Brazil. 4. A. 's wife as his helper. 5. Prayer of A. 6. Trib-
ute to A. 7. Personal anecdotes. 8. Piano solo. 9. Recitation.
10. Recitation. 11. "A good, great man." 12. An anecdote of
A. 13. A.'s museum. 14. A.'s fiftieth birthday. [Such an exer-
cise must have been extremely interesting and profitable.]
Philip C. Tucker (best), Fred. Clearwaters, and others answer
Will Lighton's question by saying that the chrysalis contains the
larva: of a hawk-moth ; probably Sphinx Quingue-maciilatiis.
The appendage is its tongue-sheath. It must have been washed
into the river, as the chrysalides of sphingidse are buried under-
ground.
Philadelphia (C) has noticed that when a snake swallowed a frog
the frog's head was o7tiuia?-ii, and wishes to know " whether snakes
are in the habit of swallowing their food hind part first."
Philip J. Tucker has two snake-skins, one of them three feet long.
Ernest Blehl, aged ten, has formed a wide-awake Chapter in
Philadelphia. His motto is, " I will find a way, or make one."
Kansas City, Mo., has "already a good-sized cabinet, increasing
every day."
San Francisco writes: "We shall get, if we can, the leaves of
every tree and put them on cards."
Irene Putnam had a three-inch cocoon made of "hair." "The
moth came out when we did not see it. It was very beautiful. It
had feelers that looked just like big brown ostrich- feathers coming
out of its head, and it had red trimming on its wings."
West Town, N. Y,, is thriving in the midst of Philistines. "A
good many people think and say that it wont last more than two or
three months, but we are going to show them,"
[A true interest in nature, such as most of our boys and gtrls have,
is not a mushroom growth. It will increase with the flying years,
and be a source of ever unfolding wonder and delight while life
shall last. Those who have never felt this loving interest in nature
can not understand it.]
Geneva, N. Y., now numbers twenty-eight Meetings have
been held every two weeks since the organization in February.
Sponges, game-birds, perchers, birds of prey, and salt-water fishes
have been studied and discussed. The members are carefully
watching some newts' eggs as they change from small black specks.
They have received as a present a " Venus basket-sponge."
One of the questions debated by Chapter 191, imder the efficient
guidance of President Mitchell, is, " Which is the most useful
animal ? "
List of New Chapters.
No. Name of Chapter. J
298. Pittsburgh, Pa. (D)
299. Watertown, N. V. (A) . .
300. Bryn Mawr, Pa. (A)...
301. Topeka, Kan. (A)
302. Cincinnati, Ohio (A) . . . .
303. Vancouver, Wash. Ter.
304. Emporia, Kan. (A)
305. London, Eng. (B)
306,
308.
309
310-
Belmont, Nev. (A)
Columbus, Ohio (A). .
Wellington. Kan. (A) .
PeekskiU, N. Y. (C) . .
Belpre, Ohio (A)
embers. A ddrcss.
. .10..E. H. Henderson. 23d and
Liberty Sts.
. . 5. .Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., care of
Hon. A. W. Clark.
.. 6.. Miss Grace A. Smith, Rose-
mont P. O., Montgomery Co.
. . 5. .Chas. A. Dailey, 218 Polk St.
. . 5. .Gaylord Miles, 35j4 Sherman
Ave.
..10. .L. A. Nicholson.
.10. .L. Osmond Perley, Box 1186.
. . 8. .Miss Leila A. Mawer. 10 St.
Michael's, Woodgreen, Lon-
don N.
.C. L. Deady.
.E. G. Rice, 1^5 Park St.
J. T. Nixon, Box 504.
.George E. Briggs.
.Miss Fannie Rathbone.
.30.
■ 5'
■ 5
8=.)
THE KIl>l)Li;-liOX.
905
;i>;;un behead and add, and I bLCiunc to r;usc ; ajL^aiii, ami 1 become
I" merit by labor; again, and 1 become a famous river of Italy.
II. wiiole, I am a long beam ; behead and add, and I bcc<imc to
flit ofT; again behead and add. and I become surface; again, and
I become a bundle of paper; again, and I become an old-iashioncd
word meaning an uncle. c. B. W.
ST. ANDREW'S <KOSS «F DIAMONDS.
rLLUSTKATKD I'LZZLES IN THE IIEAD-PIECK.
Monogram Rebus. — Arrange the nine large letters of the above
monogram so they will spell one word. Then read them in connec-
tion with the smaller letters which each large letter contains, using
the large letters for the needed initials.
Kmfk Trick, — With two knives make one thousand. G. F.
RIIO.MBOID.
Th is cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated by the diagram,
the outer letters of the central diamond being used also in forming
the adjacent diamonds, which would be incomplete without them.
Each of the four points of the central diamond is used three times —
once as a point of its own block of stars, and once as a point of
each of the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each diamond
read the same across as op and down.
I, Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In peach. 2. To undermine.
A gold coin. 4. To make regular trips. 5. In berry.
I. Upper Right-hand Diamond: i. In apple. 2. To fortify.
3. Mistake, 4. A pile of hay. 5. In cucumber.
III. Central Diamond : 1. In orange. 2. A West Indian vegeta-
ble. 3. Impetuous. 4. Confronted. 5. In grape.
IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. In melon. 2. Endeavor.
A species of sea-duck. ^. Individuals. 5. In pear.
In apricot. 2. Uppermost
god of shepherds. 5. In
V. Ixiwcr Right-hand Diamond:^
3. A peculiar kind of candle. 4. T\v
pine-apple. " nKtKLv.
TWO WOKO-SiH^ARES,
I. I. An interrogative pronoun. 2. A many-headed monster.
3. A lazy person. 4. To crawl. 5. A fabulous monster.
II. I. Pertaining to a king. 2. A letter of the Greek alphabet
3. To long. 4. To concur. 5. Country by-ways. A. s. c. A.
Across: 1. A boy's name,
talk. 4. To pass off in vapor. 5. The surname of an Irish revo-
lutionist, born in 1780.
Downward: i. In September. 2. A verb. 3. To fold. 4. Af-
fected manners. 5. A tablet for writing upon. 6. To make prog-
ress against 7. Three-fourths of a large piece of timber. 8. A
personal pronoiui- 9. In September. iitssiE tan'1.i)R.
PI.
Ha, oons no delfi dan Ihd
Eth diwn lashl thislew lilch,
Nad trachpair wassowll alcl rithe foclks hctrogte,
Ot lyf mofr storf nad wosn,
Dan kecs rfo sland herew bowl,
Hct arfire slosmobs fo a lambicr thaweer.
" rtii.oNii;s."
BEHEADINUS AND FINAT. ADDITIONS,
Example: Whole, I am a flat-boitomed boat; behead and add.
and I am a garment worn by monks ; again behead and add, and I
am a species of night birds. Answer, scow, cowl, owls.
I. Whole, I am n rodent; behead and add, and I become surface;
<;oi>iiiiNA'i'io\ iM /zr<K.
1
RF.Ani.Nc; Across: i. A feminine name. 2. Empty. 3. A river
of Africa. 4. Slumber. 5. A rock for holding pictures.
In-closed Doi.:dle Diamond. Reading across: i. A conso-
nant. 2. A girl's name. 3. A river of Africa. 4. A place de-
fended from the wind. 5. -A ctmsonant. Reading downward: i.
A consonant. 2. Three-fourths of a river of Africa. 3. Fumes.
4. Half of a small steel instrument 5. A consonant
Diagonals. From 1 to 4, a spirit ; from 3 to 3, a comer.
Dorni.r. AcitosTic.
The initials and finals name the title of a versified Oriental
romance.
Cross-words: 1. The morning star. 2. A brisk movement in
music. 3. A place of restraint. 4. A singing bird. 5. Any part
of a circle. dvcie.
9o6
THE R'IDDLE-BOX.
[September.
rH^USTRATEU HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.
This differs from the ordinary hour-glass puzzle, in that the words
forming it are pictured insted of being described. The words are to
be placed in the order in which the small pictures are placed, and the
central letters, reading downward, are represented by the central
picture, s. A. R.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of fifty-seven letters, ajid form a verse from the
book of Proverbs.
My 8-32-38-49 was one of the patriarchs. My 3 7-1 8-40-1 2-3-
57-29 is an island belonging to Portugal. My 1-43-7-17-33-31 is
the god of fine arts. My 2-53-17-20-46 was a great general. My
4-36-J0-11-6-43-56-15-25-41 was a famous poet. My
30-34-16-14-54-42 are combats. My 19-21-39-44-51-55
is a language. My 13-23-5-20-47 is robbery. My 35-48-
15-9-24 is to deride. My 45-22-5-52 is the stalk of a
plant. My 26-56-39-28 is crooked. My 51-27-50-13 is
an action at law. Lionel a. burns.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
In fox, but not in camel;
In camel, but not in cat;
In cat, but not in pigeon;
In pigeon, but not in bat
My whole, it stands for power,
And waves o'er many seas;
My whole is, too, a flower,
Which grows on marshy leas ; —
Is on the cities' crowded streets ;
Now guess me, if you please.
GERMAN COUSINS.
In the following puzzle each pair of definitions refers
to a word pronounced alike, but spelled differently, in
German and English. The German definition is pnnted
first, then the English.
I. An oval body; a personal pronoun. 2. An adver-
sary: to discover. 3. Recompense; solitary. 4. Want:
a sound. 5. A likeness; to construct. 6. A song; to
guide. 7. A farinaceous substance; armor. 8 A rustic:
an arbor. 9. Glory; an apartment. 10. Wide; brilliant
A. T. MOMBERT.
DIAMOND.
I. In early, z. A drinking vessel. 3 A tropical fruit 4. A
lake in Switzerland. 5. A salt-water fish. 6. One of many. 7.
In late. isola.
PROGRESSIVE ENIGMA.
Mv whole consists of eight letters, and means acted.
My 1-2-3 is to open. My 1-2-3-4-5 is a musical entertainment.
My 2-3-4 's through. My 3-4-5 is a fixed point of time. My 4-5-6
is an animal. My 4-5-6-7 is proportion. My 5-6 is a preposition.
^ly S-6-7 is the goddess of revenge. My 6-7-8 is a boy's nick-
name. My 7-8 is a boy's nickname. alcibiades.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER.
Illustrated Puzzles in the Head-piece. I. Double Acros-
tic. Primals, scythe ; finals, gamer. Cross-words : i, StrikinC.
2. CeceliA. 3. YeameR. 4. TrunnioN. 5. HalberdinE. 6. Ear-
lieR. II. Easy Diamond, i. B. 2- TAg. 3. BaLes. 4. GEm.
5. S. III. A Word. Musical.
Word-square, i. August 2. Urania. 3. Garret. 4. Unrest.
5. Siesta. 6. Tattas.
A Latin-geographical Puzzle. Amor ac deliciae generis hu-
mani. i. A-zores. 2. M-alta. 3. 0-rinoco. 4. R-otterdam. 5.
A-ral. 6. C-anton. 7. D-enmark. 8. E-cuador. 9. L-yons.
10. I-tasca. II. C-;ilcutta. 12 I-daho. 13. A-byssinia. 14.
E-gypt. 15. G-ranada. 16. E-rie. 17. N-icaragua. 18. E-u-
phrates. 19. R-ouen. 20. I-ndus. 21. S-candinavia. 22. H-en-
lopen. 23. U-trecht. 24. M-ozambique. 25. A-thens. 26. N-eva.
27. I-rawaddy.
Pictorial Charade. Key-stone.
Here of my first is the key, plainly presented to you :
While on this foundation we see the second is open to view.
Find the whole word on the arch.
Reversible Diamond. (From left to right.) i. R. 2. NEp.
3. ReVel. 4. Deliver. 5- HaLes. 6. NEt. 7. D.
Numerical Enigma. " In maiden meditation, fancy free."
AlicisitiHiner Nighfs Dieam. Act II. Sc. i.
Dolible Acrostic. Primals, Wizard of the North; finals, 'The
Lady of the Lake.
Cross-words: 1. WiT. 2. IncH. 3. ZonE. 4. ArieL. 5. RosA.
6. DividenD. 7. OrdinarY. 8. FideliO. 9. ThieF. 10. HonesT.
II. EartH. 12. NilE. 13. OriginaL. 14. RomolA. 15. TurK,
16. HeinE.
Greek Cross. I. 1. Shade. 2. Honor. 3. Andre. 4. Doric.
5, Erect. II. I. Smite. 2. Minor. 3. Inane. 4. Tonic. 5. Erect.
III. I. Erect. 2. Rollo. 3. Elbow. 4. Close. 5. Tower. IV,
I, Tower. 2. Olive. 3. Widen. 4. Event. 5. Rents. V. i
Tower. 2. Ozone. 3. Woven. 4. Eneid. 5. Rends.
Four Easy Diamonds. I. i. P. 2. SEa. 3. PeAch. 4. AC<
5. H. II. I. A. 2. APe. 3. ApPle. 4- ELf 5. E. III. ]
L. 2. MEt 3. LeMon. 4. TOn. 5. N. IV. i. B. 2. BOg
8. BoHea. 4. GEm. 5. A.
Syncopations .\nd Transpositions, i. Article. 2. Claret
Trace. 4. Cart. 5. Rat. 6. At.
Syncopations. August i. Co-A-t. 2. Sco-U-t. 3. Wa-G-s.
4. Co-U-ld. 5. Ho-S-e. 6. S-T-ave.
Answers to all of the Puzzles in the July Number were received, before July 20, from R. H. S., and F. L. Atbush.
Answers to Puzzles in the July Number were received, before July 20, from Maud, i — Sadie L. Demarest and William M.
Richards, 3— "Rose," i — Fred. S. Elliot, 2 — E. M., i— J. W. Yeary, 2— Julius Fay, i— C. R. W., 1— Susie M. Conant, 1— D. S
Crosby, Jr., 4 — Willie B. Chase, i — Pansy, 2 — Fred. E. Stone, 3 — Edith H. E. Parsons. 11 — Paul England and Co,, 4 — Sallie
Hovey, 3 — Nellie Mosher, i — Harry Reed, 1 — Ada Reed, i — Grace Reed, i — " Rosamond," i — Bessie Ammerman. 4 — Alice Dupr6
Close, 3 — Mary W. Nail, i — Katie Hoffman, i — Charles Orcutt, i — Nannie McL. Duff, 1 — "Merry Wives of Wmdsor," 2 — Everett
Lane Jones, i — Arabella Ward, 5 — E. Hope Goddard. 7 — "Two .-Esthetic Maidens," 7 — "Patience," 5 — F. Lawrence Bosqud, i —
Vera, 3 — Efifie K. Talboys, 9 — Kittie B. Harris, i — W. St. L., 5 — " Pewee," 3 — Frankie Gardiner, 2 — Leslie B. Douglass, 7 — Cherry,
2 — Cliff. M. Reifsnider, i — "Alcibiades," 6 — Frank Nugent, 2 — Warren, 4 — V. P. J. S. M. C, 4 — Genie J. Callmeyer, 6 — Jessie
Hutchinson, 7— Jas. T. Howes, 7 — H. L. Pruyn, 2 — .Arthur C. Hi.von, io~ " Machine," 5 — V. M. Giffin, 3 — Bertie and Maud, 6 —
Azile, 3 — Madge Tolderlund, 3 — Harry Johnston, 7 — J. H. Cuming, 2 — Sallie Viles, 10 — Fannie and Minnie, 6 — Three Robins, 8 —
Charles H. Parmly, 5 — John G. Morse, 12 — Sarah and Margaret - — ^'in, Ale.\, and Henr>'. 5 — Standish ^NlcCleary, 4 — Mary E.
Baker, 4 — Helen's Mamma, 10 — Fred. Thwaits, 9 — Willie L. Brower. 3 — Anna K. Dessalet. 2 — Appleton H.. 7 — Mama and Bae, 12
— Florence G. Lane, 1 — Clara J, Child, 10 — Verna E. Barnum, 3 — Lulu Clarke and Nellie Caldwell, 3 — Algernon Tassin, 4 — John F.
Putnam, i ~- Minnie and Florence Lanvill, 3 — Florence Leslie Kyle, 10 — Pan Z, 6 — Potrero, 6 — Pemie, 5 — G, L, and J. W. , 2 Two
Friends, 5 — Lyde McKinney, 6 — Gardiner L. Tucker, 7 — Clara and her Aunt, 8 — Edwin McNeilly, 5 — J. C. Winne, i.
"WHEN WE WERE BOYS-
[See Letter-box.]
ST. NICHOLAS.
Vol.. IX.
ocTom:
1882.
No. 12.
fCopyright, 1882, by The CENTURY CO.]
THl': lA.MINK AMONG THE GNOMES.
By IIi.m.mar II. BovESEN.
I nEI.IF.VF, it was in the winter of iS — (but
it does not matter so milch about the time) that
the servants on the large estate of Halthorp raised
a great ado about something or other. Whereupon
the baron of Halthorp, who was too stout to walk
down the stairs on slight provocation, called his
steward in a voice like that of an angry lion, and
asked him, "Why in the name of Moses he did
not keep the rascals quiet."
" But. your honor," stammered the steward, who
was as thin as the baron was stout, "I have kept
them t|uiet for more than a month past, though it
has been hard enough. Now, they refuse to obey
me unless I admit them to your honor's presence,
that they may state their complaint."
"Impudent beggars!" growled the old gentle-
man. " Tell them that I am about to take my after-
dinner nap, and that I do not wish to be disturbed."
" I have told them that a dozen times," whineil
the steward, piteonsly. " But they are determined
to leave in a body, unless your honor consents to
hear them."
"Leave! They can't leave," cried his honor.
" The law binds them. Well, well, to save talk-
ing, fling the doors open and let them come in."
The steward hobbled away to the great oak-
paneled doors (I forgot to tell you that he limped
in his left foot), and, cautiously turning the knob
and the key, peeped out into the hall. There stood
the servants — twenty-eight in all — ^but, oh ! what
a sight ! They were hollow-cheeked, with hungry
eyes and bloodless lips, and deep lines about their
mouths, as if thcv had not seen food for weeks.
Their bony hands twitched nervously at the coarse
clothes that flapped in loose folds about their
lean and awkward limbs. They were indeed a
pitiful spectacle. Only a single one of them — and
that was of course the cook — looked like an ordi-
nary mortal, or an extraordinary mortal, if you
like, for she was nearly as broad as she was
long. It was owing to the fact that she walked at
the head of the procession as they filed into the
parlor, that the baron did not immediately dis-
co\er the miserable condition of the rest. But
when they had faced about, and stood in a long
row from wall to wall — well, you would hardly
believe it, but the baron, hard-hearted as he was,
came near fainting. There is a limit to all things,
and even a heart of steel would have been moved
at the sight of such melancholy objects.
"Steward," he roared, when he had sufficiently
recovered himself, " who is the demon who has
dared to trifle with my fair name and honor ?
Name him, sir, — name him, and I will strangle
him on the spot ! "
The steward, even if he had been acquainted
with the demon, would have thought twice before
naming him under such circumstances. Accord-
ingly he was silent.
" Have 1 not," continued the baron, still in a
voice that made his subjects quake — "have 1 not
caused ample provisions to be daily distributed
among you? Have not you, Mr. Steward, the keys
to my store-houses, and have you not my authority
to see that each member of my household is
properly provided for?"
9IO
THE FAM I X I-: AM OXC
r 1 1 K G X (J M E S .
[October,
The steward dared not answer ; he unl) nt)d-
ded his head in silence.
" If you please, your honor," finally began a
squeaky little voice at the end of the row (it was
i;^ -^^
"oft of the mountain came a crowd f'F HNOMES."
that of the under-groom), "it is n't the steward as
is to blame, but it 's the victuals. Somehow there
is n't any taste nor fiUin' to them. Whether 1 eat
pork and cabbage, or porridge with molasses, it
don't make any difference. It all tastes alike. As
I say, your honor, the old Nick has got into the
victuals."
The under-groom had hardly ceased speaking
before the baron, who was a very irascible old
gentleman, seized his large gold-headed cane,
and, as quickl)- as his bulk would allow, rushed for-
ward to give vent to his anger.
" I '11 teach you manners, you impudent clown,"
he bawled out, as, with his cane lifted above his
head, he rushed into the ranks of the frightened
servants, shouting to the under-groom, " Criticise
my victuals, will you, you miserable knave ! "
The under-groom having on former occasions
made the acquaintance of the baron's cane, and
still remembering the unpleasant sensation, imme-
diately made for the door, and slipped nimbly out
before a blow had reached him. All the others,
who had to suffer for their spokesman's boldness,
tumbled pell-mell through the same opening, and
jumped, rolled, or vaulted down the steps and
landed in a confused heap at the l^ottom of the
stairs.
The baron, in the meanwhile, marched with
long strides up and down the floor, and expressed
himself, not in the politest language, concerning
the impudence of his domestics.
" However," he grumbled to himself, " I must
look into this affair and find out what fraud there
is at the bottom of it. The poor creatures could n't
get as lean as that unless there was some real
trouble."
About three hours later, the baron heard the
large bell over the gable of his store-house ring out
for dinner. The wood-cutters and the men who
drove the snow-plow, and all other laborers on the
large estate, as soon as- they heard it, flung away
their axes and snow-shovels and hurried up to the
mansion, their beards and hair and eyebrows all
white with hoar-frost, so that they looked like
walking snow-men. But as it happened, the
under-groom. Nils Tagfat, chanced at that mo-
ment to be cutting down a large snow-laden
fir-tree which grew on a projecting knoll of the
mountain. He pulled off his mittens and blew on
his hands (for it was bitter cold), and was about
to shoulder his ax, when suddenly he heard a
chorus of queer little metallic voices, as it seemed,
right under his feet. He stopped and listened.
" There is the bell of Halthorp ringing! Where
is my cap ? where is my cap ? " he heard distinctly
uttered, though he could not exactly place the
sound, nor did he see anybody within a mile
around. And just for the joke of the thing,
Nils, who was always a jolly fellow, made his \'oice
as fine as he could, and, mimicking the tiny voices,
squeaked out :
" Where is my cap? Where is my cap?"
liut imagine his astonishment when suddenly he
heard a voice answer him with: "You can take
Grandfather's cap ! " and at the same moment
there was tossed into his hands something soff,
resembling a small, red-peaked cap. Just out of
curiosity. Nils put it on his head to try how it
would fit him, and small as it looked, it fitted
him perfectly. But now, as the cap touched
his head, his eyes were opened to the strangest
spectacle he ever beheld. Out of the mountain
i883.]
T 1 1 I-; I' A M I N K A M O N G Til I-: G \ o M i: S .
911
came a crowd of gnomes, all with little red-
pcakcd caps, which made them invisible to all who
were not provided with similar caps. They hur-
ried down the hill-side toward Halthorp, and Nils,
who was anxious to see what they were about, fol-
lowed at a proper distance behind. As he had
half expected, they scr.imbled up on the railings at
the door of the servants' dining-hall, and as soon
as the door w.as opened they rushed in, climbed up
on the chairs, and seated themselves on the backs
just as the ser\-ants took their places on the seats.
And now Nils, who, you must remember, had
on the cap that made him invisible, came vcrA-
at the steward's side sat the baron himself, in a
large, cushioned easy-chair. He did not cat, how-
ever ; he was there merely to see fair play.
Each servant fell to work greedily with his knife
and fork, and just as he had got a delicious morsel
half-way to his mouth, the gnome on the back of
his chair stretched himself forward and calmly
snatched the meat from the end of the fork. Thus,
all the way around the table, each man uncon-
sciously put his piece of beef into the wide-open
mouth of his particular gnome. And the unbidden
guests grinned shrewdly at one another, and seemed
to think it all capital fun. Sometimes, when the
"lUt bAKUN SfKA.NG LP WITH AN EXCLAMATION UK t-KlOHl.
near splitting his sides with laughter. The first
course was boiled beef and cabbage. The smell
was delicious to Xils's hungry nostrils, but he had
to conquer his appetite in order to see the end of
the game. The steward stood at the end of the
table and ser\'ed each with a lilser.il portion ; and
wooden trays (which were used instead of plates)
were sent to be replenished, they made horrililc
grimaces, often mimicking their poor victims, who
chewed and swallowed and went through all the
motions of eating without oljtaining the slightest
nourishment. They all would have liked to fling
912
THE FAMINE AMONG THE GNOMES.
[October,
knives and forks and trays out through the win-
dows, but they had the morning's chastisement
freshly in mind, and they did not dare open their
mouths except for the futile purpose of eating.
"Well, my lads and lasses," said the baron,
when he had watched the meal for some minutes ;
"if you can complain of food like this, you indeed
deserve to be flogged and put on prison fare."
" Very likely, your honor," said one of the milk-
maids ; " but if your honor would demean yourself
to take a morsel with us, we would bless your honor
for your kindness and complain no more. "
The baron, looking around at all the hopeless
eyes and haggard faces, felt that there was some-
thing besides vanity that prompted the request ; and
he accordingly ordered the cook to bring his own
plate and dreu' his chair up to the table. Hardly
had he seized his knife when Nils saw a gnome,
who had hitherto been seated on the floor awaiting
his turn, crawl up on the arm of his big chair and,
standing on tiptoe, seize between his teeth the
first bit the baron was putting to his mouth. The
old gentleman looked astounded, mystified, be-
wildered ; but, fearing to make an exhibition of
himself, selected another mouthful, and again con-
ducted it the accustomed way. The gnome came
near laughing right out, as he dispatched this
second morsel in the same manner as the first,
and all around the table the little monsters held
their hands over their mouths and seemed on the
point of exploding. The baron put down knife
and fork with a bang ; his eyes seemed to be start-
ing out of his head, and his whole face assumed
an expression of unspeakable horror.
"It is Satan himself who is mocking us ! " he
cried. " Send for the priest ! Send for the priest ! "
Just then Nils crept around behind the baron.
who soon felt something soft, like a fine skull-
cap, pressed on his head, and before he had time
to resent the liberty, he started in terror at the
sight of the little creature that he saw sitting on the
arm of his chair. The baron sprang up with an
exclamation of fright, and pushed the chair back
so violently that it was almost upset upon the floor.
The gnome dexterously leaped down and stood
staring back at the baron for an instant ; then, with
a spring, he snatched a potato and half a loaf of
bread, and disappeared. In his haste, the baron
ran against Nils, the under-groom, who (now with-
out a cap) was standing with a smiling countenance
calmly surveying all the confusion about him.
"Now, was I right, your honor?" he asked with
a respectful bow. " Did yoii find the victuals very
filling ? "
The baron, who was yet too frightened to an-
swer, stood gazing toward a window-pane, which
suddenly and noiselessly broke, and through which
the whole procession of gnomes, huddled together
in flight, tumbled headlong into the snow-bank
without.
"And what shall we do. Nils ? " said the baron,
the next da>', when he had recovered from his
shock, "to prevent the return of the unbidden
guests ?"
" Stop ringing the great bell," answered Nils.
" It is that which invites the gnomes."
And since that day the dinner-bell has never
been rung at Halthorp.
But one day, late in the winter, Nils the groom, as
he was splitting wood on the mountain-side, heard
a plaintively tinkling voice within, singing:
" Hunger and sorrow each neu* day is bringing.
Since Halthorp bell has ceased its ringing."
1 882. 1
RADISH VILLE.
913
RADISHVILLE.
By William O. Stoddard.
' What is it, Charley — what are you digging for
/? Is it mice ?'
An'
"Mice! Wild he go for mice wid a rake?
it 's not mice, begorra," said Pat McCue.
" No, it is n't mice ; but if you boys want some
fun, you can climb over and take hold."
" We 're coming. I '11 call Grip. Wliat on eartli
is it, Charley ? "
"No, sir! 1 don't want Grip. Not this time.
I don't care to have any small dogs in my town."
" Your tcr,i.'it .' "
Hal Pinner had reached the top rail of the gar-
den fence, and he paused for a moment to look
•down on the puzzle.
"Town!" echoed Pat McCuc. ■" 1 'd like to
know what wud a town be wid no dogs .' "
Charley Brayton had not stopped work for an
instant. He was plying a long-handled garden
rake upon a patch of soft earth near the fence, and
his younger brother stood in the path, a few feet
away, watching him very seriously.
"Dogs ? " he said. " Yes, of course, dogs. When
the town 's done, I '11 have some ; cats, too, if I
can get 'em of the right size."
"Hal," said Pat McCuc, gravely, "Charley 's
took wid one of his quare noshins — that 's all."
Just now Charley's "queer notion" had so
strong a hold upon him that he did not seem to
notice it. He raked away, with a care that was
quite remarkable, for a moment more. Then he
drew a long breath and leaned upon his rake-
handle.
" Well, I '11 tell you, boys, it 's just this way :
My Uncle F'rank is visiting at our house. He
lives away out West. None of our folks have seen
him before for years and years. I did n't know
him at first. They had to tell mc who he was.
Then he showed me a couple of bats and a ball
he 'd bought for me."
"Show us thim," interrupted Pat McCue.
"Sure, it 's a new ball wc nadc, worst of all
things in the worruld."
"I will, by and by." said Charley. "And he
brought me a new knife with four blades."
" Hear that, Hal Pinner ! " shouted Pat. " It 's
out West they make the right kind of uncles. I '11
get me mother to spake for wan."
" And he said if 1 'd come and pay him a visit
he 'd give me a gun "
" Now, Charley, whin ye go on that visit, take
me along. Mebbe he 's got two o' thim guns ! "
"Keep still, Pat," said Hal Pinner. "Let
Charley get through."
Charley had to turn, just then, and say to his
small brother: " Keep back, Hub — you 're step-
ping on the boundary line," but he went right on
with his explanation.
•• And you see, boys. Uncle Frank 's been build-
ing a new town, and they let me sit up till eleven
o'clock last night, hearing him tell all about it "
"Elivin o'clock," muttered Pat.
"And it was all a bare prairie when he began.
Not a house, nor a fence, nor so much as a field of
corn on it "
" That 's it," said Pat ; " it 's aisy to do anything
at all, af there 's nothing at all in the way."
" And Uncle Frank went at it, and now it 's a
young city, with two railroads and a river, and all
sorts of things, and the people that live there buy
town-lots of him and pay him rent for their houses,
and buy sugar and coffee and things at his store,
and he has a big farm outside, and hunts for
birds and deer and rabbits."
" I 'd like to have four or foiv^e of them uncles,"
said Pat, with a long sigh, as he slowly came down
from the fence. " But what 's all that got to do
wid your rakin' for mice in the garden, to-day ? "
" Mice? " said Charley. " This bed was full of
radishes, till they got ripe. Then we pulled 'em
up and ate them. Uncle Frank says they have
radishes three times as large out West. And I
iisked Father if I might have the bed for a town,
now it 's empty, and 1 've got it almost level now.
The first thing to do, when you 're going to build
a town, is to get all the weeds and sticks and old
roots out of the way."
Hal Pinner was on the ground now, and both
he and Pat McCue began to see the fun in Charley
Brayton's "quare noshin."
As for Grip, that active little black-and-tan
had worked his way under the fence, but he had
scented something among Deacon Pinner's lilac
bushes, and was dodging in and out through
them.
The rake had nearly done its part in the work
of making that town, and the patch of earth,
about six feet wide by twice as many long, was as
smooth and level as a table.
A hoe, a shovel, a lot of half-bricks, and a pile
of shingles were lying in the path, and little Bub
Brayton was doing his best on a building of his
own with some of the bricks.
914
R A D I S H V I L L E ,
[October,
"That 's our prairie," said Charley. "We '11
want a river next."
" What for ? " asked Hal Pinner.
" What for ? " said Pat McCue. " Did ye never
see a river ? It 's to put bridges over. What wud ye
do wid yer bridges av ye did n't provide a river.'' "
"And to run steam-boats on," said Charley, as
he worked away with his hoe at a sort of trench
running across the patch from corner to corner.
"1 '11 put in this end of yer river wid the spade,"
said Pat.
" What shall I do? " asked Hal.
" Pick out a good big brick for a corner grocer\
store, and another for a college, and another for a
hotel. Then you go and cut some sods for a City-
hall square. That 's got to be green, till the peo-
ple kill the grass by walking on it. Uncle Frank
says they 've killed all his grass, except some that
grows wild in the streets."
The new river was rapidly dug out, but no water
made its appearance.
" We '11 do without wather for a while," said
Pat, " but we '11 build twice as rnany bridges, so
they '11 know it 's a river whin they coom to it."
The sods were cut and brought, and Charley went
to the house for a long pole, and, with that laid flat
on the ground, he began to mark out the patch of
ground into little squares of about twelve inches each.
" What are ye doin' now ? " asked Pat.
" Laying out the streets. Uncle Frank did that,
first thing. Only he says the cows can't find some
of them yet, and there 's two he wishes he 'd lost
before he let 'em be built up the way they are.
This is the main street."
" Make it wider," said Pat. " Think of all the
processions there '11 be on that sthreet ! Make it
wide enough for any kind of a Fourth of July to
walk in."
"I say, Charley," said Hal, "here 's a lot of
bricks just alike. Let 's have a block of stores."
"All right. And these stones are for meeting-
houses."
"There 's just about shingles enough for
bridges," said Pat. " But what are ye raisin' that
hape o' dirt for, at the corner ? "
" That 's our fort. We '11 cut a Liberty-pole
and swing out a flag, and I '11 mount all three of
my cannon on it."
" And my pistol," said Hal.
"And I 've a big cannon of me own," added
Pat. " I can put it behind the fort, lukin' over
into the town. They '11 all be paceable enough
whin they luk into the mouth of it."
It was grand fun, and the boys worked like beav-ers.
They were so busy, in fact, that they were not
listening for the sound of coming feet, and their
first warning of the approach of a visitor was from
a deep voice behind them, which suddenly said :
" All right, Charley. 1 see what you 're up to.
Did n't I hear you say that all those stones were
meeting-houses ? "
"Oh, Uncle Frank! Are you here? Yes, sir."
He rapidly ran over the names of several de-
nominations, and could not see why Uncle Frank
should laugh as he did.
" That 's it, Charley. We went at it just in that
way. We 're doing a good deal what you are, to
this very day."
" What 's that, sir?" asked Charley.
"Waiting for population, my boy. Some of it
has come but we want more."
" 'Dade, sir, and some of ours has come, too,"
suddenly exclaimed Pat McCue, " and it 's diggin'
cillars, first thing."
Charley turned to look, and instantly shouted :
" Hal Pinner, call off Grip ! He 's scratching the"
main street right into the river ! Bub, jump out
quick ! You 've put the Baptist meeting-house on
top of the town-hall. Stop ! "
Bub chuckled with delight, and before he obeyed
he rearranged several of the bridges across the new
stores instead of the river.
" What is the name of your new city, Charles?"
asked Uncle Frank, soberly.
"Name? 1 had n't thought of that. 1 suppose
it must have a name."
"Certainly. That 's the first thing, when you
build a town. .\11 there was of my new town, for
ten years, was the name and an old wagon I left in
the middle of it. The rest of it grew up around
that wagon."
" Did n't ye say there was radishes here, wance,
on the bed that was ? " asked Pat McCue.
"Yes," hesitated Charley.
"That 's it, thin — our town is named, sir. It 's
Radishville ! "
" Capital," exclaimed L'ncle Frank. " All your
letters '11 come straight. It 's the only town of that
name in the whole country. But you '11 have to
look out for one thing."
"What 's that, sir?"
"The right kind of population. We let in some
that made us all sorts of trouble."
" So did we, sor," said Pat McCue. " There he
is again. Was it dogs of that size, sor ? Sure and
that black-and-tan wud scratch the sthreets out of
ony town, av he got at it while it was young and
tinder."
Grip was put over the fence again and Uncle
Frank walked away, but the boys spent more than
one morning, after that, in building up and orna-
menting and fortifying Radishville.
A ki;ai.i/.i;i) hoI'k.
915
ti
liV Cl.ARA LOUISK IURNHA.M.
0 DEAR, it 's vciy hard indeed to sit here pa- I 've dreamed of it sometimes! — yap- — yap! —
tiently. 'I" would move a heart of stone,
And see that heartless little girl eat chicken for That I 'm too old for bread and milk, and yel
her tea! too youn;^ for bone.
She don't know how to take a hint, for 1 have
said " Bow-wow," d i -r i 1 i 1 11
' Perhaps it 1 sliouki come up near, and play a
.And no one conld look hunt;rier tlian 1 am look- little trirk
' ^ ' .My mistress woidd throw down a bite ; but no! —
" 'T will make liim sick," —
It surely is a drum-stick that she 's holding in her That 's what she always says, and she laughs at
hand. my Injj head and feet.
If 1 had that. I 'd be the happiest pu])p\ In ' T would serve her right if i should go and get
the land ! lost in the street.
1 wonder if she hears me crying softly through
my nose ; I )„,,i^ ^^ young, she often says, — as if she did n't,
I 'd yelp out if 1 dared, but it would never do. \.ao^
1 s pose. Tlic7C comes a bone .' 1 whined so hard, I do
believe she knew.
Ma had some meat like that one day. and I My, what a noise ! With teeth like that, a pug
gnawed it, but since then like mc deserves
She 's watched me, and 1 'vc never had a single Something beyond such trashy stuff as pickles
chance again. and preserves.
9i6
A P I C U S AND HIS POTS.
[October,
A PICUS AND HIS POTS.
Bv Maurice Thompson.
In very ancient times, when men believed that
almost every mountain and river, brook and grove,
was presided over by a deity of some sort, it was
said that nectar and ambrosia were the drink and
food of these gods. Because those old poets and
philosophers indulged in those fine stories about
nymphs and satyrs, fawns, naiads, and dryads, we
call them heathen ; but, after all, their myths, like
the fictions of our own writers, are beautiful and
entertaining. I have often thought of a charming
story which might be written by some imaginative
boy or girl about a wood deity which haunts some
of the groves of America. It can be said with
much truth that nectar and ambrosia fill the cups
and pots of this bright and joyous being. I have
seen him sipping nectar more fragrant than the
fabled sweets of Hybla and Hymettus. This is
saying much, for Hybla used to be the most
famous town in the world for its honey, and Hy-
mettus was a mountain, south-east of Athens, in
Greece, where the bees stored their combs with the
purest distillations from the flowers. But I have
looked into the clean, curiously wrought cups of
our American grove-god, when they were full to
overflowing with clear fluid. I have even tasted
the nectar, although the cups were so small that
only the merest bit of my tongue could enter. It
is slightly acrid, this nectar, but it has in its taste,
hints, so to speak, of aU the perfumes and sweets
of the winds and leaves and flowers — a fragrance
of green wood when cut, and of the inner tender
bark of young trees. And a rac\- flavor, too, which
comes from the aromatic roots of certain of our
evergreens, is sometimes discoverable in it.
The being of which I speak is an industrious
little fellow. Many times I have watched him
making pots to catch nectar in, and cups to hold
the precious ambrosia. These he hollows out so
neatly that they all look alike, and he arranges
them in rows around the bole of a tree — some-
times a maple, often an ash, may be a pine, and
frequently a cedar. He has a great many of these
pots and cups — so many, indeed, that it seems to
keep him busy for a great part of the day drinking
their delicious contents. He has very quiet ways,
and you must be silent and watchful if you wish
ever to see him. He rarely uses his voice, except
when disturbed, and then he utters a keen cry
and steals off through the air, soon disappearing
in the shadows of the woods.
In the warm, dreamful weather of our earlv
spring days you may find him by keeping a sharp
lookout for his pots, which are little holes or pits
bored through the bark and through the soft outer
ring of the wood of certain trees. \'erv often \-ou
v$e-Sv
THE SAP-Sl'CKER.
can find rings and rings of these pits on the trunks
of the apple-trees of the orchards, every one of
them full of nectar.
.■\nd now you discover that, after all, my winged
grove-deity is nothing but a little bird that
many persons call by the undignified but very
significant name of Sap-sucker ! Well, what of
it? My story is truer than those of the old Greek
and Latin poets, for mine has something real in it,
as well as something beautiful and interesting. I
suspect that many of the ancient myths are based
upon the facts of nature and are embellished with
fantastic dressing, just as some imaginative boy or
girl might dress up this true story of our sap-drink-
ing woodpecker.
In fact, how much happier, how much more
redolent of joyous sweets, is the life of this quiet
bird than that of any such beings — if they could
have existed — as those with which the ancients
peopled their groves and mountains ! Think of
flying about on real wings among the shadows of
the spring and summer woods, alighting here and
1882.]
A PICUS AND HIS POTS.
917
there to sip real nectar and ambrosia from fragrant
cedar pots !
The sap-drinking woodpecker is of the Piciis
family, or Picida, which name was given to a bird
of his kind in ancient times. The story runs that
a king of Latium, named Piciis, renowned for his
beauty and for his love of horses and the chase,
went forth one day to hunt in the woods, dressed
in a splendid purple robe with a gold neck-band.
Circe, a sorceress, became angry at him, and,
striking him with her wand, turned him into the
bird that has ever since borne his name.
Several of the smaller .American woodpeckers
are sap-drinkers ; but only one kind, the one of
which 1 am writing, ever pecks holes for the pur-
pose of getting at the sap. He is named by
naturalists Cenluriis Carolinus. He is a \ery cun-
ning bird. One of his habits is to move around the
bole of a tree just fast enough to keep nearly hid
from you as you walk around trying to gel a good
look at him. This he will continue to do for a con-
siderable length of time, but, finally getting the
tree-trunk fairly between )ou and him, he takes to
his gay wings and flies in sucli a line as to keep
hidden from your eyes. Usually he says good-bye
with a keen squeal as he starts away.
Down in the mountain \alleys of Northern
Georgia I used to amuse myself with watching the
little half-naked negro boys trying to shoot sap-
suckers by means of their blow-guns. Such a
blow-gun as they had is a straight reed or cane
about six feet long, through the whole length of
which a smooth bore is made by punching out the
joints. The arrow used in this gun is made of a
sharp piece of cane-wood not longer or larger than
a knitting-needle, with a ball of cotton-lint bound
on the end opposite the point. The arrow is blown
out of the gun by the breath from the shooter's
mouth. It flics with so great force that I have
seen a bird killed at a distance of forty yards.
Some of the little negro boys were very skillful in
using the blow-gun, and as sly as cats in creeping
up close to a bird before shooting at it. Many
people in Xorlhern Georgia have China trees on
their lawns. The berries of these trees intoxicate
or render drowsy the robins which feed upon them,
and then the poor birds are killed very easily by
these blow-gun Nimrods ; but the sap-sucker never
eats berries of any kind, so he keeps sober and
gives his persecutors great trouble, nearly always
outwitting them, for birds, like people, succeed
better by keeping clear of everything intoxicating.
In our Northern States, when the winter is very
cold and all the maples and ash and hickory trees
are frozen so tliat their sap will not flow into our
bird's pots, he is compelled to depend upon the
cedar trees for food, since their resinous sap is not
affected by the cold. Often 1 have seen him peck-
ing away at the gnarled bole of an evergreen when
the thermometer's mercury stood ten degrees below
zero, and the air was fairly blue with winter's breath.
Even in Georgia it is sometimes so cold that he
chooses the pine trees, finding between their bark
and the underlying wood a sort of diluted turpen-
tine upon which he feeds. While busily engaged
pecking his holes on cold, windy days he is not so
watchful as in fine weather. At such times 1 have
seen a little negro "blow-gunner" stick three or
four arrows into the soft bark all around the busy
bird before it would fly, and have been just as much
surprised at the boy as at the bird; because, if it
was strange how the bird could be so busy as not
to notice an arrow " chucking" into the tree close
by him, it was equally strange how that little negro
could " stand it " to be out so long in such a cold,
raw wind with nothing on but a shirt !
I5ut in spring and summer it seems to me this
little bird ought to be supremely happy, having
r
■ «K*^
AT HOMB, BL'T ON THE LOOKOUT !
nothing to do but to fly from tree to tree and
attend to his brimming pots of nectar and am-
brosia, now sipping the amber wine of the hickory,
now the crystal juice of the maple, and anon the
aromatic sap of the cedar.
The nest of the sap-sucker is in a hole jiecked in
a rotten tree. A beautiful little home it is, cun-
ningly carved to fit the bird's body. Its door is
9i8
A riCUS AND HIS PUTS.
[October,
THE YOUNG HUNTER AND HIS BLOW-GUN.
usually shaded by a knot or bough, and sometimes
its cavity is a foot or two deep, lined in the bottom
with finely pulverized wood and leaves of lichen.
One peculiarity of the woodpecker family is
extremely strong in ihe sap-sucker. This peculiarity
may be called a rolling flight, and is produced b)- a
single vigorous stroke of the wings, which are then
held for a second or more closely pressed to the
bird's sides. Of course, with each of these wing-
strokes the bird mounts high in the air; then while
the wings are closed it falls a certain distance.
.'\nother stroke causes it to mount again, and so
on, this peculiar flight giving it a galloping motion,
or a motion like that of a boat riding on high-roll-
ing waves.
For a long while I felt sure this bird ate nothing
but the sap or blood of trees; but, finally, 1 dis-
covered one very complacently sipping the juice of
a ripe peach. / do not blame him for that, how-
ever,— do you? If I were a bird 1 should take a
sample sip from every ripe peach I came across,
particularly such great blood-red Indian peaches as
that one was.
Many owners of orchards are of the opinion that
the sap-sucker injures their trees by pecking so
many holes in them, but after closely studying the
subject for several years I have concluded that,
instead of hurting them, he really benefits them ;
for some of the finest bearing apple-trees I ever
saw were just as full of pits from root to top as
they could be, many of these pits having been
pecked ten years before I saw them. So our
nectar-loving bird should not be killed as an
enemy, but ought to be loved for his beauty and
admired for his rare cunning.
One notable habit of the sap-sucker is that of
returning year after year to the same tree for his
food. I spent three consecutive winters in a cheery
old farm-house, in front of whose hospitable door
stood a knotty and gnarled cedar tree, to which
every January came a solitary sap-sucker. It
was quite a study to examine the holes he had
pecked, all up and down the entire length of its
a little more distinct, and the latest were bright and
iSSi.l
A sun D 1 : N s n ( ) \v k k .
919
new, overflowing with clear, viscid fluid. By care-
fully comparing the number of pits made each
year, and the yearly change in their appearance, I
concluded that this bird had been drawing upon
this tree for food ever>' winter for at least ten years.
Of course some other bird may have helped at
times, but my opinion is that the sap-sucker is a
ver)' long-lived bird, and that if not frightened
away he will return to his pots or make new ones
in the same tree every year for a long period of
time.
The red-head, the flicker, and the smaller vari-
eties of woodpecker, all of close kin to the sap-
sucker, take great delight in occasionally drinking
to the health of the latter out of his own pots, first
driving him away by furiously attacking him ; but
they are cither too lazy or too ignorant to make
any pots of their own. Our nectar-loving little
friend, however, does not seem to care much for
this kind of robberj-. He knows where all the best
trees are, and if he is driven from one he gives a
sharp squeal ;uul tlics away to another.
A si;i)i)i-:x .sii()\vi:r.
MEANTIME BORitV S MAMMA AT HOME IS SAYING TO HERSELF THAT SHE IS SO GLAD
THE UEAK CHH.D TOOK HIS IMORELLA ALONG !
920
LEARNING TO RIDE.
[October,
LEARNING TO RIDE.
Bv Charles I5.\rnard.
ONG ago, when our great
grandfathers came to this
country, they found a land
where there were no horses.
When they pushed out into
the far West, they found
wild horses roaming over the
prairies. These animals were
not natives, but the descend-
ants of horses brought over
by the .Spanish when they
invaded Mexico. Some of
these Spanish
horses ran
away and be-
came the wild
horses of the
plains, or, as
they are call-
ed, mustangs.
To-day this is the great horse countr)- of the
world. Nowhere else are these animals so cheap
and plentiful.
Now American boys are as brave and active as
any in the world, and learned travelers tell us
they know more than any boys \et discovered in
the solar system. Likewise, the American girl is
sweet and good and true — as bright as any girl in
Europe. For all this, American boys and girls do
not, as a rule, ride horseback. It is true, some
country boys, east and west, ride fearlessly and
well, but the majority of boy and girl riders have
climbed, by the aid of a rail-fence, on the back of
a farm-horse, and when they were mounted the
horse either laughed in his mane or ingloriously
tumbled the rider over his head. It is very strange
that in such a land of horses so few boys and girls
know how to ride. It is a mistake to think that,
when Dobbin has been brought to the fence and
you have climbed on his back, this is riding.
Not even the most uncommonly bright girl or the
most learned bo)- can ride without instruction.
One has to learn this art, just as one must learn to
play the piano or to mount a bicycle.
Let us consider the horse, see what he is like,
and then, perhaps, we may learn what it means to
ride. A horse is an animal with a large brain, and,
though he seldom speaks, you may be sure he
thinks and has a mind of his own. Besides this,
he has four legs. These are important things to
remember — he stands on four legs and can think
for himself. He also has ears, and, though he is
not given to conversation, he hears and understands
much that is said to him. He also has a temper —
good or bad — and may be cross and ill-natured,
or sweet-tempered, cheerful, patient, and kind. In
approaching such a clever creature, it is clear a boy
or girl must be equally patient, kind, cheerful, and
good-natured. Unless you are as good as a horse,
you have no right to get upon his back.
Of course, there are bad horses, but they are not
fit for riding, and are used only to drag horse-cars
or do other common work. .All riding-horses fit
for the society of boys and girls are good horses,
not merely for walking or galloping, but morally
good — gentle, kind, patient, careful, and obedient.
Any boy or girl, over seven years of age, with a
brave heart and steady hand, and also sweet-tem-
pered, gentle, kind, and thoughtful, can learn to
ride. .'\11 others must sit in a box on wheels and
be dragged about.
Come, all boys and girls who love fun ! Let us
go to the Riding-school. Baby can come, too, and
sit with Mamma and look on, while the others
mount the ponies. The school is a large hall,
with a lofty roof and a floor of sand or tan-bark.
.At the sides are galleries and seats for the specta-
tors. Adjoining the school is the residence of the
amiable horses and charming ponies the pupils use
in taking their lessons, and it may be truly said
they make a large and happy family. There are
more than a hundred of them, and each one has
been selected for his gentleness and sweet temper.
They have nothing to do but to carry the scholars
in the school-room or in the park. They certainly
live in the best society, and it is not a matter of
wonder that they are ver\' polite and of the most
agreeable horse-manners.
First of all is the saddling-room, a corner of
which is shown on the next page. This is where
our horses and ponies are harnessed for us. At the
right, the man is just taking the saddles from the
elevator on which they come down from the har-
ness-room upstairs. .\t the back is a view of the
school-room. Behind the man are three of our
ponies. .Another is looking this way. He cer-
tainly has a pleasant face. He will do for Nellie,
as she is a beginner and rather timid.
Mamma and the baby go upstairs and find seats
in the gallery, where they can look down on the
school. Nellie and the girls go to their dressing-
rooms to put on their habits, and the boys, includ-
I.KARNING Ti) RIDE.
921
ing Master Tommy, go to their quarters to make
ready for the mount. When all are ready we meet
in the great school-room. Here we find the head
master and the assistant teachers. It is a queer
school — no books or slates, and the teachers with
small whips — for the horses only. Each teacher
has four pupils, and Nellie falls to the lot of the
head master of the school.
" Now, Miss, there is nothing to fear. See !
The old fellow is as gentle as a lamb. There 's
no danger whatever." A fall in the riding-school
is as rare as citron in a baker's cake. Still, she is
afraid, and requires some urging to consent to be
lifted and put on the pony's back. "Take one
rein in each hand, pass it between the little finger
and the next, and over the first finger, with the
thumb resting on top. Do not touch the saddle
nor pull hard on the reins. You must keep your
seat by balancing yourself as the horse moves, but
not bv the reins."
all about it, but the teacher seems to have a good
deal to say to him about something. The others,
with merry talk and laughter, are mounted at last,
and the teachers lead the horses and ponies slowly
around the ring, showing each pupil how to ride
correctly.
This horseback riding is a curious art, and you
can not master it in one lesson. Such lessons of
an hour each, three times a week, for three
months, is the usual course reciuired to make a
really good rider. To make the horse perform
fancy steps, leap hedges, and that sort of thing,
requires from one to two years' study in a good
school and much out-of-door practice. Like learn-
ing to dance, it consists in the art of holding and
carrying the body gracefully and naturally. Verj^
few boys and girls in this country ever learn to
walk naturally and gracefully without instruction,
and to dance or ride one must go to school. Walk-
ing, dancing, and riding are parts of a good edu-
/f'
"Hello, Master Tommy! You are over-bold.
You look like a mouse on a mountjjin on that tall
horse. Get down and take a pony of your own
size." Tommy, by the way, rode the farm-horse
to water once last summer, and he thinks he knows
THE SADDLISC-ROOM.
cation. They give health and pleasant manners,
but of the three, riding is the most useful in giving
courage, strength, manners, and good health. Our
great fault in this country is that we do not know
how to be natural.
The body is the house we live in. It is a pretty
good house, and should not only be neatly clothed,
but be carried in a correct and natural manner.
\o one thinks of wearing torn clothes or living in
922
LEARNING TO RIDE.
[October,
a tumble-down house, and why should we not
stand and walk, or sit and ride, in a natural and
graceful manner ? We are so made that if we do
things in the right way we shall always find it the
easiest way also, and that it will enable us to be
natural and graceful at the same time.
The art of riding teaches all this, and once
learned is wonderfully easy, and becomes as much
second nature as walking. It consists of two
things : a good seat and guiding the horse. By a
good scat is meant a secure position on the horse.
For a boy it means to put both legs over the horse,
with the upper part of the leg bent slightly for-
ward, the lower part hanging down, with the foot
in the stirrup and the heel slightly lower than the
toes. Sit erect, with the body free to sway in every
direction on the hips. For a girl, the right leg is
thrown over the horn of the saddle, and the left
hangs down like a boy's. Her bod)- is really on a
pivot, through the hips, and must freely bend for-
ward or backward, or on either side, without mov-
ing in the saddle. With a little practice, even timid
of the class with the teacher. She is looking at him
to sec how he holds the reins. She has got over her
fright in mounting and looks quite like a young
horse-woman. The others follow in pairs, a boy
and girl together. Last of all, on the left, is Master
Tommy at the foot of the class. With all his haste
he goes rather slowly. Take them altogether, the\-
make a very handsome cavalcade.
The horse, as was remarked, has four feet and a
brain. Riding consists not only in a good seat, but
the art of teaching the horse to give up his will
and to do, not what he wishes, but what you wish.
So you must come to an understanding with the
horse — learn his way of thinking and his language.
Left to himself, he might go the wrong way, or stand
still and go nowhere in particular. It might be
very pleasant for him, but this is not what we want.
So in the school you are taught all the words of
command : to start, to halt, to trot or gallop, to
change step, and to go to the right or left. To tell it
all would till a book, and we can only now obser\e,
in a general wa)-, how a horse is managed. It
*s?fe:
"QLITF, A CAVALCADE.
girls like Nellie soon learn to sit securely. Now is done both by voice and by motions of the hand
she is safe and comfortable, and it is a pleasure to and body. For instance, the word is given to start
look at her. or stop, but the rider's body must be moved slightly
Here is the entire party, with Nellie at the head on the hips to help the horse. To turn to the right
LEARNING TO RIDE.
or left, the reins are turned vcr\ slightly, the body The moment you get on his back you obsen'c
is bent in the opposite direction to that you wish to that the motion is very different from walking. As
take, and the horse's side is touched geiith- with tlic he lias four legs, and as you sit between the two pair,
N LEAI'iNG FENXES.
foot. Boys use either foot, but girls use only the left
foot, and touch the horse on the right with a riding-
whip. This is the merest hint of what is meant by
learning to ride, but it is enough to show what is
done in the riding-school. The horse has a mind of
his own, and, though he surrenders his will to the
rider, he yet watches where he is going and alwa\s
has his wits about him. He will not willingly fall or
stumble. He will not step on you should you fall
on the ground, nor can you drive him against a
wall or down a steep bank. A steam-engine has
no mind, and will run into a ditch or into tlie river
just as readily as on the rails. A horse has a brain
and can use it, and so in riding he thinks for him-
self and the rider, and will not follow what he-
knows to be wrong or foolish commands.
Vol. I.X.— 59.
you are really at a place between four points of
support that are continually moving. This you
have always to remember, and to ride gracefulh-
you must conform to every motion of your horse.
If you wish him to turn sharply to the right and
change his step, you lean to the left. This throws
your weight on three of his legs and leaves the right
fore leg free, and, as it moves more easily than any
other, the horse steps out with that foot first. But,
to give you all the details would only weary you.
The best way to learn is to go to a riding-school,
or else to have a good teacher at home.
.After several weeks' study in the school the
|)upils are taken out in the park, along the bri-
dle-paths. On the next page is a picture of one
of the advanced classes out for a practice ride.
924
LEARNING TO RIDE.
[October,
KEl-UUti FKU.M niE KAIN.
They have been caught in a shower, and have
run under a bridge to get out of the rain. Two
of them have been beaten in the race witli the
shower, as you will observe.
Sometimes boys and girls from
English families come to the
school with a note from home
saying they must be taught
to ride in the English
style — that is, learn to
leap fences and ditches.
So Master Percy Fitz-
dollymount and his
sister, the Honorable
Mary Adelaide Fitz-
dollymount, are given
lessons in leaping over
a low fence. Why do
you suppose they do
this ? In England, the
grand people who own the
land go hunting for
hares, rabbits, and ^^'^^■'
foxes, and ride rough-
ly right across the
country, over fields
■■X..^
and hedges, destroying the farmers' crops and
doing a great deal of harm, all for the sake of a
race after a fox or a rabbit. They never think
of paying the farmer for the damage,
and they call it fine sport. We
have none of this kind of riding
in America. There is no
need of learning to leap
on horseback over a fence
here, and if we did so,
very likely the farmer
would make us pay a
fine for trampling on
his crops.
Last of all, here is
Nellie, just as she fell
asleep in herriding hab-
it, after her first lesson.
She seems to be dream-
ing of the great horseshoe
that surrounds her head
like a glory. Let us hope
that she will be a
brave horsewoman,
and that the shoe will
bring her good luck.
1863.)
A STUKV OF A V L R V NAUGHTY UIKL.
A SCHOLAR.
Hv .SV1>.\K\ D.WRE.
Yes, I am five years old to-day I
Last week 1 put my dolls away :
For it was time. I 'm sure you Ml say.
For one so old to go
To school, and learn to read and spell :
-And I am doing very well; —
Perhaps you 'd like to hear me tell
How many things I know.
Well, If you '11 only lake a look —
Yes, this is it — the last 1 took.
Here in my 'pretty picture-book.
Just near the purple cover; —
Now listen — Here are one, two, three
\Vec little letters, don't you see? —
Their names are D and O and G ;
They spell — now guess! — Old Rover!'
STORY Ol" .\ X'lCRV XAUGIITV GlRl,
.MV VISIT TO MARY JANE.
Fkd.m the Pen or 'Lizueth Hall.
OR,
When Mary Jane Hunt left Tuckertown last
summer, she invited me to come to the city and
make her a visit.
" If I were sure Mrs. Hunt wanted you. 'Lizbcth,
1 would like to have you go," said Mother, " for
it 's good for young folks to widen their horizon
now and then, and you would enjoy seeing the
sights."
I did n't care anything about my horizon, but I
did want most awfully to see the sights : but.
although I teased and teased. Mother would n't
let me go.
There was a great church bother in Tucker-
town that year, but our folks were n't in it. The
trouble began in the choir, who could n't agree
about the tunes. On some Sundays the organist
would n't play, and on others the singers would n't
sing. Once, they all stopped short in the middle
of "Greenland's Icy Mountains," and it was real
exciting at church, for you never knew what
might happen before you came out; but folks
said it was disgraceful, and 1 suppose it was. They
complained of the minister because he did n't put
a stop to it; so at last he took sides with the organ-
ist, and dismissed the choir, and declared we would
have congregational singing in the future. '.Most
everybody thought that would be the end of the
trouble; but. mercy! it was hardly the begin-
ning ! Things grew worse and worse. To begin
with, the congregation would n't sing. You see,
they had had a choir so long, people were sort of
afraid to let out their voices : and besides, there
was Elvira Tucker, who had studied music in
lioston, just ready to make fun of them if they
did. For she was one of the choir, and ihey were
all as mad as hornets.
In fact, the whole Tucker family were offended.
They said folks did n't appreciate Klvira, nor what
she had done, since she returned from Boston, to
raise the standard in Tuckertown. 1 don't know,
I am sure, what they meant by that, for 1 never
saw Elvira raise any standard ; but I do know that
they were real mad with tlie minister, and lots of
people took their side and called 'emselves "Tuck-
erites."
You see, the Tuckers stand very high in Tuck-
ertown, and other people try to be just as like
them as they can. They were first settlers, for
one thing, and have the most money, for another-
and the\- lay down the law generally. The
post-office and the station are at their end of the
village. They decide when the sewing-societies
shall meet, and the fairs take place, and the straw-
berry festivals come off. If there is to be a picnic,
they decide when we shall go, and where we shall go,
and just who shall sit in each wagon. If anybody
is sick, Mrs. Tucker visits 'em just as regularly as
the doctor, and she brings grapes and jelly, and is
very kind, though she always scolds the sick person
for not dieting, or for going without her rubbers,
or something of that sort. If Mother had a hand
in this story, not a word of all this would go down.
She says they are \'ery public-spirited people, and
that they do a great deal for Tuckertown. 1 suppose
926
A STORY OF A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL
OR
[October,
they do; but I 've heard other people say that they
domineer much more than is agreeable.
The people on the minister's side were called
'■ Anti-Tuckerites"; but, as 1 said, our folks were
n't in the quarrel at all. The consequence of be-
ing on the fence was, that I could not join in the
fun on either side, and I think it was real mean.
Every now and then, the Tuckerites would plan
some lovely picnic or party, just so as not to invite
the Anti-Tuckerites. Then, in turn, they would
get up an excursion, and not invite any of the
Tuckerites. Of course, / was n't invited to either,
and it was just as provoking as it could be.
One day, when I went to school, I found that
Elvira Tucker was going to train a choir of chil-
dren to take the place of the old choir.
" I went over to call on Elvira last evening,"
I heard Miss Green tell our school-teacher, " and
I found her at the piano playing for little Nell to
sing. It was just at dusk, and they did not see
me ; so I stood and listened, and wondered why we
could n't have a choir of children instead of the
congregational singing. Elvira said she thought
it would be lovely."
Now, I had been to singing-school for two
winters, and the singing-master said I had a good
voice ; so 1 thought I ought to belong to the choir.
" You can't, 'cause only Tuckerites are going to
belong," said 'Melia Stone. " And your folks
are just on the fence. They are n't one thing or
another."
! could n't stand being left out of all the fun
any longer, so I said : " I 'm as much a Tuckerite as
anybody, only our folks don't approve of making
so much trouble about a small affair."
"1 want to know!" said Abby Ann Curtiss.
" Well, 1 '11 ask Miss Elvira if you can belong
there."
Mercy me ! 1 had jumped from the fence and
found myself a Tuckerite ! I was sure Mother would
be real mad if she knew what I had said, for I sus-
pected in my heart of hearts that, if she had jumped
from the fence, she would have landed on the
minister's side. I made up my mind that 1 would
not tell her what had passed, for maybe, after all,
Miss Elvira would decide that 1 was no real Tuck-
erite. But the very next day she sent word to me
by Abby Ann that she would like to have me join
the choir.
I told Mother that I was wanted in the children's
choir because I had a good voice, and 1 never said
a word about being a Tuckerite.
" A children's choir." said she. " That 's a real
good idea — a beautiful idea."
She never suspected how I was deceiving her.
Well, we had real fun practicing. That week
we learned a chant and two hymns.
One day Miss Green came in.
"How does slie happen to be here?" 1 heard
her ask Miss Elvira, with a significant look at me.
'■ Oh, she has a real good voice," answered Miss
Elvira, laughing. " Most of the children who
can sing are on the Tuckerite side. Besides,
from something she said to Abby Ann, I think at
heart the Halls sympathize with us."
What would my folks have said to that ? 1 fell
half sick of the whole affair, and went home and
teased Mother to let me go to the city and visit
Mary Jane.
1 never shall forget the Sunday I sang in the
choir. Miss Elvira played for us on the organ, for
when the real organist heard that onh' the Tuck-
erite children were to belong to it she refused to
play. Everybody seemed surprised to see me in
it, and even Dr. Scott looked at me in a mournful
sort of wa)-, as if he thought the Halls had gone
over to the enemy. What troubled me most,
though, was the look Mother gave me when she
first realized that the choir was formed only of the
Tuckerite children, and that she had not found
it out before.
But, in spite of all this, 1 enjoyed the singing.
We sat, a long row of us, in the singers' seats up
in the gallerj'. After the hymn was given out and
we stood up. Miss Elvira nodded to me and whis-
pered : " Now, don't be afraid, girls Sing as loud
as you can."
Mercy ! how we did sing ! Twice as loud as the
grown-up choir. Luella Howe said, afterward, that
we looked as if we were trying to swallow the
meeting-house.
But I never sang but just that once in the choir,
for ne.xt Sunday I spent with Mary Jane, in Boston.
The way it happened was this. That night
Mother sent me to bed right after supper, as
a punishment for not tellmg her all about the choir
before 1 joined it ; and, as 1 undressed, she had a
great deal to say about the defects in my character.
She talked to me a long time about my faults, and
she went down-stairs without kissing me good-
night. I was thinking what a miserable sinner I
must be, and was trying to cry about it, when I
heard her go into the sitting-room and say to
Father, who was reading his paper there :
'• 1 just put 'Lizbeth to bed ; but she is n't half
so much to blame as some other folks. If grown
people act in such a wa)-, you can't expect much
of the children. 1 declare, I wish I could send
her awav from Tuckertown till this choir-matter is
settled."
" Well," says Father, "why don't you let her go
and see Hunt's girl? You know she invited her,
and 'Lizbeth wants to go."
•' Oh, no," says Mother. " They have so much
188:.]
M V \" I S I T 1" < ) M A K \' I A .\ E .
sickness there. I 'in afraid she would be in the lot mo go, for she was afraid Mrs. ?lunt did n't like
way," and she ended her sentence by shutting the to write that my coming would be inconvenient,
door with a slam. .She declared that I ought to have written I would
I got right up and sat on the stairs for a long go if I heard that it would be agreeable.
' ; ; ! i!ii
'MEKCV! MOW WK DID SiNc: !
time, to see if they would say anything more aboiu
my visiting Mary Jane, but they did n't. Father
began to talk of the black heifer he had just
bought, and then about the Presidential campaign.
and several other unimportant things like that.
Not a word about me.
Hut I began o.irly the next morning and teased
steadily to go and visit Mary Jane. Finally, Tues-
day morning .Mother said 1 might write Mary Jane
that, if it were perfectly agreeable to her mother,
I would now make them the promised visit, and.
if 1 heard nothing to the contrary from them,
would start on Friday in the early train for Boston.
Well, Tuesday passed and Wednesday came.
and Thursday came, and at last — at last Fri-
day came, and no letter from Mary Jane. My
trunk was all packed. 1 took my best dress and
my second-best dress, and most of the cvery-day
ones, and Mother lent me her hair jewelry. I had
my shade hat, and my common one, and my too-
good hat. That last is one I 've had for years —
ever so many years, — fully two years, I guess, —
and it 's always too good to wear anywhere, and
that 's why it lasts so long. At the last, Mother
declared she was sorry she had ever consented to
I had lift) frights that morning before 1 w;is
linally put in Deacon Hobart's care in the cars,
for he, too, was going to Boston that day.
He promised my mother that, if no one was at
the depot for me, he wmild put me in a carriage,
so that I should get safely to Mrs. Hunt's house.
I was real mad to have him tag along — it would
have been such fun to travel alone, and I did hope,
when he stood so long on the platform talking to
Father, the cars would go off without him ; but he
jumped on just as they were starting. However,
when we finally got to Boston, and I found that
nobody was waiting for me there, I was glad enough
to have him with me.
1 must say that, as 1 rode along in the carriage,
1 thought it was real queer and rude for no one to
come to meet me ; but tlie city was so interesting,
1 had forgotten about it b)- the time we had stopped
at the Hunts' door. The house had a kind of
shut-up look, and 1 felt queer for a moment, as I
thought perhaps they were all away from home;
but, just then, Mary Jane flew down the steps, and
Dot came squealing behind her.
'■ Now, you just hush ! " said Mary Jane to her,
after she had kissed me. '' You wake Lucy up,
928
A STORY OF A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL
OR,
[October,
and see what you '11 get." (She is always awful
domineering to Dot, Mary Jane is.)
" Why, what 's the matter with Lucy? " I asked.
" Why is she asleep in the day-time ? "
"Why, she is sick," said Mary Jane.
"Oh, awful sick ! " cried Dot.
" 'T is n't catching, though ; so come right in.
Beth," added Mary Jane, and in we went.
She had the hackman carry my trunk up into
her room, and she went up behind him all the way,
ordering him to be quiet, and slapping Dot and
holding up her finger at me, and making more
noise herself than all the rest of us put together.
" You see, I have to take care of everything,"
she said, when we were up at last. " Mother has
to stay with Lucy all the time, and Dot is so
thoughtless. But, what have you got in your
trunk ? "
" Yes, why don't you unpack ? " asked Dot.
It took me some time to get to the bottom of my
trunk, but I showed them everything that was in
it. After that, Mary Jane said she must go and
see about tea. When we got down-stairs we found
the table set.
" W'hy ! there 's no preserves on it," said .Mary
Jane to Bridget, who tossed her head, and an-
swered :
" Your ma did n't order any, and I wont open
'em without her telling me."
"Oh, my!" cried Mary Jane; "you are very
particular just now, are n't you ? You don't mind
so much when your aunt's step-mother's cousin
comes."
Bridget turned as red as a beet. " Now, jist you
take yourselves out of my kitchen ! " said she, and,
as true as you live, she shut the door right in my
face !
" Hateful old thing I " cried .Mary Jane. " W'ell,
never mind, I 'm going to the china-closet to get
some. But, which do you like best, peach preserves
or raspberry jam ? "
" Peach preserves, o' course," answered Dot.
" Everybody does."
I don't see why Dot had to say that. It was
just enough, and I knew it would be, to make Mary
Jane take the jam. When we went back to the
dining-room, we found Susan (that 'sthe nurse) had
come in «ith the bab)-.
"Here, Mary Jane," said she, "your ma
said yovi were to take care of Baby while I 'm up-
stairs."
Mary Jane looked as cross as two sticks. "■ Oh,
bother ! I can't ! 1 have Dot to take care of. and
Beth and the house, and everything. Bridget
ought to do that."
But just then Mr. Hunt came down. He looked
real worried, but he spoke to me just as kind, and
asked after the Tuckertown folks. I tried to tell
him about the singing affair, but he did n't
seem to take much interest, and soon went up-
stairs again.
" He has n't eaten any of his supper," said Dot.
" I 'm going to give his jam to Baby."
The baby had been sitting in a high chair up to
the table, and had n't had a thing but a piece of
graham cracker to eat. I thought he was real
good.
" He can't have any jam. Here ! give it to me,"
said Mary Jane. " 1 '11 eat it."
Of course, at that he banged his cracker on
the floor, and began to cry for the jam. But
Mary Jane did n't take the slightest notice of him.
She went on eating the jam as calmly as if he was
asleep in his cradle. Dot had been sent out on an
errand, so I tried to amuse him ; but he was afraid
of me, and screamed louder than before.
"Don't pay any attention to him," said Mary
Jane. " I 'm going to break him of screaming
so much. I always longed to break him of it, and
at last I 've got a chance. When he finds no one
takes any notice of him, he '11 stop it, I guess."
While he was still screaming, Mrs. Hunt came
down. She had on her wrapper, and her hair
was just bobbed up, and she looked as if she
had n't slept for a month.
"Mary Jane, why don't you amuse him? "she
said, after she had shaken hands with me, and
had taken Baby in her arms. " You know that
the noise disturbs Lucy, and yet you '11 let him
cry."
" It 's too bad," said 1. " 1 would amuse him,
only he is afraid of me."
" Why, 1 '11 amuse him, of course," said Mary
Jane.
So her mother went upstairs again, and we had
that child on our hands till seven o'clock, when
Susan came and took him to bed.
The next morning I told Mary Jane that 1
thought I ought to go home.
"Oh no!" she begged. "You are here, and
you might as well stay, and Lucy will be better
soon."
"Oh," said Dot, "don't go! You can help us
take care of Baby, you know."
" 1 don't see how I can be in your mother's way,
when 1 hardly ever see her," said 1. " Besides, it
would be real mean to leave you while you are in
trouble." So I decided to stay.
1 should have had a splendid time of it, had it
not been for the baby ; but we never began any
interesting play but Susan would come and leave
him with us, and then he always had to be amused.
1 never saw such a child — never quiet a moment.
They said it was because he was so bright. If 1
l882.]
M V \- 1 S I T T ( ) M A R ^• J A X K .
929
ever have a child, I hope it will be one of the
stupid kind, that will sit on the floor and suck its
thumb all day.
He was particularly in the way when we went to
see the sights. We went to the State-house and
the Art Museum, and one day Mary Jane showed
me a place where they were ha\ing a baby show.
"Mercy!" said Mary Jane, " 7i.>/it> would ever
want to go to that ?"
" Lots o' people are going in, anyhow," said
Dot.
We had started on, but all at once Mary Jane
stopped short. " Lizbeth," said she, " 1 'II tell
you what. Let 's take Baby to the baby show.
1 mean to exhibit him, and p'raps he '11 take a prize,
and wc will have the money."
Was n't it a splendid idea ? The trouble was,
we did n't know how to get in. At hist, Mary
Jane told the ticket-master what we wanted, and
he sent for the manager.
" And so you want to put this little chap in the
show," said he. " How old is he ?"
Mary Jane told him.
" Well, he is a whopper," said the man.
LITTLE THREE-m:NDRED-AND-T\VELVE.
"Is it too late for him to get the prize?" we
asked.
"Oh, he wont stand so good a chance as if he
had come at first. You see, the babies are all
numbered, and each person, when he goes out of
the show, gives the number of the baby he thinks
is the finest, and the one that h.as the most votes,
so to speak, gets the prize. Those folks that came
yesterday, you see, have n't voted for your baby,
but then you '11 have part of to-day and to-morrow."
" Why, will we have to stay all the time?" asked
Mary Jane.
" No, you can take him out when you choose;
but the more he is here the more votes he 'II
get."
" Well, if there 's a prize for the baby that can
cry loudest, he 'II get it," said Dot.
But they did n't give any prize for that.
We gave Baby's name and address to the man-
ager, who then took us in to the show. His num-
ber was three hundred and twelve, and a paper
telling his age, and number of teeth, and so on,
was tacked over the little booth where we sat.
There were lots of people in the room, but when
any one came near cur baby he cried.
" I do believe he wont get a single vote," said
Mary Jane, in despair. But somebody gave him
some candy, and that pacified him for a while,
and ever so many persons said he w.ts the finest
child in the show. We were so encouraged, we
planned just how we would spend the money, and
we stayed till dinner-time, when Mary Jane
thought we ought to go home.
Mrs. Hunt was real pleased that we had kept
him out so long. It was a pleasant day, she said,
and the air would do him good.
"We will take him out again this afternoon,"
said Mary Jane.
When we went back. Baby was so tired he went
to sleep in Dot's lap. They looked awful cunning,
and everybody raved over them ; but we had to
promise Dot everything under the sun to keep her
quiet.
Lucy was worse that night, and the next morn-
ing Mrs. Hunt sent us right out after breakfast.
We stayed at the show all day, but the baby
was n't good a bit. He screamed and kicked, and
looked, oh, so red and ugly ! We had to send Dot
for some candy for him, and we felt worried and
uncomfortable.
The doctor's carriage was at the door when we
went home at last, and Mr. Hunt was walking
up and down in the parlor. He called Mary Jane
and Dot in, and I went upstairs, for Susan said
the postman had left a letter for me. J thought
it was from Mother; but it was a printed thing
from the Dead-letter Office, saying that a letter for
me was detained there for want of postage. It had
been sent to Tuckertown, and the postmaster had
forwarded it to Boston. 1 had spent all my money,
except just enough to buy my ticket home; but I
thought 1 would take out enough for the stamps,
and borrow six cents from Mrs. Hunt. 1 went out
right off and mailed my letter with the stamps, so
as to get the other letter that was in the Dead-
letter Office. When I came back 1 found Mary
Jane crying in the hall.
Lucy was worse and the doctor had given her up.
"And I have always been so cross to her"
sobbed Mary Jane.
930
A STORY OF A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL.
[October,
"Yes, so you have!" put in Susan, who was
coming down stairs with a tray. " I hope you '11
remember now to be kinder to Dot and the baby."
" But they are so healthy," she sniffed. But she
seemed to feel real bad, and it 's no wonder, for Lucy
is a darling ! 1 could n't help crying myself.
That night, poor little Three Hundred and
Twelve w.is taken sick. Mr. Hunt and the doctor
came to our room to ask what we had given him to
eat, and when we told them about the candy (we
did n't dare say a word about the show) they
were angry enough.
1 sha'n't forget that night in a hurry. I did n't
think it would ever come to an end, and we both
lay and cried till the sun shone into our window in
the morning, when Susan came to tell us that Lucy
was sleeping beautifully, and was going to get well,
after all. After breakfast, we went into Mrs.
Hunt's room, which was next to the nursery, where
Lucy lay, and she took us all in her arms — there
was room for me too — and we just cried with joy
together.
The baby had got all over his colic, and Mary
Jane and I had just concluded we had better tell
Mrs. Hunt where we had taken him, when a letter
came for Mrs. Hunt.
It was a notice that number three hundred and
twelve had taken the third prize at the baby show.
It could not have come at a better time for us,
for how could she scold, with Lucy coming back to
life, as it were, after those dreadful hours of sus-
pense and suffering? But I know she did scold
Mary Jane afterward, for it was n't right to keep
the baby in that stuffy place when she thought he
was in the fresh air ; but that was after I went
home, which happened a few days later.
And what do you think! — Just as the carriage
came to take me to the depot, the postman left a
sealed envelope from the Dead-letter Office. I
opened it as the cars started, and while 1 was
traveling home, I read the very letter Mrs. Hunt
had written in answer to the one I wrote her to
tell her 1 was about to visit them in Boston. And
in that letter she had asked me to postpone my
\isit till some later date, on account of the illness
of little Lucy !
TO THE AUTHOR OF JABBERWOCKY.
By E. p. Matthews.
Oh, sir ! I was a beamish child,
Who gyred and gimbled in the lane.
Until your weird words drove me wild
A-burbling in my brain.
I then galumphing go away,
Beneath the leafy shade of trees,
Where all the day I cry " Callay ! "
And chortle when I please !
At brillig, when my mother dear
Calls me to dine, I really do —
To make it clear, close to her ear
1 loudly cry " Callooh ! "
I wish I were a borrowgove.
To dwell within the tulgey wood.
Where I could say the words 1 love ;
I 'd whiffle — that 1 should.
My brother, like a frumious patch.
Regards me as his manxsorne foe,
As if I were a Bandersnatch,
Or a jubjub bird, you know!
Oh, frabjous poem ! pray, sir, tell,
Compounded was it by what laws?
Why did you write it in a book ?
I know you'll say — "Because!"
He snicker-snacks his vorpal sword.
And vows he '11 slay me — what a shock!
If I do quote another word —
One word — from Jabberwock.
Oh ! when you sit in uffish thought
Beneath the turn- turn tree, and wait,
Write other words, I think you ought.
To drive these from my pate.
THE CAPTAIN OF TlIK ORIENT HASE-IiAI.I. NINE.
931
■■W-
^ fx^
i kli-wliar-are-you-at-lift!e'WoTnari?
^^ Oli-wlial-are-you-doin^-I (jray ?"
I'm • trying • to • di) • tliis ■la'ke-dry-sir,-
/An(l-wkr6'tkre'sa-will-tkre'5-awa\/"
1?;
.M0
THE CAPTAIN Ol
rni': oriicnt base-batl nine.
Hv C. M. Sheldon.
The Orient Base-ball Nine, of Orient Academy, hereby challenges
the Eagle;., of Clayton Academy, to a match game of ball : time
and pl.^cc to be at the choice of the challenged.
Respectfully.
Tom Davis, Secretary of Orient B. H. C
To Secretary of Kagle B. B. C. of Clayton Academy.
" There ! " said Tom, as he wiped his pen on his
coat-sleeve; "how '11 that do?"
The Orient Base-ball nine was sitting in solemn
council in Captain (Reason's room. The question
had long been debated at the Orient School about
playing a match game with the Eagles of Clayton,
the rival Academy on the same line of railroad,
about thirty miles from Orient. Until lately, the
teachers of the .'\cademy had withheld their per-
mission for the necessary absence from school ;
but at last they had yielded to the petitions of the
nine, and the Orient Club was now holding a meet-
ing which had resulted in the above challenge.
" Very well put, Tom," answered Gleason, and
then an animated conversation took place.
" We must beat those fellows, or they 'II crow
over us forever."
"Yes: do you remember, fellows, that Barton
who was down here last fall when our nine played
the town boys ? They say he stole a ball out
of Tom's pocket during the game. I hear he 's
short-stop this year." This from Johnny Rider,
the Orient first-baseman.
" We don't know about that," said (Reason.
" Don't be too sure."
" Well," put in Wagner, the popular catcher of
the nine, " we do know some of them are not to be
trusted, and will cheat, if they get a chance. You
see if they don't."
"All the more reason why we should play fair,
then," retorted Gleason. "Look here, boys, I
have n't time to orate, and am not going to make a
speech, but let 's understand one another. If we go
to Clayton — -and I think they will prefer to play on
their own grounds — we are going to play a fair
game. If we can't beat ihem without cheating,
we wont beat them at all ! "
" Three cheers for the captain ! " shouted Tom,
upsetting the inkstand in his excitement. The
932
THE CAPTAIN OF
[October,
cheers were given ; and the pitcher, a short, thick-
set fellow, with quick, black eyes, whispered to
Wagner : " If there 's any cheating done, it wont
be done by Glea, that 's sure."'
" No," replied Wagner; "but they will beafus.
You mark my words."
"We shall have something to say to that, I
think;" and the Orient pitcher shut his teeth
together vigorously, as he thought of the latest
curve which he had been practicing.
Gradually, after more talk on the merits of the
two clubs, one after another dropped out of the
captain's room, and at last he and Tom Davis were
alone. Tom was sealing up the challenge.
"What do you think, Glea, of Rider's remark
about Barton ? " asked Tom, as he licked a stamp
with great relish. Base-ball^was food and drink
to Tom.
" Why," replied Gleason, "■ I don't think Bar-
ton 's any worse than the others. None of them
are popular around here, but I think it 's only on
account of the jealousy of the two academies.
Probably they have the same poor opinion of us."
" They 're a good nine, anyway. You know
they beat the Stars last Saturday."
" Yes," said Gleason, smiling, " and we beat
the Rivals."
" Do you think they '11 cheat, or try to .' " asked
Tom.
" Well, no; there is n't much chance ot cheat-
ing nowadays at base-ball. We may have some
trouble with the umpire."
" Well, good-night, old fellow ! " said Tom, as he
rose. "I '11 take this down to post, and then hie
me to my downy couch. 1 suppose you are going
to * dig,' as usual."
" Yes; I have some Virgil to get out."
" I don't envy you. Good-night, uiypiiis ^-Eneas."
" Good-night, my ^dits Ac/ia/es." And the
captain was left alone.
He took down his books, but somehow he could
not compose himself to study. The anticipated
game with the Claytons filled his mind, and he
could think of nothing else; so he shut the books,
and took a turn up and down the room.
Young Gleason was a handsome, well-built
fellow, with an open, sunny face, the very soul of
honor, and a popular fellow with every one. He
was all but worshiped by the nine, who adored him
as a decided leader, a steady player, and a sure
batsman, with a knack of wresting victory out of
seeming defeat. His powers of endurance were
the wonder and admiration of all the new boys,
who were sure to hear of Gleason before they had
been in the school two days.
He had whipped Eagen, the bully, m the cotton-
mills across the river, for insulting some ladies ; he
had walked from Centerville to Orient in thirty-six
minutes, the fastest time on record ; he had won
the silver cup at the last athletic tournament, for
the finest exhibition of the Indian clubs; and, in
short, he was a school hero, and not only the boys
but the teachers of the .Academy learned to admire
and love him.
Perhaps the weakest point in his character was
his thirst for popularity. He felt keenly any loss
of it, and when Sanders carried off the first prize
for original declamation, it was noticed that Glea-
son treated Sanders rather coldly for some time.
But, in spite of this defect, Gleason was a splendid
fellow, as every one said, and sure to make his mark
in the world along with the best.
For tw'O days the nine waited impatienth for the
answer to their chaDenge. The third day it came.
The Claytons, with characteristic coolness, Wag-
ner said, chose their own grounds, and a week from
date for the match.
" Should n't wonder at all if they tried to work
in some outside fellow for pitcher. 1 hear their own
is a little weak," said the ever-suspicious Wagner.
"I 'm glad they 've given us a week," said
Francis, the pitcher. " I need about that time for
practice on the new curve, and I think you will
need about the same time to learn how to catch it.
So stop your grumbling, old boy, and come out on
the campus."
The week sped rapidly by, and at last the ap-
pointed day arrived — clear, cool, still; just the
perfection of weather for ball.
A large delegation went down to the station to
see the nine off.
" I say, Glea," shouted a school-mate, " tele-
graph down the result, and we '11 be here with a
carriage to drag you up the hill when you come
back."
" Yes," echoed another: "that is, if you beat.
We can't turn out of our beds to get up a tri-
umphal march for the vanquished."
" All right, fellows — we 're going to beat them.
We're sure to beat them — hey, Captain?" said
Tom, looking up at Gleason.
" We '11 do our best, boys," answered Gleason.
Then, as the train moved off, he leaned far out of
his window and whispered impressively: "You
may be here with that carriage."
There was a cheer from the students, another
from the nine standing on the platform and lean-
ing out of the windows, and the Orients were
whirled rapidly off to Clayton.
They reached their destmation in little more than
an hour, and found almost as large a delegation as
they had left at Orient. The talk and excitement
here for the past week over the coming game had
been as eager as at Orient. Nothing about the
1882.1
THi: ORIENT BASE -BALL NINE.
933
visitors escaped the notice of the Claytons. Their
" points" were discussed as freely as if they were
so many prize cattle at a county fair.
■•Just look at that fellow's chest and arms ! "
•• He '11 be a tough customer at the bat, 1 'm
afraid."
" He 's the fastest runner at Orient."
These and other whispers drew a large share of
the attention to (Ueason, and, as usual, admiration
seemed to stimulate him to do his best. He sum-
moned the nine together before the game was
called, to give them final instructions.
" Keep cool. Play steady. Don't run any
foolish risks in stealing bases ; and, above all, let
every man do honest work. Show these fellows
that we know what the word gcnlkiiuxn means."
.After some little delay necessary for selecting an
umpire and arranging for choice of position, the
game was finally called, the Orients coming first to
the bat.
The crowd gatlicrcd to witness the game was the
largest ever seen on the grounds, and almost every
man was in sympathy with the home nine. So, as
Gleason had said on the train, the only hope of
his men for victory was to play together, and force
the sympathy of some of the spectators, at least,
by cool and steady work.
The captain himself was the first man at the bat.
After two strikes he succeeded In getting a base
hit, stole to second on a passed ball, reached third
on a base hit by Wagner, and home on a sacrifice
hit by Davis, scoring the first run for Orient amid
considerable applause. The next two batters struck
out in quick succession, leaving Wagner on second.
Then the Claytons came to the bat, and after
an exciting Inning scored two runs, showing
strength as batters and base-runners. In the third
Inning the Orients made another run, thus tying
the score.
So the game went on until the ninth and last
Inning, when the score stood eight to seven in
favor of the Orients.
The excitement by this time was intense. The
playing all along had been brilliant and even.
Both nines showed the same number of base hits
and nearly the same number of errors. Francis,
for the Orients, had done splendid work, but Wagner
for some reason had not supported him as well as
usual. .And now, as the Claytons came to the bat
for the closing inning, every one bent forward, and
silence reigned over the field, broken only by the
voice of the umpire.
(ileason had played a perfect game throughout.
No one looking at him could imagine how much
he had set his heart on the game. His coaching
had been wise, his judgment at all times good,
and he now, from his position In left field, awaited
the issue of the closing inning with a cheerful
assurance.
The inning opened with a sharp hit to short-
stop. He made a fine stop and threw to first, but
poor Johnny Rider, who had played so far without
an error, muffed the ball, and the Clayton bats-
man took his first amid a perfect storm of cries and
cheers.
The next batter, after a strike, drove the ball
Into right field, a good base hit, and the man on
first took second. Then, as if to aggravate the
Orients and complete their nervousness, Francis
allowed the third batsman to take first on called
balls; and so the bases were filled. A player on
every base and no one out ! It was enough to de-
mor.ilize the coolest players.
But Francis was one of those men who, after the
first flurry of excitement, grow cooler. The next
two Claytons struck out in turn.
Then Barton came to the bat, and all the Ori-
ents held their breath, and the Claytons watched
their strongest batsman with hope. One good base
hit would tie them with the Orients, and Barton
had already made a two-bagger and a base hit
during the game. The umpire's voice sounded
out over the field :
"One ball. Two balls. One strike. Three
lialls. Four balls. Five balls. Two strikes."
Francis ground his teeth, as he delivered the next
ball directly over the plate. But Barton, quick
as lightning, struck, and the ball went spinning out
above short-stop, between second and third.
It was one of those balls most difficult to catch,
nearly on a line, and not far enough up to allow
of much time for judgment as to its direction.
Gleason was standing well out in the field, expect-
ing a heavy drive of the ball there, where Barton
had struck before. But he rushed forward, neck
or nothing, in what seemed a useless attempt.
With a marvel of dexterity and (luickness, he
stooped as he ran, and, reaching down his hand,
caught the ball just as it touched the ground, by
what Is known in base-ball language as a " pick-
up."
He felt the ball touch the ground, heard it dis-
tinctly, and knew that, where it had struck, a tuft
of grass had been crushed down and driven into
the earth; and he had straightened himself up to
throw the ball home, when a ])erfect roar of ap-
plause struck his ears, and the umpire declared
"out on the fly."
He was just on the point of rushing forward
and telling the truth, but, as usual after a game,
the crowd came down from the seats with a rush,
the Orients came running up to him, declaring it
the best play they ever saw ; and before he knew
what he was about, the nine had improvised a
934
THE CAPTAIN OF THE ORIENT BASE-BALL NINE.
[October,
chair and carried him off, with cheers and shouts,
to the station, for the game had been so long that
they could not stay later, as they had planned.
It certainly was a great temptation. Besides,
the umpire had declared it a fly. What right had
he to dispute the umpire ? And no one but him-
self knew that the ball had touched the ground.
The whole action had been so quick, he had run
forward so far after feeling the ball between his
fingers, that not the least doubt existed in the
minds of the Claytons that the catch was a fair
one.
But, on the other hand, his conscience kept
pricking him. He, the upright, the preacher to
the rest of the nine on fair play, the one who had
been such a stickler for the right, no matter what
the result, he had been the only one to cheat !
Yes, it was an ugly word. Cheat ! But he could
find no other name for it. And after all he had
said !
He sat in silence during the ride home. Tlie
rest of the nine made noise enough, and as he was
generally quiet, even after a victory, no one noticed
his silence very much.
As the train ran into the station at Orient a
great crowd was in waiting. Tom had telegraphed
the news from Clayton, and all Orient was wild
with joy. When Gleason appeared, he received
a regular ovation, such an ovation as a school-boy
alone can give or receive. They rushed him into
the carriage, and before the order was given to pull
up the hill to the Academy, some one cried out,
" Speech, speech ! "
It was the most trying moment of Gleason's life.
During the ride home he Had fought a battle with
himself, more fiercely contested than the closest
game of ball, and he had won. He trembled as
he rose, and those who stood nearest the lights
about the station noticed that his face was pale.
There was silence at once.
" Fellows, I have something to tell you which
you don't expect to hear. We would n't have
won the game to-day if 1 had n't cheated."
" How 's that ?"
" Who cheated.'"
" What 's the matter?"
There was the greatest consternation among
the Orients. When quiet had been partly restored,
Gleason went on and related the whole event just
as it happened. " And now," he concluded sadly,
" I suppose you nil despise me. But you can't
think worse of me than 1 do myself." And he
leaped out of the carriage, and, setting his face
straight before him, walked away up the hill.
No one offered to stop him. Some hissed. A
few laughed. The majority were puzzled.
" What did he want to tell for ? No one would
ever have known the difference."
But Tom Davis ran after the captain, and caught
him about half-way up the hill. School-boy fashion,
he said never a word, but walked up the hill to
the captain's room, shook hands with him at his
door, and went away with something glittering in
his eyes.
Next morning, Gleason's conduct was the talk
and wonder of the whole school. But the captain
himself showed true nobility. He begged the
school and the nine to considc" the game played
with the Claytons as forfeits" to them. And,
after much talk, Gleason himself wrote, explaining
the whole affair, and asking for another game on
the Orient grounds.
The Claytons responded, came down, and
defeated the Orients in a game even more hotly
contested than the first. But Gleason took his
defeat very calmly, and smilingly replied to Tom's
almost tearful, " Oh, why did n't we beat this
time?" with, " Ah ! Tom, but 1 have a clear con-
science, and that is worth more than all the ball-
games in the world ! "
■ 883.1
THE QUEEN S REPARTEE.
935
THE QUEEN'S RE 1' A KTi: i:
I5v Jav Al-I.ISON.
v_>^ E was a king, yet well
5^ he know
The worth (if gold
for payment ;
She was a queen —
a woman, too.
And fond of costU
raiment.
'• This is a dainty cap,"
he said,
■' Kine as a cobweb,
truly.
What was the price?" She shook her head:
'• You '11 think it cost unduly.
-And beckoned a guardsman, poor and old.
" Here! you are no impostor:
Tell this lady the worth of gold ;
What should that lace thing cost her?"
On his clumsy hand he turned the cap.
•• 1 've but a feeble notion
I )f the cost of women's gear. Mayhap,
It cost her many groschen."
■(Iroschen, man! Such a bit of lace
As that costs ten whole thalcrs.
This pretty lady with smiling face
Pays dear for caps an<t collars.
' Men should not ask what women pay
For ribbons, caps, and collars.
Hut this was a bargain, as you will say.
' T was only just ten thalers.''
■'Ask her to give as much to you —
She can afford it surely."
Me held his hand with small ado.
She gave the sum deinurely.
0>tfy ten thalers ! You can not mean
You paid such a sum of money
For that small thing, my darling queen '
He looked o'er the landscape sunny.
Then said with a gesture arch and sly
" This gentleman so stately
.Standing here, is richer than I —
His wealth is increasing greatly;
936
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[October,
■ All that I have he gives to me —
Thankfully 1 receive it.
Ask /wice ten thalers, and you 'il see
He can afiford to give it."
Laughing, the king bestowed the gold-
Such grace his rank befitted,
And merrily oft the story told
How he had been outwitted.
STORIES OF ART AND ARTI STS.— TENTH PAPER.
Hv Clara Erskink Clkmhnt.
DOMENICHINO.
In reading of the Italian painters we often find
something about " the early masters." This term
is applied to the great men like Michael Angelo,
Raphael, Titian, and a few others who were them-
selves illustrious from their own genius, and were
imitated by so many other artists that they stand
out with great prominence in the history of paint-
ing. Titian may be named as the last of the
really great masters of the early schools. He died
in 1575, near the close of the sixteenth century,
just when there was a serious decline in art. The
painters of that time are called " Mannerists," be-
cause they followed mechanically the example of
those who had gone before. Some copied the
style of Michael Angelo in a cold, spiritless man-
ner ; others imitated Raphael, and so on ; but true
artistic inspiration had died out — the power to fix
upon the canvas or the wall such scenes as would
come to a poet in his dreams seemed to be lost to
the world.
About 1600 a new interest in art was felt, and
painters divided themselves into two parties, be-
tween whom there was much bitterness of feeling.
On one side were those who wished to continue
the imitation of the great masters, but also to
mingle with this a study of Nature. These men
were called " Eclectics," which means that they
elected or chose certain features from various
sources, and by uniting them produced their own
manner of painting. Their opposers desired to
study Nature alone, and to represent everything
exactly as it appeared — these were called "Nat-
uralists."
The chief school of the Eclectics was at Rologna,
where Ludovico Caracci had a large academy of
painting, and was assisted by his two nephews,
Agostino and Annibale Caracci, the latter being
the greatest artist of the three. The effect of the
Caracci school upon the history of painting was
so great that it can scarcely be estimated, and
Domenico Zampicri, called Domenichino, was the
greatest painter who came out from it.
Domenichino was born at Bologna in 1581, and
was early placed under the teaching of Denis Cal-
x-art, who forbade his drawing after the works of
Annibale Caracci. The boy, however, disobeyed
this order; and, being discovered, was treated with
such severity that he persuaded his father to
remove him from Calvart and place him in the
Caracci school.
He was so dull a boy that his companions gave
him the name of " the Ox" ; but the master, Anni-
bale, said, "Take care: this ox will surpass you
all by and by, and will be an honor to his art."
Domenichino soon began to win the prizes in the
school, and at last, when he left his studies and
went to Rome, he was well prepared for his brilliant
career. He shunned society, and visited public
places only for the purpose of studying the expres-
sions of joy, sorrow, anger, and other emotions
which he wished to paint in his pictures, and
which he could see without embarrassment on the
faces of those whom he observed at places of
public resort. He also tried to feel in his own
breast the emotion of the person he was repre-
senting. It is said that, when he was painting an
executioner in his picture of the " Scourging of
St. Andrew," he threw himself into a passion and
used high words and threatening gestures; at this
moment he was surprised by Annibale Caracci, who
was so struck with the ingenuity of his method,
that he threw his arms about his pupil, exclaiming,
"To-day, my Domenichino, thou art teaching
me ! "
The masterpiece of Domenichino is now in
the Vatican, and is called the " Communion of
St. Jerome." This is universally considered as the
second picture in Rome, the " Transfiguration,"
by Raphael, only being superior to it. St. Jerome
is one of the most venerated of all saints, and
especially so on account of his translation of "The
Vulgate," or the New Testament, from Hebrew
mto Latin. The story of St. Jerome's life is very
interesting. He was of a rich family, and pursued
his studies in Rome, where he led a gay, careless
life. He was a brilliant scholar, and became a
STORIES OK A I< T A \ 1 ) A R T I S T S .
937
celebrated lawyer. When he was thirty >ears old
he was converted to Christianity : he then went to
the Holy Land and lived the life of a hermit. He
founded a monastery at Bethlehem, and there made
his translation of the Scriptures, which entitled him
to the consideration of all Christian people.
After ten years' absence from Rome he returned,
and made as great a reputation as a preacher as he
had before enjoyed as a lawyer. L'nder his influ-
ence many noble Roman ladies became Christians.
After three years he returned to his convent in
Bethlehem, where he remained until his death.
When he knew that he was about to die, he desired
to be carried into the chapel of the monastery :
there he received the sacr.imcnt, and died almost
immediately.
It is this final scene in his life lliat Uomcnichino
has painted. In the foreground is the lion usually
seen in all pictures of St. Jerome, and which is
one of his symbols, because he was a hermit and
passed much time where no livin-j creature existed
save the beasts of the desert. There is also a legend
told of St. Jerome and a lion, wliich says that one
evening, as the saint was sitting at the gate of the
convent, a lion entered, limping, as if wounded.
The other monks were all terrified, and lied, but
Jerome went to meet him : the lion lifted up his
paw and showed a thorn sticking in it, which
Jerome extracted, and then tended the wound until
it had healed. The lion seemed to consider the
convent as his home, and Jerome taught him to
guard an ass that brought wood from the forest.
One day, while the lion was asleep, a caravan of
merchants passed, and they stole the ass and drove
it away. The lion returned to the convent with an
air of shame. Jerome believetl that he had killed
and eaten the ass, and condemned him to Ijring the
wood himself; to this the lion patiently sub-
mitted. At length, one day, the lion saw a
caravan approaching, the camels led by an ass, as
is the custom of the Arabs. The lion saw at once
that it was the same ass that had been stolen from
him, and he drove the camels into the convent,
whither the ass was only too glad to lead them.
Jerome at once comprehended tlie meaning of it
all, and, as the merchants acknowledged their theft
and gave up the ass, the monk pardoned them and
sent them on their way.
.Vfter a time, the jealousy of other artists made
Uomcnichino so uncomfortable in Rome that he
returned to Bologna, and his fame having gone
abroad, he was invited by the Viceroy of Naples to
come to that city, and was given the important
commission to decorate the chapel of -St. Januarius.
.At this time there was an association of painters
in Naples who were determined that no strange
artist who came there should do any honorable
work. They drove away .Annibale Caracci, Guido
Reni, and others, by means <jf a petty system of
persecution. As soon as Domenichino began his
work, he was subjected to all sorts of annoyances;
he received letters threatening his life ; and though
the Viceroy took means to protect him, his colors
were spoiled by having ruinous chemicals mixed
with them, his sketches were stolen from his
studio, and insults and indignities were continually
heaped upon him. .At length, he was in such de-
spair that he secretly left the city, meaning to go
to Rome.
As soon as his flight was discovered, the Viceroy
sent for him and brought him back. New measures
were taken for his protection, but, just as his work
was advancing well, he suddenly sickened and
died. It has been said that he was poisoned; be
this as it may, there is little doubt that the fear,
anxiety, and constant vexation that he had suffered
caused his death ; and in any case his tormentors
must be regarded as his murderers. He died in
1641, when sixty years old.
(JUIDO RKNI.
(iUlDO was the next most important painter of
the Caracci school. He was born at Bologna, in
1575. His father was a professor of music, and,
when a child, Guido played upon the flute ; but he
early determined to be a painter, and was a great
favorite with the elder Caracci. When still a
youth, Guido heard a lecture by Annibale Caracci,
in which he laid down the rules which should
govern the true painter, (luido listened with fixed
attention, and resolved to follow these directions
closely in his own work. He did so, and it w;is
not long before his p"tures attracted so much
attention as to arouse the jealousy of other
artists ; he was accused of being insolent and
trying to establish a new system, and, at last, even
Ludovico turned against him and dismissed him
from the Academy.
He went to Rome, where his fate was l)ut little
better. Caravaggio then had so much influence
there that he almost made laws for all other paint-
ers, and when the Cardinal Borghese gave Guido
an order, he directed him to do his work in the
manner of Caravaggio. The young painter obeyed
the letter of the command ; but quite a different
spirit from that of Caravaggio filled his picture, and
his success was again such as to make other artists
hate and endeavor to injure him.
Considering the work of this artist with the
cooler and more critical judgment made possible
by the lapse of so many years, the truth seems to
be that Guido was not a truly great painter, but
he had a lofty conception of beauty, and tried to
938
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
(October,
reach it in his pictures. He really painted in
three different styles. His earliest manner was
the strongest, and had a force that he outgrew
when he came to his second period, where his
only endeavor was to make everything bend to the
idea of sweetness and grace. His third style was
careless, and came to him when his ambition to
be a great artist was gone, and only a desire for
money remained.
In his best works there is no full depth of mean-
ing, and a great sameness of expression marks them
as the pictures of an artist lacking originality and
inventive power. His masterpiece in Rome was
the "Aurora," on a ceiling in the Rospigliosi
Palace. It is much admired, and is familiar to us
from the engravings after it. Aurora, the goddess
of the dawn, is represented as floating on the clouds
before the chariot of Phoebus, or Apollo, the god
of the sun. She scatters flowers upon the earth,
which is seen in the distance far below. The sun-
god holds the reins over four white and piebald
horses ; just above them floats Cupid, with his
lighted torch. The hours, represented by seven
graceful female figures, dance along beside the
chariot. A question is sometimes asked as to the
reason of their number being seven. The hours,
or Horae, have no fixed number ; sometimes they
were spoken of by the ancients as two ; again
three, and even ten, are mentioned. Thus an
artist has authority for great license in painting
them; however, it has always seemed to me, in re-
gard to this picture, that Guido counted them as
ten, for in that case three would naturally be out
of sight on the side of the chariot which is not seen
in the picture.
A second very famous picture by Guido, painted
during his best period, is fhe portrait of Beatrice
Cenci, which is in the gallery of the Barberini Pal-
ace at Rome. There are few pictures in the world
about which there is so sad an interest. The beau-
tiful young girl whom it represents was the daugh-
ter of Francisco Cenci, a wealthy Roman nobleman.
The mother of Beatrice died, and her father made
a second marriage, after which he treated the
children of his first wife in a brutal manner ; it is
even reported that he hired desperate men to mur-
der two of his sons, who were returning from a
journey to Spain. It is said that his cruelty to
Beatrice was such that she murdered him, with
the aid of her brother and her step-mother. Other
authorities say that these three had no hand in the
father's murder, but were made to appear as the
murderers through the plot of some robbers who
were really guilty of the crime. But, guilty or
innocent, all three were condemned to death, and
were executed in 1599. Clement VII. was the
Pope at that time, and would not pardon Beatrice
and her companions in their dreadful extremity,
though all the crimes and cruelty of the father
were told to him, and mercy was implored for this
beautiful girl. It has been stated that the Pope
desired to confiscate the Cenci estates, as he had a
right to do if the members of the family suffered
the penalty of death. The sad face of the girl, as
painted by Guido, is so familiar to us, from the
many reproductions that have been made from it,
that sometimes when we see it suddenly it startles
us almost as though it «crc the face of some one
whom we had known.
After a time, Guido left Rome for Bologna.
From there he sent his picture of St. Michael to
the Cappiicini in Rome, and wrote as follows con-
cerning it: "I wish 1 had the wings of an angel
to have ascended into Paradise, and there to have
beholden the forms of those beatified spirits from
which 1 might have copied my archangel ; but not
being able to mount so high, it was in vain for me
to search for his resemblance here below ; so that I
was forced to make an introspection into my own
mind, and into that idea of beauty which I have
formed in my own imagination." It is said that
this was always his method — to try to represent
some ideal beauty rather than to reproduce the
actual loveliness of any living model. He would
pose his color-grinder, or any person at his com-
mand, in the attitude he desired, and, after draw-
ing the outline from them, he would supply the
beauty and the expression from his own imagina-
tion. This accounts for the sameness in his heads :
his women and children are pretty, his men lack
dignity; and we feel this especially in his represen-
tations of Christ.
It is said that on one occasion a nobleman, who
was very fond of the painter Guercino, went to
Guido, at the request of his favorite artist, to ask
if he would not tell what beautiful woman was the
model from which he painted all the graces which
appeared in his works. In reply, Guido called
his color-grinder, who was a dirty, ugly-looking
fellow ; he made him sit down and turn his head
to look up at the sky. He then sketched a Mag-
dalen in the same attitude, and with the same light
and shadow as fell on the ugly model ; but the
picture had the beauty and expression which
might suit an angelic being. The nobleman
thought this was done by some trick, but Guido
said: "No, my dear count; but tell your painter
that the beautiful and pure idea must be in the
head, and then it is no matter what the model is."
Toward the end of his life, Guido's love for
gaming led him into great distresses, and he mul-
tiplied his pictures for the sake of the money of
w hich he stood in great need ; and for this reason
there are many works said to have been painted
i88i.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
939
by him which arc not worthy of his name. He most generous prices from his patrons, he passed
died at Bologna in T642, when he was sixty-seven his last days in miserable poverty, and left many
years old; and though he had always received the unpaid debts as a blot upon his memory.
Vol. IX.— 60.
940
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS.
[October,
ELISABETTA SIRANI.
Among the foUouers of Guido Reni, this young
woman, who died when but twenty-five years old,
associated with her. She was also a charming
singer, and was ever ready to gi\e pleasure to her
friends. Her admiring biographers also commend
her taste in dress, which was \ery simple ; and they
is conspicuous for her talents and interesting on
account of the story of her life. She was the
daughter of a reputable artist, and was born at
Bologna about 1640. She was certainly very indus-
trious, since one of her biographers names one
hundred and fifty pictures and etchings made by
her, and all these must have been done within a
period of about ten years.
She was a good imitator of the sweet, attractive
manner of Guido Reni, and the heads of her
Madonnas and Magdalens have a charm of expres-
sion which leaves nothing to be desired in that
respect; and, indeed, all that she did proves the
innate grace and refinement of her own nature.
Much has been said of the ease and rapidity with
which she worked, and one anecdote relates that
on an occasion when it happened that the Duch-
ess of Brunswick, the Duchess of Mirandola, and
Duke Cosimo de' Medici, with other persons, all
met at her studio, she astonished and delighted
them by the ease and skill with which she sketched
and shaded drawings of the subjects which one
after another named to her.
When twenty years old, she had completed a
large picture of the "Baptism of Christ." Her
picture of " St. Anthony adoring the Virgin and
Child," in the Pinacotheca of Bologna, is very
much admired, and is probably her masterpiece.
The story of her life, aside from her art, gives
an undying interest to her name, and insures her
remembrance for all time. In person she was
beautiful, and the sweetness of her character and
manner won for her the love of all those who were
even go so far as to praise her for her moderation
in eating ! She was well skilled in all domestic
matters, and would rise at daybreak to perform her
lowly household duties, never allowing her art to
displace the homely occupations which properly, as
she thought, made a part of her life.
Elisabetta Sirani's name has come down through
two hundred and seventeen years as one whose
" devoted filial affection, feminine grace, and art-
less benignity of manner added a luster to her
great talents, and completed a personality which
her friends regarded as an ideal of perfection."
The sudden death of this artist has added a
tragic element to her story. The cause of it has
never been known, but the theory that she died
from poison has been very generally accepted.
Several reasons for this crime have been given :
one is that she was sacrificed to the jealousy of
other artists, as Domenichino had been; another
belief was that a princely lover, whom she had
treated with scorn, had taken her life because she
had dared to place herself, in her lowly station,
above his rank and power.
A servant- girl named Lucia Tolomelli, who had
been long in the service of the Sirani family, was
suspected and tried for this crime. She was sen-
tenced to banishment ; but, after a time, Elisabetta's
father requested that Lucia should be allowed to
return, as he had no reason for believing her
guiltv. .And so the mystery of the cause of her
death has never been solved ; but its effect upon
the whole city of Bologna, where it occurred, is a
matter of histon.
i883.]
STORIES OK ART AM) ARTISTS.
941
The entire people felt a personal loss in her
death, and the day of her burial was one of gen-
eral mourning. The ceremonies of her funeral
were attended « ith great pomp, and she was buried
beside her master, Guido Reni. in the chapel
of Our Lady of the Rosary, in the magnificent
Church of the Dominicans. Poets and orators
vied with one another in sounding her praises, and
a book published soon after her death, called "II
Pennello Lagrimato," is a collection of orations, son-
nets, odes, anagrams, and epitaphs in both Latin
and Italian, all telling of the love for her which filled
the city, and describing the charms and virtues of
this gifted artist. Her portrait, representing her
when painting that of her father, is in the Krcolani
Gallery at Bologna. According to this picture she
was very pretty, with a tall and elegant figure.
The two sisters of Elisabetta, called Barbara and
Anna Maria, were also artists, but the fame of the
first was so great as to overshadow theirs.
THE NATURALISTS.
The character and life of .Michael Angelo
Amcrighi, called Caravaggio, who was the head
of the school of Naturalists at Naples, were not
such as to make him an attractive study. His
manner of painting and his choice of subjects to-
gether produced what has been called " the poetry
of the repulsive." Caravaggio was wild in his
nature and his life. If he painted scenes of a
religious character they were coarse, though his
vivid color and his manner of arranging his figures
were striking in effect. His " Cheating Game-
sters " is a famous picture, and represents two men
playing cards, while a third looks over the shoulder
of one, and is apparently advising him how to play.
Next to Caravaggio caine Ribcra, called II
Spagnoletto because of his Spanish origin. It is
said that, when very young, he had made his way
to Rome, where he was living in miserable poverty,
and industriously copying the frescoes which he
saw all about the public places of the city. He
attracted the attention of a cardinal, who took the
boy to his home and made him comfortable. But
soon Ribera ran away and returned to the vagrant
life of the streets; the cardinal searched for him,
and when at last the boy was brought before him
he called him an " ungrateful little Spaniard," and
offered to receive him into his house once more.
Ribera replied that he could not accept, and
declared that as soon as he was made comfortable
and well fed he lost all his ambition and his desire
to work ; adding that he needed the spur of pov-
erty to make him a good artist.
The cardinal admired his courage and resolution,
and, the story being repeated, the attention of other
artists was attracted to him; and from this time he
was known as 11 Spagnoletto. He made rapid
advances in his style of painting, and later, in
Naples, he joined with Belisario Corcnzio and
(iianbattista Caracciolo in the plan, to which we
have referred, of keeping .ill other artists from
being employed there. On Ribcra rests much of
the responsibility of the many crimes which were
committed in Naples, even if he did not actually
do the deeds hitnself ; and when one sees his works,
and the horrible, brutal subjects which he studied
and represented, it is easy to understand how all
kindliness of feeling might have been crushed out
of a man whose thoughts were given to such
things. He became very rich, and his numerous
works are in the famous galleries of the world,
from -Madrid to St. Petersburg.
LITTLI-: GUIDO'S COMPLAINT
{Bologiut, A. D. X58S.)
Bv Margaret J. Preston.
" Oh, how shall 1 bear it ? They 've taken away
My brushes, and paper, and pencil, and say
I must thrum on the harpsichord till I can ])lay.
" My father is fretted, because he foresees
1 have not his marvelous genius to please
The lutc-lox ing, musical-mad Bolognese.
" My mother — dear heart! there is pain in her
look
Whenever she finds me hid safe in some nook.
Bent over my drawing, instead of my book.
"And so, as it daily is coming to pass,
She twits me with idleness, chiding: 'Alas!
They tell me my Guido is dunce of the class.'
" And Friar Tomaso (the stupid old fool I),
Because on my grammar, instead of the rule,
I had scribbled his likeness, has whipped me
in school.
'■ The boys, leaning over, with shoutings began:
'Oh, ho! Little Guido Reni is the man
To step after Raphael, if any one can ! '
942
LITTLE GUIDO'S COMPLAINT.
[October,
" I drew on the door of my chamber, in faint, " Of the plots yet unplanted, I leveled it fair,
Yet delicate outlines, the head of a saint ; And traced, with a stick, the Horatian pair
My mother has blotted it over with paint. Of brothers. To-day, there 's no trace of it there.
" I sketched with a coal, on the vestibule wall, " If only Caracci one moment could see
Great Cffisar, returning triumphant from Gaul: Aly drawings, and know how I 'm thwarted —
They came with their whitewash and covered why, he
it all : Is a painter — and so would be sorry for me.
" And yesterday, after the set of the sun
( I had practiced my lute, and my lessons were
done),
I went to the garden; and choosing me one
" .'\h, the pictures, the pictures that crowd to my
eye !
If they never will let me have brushes to try
.\nd paint them — .Madonna ! I think I will die! "
AN OLD CROSS-PATCH.
THE SISTERS TIIUKK AND THE KIL.MAREE.
943
THE SISTERS THREE AND TIM", KILMAREE.
Ry Frank R. Stockton.
There were once three sisters, who were nearly
grown up. They were of higli birth, but had lost
their parents, and were now under the charge of a
fairy godmother, who had put thetn on an island
in the sea, where they were to live until they were
entirely grown up. They lived in a beautiful little
palace on this island, and had everything they
wanted. One of these sisters was pretty, one was
good, and the other had a tine mind. When the
Fair)' Godmother had settled everything to her
satisfaction, she told the sisters to stay on the
island and be happy until they were grown up, and
then she sailed away in a kilmaree.
A kilmaree is a boat used exclusively by fairies,
and is shaped a good deal like a ram's horn, with
little windows and doors in various parts of it. The
waters between the main-land and the island of
the sisters were full of strange, entangled currents,
and could be navigated only by a boat like a
kilmaree, which could twist about as much as any
current or stream of water could possibly twist or
turn. Of course these boats arc very hard to
manage, for the passengers sometimes have to get
into one door, and sometimes into another ; and
the water sometimes comes in at a front window
and goes out at a back one, while at other times it
comes in at a back window and goes out at a front
one ; sometimes the boat twists around and around
like a screw, while at other times it goes over and
over like a wheel, so that it is easy to sec that an\'
one not accustomed to inanaging such boats would
have a hard time if he undertook to make a trip
in one.
It was not long after the three sisters had been
taken to their island that there came riding, on a
road that ran along the shore of the main-land,
a lonely prince. This young man had met with
many troubles, and made rather a specialty of grief.
He was traveling about by himself, seeking to
soothe his sorrows by foreign sights. It was now
near evening, and he began to look for a suitable
spot to rest and weep. He had been greatly given
to tears, but his physicians had told him that he
must weep only three times a day, before meals.
He now began to feel hungry, and he therefore
knew it was weeping-time. He dismounted and
seated himself under a tree, but he had scarcely
shed half a dozen tears before his attention was
attracted by the dome of a palace on an island
in the sea before him. The island was a long way
off, and he would not have noticed the palace-
dome had it not been gilded by the rays of the
setting sun. The Prince immediately called to a
passer-by, and told him to summon the Principal
Inhabitant of the adjacent village.
When the Principal Inhaljitant arrived, the Prince
asked him who lived in that distant palace, the dome
of which was gilded by the rays of the setting sun.
" That palace," replied the other, " is the home
of three sisters. One is pretty, one is good, and
the other has a fine mind. They are put there to
stay until they are grown up."
" Indeed ! " exclaimed the Prince. " 1 feel inter-
ested in them already. Is there a ferry to the
island ? "
" A ferry ! " cried the Principal Inhabitant. "I
should think not ! Nobody ever goes there, or
conies from there, except the Fairy Godmother,
and she sails in a kilmaree."
" Can you furnish me with a boat of that kind ? "
asked the Prince.
"No, indeed!" said the Principal Inhaljitant.
"I have n't the least idea where in the world you
could find a kilmaree."
"Very well, then, sir," said the Prince, "you
may go. I am much obliged to you for coming to
me."
" You are very welcome," said the Principal In-
habitant, and he walked away. The Prince then
mounted his horse, rode to the village, ate his
supper, and went to bed.
The next morning the Prince shed barely three
tears before breakfast, in such a hurry was he to
ride away and find the kilmaree in which he might
sail to the distant isle and the sisters three.
Before he started, he went to the place whence
he had first seen the dome of the palace gilded by
the rays of the setting sun, and there he whittled a
large peg, on which he cut his initials. This peg
he dro\e down on the very spot where he had
seated himself to cry, that he might know where to
start from in order to reach the island. If he
began his voyage from any other place, and the
evening sun did not happen to be shining, he
thought he might miss his destination. He then
rode away as fast as he could go, but he met
nobody until he came to the outskirts of a little
village. Here, in a small workshop by the side
of the road, was a young man busily engaged in
making wooden piggins.
This person was an expectant heir. Among the
things he expected to inherit were a large fortune
944
THE SISTERS T 1 1 R E E AND THE K I L M A R E E .
[October^
from an uncle, a flourishing business from his
brother-in-law, a house and grounds from his
maternal grandfather, a ver)- valuable macliinc for
peeling currants, from a connection by marriage,
and a string of camels from an aged relative. If
he inherited any one of these things, he could
cither live in affluence or start himself in a good
business. In the meantime, however, he earned a
sidered very smart, and now, though quite young,
was the head of the family. Ke had been edu-
cated at a large school near by, in which he was
the only scholar. There were a great many mas-
ters and professors, and there used to be a great
many scholars, but these had all finished their
education and had gone away. For a long time
there had been no children in that part of the
THE PRINCE CATCHES SIGHT OF THE l.-^LA.ND OF THE SISTERS THREE.
little money by making piggins. The Prince dis-
mounted, and approached this young man.
"Can you tell me," he said, " if any one in
these parts has a kilmaree ? "
" I don't so much as know," said the E.xpectant
Heir, sitting down on his work-bench, " what a
Idlmaree is."
The Prince then told him all he had heard about
the kilmaree, and why it was necessary for him to
have one to reach the distant isle.
"I expect," said the other, " to inherit a house
and grounds. Among the valuable things there I
shall find, no doubt, a kilmaree, which I shall be
very glad to lend to you ; but, perhaps, you will
not be willing to wait so long, for the person from
whom I am to inherit the house is not yet dead."
" No," said the Prince, " I can not wait at all. I
want a kilmaree immediately. Could you not make
me one ? You seem to work very well in wood."
" I have no doubt I could make one," said the
Expectant Heir, " if I only had a model. From
what you say, a kilmaree must be of a very peculiar
shape, and I would not know how to set about
making one. But I know a person who probably
understands all about kilmarees. His name is
Terzan, and he lives at the other end of this vil-
lage. Shall we go to him ? "
The Prince agreed, and the two then proceeded
to the house of Terzan. This individual was a
poor young man who lived in a cottage with his
mother and five sisters. He had always been con-
country to take their places. But the masters and
teachers hoped their former pupils would marry
and settle, and that they would then send their
boys and girls to the school. For this reason the
school was kept up, for it would be a great pity
if there should be no school when the scholars
should begin to come in. It was, therefore, with
much pleasure that the teachers and masters
took Terzan, when a mere boy, into their school.
They were afraid they would forget how to teach
if they did not have some one to practice on.
Every day Terzan was passed from professor to
professor, from teacher to teacher, each one trying
to keep him as long as possible, and to teach him
as much as he could. When they were not teach-
ing Terzan, the teachers and professors had nothing
to do, and time hung heavy on their hands. It is
easy to see, therefore, that Terzan was taught most
persistently, and, as he was a smart boy, it is prob-
able that he must have learned a good deal. In
course of time he was graduated, and although the
professors wished him to begin all over again, so as
to make himself absolutely perfect in his studies,
his family thought it would be much better for him
to come home and work for his living. Terzan
accordingly went home, and worked in the garden,
in order to help support his mother and sisters.
These good women, and indeed nearly everybody
in the village, thought Terzan was the smartest
bov in the world, and that he knew nearly every-
thing that could be learned. After a time, Terzan
i883.]
THE SISTERS THREE AND THE KIl.MAREE.
945
himself believed that this was partly true, but as he
was a boy of sense he never became very vain.
He was very fond, however, of having his own
way, and if people differed with lilin he was apt to
think that they were ignorant or crack-brained.
The Expectant Heir knew what a clever fellow
Terzan was considered lo be, and he therefore sup-
posed he knew all about the kilmarce.
But Terzan had never seen such a boat. lie
knew, however, what a kilmaree was. "It is a
vessel that belongs to a fairy," said he, " and it is
a curly-kew sort of a thing, which will go through
the most twisted currents. If I could see a kil-
maree, I could easily make a model of it : and 1
know where there is one."
" Where ? oh, where ? " cried the Prince.
" It belongs to a fairy godmother, who lives in a
mountain not far from here. It is in a little pond,
with a high wall around it. When the moon rises
to-night we can go and look at it, and then, when
I have carefully considered it, I can make a model
of it."
" You need not take that trouble," said the
Prince. "You and this young man can just lift
the boat out of the pond, and then 1 can take it
and sail away to the distant isle."
" No, indeed ! " cried Terzan. " That would be
stealing, and we will do nothing of that sort."
" We might borrow it," said the Expectant Heir,
"and bring it back again. There could be noth-
ing wrong in that. I have often borrowed things."
But Terzan would listen to neither of these plans;
so that night, when the moon rose, they all went
to the Fairy's pond, that they might see the kil-
maree, and that Terzan might have the oppor-
tunity of carefully considering it, so that he could
make a model of it. Terzan had a good idea
about such things, and he studied and examined
the kilmaree until he was perfectly satisfied that he
could make one like it. Then they went home,
and the next morning work was commenced upon
the vessel. The Expectant Heir was used to work-
ing in wood, having been a piggin-maker for
several years, and he, therefore, was expected to
do the actual work on the kilmaree, while Terzan
planned it out and directed its construction. The
Prince was in a great hurry to have the vessel
finished, and said that he hoped that they would
work at it night and day until it was done.
■' .And what are you going to do?" said Terzan.
" 1 shall wait as patiently as I can until it is
finished," said the Prince. " 1 dare say 1 can find
some way of amusing myself"
" But you expect to sail in it when it is finished ? "
asked Terzan.
"Of course 1 do," replied the Prince, proudly.
" What do you mean by such a question ?"
" Then, if you cxpict to ^ail in this kilmaree,"
said Terzan, " you must just go to work and help
build her. If you don't do that, you shall not travel
one inch in her. .And, as you do not appear to
know anything about ship-building, you may carry
the boards and boil the pitch."
The Prince did not like this plan at all; but, as he
saw very plainly that there was no other chance of
his sailing in a kilmaree, he carried the boards and
he boiled the pitch. The three worked away very
hard for several days, until at last their boat began
to look something like a kilmaree.
It must not be supposed that the Fairy was
ignorant of what was going on. She had sat
and watched the three companions while Terzan
examined and studied her kilmaree, and she knew
exactly what they intended to do, and why they
wished to do it. She knew very well they could
never build a vessel of the proper kind, but she
let them work on until they had nearly finished
their kilmaree. She could see, as well as anybody
could see anything, that, if that vessel were ever
launched upon the water, it would immediately
screw itself, with everybody on board, down to the
bottom of the ocean. It was not her intention
that anything of this kind should happen, and so,
at night, after the tliree workers had gone to
bed, she removed their vessel, and had her own
kilmarce put in its place in the work-shop of the
Expectant Heir.
In the morning, when the three companions
came to put the finishing touches to their work,
Terzan began to compliment the Expectant Heir
upon the excellent manner in which he had built
the vessel.
"You really have made a splendid kilmarce,"
said he. " I don't believe there is anything more
to be done to it."
" It does seem to be all right," said the other,
" 1)ut I ne\er should have built it so well had you
not told me exactly how to do it."
The Prince expected one or the other would say
something about the admirable manner in which
he had carried the boards and boiled the pitch ;
but, as neither of them said anything of the kind,
he merely remarked that it was a very good kilma-
ree, and the sooner it was launched the better. To
this the others agreed, and the same day the ves-
sel was carried down to the shore and placed in
the water.
" Now, then," said the Prince, when this had
been done, " I shall sail along the coast until I
reach the spot where I drove m)- peg, and then I
shall go directly across to the distant isle. I am
\ery much obliged to both of you for what you
ha\e done, and when 1 come back I will pay you
something for your trouble."
946
THE SISTERS THREE AND THE K I L M A R E E .
[October,
" Then," asked Terzan, "you expect to sail alone
in this kilmaree?"
"Oh, yes," replied the Prince. "I know the
direction in which to steer it, and there is no
necessity for any one coming with me."
"Indeed!" cried Terzan. "Do you suppose
we built this boat just for you to sail to the distant
isle? 1 never heard such nonsense. We, too, are
going to sail in this kilmaree, and, as you were good
enough to carry the boards and boil the pitch, we
will take you with us, if you behave yourself. So,
if you want to go, just jump aboard, and clap your
hand over the forward spout-hole. It will be your
duty to keep that shut, except when I tell you to
leave it open. And you," said he to the Expectant
Heir, " may sit in the middle, and open and shut
the little door on the right where the water runs in,
and open and shut the little door on the left where
it runs out. I '11 steer. All aboard ! "
There was nothing else for the Prince to do, and
so he jumped on the kilmaree, and clapped his
hand over the forward spout-hole. The Expectant
times, when the boat rolled over, the Prince tumbled
overboard, and then the kilmaree dipped down
and scooped him up, making the others just as
wet as he was. The Expectant Heir, at his post in
the middle of the vessel, found the waters some-
times rush in so fast at one little door, and rush
out so fast at the other, that he thought it would
wash all the color out of him. .Sometimes the
kilmaree would stand upon one end and then bore
itself far down into the water, rubbing against
sharks and great, fat turtles, and darting about as
if it were chasing the smaller fish ; then, just as
Terzan and his companions feared they were
going to be drowned, it would come to the surface
and begin to squirm along on top of the water.
The others thought that Terzan did not know how
to steer, and he admitted that perhaps he did not
guide the kilmaree in exactly the proper way, but
he hoped that after some practice he would become
more skillful.
It began to be dark ; but, as there was no stop-
ping the kilmaree, which sailed by some inward
THE BOAT BEGAN TO LOOK SOMETHING LIKE A KILMAREE.
Heir went to his duties in the middle of the vessel.
And Terzan sat in the stern to steer. But he did
not steer at all. The Fairy was there, although he
did not see her, and she made the kilmaree go just
where she pleased.
Off they started, and very soon the three com-
panions found that sailing in a kilmaree was no
great fun. Just to amuse herself, the Fairy made
it twist and turn and bob up and down in the
water in the most astonishing manner. Several
power of its own, they were obliged to keep on.
Terzan thought he could steer by the stars, and so
they all tried to be as well satisfied as possible.
But the Fairy knew very well how to steer, and
as soon as it became dark she steered right away
from the distant isle of the sisters three, and sailed
toward a large island far out in the ocean. About
midnight they arrived there, and the three com-
panions immediately jumped on shore.
"1 am glad to be out of that horrible kilma-
l883.]
THE SISTERS THREE AND THE KII.MAREE.
947
ree ! " said the Prince, '" but how in the world am who docs not know how well off he is. What I
I to find the palace and the sisters three? It is as want you to do with these three persons, who are
dark as pitch." all very young men, is to take the nonsense out of
■• You will have to wait till morning," said Ter- them."
zan, -'when we will go and help you look for it." "1 'U undertake the task with pleasure," said
rHEV SAW THE GREAT, DLACK AFRITE SITTING ON THE SAND BEFORE THEM.
'■ You need not go at all," said the I'rince. " 1
can easily find it when it is light."
" We shall certainly go with you," said Tcrzaii,
" for we want to find the palace as much as you
do. Don't we?" said he, addressing the Kxpect-
ant Heir.
"Indeed, wc do," replied that individual.
"The palace I am looking for," said the Prince,
" is occupied by three sisters of very high degree,
and why a poor young gardener and a pigginist
should wish to call upon such ladies, 1 can't, for
the life of me, imagine."
" We will show you that when we get there,"
said Tcrzan ; and he laid himself down on the
sand and went to sleep. The two others soon fol-
lowed his example.
As for the Fairy Godmother, she left the three
young men, and went to a castle near by, which
was inhabited by an ."Vfrite. This terrible creature
had command of the island, which belonged to
the Fairy Godmother, and was tenanted by many
strange beings. " I have brought you," said she
to the Afrite, "three very foolish persons: one of
them is a poor young gardener, who thinks he is a
great deal better off than he is ; one of them is an
expectant heir, who expects to be much better off
than he ever will be ; and the other is a Prince,
llie .Afrite, with what was intended to be a 1)land
and re-assuring smile.
"Very well," said the F~airy, "and when the
nonsense is entirely out of them, you can hoist a
copper-colored flag on the topmost pinnacle of
your castle, and 1 will come over and take charge
of them."
And then she left the castle, and sailed away in
her kilmaree.
The next morning, when the three young men
awoke, they saw the great black Afrite sitting on
the sand before them. Frightened and astonished,
they sprang to their feet. The Prince first found
courage to speak.
"Is this the island of the sisters three?" he
asked.
" No," rephed the Afrite, with an unpleasant
grin; "it is my island. There are plenty of
sisters here, and brothers, too; but we don't divide
them up into threes."
"Then we have made a mistake," said Terzan.
" Let us go back. Where is our kilmaree ?"
"Your kilmaree is not here," said the Afrite,
sternly, rising to his feet ; "you have n't any, and
you never had one. The thing \ou made would
not work, and the F'airy Godmother brought you
here in her own kilmaree."
948
THE SISTERS THREE AND THE KII.MAREE.
[October,
The three companions looked at each other in
astonishment.
"Yes," continued the Afrite, "she sat in her
little cranny m the stern, and steered you to this
island. She has told me all about you. You are
three young men who don't know how to take care
of yourselves. How did you ever dare to think of
going to the island of the sisters three, and of steal-
ing the model of the Fairy's kilmaree ?"
" I wanted to see the beautiful palace and the
three sisters," said the Prince. " It seemed a
novel and a pleasant thing to do."
" That was my case also," said Terzan.
" And mine," said the Expectant Heir.
" And so, just to please yourselves," said the
Afrite, " you were going to a place where you
knew you were not wanted, and where, by going,
you would interfere with kind and beneficent plans.
You need say no more. You are not fit to take
care of yourselves, and what you need is a guard-
ian apiece. Come along, that I may put you under
their care."
The three young men mournfully followed the
Afrite to his castle. He led them through its
gloomy halls to a great court-yard in its center.
This yard was filled with all sorts of unnatural
creatures. Here were two or three great, grim
giants chained together; here and there sat a
sulky-looking genie surrounded by mischievous
elves and fairies, while, scattered about, were
gnomes, and dwarfs, and imps, and many other
creatures which our friends had never seen nor
heard of The island seemed a sort of penal
colony for such beings, every one of whom looked
as if he or she had been sent there for some
offense.
" Now, then," said the Afrite to the young men,
" I will give you the privilege of choosing your own
guardians. Go into that yard, and each pick out
the one you would like to have take care of you."
The young men did not want to have anything
to do with these strange beings, but there was no
disobeying the Afrite. So they went into the court-
yard and looked about them. In a short time
each had selected a guardian. The Prince chose
a malignant fay. The Afrite told him what she
was, but the Prince said she was such a little thing,
and had such a pleasing aspect, that he would pre-
fer her to any of the others. So the Afrite let him
take her. The Expectant Heir selected a spook,
and Terzan chose a dryad.
"Now, then," said the Afrite, "begone! And
I hope it will not be long before 1 have a good
report of you."
The Malignant Fay led the Prince to the sea-
shore. As he walked along he remembered that
for several days he had forgotten to weep before
meals. The sisters three and the kilmaree had
entirely filled his mind. So he wept copiously to
make up for lost time.
" Now, then," said the Fay, with a smile, " sit
down on the sand and tell me all about yourself
How do you live when you are at home ?"
Then the Prince sat down and told her all about
the beautiful palace, the fine kingdom, and the
loving subjects he had left in order to find some-
thing novel and pleasant that would make him
forget his grief
" What is it you would like more than anything
else ? " she asked.
" I think 1 would rather go to the isle of the sis-
ters three than to do anything else," he said.
"All right !" said the Malignant Fay. "You
shall go there. Pick up that ax and that bag of
nails you see lying there, and follow me into the
forest."
The Prince picked up the ax and the nails, and
followed his guardian. When, after a long and
toilsome walk, he reached the center of the forest,
the Malignant Fay pointed out to him an enormous
tree.
" Cut down that tree," she said. "And when
that is done you shall split it up into boards and
planks, and then you shall build a boat in which to
sail to the distant isle of the sisters three. While
you are working, I will curl myself up in the heart
of this lily and take a nap."
The poor Prince had never used an ax in
liis life, but he felt that he must obey his guard-
ian. And so he began to chop the tree. But he
soon became very tired, and sat down' to rest.
Instantly the Fay sprang from her lily, and
pricked him in the face with a sharp bodkin.
Howling with pain, the Prince seized his ax, and
began to work again.
" There must be no stopping and resting," cried
his guardian. " You must work all day, or the
boat will never be built."
.\nd so the Prince worked all day, and for many,
many days. At nightfall, his guardian allowed him
to stop and pick some berries for his supper. And
then he slept upon the ground. He now not only
wept before each meal, but he shed a tear before
each berry that he ate.
As the Expectant Heir and his guardian left the
castle, the Afrite beckoned the Spook to one side,
and said :
" Do you think you can manage him ?''
The Spook made no answer, but opening his
eyes until they were as wide as tea-cups, he made
them revolve with great rapidity. He then grinned
until his mouth stretched all around his head, and
his lips met behind his ears. Then he lifted his
right leg, and wound it several times around his
l882.)
r HE SIS r E u s r h k k k a n d t i 1 1; k i l m a k e e .
949
neck ; after which he winked with his left ear. This
is a thing which no one but a spook can do.
The Afritc smiled. '' You '11 do it," said he.
" Now, then," said the Spook to the expectant
heir, after they had gone some distance from the
casde, "I am famishing for exercise. Will you
hold this stick out at arm's length ? "
The Expectant Heir took a stick about a yard
long, which the Spook handed him, and he held
it out horizontally at arm's length. The Spook
then stood on tiptoe, and stuck the other end of
the stick into the middle of his back. He was a
smoky, vapory sort of being, and it did not seem
to make any difference to him whether a stick was
stuck into him or not. Throwing out his legs and
arms, he began to revolve with great rapidity
around the stick. He went so fast he looked like
an enormous pin-wheel, and, as his weight was
scarcely anything at all, the Expectant Heir held
him out without difficulty. Soon he began to go
so fast that, one after another, his arms, legs, and
CUT DOWN
THAT TRKE,'
SHE SAID."
head fiew off, and fell to the ground at some dis-
tance. Then the body stopped whirling.
"Hello!" said the head. "Will you please
pick me up, and put me together?"
So the Expectant Heir gathered up the arms,
legs, and head. " I hope," said he, " that I shall
be able to stick you together properly."
"Oh, it does n't matter much," said the Spook,
whose head was now on his body. " Sometimes I
have a leg where an arm ought to be. and some-
times an arm in a leg's place. I don't really need
arms and legs. I wear them only because it is the
fishion. Come along ! "
They then proceeded up a steep and stony hill,
and paused under a tall tree with a few branches
near the top. The Spook languidly clambered up
the trunk of this tree, and hitched his right foot to
the end of one of the limbs. Then, hanging head
downward, he slowly descended, his legs stretching
out as he gradually approached the ground. When
his head was opposite that of the Expectant
Heir, he turned u[) his face and gazed steadily at
him, revolving his eyes as he did so. Had the
Expectant Heir been a little boy, he would have
been very much frightened.
" What do you want most in this world?" asked
the Spook.
" A large fortune, a flourishing business, a
house and grounds, a machine for peeling cur-
rants, and a string of camels," answ-ered the expect-
ant heir.
" Do you want them all, or would two or three
of them do?" asked the
other.
" Two or three would
do ver\' well, but I would
not object to have them
all."
"Would you like to
have them now ? " asked
the Spook, "or are you
disposed to postpone the
fulfillment of your wishes
until some indefinite pe-
riod, when you may actu-
ally come into possession
of what you desire ? "
" Wait till 1 get them,
you mean ? " said the
Expectant Heir.
" Precisely," answered
the other.
" I have been doing
that for a long time,"
said the Expectant Heir, rather pensively.
"Indeed!" observed the Spook; and turning
away his head, he began to try to unhitch his foot
from the limb. Finding he could not do this, he
climbed up his leg, hand overhand, and unfastened
his foot. Then he dropped to the ground, and,
drawing his leg in to its ordinary size, he started
off again up the hill, the Expectant Heir closely
following. When they reached the top of the hill,
the Spook stopped before five small trees which
grew close together in a row.
" I want you to stay here and watch these trees,"
said the Spook to the Expectant Heir. "One of
them bears plums, another peaches, another dates.
950
THE SISTERS THREE AXD THE KILMAREE.
[October,
another pomegranates, and the last one bears
watermelons."
" Watermelons don't grow on trees ! " cried the
Expectant Heir.
" There is no knowing where they will grow,"
said the Spook. "You can't be sure that they
' Would you like
THE HERMITS LIBRARY WAS ALWAYS OPEN TO THE DRYAD AND HER WARD.
Another day, the Spook said :
some peppered peppers ? "
" Peppered peppers ! " exclaimed the Expectant
Heir in horror.
■' They are red peppers stuffed with black pep-
per," said the Spook. '' I expect they are hot,
but you '11 have to eat them, for
they are all I have got."
■-. , So the Expectant Heir had to eat
the peppered peppers, for the fruit-
trees had barely begun to blossom.
" Would you like some ice-
cream?" the Spook said, another
time. " I 've only the kind which
is flavored with mustard and onion-
juice, but you '11 have to eat it, for
it is all I have got."
Day after day the Spook brought
such disagreeable food to the Ex-
pectant Heir, who was obliged to
eat it, for these fruit-trees were just
as slow as any other trees in bring-
ing forth their fruit, and the poor
young man could not star\'e to death.
The Afrite told the Dryad to take
Terzan and be a guardian to him.
" You can take him about all day,"
he said, "'but at night you must
go to your tree and be shut up.
will never grow on trees until you see they don't.
You must watch these trees until they have each
borne ripe fruit. There are no buds yet, but they
will soon come; then the blossoms will appear;
and then the green fruit ; and after a while, in the
course of time, the fruit will ripen. Then you
will have something to eat."
'' Oh, I can't wait so long as that ! " cried the
Expectant Heir. " I am hungry now."
"You can wait easily enough," said the Spook;
" you are used to it. Now, stand under these trees
and do as 1 tell you. I will bring you something
now and then to take off the edge of your
appetite. "
So the Expectant Heir stood and watched, and
watched. It was weary work, for the buds swelled
very slowly, and he did not know when the blos-
soms would come out.
One day, the Spook came to him and asked :
"Do you like pickled lemons?"
"They must be dreadfully sour," said the Expect-
ant Heir, screwing up his face at the thought.
" That is all I have got for you to-day," said
the Spook, " therefore you '11 have to eat them or
go hungry."
So he had to eat the pickled lemons, for he was
very hungry.
As they went out of the castle,
the Dryad explained to Terzan that she had been
sent to that island as a punishment for abandoning
the tree she should have inhabited. " I now spend
the days in this castle," she said, " and the nights
in a tree over there in the forest. I am glad to get
out. Come along, and 1 will show you something
worth seeing."
As they went along, they passed a little garden
in which some gnomes were working, and Terzan
stopped to look at them.
"What do you see there ?" asked the Dryad,
impatiently.
" Oh, I take great interest in such things,"
replied Terzan. " I have a little garden myself,
and it is one of the best in all the country round.
When I am at home, I work in it all day."
" I thought you had a good education," said
the Dryad, "and could do better things than to
dig and hoe all day."
" 1 have a good education," said Terzan, " and,
what is more, no man can dig potatoes or hoe
turnips better than 1 can."
"Humph!" sneered the Dryad. "A fellow
could do those things who had no education at all.
I 'd as soon be shut up in a tree as to spend my
life digging and hoeing, when 1 knew so much
about better things. Come along."
THE SISTKKS THREE AND THE K11..MAKEE.
951
Day after day the Dryad led Terzan to lofty
mountain-tops, whence he could sec beautiful land-
scapes, with lakes and rivers lyin^ red and golden
under the setting sun, and whence he could, some-
times, have glimpses across the waters of distant
cities, with their domes and minarets sparkling in
the light.
■' Do you not think those landscapes are lovely .' "
said the Dryad. '" .\nd there are lovelier views on
earth than these. .And, if you ever visit those
cities, you will tind so many wonderful things that
it will take all your life to see and understand
them."
On other days she took him to the cell of a
hermit. The good man was generally absent look-
ing for water-cresses, but his extensixe library was
always open to the Dryad and her ward. There
they sat for hours and hours, reading books which
told of the grand and wonderful things that are
found in the various parts of the earth.
" Is n't this better than being shut up in a tree,
or a little garden ? " said the Dryad.
quilly, pursuing their studies, and cnjoynig the
recreations and healthful exercises for which the
Fairy Godmother had made the most admirable
arrangements. Their palace was furnished with
everything they needed, and three happier sisters
could nowhere be found.
In the course of time the Afrite went to look into
the condition of the young men who had been
intrusted to him. He first visited the Prince, and
found him still chopping away at his tree.
" How do you feel by this time ?" said the Afrite.
" I feel," said the Prince, leaning wearily upon
his ax, for he was not afraid of the Malignant Fay
now that the Afrite was by, " that 1 wish 1 had
never left my kingdom to seek to soothe my sor-
rows by foreign sights. My troubles there were
nothing to what I endure here. In fact, from
what 1 have seen since I left ni)' home, I think
they were matters of slight importance, and I am
very sure 1 did not know how well off I was."
" Ha ! ha ! " said the Afrite, and he walked away.
He next went to the hill-top where the Expectant
THE FAIRY GODMOTHER INTRODUCES THE VOUNC; MEN TO THE SISTERS THREE. fSEE NEXT TAGE-l
"Perhaps it is," said Terzan, " but my garden
was a very good one, and it helped to support my
mother and sisters."
" He 'II have to see a good many more things,"
said the Dryad to herself.
All this time the three sisters on the distant isle
had no idea that three young men had ever thought
of visiting them in a kilmaree. They lived tran-
Heir was watching the fruit-trees. " How do you
feel now ?" said the Afrite to the young man.
" 1 am sick of expecting things," said he. " If
I ever get back to my old home, I am never going
to expect any good thing to happen to me unless I
can make it happen."
" Then you don't like waiting for this fruit to
ripen ? " said the Afrite.
952
THE SISTERS THRIJE AND THE RII.MAREE.
[October,
" I think it is the most tiresome and disagree-
able thing in the world," said the Expectant Heir.
" 1 thought you were used to expecting things,"
said the Afrite.
"Oh, I was a fool!" said the other. "I had
no right to expect to be as well off as I thought 1
would be."
Just then the Spook came up with a gruel of
brine-water thickened with salt.
" You need not give him that," said the Afrite.
When the Afrite came to the hermit's cell, where
he found Terzan and the Dryad, he asked the
young man how he felt now.
" I feel," said Terzan, looking up from his book,
" as if I had wasted a great deal of valuable time.
There are so many wonderful things to be seen
and to be done in this world, and I, with a good
education, have been content to dig potatoes and
hoe turnips in my little garden ! It amazes me
to think that I should have been satisfied with
such a life ! I see now that 1 thought myself a
great deal better off than I was."
" Oh, ho ! " said the Afrite, and he walked away
to his castle, and hoisted a copper-colored flag
upon the topmost pinnacle.
The Fairy immediately came over in her kil-
maree. "Is the nonsense all out of them ?" she
said, when she met the Afrite.
"Entirely," he replied.
" All right, then ! " she cried. " Dismiss the
guardians, and send for the boys."
The three young men were brought to the castle,
where they were furnished with a good meal and
new clothes. Then they went outside to have a
talk with the Fairy.
" I think you are now three pretty sensible
fellows," said she. " You, Terzan, have not been
punished like the other two, because, although you
wasted your time and talents, you worked hard to
help support your mother and sisters. But you
two never did anything for any one but yourselves,
and I am not sorry that you have had a pretty
hard time of it on this island. But that is all over,
and, now that the nonsense is entirely out of you
all, how would you like to sail in my kilmaree, and
visit the isle of the sisters three?"
" We should like it very much, indeed ! " they
answered all together.
" Then come along ! " she said. And they
went on board of the kilmaree.
This time the Fairy steered the vessel swiftly
and smoothly to the distant isle. The kilmaree
turned and screwed about among the twisted cur-
rents ; but the motion was now so pleasant that
the passengers quite liked it. The three young
men were taken into a beautiful room in the palace,
and there the Fairy made them a little speech.
" I like you very much," she said, " now that
the nonsense is out of you ; if you don't object,
I intend you to marry the sisters three."
" We don't object at all ! " they replied.
"Very well," said the Fairy. " And Terzan, 1
will give you the first choice. Will you take the
pretty one ? the good one ? or the one with a fine
mind ? "
Terzan really wanted the pretty one, but he
thought it was proper to take the one with a fine
mind ; so he chose her. The Expectant Heir also
thought he would like the pretty sister, but, under
the circumstances, he thought it would be better
for him to take the good one, so he chose her.
The pretty one was left for the Prince, who was
well satisfied, believing that a lady who would some
day be a queen ought to be handsome.
When the sisters came in, and were introduced
to their visitors, the three young men were very
much astonished. Each of the sisters was pretty,
all were good, and each of them had a fine
mind.
" That comes of their all living together in this
way," said the Fairy. " I knew it would be so, for
good associations are just as powerful as bad ones,
and no one of these sisters was either ugly or bad
or stupid to begin with." And then she left them
to talk together and get acquainted.
In about an hour the Fairy sent for a priest and
had the three couples married. After the weddings
they all sailed away in the kilmaree, which would
accommodate any number of people that the Fairy
chose to put into it. The Prince took his bride
to his kingdom, where his people received the
young couple with great joy. The Expectant Heir
took his wife to his native place, where he went
into a good business, and soon found himself in
comfortable circumstances. Before long his con-
nection by marriage died, and left him the valuable
machine for peeling currants, after which he be-
came quite rich and happy.
Terzan and his wife went to a great city, where
he studied all sorts of things, wrote bocks, and
delivered lectures. He did a great deal of good,
and made much money. He built a comfortable
home for his mother and sisters, and lived in a
fine mansion with his wife. When his children
were old enough, he sent them to the school
where he had been educated.
Every year the three friends took a vacation of
a month. They all went, with their wives, to the
spot on the shore where the Prince had driven
down his peg ; then the Fairy took them over to
the distant isle in her kilmaree. There they spent
their \-acation in pleasure and delight, and there
were never any six persons in the world who had
so little nonsense in them.
■ 382.]
THE KIDULK.
953
Till'. R 1 1)1)1. i:.
By m. p. n.
Fierce and bitter was the struggle,
But the strife at length was o'er,
And the joyful news went ringing,
Ended is the cruel war.
Proudly homeward rode his lordship.
Bold Sir Guy of Atheldare ;
P'lashed his eyes with pride and triumph
As his praises filled the air.
Every heart was full of gladness.
Said I, every heart? Ah, no!
Here, amidst this joyful people,
One heart ached with speechless woe :
'T was the little captive stranger,
Claude, the vanquished Norman's son —
Taken prisoner, brought a trophy
Of the victory they had won.
Bravely fought he for his freedom.
And, when taken, smiled disdain
As his captors stood around him.
Bound his arms with gyve and chain ;
Smiled defiance when they told him
That Sir Guy his life would spare.
Should he serve and swear allegiance
To the house of Atheldare, —
Spurned their offer, while his dark eyes
Spoke the scorn he could not tell.
As he followed, without murmur.
To his dreary prison-cell.
Then they left him, and his young heart
Bowed beneath its weight of pain
For a moment. But he rose up.
Calm and cold and proud again.
From without the grated window,
In the pleasant court below,
He could see the little princess,
As she wandered to and fro.
Long and eagerly he watched her ;
Like a cloud the golden hair
Glanced and rippled in the sunlight.
Framing in her face so fair.
And the little Higliland princess,
As if by a magic spell.
Seemed to feel her eyes drawn upward
To the dreary prison-cell ;
And the sad, pale face she saw there
Caused the ready tears to start,
While a woman's gentlest pity
Filled the tender, childish heart.
954
THE RIDDLE.
[October,
Then a firm resolve rose in her —
Lit the troubled little face.
Not a moment to be wasted ;
Breathless, hurrying from the place
On an errand fraught with mercy,
Straight she to her father sped;
Humbly kneeling down before him.
Lowly bowed the dainty head,
"But we pardon this, and tell you
Of our wise and just decree:
If this captive swear to serve us,
We will spare and set him free."
Then up rose the little maiden
Dauntlessly, without a fear.
"Would you have a traitor serve us?"
Rang her voice out, sweet and clear.
While the sweet lips, red and quivering
Faltered out her anxious plea,
Told her pity for the captive,
Begged Sir Guy to set him free.
But he answered, sternly gazing
On the downcast face so fair :
'Can our daughter doubt the justice
Of the house of Atheldare?
And Sir Guy paused for a moment.
All his anger from him fled.
As he watched her, flushed and eager.
While her cause she bravely plead.
Gravely smiled he as she ended.
Drew her gently on his knee :
"You have conquered, little pleader —
Vou have gained the victoi-y.
i882. J
THE RIDDLE.
955
"But your prince must earn his freedom:
Not with bow or spear in hand —
We are weary of the bloodshed
Spread so long throughout the land.
Let him ask our court a riddle :
Six days' grace to him we give,
And the court three days to guess it ;
If it fail, he then may live."
Once more in the pleasant court-yard
Danced the little maid in glee ;
Surely he could find a riddle
That would save and set him free.
Hut five long days and five nights p;issed,
.\nd the prince no riddle gave :
To his brain, all dazed with sorrow.
Came no thought his life to save.
And the little blue-eyed princess
Pondered sadly what to do.
Till at last she sought the counsel
Of her old nurse, tried and true.
" Go," her nurse said, as she finished,
" Co, and search the green fields over,
Never stopping for an instant
Till you find a four-leaf clover.
" Take antl put it in a nosegay.
In the center, full in sight,
Throw it to the little captive ;
.-Ml 1 promise will come right."
Out into the merry sunshine,
While her feet scarce touched the ground,
Went the princess, never stopping
Till the treasure she had found.
Threw it, with the pretty nosegay,
In the window, barred and grated.
Then, and only then, she paused —
Paused, and hoped, and feared, and waited.
Through the window, barred and grated.
In the dreary prison-cell.
Like a ray of happy sunshine
As he raised and held it gently.
While the burning tears brimmed over,
Through the mist he caught a glimpse
Of the little four-leaf clover.
Thoughts went dashing through his brain,
.And, before the evening dew
Kissed the flowers of the land,
.AH the court this riddle knew :
Fourteen letters am I made of.
Over countries fair and bright.
Under many different hea^'ens,
Raise we flags, both red and white.
Vol. I.X.— 6i.
Living with my many brothers.
Ever in the long, s^ceet grass,
As we play, the happy zephyrs
Fan us gently as they pass.
Chanced you e'er to find me out.
Luck I 'd surely bring to you.
Often of me have you heard.
Very often seen me, too ;
Ere yon turn a7vay from me,
Read me well — my name you 'II see.
Three days passed, unguessed the riddle,
And the sun rose joyfully.
Turned the prison bars all golden.
Told the captive he was free.
Life had never looked so radiant.
Earth had never seemed so fair ;
Sang the birds and played the fountain,
Sweetest fragrance filled the air.
But the day wore slowly on.
Sank the sun from out the sky
Ere the waited summons came.
And he stood before Sir Guy.
In the stately council there
Knelt he down, with peerless grace ;
Not a tinge of doubt or fear
In the proud patrician face.
To him, then, began Sir Guy:
" You have earned your freedom well,
And, we pra)' you, speak the answer
That our court has failed to tell."
Then up rose the little captive.
While his eyes with fun danced over :
" If you read its letters downward,
You will find a four-leaf clover."
And Sir Guy laughed long and loud,
As he read the riddle through,
That the court had failed to guess
With the answer in full view.
So the little prince was saved.
And ere many days were o'er.
Happily he sailed away
Toward his longed-for home once more.
But he carried back a memory
Of a court-yard fresh and fair.
Where there walked a little princess
Radiant with her golden hair.
So my story 's almost finished,
And the end I need not tell, —
For of course 't is in the ringing
Of a joyful wedding-bell.
956
A SURPRISE PARTY.
[October.
A SURPRISE PARTY,
(A Drama /or Children.)
By Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz.
CHARACTERS :
Esther, a girl of fifteen.
George, her younger brother.
Delia, his younger sister.
Clarence, their cousin.
Tom, his older brother.
Maud,
Lizzie.
Otis.
Freddie.
Bridget, a ser\'anL
Time: Evening. Scene: A sitting-room.
SUGGESTIONS FOR DRESS.
Esther. — Red and blue skirt; white waist, with yellow stars;
liberty cap or helmet; carries small flag; wears a number of very
small flags.
George. — Gilt crown, cut in points; hairand whiskers of yam rav-
elings or curled hair ; dressing-gown edged with ermine (ermine made
of cotton flannel spotted with black paint or cloth) ; vest covered
partly or wholly with red; long stockings (over trousers); buckled
shoes (buckles made of tinsel or silver paper) ; carries scepter.
Maud. — Plaid skirt (short); white waist; bright or plaid scarf
over right shoulder ; stockings criss-crossed with two colors; plaid
Scotch cap, edged with dark binding or with fur.
Otis. — Dark jacket; plaid skirt, ending above the knees, and
belted over the jacket with black belt ; criss-crossed stockings ;
plaid scarf with long ends, clasped together on left shoulder: Scotch
cap, edged with plaid, with cock's feather in front ; carries bow and
arrows ; dagger in belt.
Lizzie. — ■ High comb, with hair of jute or yam, done high : a nar-
rowish cape, made long on the shoulders ; dress, with leg-o'-mutton
sleeves, or an old-fashioned small shawl may cover waist and sleeves;
carries work-bag.
Freddie. — Felt hat, turned up, with a large feather; a skirt; a
large cape, opening at the right shoulder ; wide ruffle, edged with
points or lace; long stockings, with bows at the knees.
Delia. — Light dress, with garlands of flowers; hat trimmed with
flowers : basket of flowers on arm ; carries bouquet.
Clarence. — Red flannel jacket or shirt; dark trousers; belt;
long boots; cap, with large visor and a cape at the back of it;
cames slender cane.
Blind Man. — Very shabby clothes; hair of gray curled hajr or
ravelin gs.
If these articles of dress are not easy to procure, different ones may
be used ; also, if desirable, other characters may be substituted for
those here designated. Feathers are easily made of tissue-paper
and wire.
[Enter George, dressed as a King. Walks pompously about the
room.
[Enter Esther, as America; courtesies to George.
Esther. The Goddess of America, at your Majesty's
service.
George (extemi'uig his hands). Vou have our royal
blessing.
E. {earjtestiv). It took me so long to find these little
flags that I was afraid Clarence would arrive before I
could get them arranged.
G. I think the cars are not in yet. Is Delia ready ?
E. Yes; she makes a darling flower-girl; and Otis
and Maud have come in their Highland costumes. I '11
go for them — Oh ! here they are, with Delia.
[Enter Maud and Otis, followed by Delia.
G. (advancing). Welcome, my Highland subjects !
Maud {dapping her hands). Oh, splendid I Why,
George, you make a splendid king ! Wont it be larks !
Wont it be larks ! I wonder if the cars are in ?
Otis. Is it a sure thing that he will be here to-night?
Delia. Our mother wrote so.
M. Does Lizzie know all about it?
E. Not yet; I had time only to scribble a note and
ask her to come this evening in that old-fashioned dress,
you know, and bring her little brother as page, and to
be sure and get here before seven, for something x'cry
particular. She may not come at all. (.4 knock at the
door.) I do believe she has come I (Steps qidckly to
open door. Enter Lizzie and Freddie,^ Oh, I am
so glad to see you !
The Others (coming for^<uard and speaking neatly
at the same time). And so am I.
M. (looking at Lizzie's dress). Now, is nt that dress
too funny for anything? And Freddie's is just capitall
Oh, what larks ! what larks !
Lizzie (breathing hard). Oh, we did have to hurry
so ! I thought surely we 'd be late I
Freddie (looking at his feet). And I almost jumped
into a mud-puddle.
G. (taking out watch). It is time for the cars.
O. Lizzie should be told before he gets here.
G. Let's all sit down. (They seat themselves.) In
the first place (turning to LizziEj, our Cousin Clarence
is coming to-night.
D. And we have n't seen him for three years !
O. Is he a boy, or a young fellow ?
E, When he was here three years ago, with his
brother Tom, he was about a year older than I.
M. I dare say he is more than that much older now,
E. Yes, living in the city, and being a boy (to Lizzie
and Freddie). You know our father and mother went
to Aunt Margaret's, and left us three to keep house.
Well, this morning I got a letter from my motlier, writ-
ten yesterday — stop I I 'U read that part of the letter.
C Takes Amg letter from pockety and reads hurnedly. ) " If
your dress needs *' Oh, that 's not it! (Looks far-
ther on.) " If that stove gets red-hot " Pshaw I
(Turns the sheet.) Oh, here it is! "If a tramp comes
to the house to-morrow evening, do not be afraid to let
him in. Your Cousin Clarence is home^n his vacation.
He thinks you will be having fine times there by your-
selves, and wants to come down, if only for a day; and
I tell his mother he ought to, it is so long since vou have
seen him. There is one thing I think I must tell you.
Perhaps George and Delia need not be told of it, but if
Clarence does as he is planning to do, I tnink one of
you should have a hint of it, for fear you might be
really frightened. Clarence has been with Tom to
masquerade parties and surprise parties lately, and his
head is full of costumes and odd pranks, and he has
spoken of taking some old clothes along and commg to
IS83.J
A SURPRISE PARTY
the door as a tramp and surprising you. I thought that
if he should, and should insist on entering the house,
you or Delia might l>e alone, and might be badly fright-
tcned, and that one of you ought to be told of it.
Clarence will bring his violin, and you can have family
concerts. Give him the best the house affords, for he is
remarkably fond of goodies. When you go " Oh,
that 's something else.
M. .So, instc.id of being surprised yourselves, you are
going to surprise him ?
E. I thought of it almost as soon as I read the letter.
O. .\ bright thought, Esther ; I 'm glad it occurred
to you.
1). And she has told Bridget, and asked her to send
him in here.
G. .\nd we are going to ask him questions, to hear
what he will say.
F. (spfatiitj^ quickly). What questions shall we ask ?
I Enter Bridget.
Bridget. There 's an ould man at the door. Miss, an'
he says he 's an ould blind man, Miss, an' he axes a
morsel o' food.
E. {txHUJIy). That 's the one I Send him in,
Bridget.
[Exit Bridget.
[GiKLS and Bovs look at each other; clap hands softly: rise; sit
down : rise again ; go toward the door ; listen ; tiptoe back to
seats.
Maud (raising fortfinga). Hush 1 hush I Let 's
keep sober faces.
O. So he 's coming in a blind way !
L. W'hcn we ask questions, we must not let him sus-
pect we know who he is.
F. {more loudly t/mn bifore). What questions shall
we ask ?
G. Oh — ask him how he lost his eyesight.
D. (motioning to others with her hand). Hark! [
hear him !
(.Ml look toward the door- Bridget shows in an old blind bcgRar
with bundle and a cane, with which he feels his way. He wears
a green blinder.
Blind M.\.\- (pulling at the rim oj his hat). Good
evening. Pretty cold weather we 're having. Bless ye
all, and may ye never lack for a friend in need !
G. (placing chair near him). Wont you sit down ?
There are seven of us here, all young people.
[George remains standing.
O. And all dressed in costume — if you could only
see us!
E. Would you like something to eat ?
B. M. Yes, Miss ; and thank ye kindly.
E. I will fetch you something immediately.
[Exit Esther.
I., (pitifully). Do you feel very, very, very tired ?
B. M. (with heavy sigh). I 'm ready to drop. Miss.
D. Have you come far to-day?
B. -M. A long, long way. Miss.
G. Have you much farther to go ?
B. M. (sighs). I hope to beg a night's lodging some-
where hereabout (moum/ully) — if anybody will take
nie in.
M. Poor old man ! Are these the best shoes vou 've
got?
B. M. I 've a pair a trifle better, given to
.Miss.
L. (pitifully). Sometimes I suppose you
get any food at all ?
B. M. (sadly). I often go hungry, Miss.
F. (speaking up loudly). How did you
eyesight ?
B. M. .\h, little boy, little boy ! (Stiakes head sadly.)
Do you want to hear my story ?
[Enter Esther with tray, on which is bread and water.
E. Here is something for you to eat. (Smiling at
the others. ) I suppose you are used to living on bread
and water ?
[Esther remains standing.
B. M. .\n' may I always be able to get that, is my
humble prayer.
[Eats bread.
M. (to L., aside). How well he acts his part! (To
B. M.^ Good stranger, have n't you a fiddle outside ?
I,. That you could play us a tune on, by and by ?
1). If we want to dance ?
G. I '11 fetch my flute, and we '11 play a duet.
B. M. .\h, children, I 've only my bits o' duds tied up
here in my bundle to put on when these drop off o' me.
[Continues eating and drinking.
M. (to E., aside). It is too bad to make him eat that
dry bread ! Let 's tell him we know him.
E. Would you ?
M. and O. (aside). Yes, yes !
E. (coming toward B. M.j. Come, Mr. Bliixl Man,
you may as well give up ; we know who you are.
D. (rising). Mother gave us a hint, for fear we 'd be
frightened.
G. Yes, Clarence, take off your duds and your
blinder, and get your fiddle, and we '11 play a tune,
and then have some supper.
B. M. (Miildren, don't make a jest of me! Don't!
F. He seems exactly like a blind man.
<-). So he does. Things are not what they seem.
L. (to M., aside). He seems to mean to keep up the
joke.
G. Come now, Clarence, don't keep it up any longer ;
we want o have some fun, you know. I 'II agree to
restore your sight in ten seconds, and not charge a cent.
B. M. (shakes head sadly). It may be a joke to you,
but, ah! if you knew the reality! (Sighs.) If you only
knew !
M. (to L., aside). He knows how to disguise his
voice, does n't he ?
[Enter Bridget.
Bridget. There 's a fireman come to the house. Miss.
He says he was sent by the Fire Brigade to expect the
chimbleys.
[Enter Clarence, as Fireman. Exit Bridget.
Cl.\rence. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Fire
Brigade think there may be danger that this house will
take fire.
[-■Ml look at Clarence in astonishment.
G. Our house ? W'hy, it never did !
C. Very likely; but that is no reason why it never
will.
E. (anxiously). What do they think is the danger ?
958
A SURPRISE PARTY.
[October,
C. Tliey think one of the stoves stands too near the
chimney-piece.
M. ('to Y.., anxiously). Do you really suppose there
is any danger ?
L. (to E., in alarm). Is there very much fire in it
now?
O. (hastily). We boys will take hold and pull it for-
ward.
G. Then the pipe would be too short.
E. We should have to put out the fire.
D. Why, Mother wrote about that stove, in her letter.
C. Yes, she 's one of the Fire Brigade which sent
me; your father is the other one. (Takes off cap,
false hair, atid -whiskers ; hnus to G. and E. ^ I have the
honor to be your Cousin Clarence, supposed by this
cruel maiden to be regaling himself on bread and water.
(Briskly, and shaking hands.) How do you do, Cousin
Esther ? How do you do, Cousin George ? How do yoti
do, my little flowery maiden, with bright flowers laden ?
(Shakes hands with Deli.\.j And are all these my
cousins, too ?
E. (laughing). Oh, no; this is my friend, Miss Maud
Somers, and this is my friend. Miss Lizzie Bond.
[Maud and Lizzie rise.
G. (quickly, and laughing). And this is wy friend, Mr.
Otis Somers, and this is my friend, Mr. Freddie Bond.
[Otis and Freddie rise. All shake hands, with much merriment.
Otis (suddenly). But who is this ? (Points to Blind
Man. )
G. Yes! WTio? If it is not (Looks at Clarence.)
C. (briskly). No, it is not I. " I 've a little dog at
home, and he knows me." Clarence Cahoon, at your
service (bows), Fireman and Letter-carrier. This is from
your mother. ( Gives E. a letter. )
E. So we were cheated, after all I
M. How strange that this real blind man should hap-
pen in here to-night !
C. Pardon me. Miss Maud, he did not happen in ; he
was sent in.
M. (with a roguish smile). By t' a Fire Brigade ?
C. Oh, no ; by the Fireman.
D. You mean you. Cousin Clarence ?
F. (speaking up loud). We thought that blind man
was you.
G. Do tell us all about it, Clarence.
E. We may as well be seated. [They take scats.
L. (to M. j. Did you ever know anything so funny?
M. Truly, I never did.
C. My first idea was to come to the door as a tramp,
but I suspected, from questioning your mother, that she
had given you a hint of this, and decided to come in my
fireman's costume. I really was requested to see about
the stove. Your father and mother both seem to think
that some calamity will befall the family while they are
away.
E. But where did you find this poor, unfortunate
man?
C. At the station. I knew that you were expecting
something of the kind, and thought I might play a trick
upon you, and get him a good supper at the same time.
[Blind Man coughs, putting handkerchief to his mouth.
G. Perhaps he '11 play for his supper ; blind men
usually can handle a fiddle. Of course you brought
yours, Clarence ?
E. (starting up). And we '11 have a dance 1 (Count-
ing.) One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight; just
enough I
B. M. (starling up, to Clarence j. And /thought /
might play a little trick upon you I
[Pulls off hat, wig, beard, and blinder, showing brown hair and
mustache. The others start and stare.
Clarence, ) My brother Tom !
George, >^ ■ t- „ ,
^ ' (Cousin lom!
£,STHER. •) [George goes toward him.
Cl.\resce (clutching his own hair). Beaten! cheated!
done for ! fooled ! bamboozled ! humbugged ! ( Clasps
hands theatrically.) I'm a dunce! an idiot! a goose!
an owl ! a bat !
Tom. Neither of the last two, or you 'd have seen
better in the dark.
C. (sitting dtr-wn). I '11 go to the school for feeble-
minded youth 1 (Rising. ) But, say, Tom, how did you
ever think of anything so bright ?
Tom. Oh, I never like to be left out of a good time,
you know ; and I thought it would be fun to appear
here in disguise and cheat the cheater. My plan was to
come to the house after you. Your help in bringing me
here was unexpected; so unexpected that when you
stepped up and spoke to me I very nearly betrayed my-
self. Luckily the cotton in my mouth kept you from
recognizing my voice. But, how do you do, cousins ?
(Shaking hands with G., E., and D.) Please, kidies
and gentlemen (bowing to the others), I am my brother's
brother. My brother's brother is not so stout as he
seems ; it is clothes which make the man.
E. (comicallv). Shall I take your hat and coat ?
Tom. No, thanks; I prefer being in costume, like the
rest. (Puts on hat, wig, etc.)
G. But can you see through tliat green silk ?
Tom. Oh, yes; it is thin silk, just stretched er a
nire. Now, I T ^et the fiddle, and play for you.
[Steps briskly out, fallowed by George and Clarence.
E. So we were all cheated.
O. .\ud a jolly cheat it was !
M. The whole thing is perfectly splendid !
L. Oh, I am so glad I came !
D. I "m glad I 've learned the grand right and left.
Freddie, can you dance?
F. I can sasli-ay, and all promenade, and cross over,
and do some of the other things.
L. He '11 need a little help from his partner — just a
little.
[Enter Tom, George, and Clarenxe, with fiddle.
G. We '11 have one dance before supper.
[Tom tries the bow on the strings, tightens keys, and then starts off
into a lively tune. Clarence takes Esther, George takes
Maud, Otis takes Lizzie, Fred takes Delia. They go
through several changes, Clarence calling. (Curtain falls.)
Or they can form into a march (if there is no curtain), and march
out. An accordion, or even a jew's-harp, can take the place of a
fiddle.
DONALD AND DOROTUV.
959
rVov/, which I'j i\\e v/dy fo Bil^ertoWix?
[r^y ieli ine.iifrie man. rjcJowiO
Why^oU \va//i-up the Kill drvc<_^ou. iken vvilK.
A.nd.^ou do jujt 15 far aj_^ou. Cia .
W keiv^ou can. not <so a.ny farflier ,
Turn diilcKly au4 come bacK.,
y\fici ds/l or' lt\£. man. witn me 1m. c/mner-carv
VVKo NVorftS orv. tke rii/vvdy frac/i. .
Ok, wkicK. IS flie way fo BaKert"ov%^nL. f —
' ^^ Do Tell me , lilile maid . " — ~^ — ^ —
^^- - Wky, follow veur n.ose [UST dS fir as it goes,
A.nd riever V'ou. be if'raM .
Vvky voa rniiSt be a jTrarv^^er
-_ Or you d a keard someboi^ jaV/
~ How ^akerjowrv was ffS^ burned c^own
— ^ An-d fKerv it tJew a.wuy ! "
^^i^
DONA'LD AND DOROTHY.*
By Maky Mapes Dodge.
Ch. AFTER X.XXIir.
AN IMPORIA.NT INTERVIEW.
DoN.ALD, going to his room, laid the throe
Ellen Lee letters upon the table before him and
surveyed the situation. That only one of them
could be from the right Kllen Lee was evident;
but which one ? That was the question.
•' This can not be it," thought Donald, as he
took up a badly written and much-blotted sheet.
" It is English-French, and evidently is in the
handwriting of a man. Well, this brilliant per-
son requests me to send one hundred francs to pay
Afr expenses to Aix-la-Chapelle, and s/ic will then
prove /ifr identity and receive the grateful re-
ward. Thank you, my good man! — not if the
court knows itself. We'll lay you aside for the
present."
The next was from a woman — a bojine — who
stated that by good nursing she had saved so
many babies' lives in her day that she could not
be sure which two babies this very kind " D. R."
alluded to, but her name was Madame L. N. Lit.
A wise friend had told her of this advertisement,
and explained that as L. N. Lit in French and
Ellen Lee in English had exactly the same sound,
the inquirer probably was a native of Great Britain,
and had made a very natural mistake in writing
her name Ellen Lee. Therefore she had much
pleasure in informing the kind advertiser that at
present her address was No. — Rue St. Armand,
Rouen, where she was well known, and that she
would be truly happy to hear of something to her
advantage. Donald shook his head very doubt-
fully, as he laid this letter aside. But the next he
read twice, and even then he did not lay it down
until he had read it again. It was a neatly written
Copyright, l88i, by Mary M-ipes Dodge. All rights reserved.
960
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[October,
little note, and simply stated, in French, that D. R.
could see Ellen Lee by calling at No. — Rue Sou-
diere, Paris, and making inquiry for Madame Rene.
"An honest little note," was Donald's verdict,
after carefully scrutinizing it, "and worth follow-
ing up. 1 shall go to Paris and look up the writer.
Yes, this Madame Rene shall receive a visit from
his majesty."
Don was in high spirits, you see, and no won-
der. He already had accomplished a splendid
day's work in visiting M. Bajeau, and here was at
least a promising result from this advertisement.
He longed to rush back at once to the quaint
little shop, but he had been asked to come in the
evening, and the old gentleman had a certain dig-
nity of manner that Don respected. He felt that
he must be patient and await the appointed hour.
It came at last, and by that time Donald had en-
joyed a hearty meal, written to Mr. Wogg, and
made all needed preparations to take the earliest
train for Paris the next day.
M. Bajeau — good old man ! — was made happy
as a boy by the sight of Ellen Lee's letter.
" It is great good luck, my friend, that it should
come to you," he said, in rapid French, his old
cheeks fairly flushing with pleasure. "Now, you
take my word, if she is tall, dark, fine-looking —
this Madame Rene, eh? — -you have found the
very botine who came to my little shop with the
widow lady. Ask her about me — if she remem-
ber, eh? how I engraved the two letters with
my own hand, while she stood by, holding the
pink-faced baby — ha! ha!" (Here Monsieur
rubbed his hands.) "She will remember! She
will prove what I say, without doubt. She will
know about the key to the necklace — yes, and the
lock that has the air of a clasp. Let me see it
again. You have it with you ? "
Donald displayed the treasure promptly.
" Stay," said Monsieur. "1 will, with your per-
mission, try and open the little lock for you. I
shall be very careful. "
"No, no — thank you ! " said Donald, quickly, as
M. Bajeau took up a delicate tool. "I would rather
wait till I have tried to find the key, and until my
uncle and — -and sister have seen it again just as it
is. My uncle, I am positive, never suspected that
the top of the clasp could be slid around in this
way. The key itself may come to light yet — who
knows ? Now, Monsieur, will you do me a great
favor ? "
" Name it," replied the old man, eying him not
unkindly.
" Will you allow me to cut that page out of your
order-book ? "
" Certainly, my boy ; certainly, and with pleas-
ure," said M. Bajeau.
No sooner said than done. Donald, who had
his penknife ready, delighted M. Bajeau with his
clever way of cutting out the page, close to its inner
side and yet in a zigzag line, so that at any time
afterward the paper could be fitted into its place in
the book, in case it should be necessary to prove
its identity.
Next the story of the chain was retold with great
care, and written down by Don as it came from
Monsieur's lips, word for word, and signed by M.
Bajeau with trembling nicety. "Stay!" he ex-
claimed, as he laid down the pen. " It will be
right for me to certify to this in legal form. We
can go at once to my good neighbor the notarj'.
We shall soon know whether this Madame Rene is
Ellen Lee. If so, she will remember that hour spent
in the shop of the watch-mender Bajeau, ha ! ha ! "
Monsieur could afford to laugh, for, though he
still repaired watches, he had risen somewhat in
worldly success and dignity since that day. An
American, under the same circumstances, would
by this time have had a showy bric-a-brac estab-
lishment, with a large sign over the door. But
Monsieur Bajeau was content with his old shop,
well satisfied to know the value of the treasures of
jewelry and rare furniture which he bought and
sold.
The visit to the notary over, Donald took his
leave, promising the old man to come and bid
him good-by before sailing for America, and, if
possible, to bring Ellen Lee with him.
Late in the afternoon of the same day, after a
dusty seven-hours' ride in a railway coach, he
found himself in Paris, on the way to the Rue
Soudiere, irt search of Madame Rene.
It was something beside the effort of mounting
five flights of stairs that caused his heart to beat
violently when, after inquiring at every landing-
place on his way up, he finally knocked at a small
door on the very top story.
A short, middle-aged woman, with pale blue
eyes and scanty gray hair, opened the door.
"Is this Madame Rene?" asked Donald, de-
voutly hoping that she would say " No."
The woman nodded, at the same time regarding
him with suspicion, and not opening the door wide
enough for him to enter.
"You replied to an advertisement. 1 believe?"
began Donald again, bowing politely ; but noting
the woman's blank reception of his English, he
repeated the inquiry in French. The door opened
wide ; the woman smiled a smile that might have
been agreeable but for the lonely effect of her
solitary front tooth, and then courteously invited
her visitor to enter and be seated.
Poor Donald, wishing that he were many miles
away, and convinced that nothing could come of
1883.]
DONALD AXD DOROTHY.
961
an interview with this short, stout, pale-eyed
" Kllen Lee," look a chair and waited resignedly
for Madame to speak.
" 1 have advertised," she said in French, "and
am ready to begin work."
Donald looked at her inquiringly.
"Perhaps Madame, the young gentleman's
mother," she suggested, "wishes a fine pastry-
cook at once ? "
" A pastry-cook ! " exclaimed Donald, in despair.
" I came to see Ellen Lee, or rather to inquire
for Madame Rene. Is your name Rene ? "
" 1 am Madame Rene," answered a woman, in
good English, stepping forward from a dark corner
of the room, where she had been sitting, unob-
served by Donald. "Who is it wishes to see
Ellen Lee.?"
"The boy whose life you saved ! " said Donald,
rising to his feet and holding out his hand, unable
in his excitement to be as guarded as he had
intended to be. A glance had convinced him that
this was Ellen Lee, indeed. The woman, tall,
dark-eyed, stately, very genteel in spite of evident
poverty, was about thirty-five years of age. There
was no mistaking the sudden joy in her care-worn
face. She seized his hand without a word ; then,
as if recollecting herself, and feeling that she
must be more cautious, she eyed him sharply,
saying :
" And the other ? the brother? There were two.
Is he living? "
For a second Donald's heart sank ; but he
quickly recovered himself. Perhaps she was trying
tricks upon him ; if so, he must defend himself
as well as he could. So he answered, carclcssK-,
but heartily, "Oh! he's alive and well, thank
you, and thanks to you."
This time they looked into each other's eyes —
she, with a sudden expression of disappointment,
for would-be shrowd people are apt to give little
credit to others for equal shrewdness.
" Did you never have a sister ? " she asked, with
some hesitation.
"Oh, yes!" he replied, "but I must ask you
now to tell mc something of Ellen Lee, and how
she saved us. I can assure you of one thing — I am
alive and grateful. Pray tell me your story with
perfect frankness. In the first place : Are you
and Ellen Lee the same ? "
" Yes."
"And do you know >ny name?" he pursued.
" Indeed I do," she said, a slow smile coming
into her face. " I will be frank with you. If you
are the person I believe you to be, your name is
Donald Reed."
"Good!" he exclaimed, joyfully; "and the
other — what was "
"His name? "she interrupted, again smiling.
••His name was Dorothy Reed, sir ! They were
twins — a beautiful boy and girl."
To the latest day of his life Donald never will
forget that moment, and he never will understand
why he did not jump to his feet, grasp her hand,
ask her dozens of questions at once, and finally im-
plore her to tell him what he could do to prove his
gratitude. He had, in fancy, acted out just such
a scene while on his ho|)eful way to Paris. But,
no. In reality, he just drew his chair a little nearer
hers, — feeling, as he afterward told his uncle, thor-
oughly comfortable, — and in the quietest possible
way assured her that she was right as to the boy's
name, but, to his mind, it would be very difficult
for her to say which little girl she had saved —
whether it was the baby-sister or the baby-cousin.
This was a piece of diplomacy on his part that
would have delighted Mr. Wogg. True, he would
prefer to be entirely frank on all occasions, but, in
this instance, he felt that Mr. Wogg would highlv
disapprove of his " giving the case away" by let-
ting the woman know thr.t he hoped to identify
Dorothy as his sister. What if Madame Rene,
in the hope of more surely "hearing of something
gi'eatly to her advantage," were to favor his desire
that the rescued baby should be Dorothy and not
Deha ?
" What do you mean ? " asked Madame Rene.
" I mean, that possibly the little girl you saved
was my cousin and not mv sister," he replied,
l)oldly.
Ellen Lee shrank from him a moment, and then
.ilmost angrily said :
" Why not your sister ? Ah, 1 understand ! — you
would then be sole heir. But I must tell the truth,
young gentleman ; so much has been on my con-
science all these years that I wish to have nothing
left CO reproach mc. There was a time when, to
get a reward, I might, perhaps, have been willing
to say that the other rescued baby was your cousin,
but now my heart is better. Truth is truth. If I
saved any little girl, it was Dorothy — -and Dorothy
was Donald Reed's twin sister."
Donald was about to utter an exclamation of
delight, but he checked himself as he glanced
toward the short, light-haired Madame, whose
peculiar appearance had threatened to blight his
expectations. She was now seated by the small
window, industriously mending a coarse woolen
stocking, and evidently caring very little for the
visitor, as he was not in search of a pastry-cook.
"We need not mind her," Madame Rene ex-
plained. " Marie Dubois is a good, dull-witted soul,
who stays here with mc when she is out of a situa-
tion. She can not understand a word of English.
We ha\e decided to separate soon, and to leave
96:
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[October,
these lodgings. I can not make enough money
with my needle to live here ; and so we must both
go out and work — I as a sewing-woman, and she
as a cook. Ah me ! In the years gone by, I
hoped to go to America and live with that lovely
lady, your poor mother."
" Do you remember her well ? " asked Donald,
hesitating as to which one of a crowd of questions
he should ask first.
" Perfectly, sir. She was very handsome. Ah
me ! and so good, so grand ! The other lady — her
husband's sister, 1 think — was very pretty, very
sweet and gentle ; but >ny lady was like a queen.
I can see a trace of her features — just a little — in
yours, Mr. — Mr. Reed. I did not at first ; but the
likeness grows on one."
"And this?" asked Donald, taking a photo-
graph from his pocket. " Is this like my mother? "
She held it up to the light and looked at it long
and wistfully.
" Poor lady ! " she said at last.
" Poor lady ? " echoed Donald, rather amused at
hearing his bright little Dorry spoken of in that
way; "she is barely sixteen. "
" Ah, no ! It is the mother 1 am thinking of.
How proud and happy she would be now with this
beautiful daughter ! For this is your sister's like-
ness, sir?"
Ellen Lee looked up quickly, but, re-assured by
Donald's prompt " Yes, indeed," she again studied
the picture.
It was one that he had carried about with him
ever since he left home — tacking it upon the wall,
or the bureau of his room, wherever he happened
to lodge ; and it showed Dorothy just as she looked
the day before he sailed. He had gone with her
to the photographer's to have it taken, and for his
sake she had tried to forget that they were so sud-
denly to say "good-by."
"Ah, what a bright, happy face! A blessed
day indeed it would be to me if I could see you
two, grown to a beautiful young lady and gentle-
man, standing together "
"That you shall see," responded Donald,
heartily, not because he accepted the title of beauti-
ful young gentleman, but because his heart was
full of joy to think of the happy days to come,
when the shadow of doubt and mystery would be
forever lifted from the home at Lakewood.
" Is she coming ? Is she here ? " cried Madame
Rene, who, misinterpreting Donald's words, had
risen to her feet, half expecting to see the young
girl enter the room.
"No. But, depend upon it, you will go there,"
said Don. " You must carry out the dream of
your youth, and begin life in America. My uncle
surely will send for you. You know, I promised
that you should hear of something greatly to your
advantage."
"But the ocean," she began, with a show of
dread, in spite of the pleasure that shone in her
eyes. "I could never venture upon the great,
black ocean again ! "
" It will not be the black ocean this time. It
will be the blue ocean, full of light and promise,"
said Donald growing poetic; " and it will bear you
to comfort and prosperity. Dorothy and ! will see
to that "
"Dorothy!" cried Ellen Lee. "Yes, I feel as
if I could cross two oceans to see you both to-
gether, alive and well, so I would."
At this point Madame Dubois, rousing herself,
said, rather querulously, in her native tongue :
"Elise, are you to talk all night? Have you for-
gotten that you are to take me to see the lady on
the Rue St. Honore at six ? "
"Ah, I did forget," was the reply. "I will go
at once, if the young gentleman will excuse me."
" Certainly," said Donald, rising; "and I shall
call again to-morrow, as I have many things yet
to ask you. 1 '11 go now and cable home."
Ellen Lee looked puzzled.
"Can I be forgetting my own language?" she
thought to herself. But she had resolved to be
frank with Donald — had not he and Dorothy al-
ready opened a new life to her? "Cable home?"
she repeated. " I do not understand."
"Why, send a cable message, you know — a
message by the ocean telegraph."
"Oh, yes. Bless me! It will be on the other
side, too, before one can wink. It is wonderful ;
and Mr. Donald, if I may call you so, while you 're
writing it, would you please, if you would n't mind
it, send my love to Miss Dorothy? "
" Good ! " cried Donald. " I '11 do exactly that.
Nothing could be better. It will tell the story
perfectly."
Donald, going down the steep flights of stairs
soon afterward, intending to return later, longed
to send a fine supper to Ellen Lee and her com-
panion, also beautiful new gowns, furniture, pict-
ures, and flowers. He felt like a fairy prince,
ready to shower benefits upon her, but he knew
that he must be judicious in his kindness and con-
siderate of Ellen Lee's feelings. Poor as she
evidently was, she had a proud spirit, and must
not be carelessly rewarded.
Before another night had passed. Uncle George
and the anxious-hearted girl at Lakewood received
this message :
Ellen Lee Sends Love to Dorothy.
l883.]
DOXAl.l) AM) DOkOTHV.
96.^
Chapter XXXIV.
MADA.MK RENE TE^LS HKR SIOKY.
On the following day, when Donald again
climbed the many flights of stairs and knocked at
her door, he found Madame Rene alone. The
self had brushed her threadbare gown with care,
and, by the aid of spotless white collar and cuffs,
given herself quite a holiday appearance. Very
soon she and Donald, seated by the shining little
window, were talking together in English and like
old friends, as indeed they were. The reader
shall hear her story in her own words, though not
pastry-cook advertisement had succeeded : Marie
was gone to exercise her talents in behalf of a little
hotel on the Seine, where, as she had assured her
new employer, she would soon distinguish herself
by her industry and sobriety. The almost empty
apartment was perfectly neat. Madame Rene her-
with all the interruptions
which it was given.
of conversation under
" It 's no wonder you thought me a French-
woman, Mr. Donald. Many have thought the
same of me from the day I grew up. But, though
964
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[October,
I look SO like one, and speak the language readily,
1 was born in England. 1 studied French at school,
and liked it best of all my lessons. In fact, 1
studied little else, and even spoke it to myself, for
there was no one, excepting the French teacher,
who could talk it with me. ! ne%'er liked him.
He was always pulling my ears and treating me
Uke a child when I fancied myself almost a woman.
Then 1 took to reading French stories and ro-
mances, and they turned my head. My poor
home grew stupid to me, and I took it into my
heart to run away and see if 1 could not get to be
a great lady. About that time a French famih
moved into our neighborhood, and 1 was proud to
talk with the children and to be told that I spoke
'like a native' (just as if 1 did!), and that, with
my black hair and gray eyes, 1 looked like a Nor-
mandy girl. This settled it. I knew my parents
never would consent to my leaving home, but 1
resolved to ' play ' I was French and get a situ-
ation in some English family as a French nurse —
a real Normandy bonne with a high cap. I was
seventeen then. The bonne in the latest romance
I had read became a governess and then married
a marquis, the eldest son of her employer, and
kept her carriage. Why should not some such
wonderful thing happen to me ? You see what a
silly, wicked girl 1 was.
•• \Vell. I ran away to another town, took the
name of Eloise Louxain (my real name was
Elizabeth Luft"), and for a time I kept up my part
and enjoyed it. The parents who engaged me
could not speak French, and as for the children —
dear, what a shame it was ! — they got all they knew
of it from me. Then 1 went to live with a real
Parisian. The lady mistrusted my accent when 1
spoke French to her, and asked me where I was
born ; but she seemed to like me for all that, and I
staid with her until she was taken ill and was
ordered to the baths at Aix-la-Chapelle for cure. I
had the name of being quieter than I was by
nature, for I always spoke French or broken Eng-
lish, and it was not always easy. .At last 1 saw in
the newspaper that a lady in Aix wanted a French
maid to go with her to America. Here was mv
chance. Why, Mr. Donald, if you '11 believe me,
I was n't sure but that if I went I 'd in time be the
bride of the President of America himself! You
need n't laugh. Many 's the silly girl — yes, and
boy, too, for that matter — who gets ridiculous
notions from reading romantic books. My French
lady was sorr)- to lose me, but she let me go, and
then, sir, I became your mother's maid. By this
time my French was so good that she need n't
have found me out ; but she was so lovely, so sweet
and sharp withal, that I one day told her the whole
truth, and it ended in my writing a letter home by
her advice, sending my parents fifty francs, asking
their forgiveness, begging them to consent to my
going to America with, my new lady, and telling
them that I would send presents home to them
whenever I could. When the answer came, with
love from my mother, and signed, •' Your affection-
ate and forgiving father, John Luff,' I laughed
and cried with joy, and forgot that I was a Nor-
mandy bonne. And a bonne I was in earnest, for
my lady had the prettiest pair of twins any one
could imagine, if I do say it to your face, and such
lovely embroidered dresses, more than a yard long,
the sleeves tied with the sweetest little ribbon-
bows "
Here Donald interrupted the narrative : " What
color were they, please ? " he asked, at the same
time taking out his note-book.
" Pink and blue," was the prompt reply. ".Al-
ways blue on the boy and pink on the girl — my
lady's orders were very strict on that point."
"Did — ^did the other baby — ^little Delia, vou
know — wear pink bows? "
' Not she, never anything but white, for her
mamma insisted white was the only thing for a
baby."
"What about their hair?" Donald asked, still
holding his note-book and looking at this item :
" Girl's hair, yellow, so//, and airly. Boy's hair,
pale bnnvn, very scanty."
"Their hair? Let me see. \Vhy, as I remem-
ber, you had n't any, sir, at least, none to speak
of — neither had the poor little cousin ; but my
little girl — Miss Dorothy, that is — had the most I
ever saw on so young a child ; it was golden-yellow,
and so curly that it would cling to your fingers
when you touched it. I always hated to put a cap
on her, but Mrs. Reed had them both in caps from
the first. 1 must hurry on with the story. You
know the other baby was never at Aix. We met
it and its parents at Havre, when my lady went
there to take the steamer to America. You twins
were not two months old. And a sad day that was
indeed ! For the good gentleman, your father —
Heaven rest his soul ! — -died of a fever before you
and iVIiss Dorothy had been in the world a fort-
night. Oh, how my lady and the other lady cried
about it when they came together ! I used to feel
so sorry when I saw them grieving, that, to forget it,
1 'd take you two babies out, one on each arm, and
walk the street up and down in front of the hotel.
I had become acquainted with a young Frenchman,
a traveling photographer, and he, happening to be
at Havre, saw me one morning as I was walking
with the babies, and he invited me to go to his
place, hard by, and have my picture taken, for
nothing. It was a willful thing to do with those
two infants, after I had been allowed only to walk
8,.|
D O X ALL) AND L) O R ( ) T II Y
96;
a short distance by the hotel ; but it was a tempti-
tion, and I went. I would n't put down the babies,
though, so he had to take my picture sitting on a
rock, with one twin on each arm. If you '11 believe
it, the babies came out beautifully in the picture,
and I was almost as black as a coal. It was like a
judgment on me, for I knew my lady would think
it shocking in me to carry the two helpless twins
to a photographer's."
" But the picture," said Donald, anxiously,
" where is it ? Have you it yet ? "
'• 1 'II tell you about that soon," Madame Rene
answered, hurriedly, as if unwilling to break the
thread of her story. " The dear lady was so kind
that I often had a mind to own up and show her
the picture, but the thought of that ugly black
thing, sitting up so stiff and holding the little inno-
cents, kept me back. It 'swell it did, too — though
it 's rare any good thing comes out of a wrong —
for if I had, the picture would have gone down with
the ship. Well, we sailed a few days after that,
and at first the voyage was pleasant enough, though
I had to walk the cabin with the babies, while my
lady lay ill in her berth. The sea almost always
affects the gentry, you know. The other lady was
hardier, though sometimes ailing, and she and her
husband tended their baby night and day, never
letting it out of their arms when it was awake.
Poor little thing, gone these fifteen years ! "
" Are you sure the little cousin was lost? " asked
Donald, wondering how she knew.
" Why, Mr. Donald, I drew it from your not
saying more about the child. Was she ever found ?
And her mother, the pretty lady, Mrs. Robbins —
no, Robertson — and my lady, your mother? I
heard people saying that all were lost, except those
of us who were in our boat. .And 1 never knew
to the contrar>' until now. Were they saved, sir?"
Donald shook his head sadly.
" Not one of them sa%ed ! " she exclaimed.
" Ah me ! how terrible ! I had a sight of Mr.
Robertson with their baby in his arms — just one
glimpse in the dreadful tumult. It all came on so
suddenly — evcr\- one screaming at once, and not
a minute to spare. I could not find my lady, yet
1 fancied once I heard her screaming for her chil-
dren ; but I ran with them to the first deck, and
tried to tie them to something — to a chair, 1
think, so they might float — I was frantic; but
I had no rope — only my go\vn."
"Yes, yes," said Donald, longing to produce
the pieces of black cloth which he had brought
with him, but fearing to interrupt the narrative
then. " Please go on."
" I tore long strips from my gown, but I could
not do anything with them : there was not time.
The men were filling the boats, and I rushed to the
side of the sinking vessel. No one could help me.
I prayed to Heaven, and, screaming to the men in a
boftt below to catch them, 1 threw the babies out
over the water. Whether they went into the boat
or the water I could not tell ; it seemed to me
that some one shouted back. The next I knew, I
was taken hold of by strong arms and lifted down
into one of the boats. My lady was not there, nor
the babies, nor any one of our party — all were
strangers to me. For days we drifted, meeting no
trace of any other boat from the ship, and living
iis best we could on a few loaves of bread and a jug
of water that one of the sailors had managed to
lower into our boat. We were picked up after a
time and carried to Liverpool. But I was fright-
ened at the thought of what 1 h.ad done — perhaps
the twins would have been saved with me if 1 had
not thrown them down. I was afraid that some
of their relatives in America would rise up and
accuse me, you see, sir, and put me in disgrace.
I had acted for the best, but would any one believe
me? So when they asked my name, I ga\c the
first I could think of, and said it was ' Ellen Lee,'
and when they wondered at such a strange name
for a French girl, as 1 appeared to be, I told them
one of my parents was English, which was true
enough. Not having been able to save a bit of
my luggage, I was fain to take a little help from
the ship's people. As I had been entered on the
passenger-list only as Mrs. Wolcott Reed's maid,
they were satisfied when I said I was Ellen Lee.
After getting safe ashore I kept my own counsel
and hid myself. To this day I never have breathed
a word about the shipwreck or my throwing out
the babies — no, not to a living soul, save yourself,
sir. Well, a woman gave mo another gown, which
was a help, and I soon found a place with a family
in the country, fifteen miles from Liverpool, to
sew for the family and 'tend the children. Of
course I dropped the name of Ellen Lee the mo-
ment I left Liverpool, and I hoped to settle down
to a peaceful life and faithful service. But I grew
sadder all the time ; nothing could cheer me up.
Night and day, day and night, I was haunted by
the thought of that awful hour."
" Yes, awful indeed," said Donald. " I have
often thought of it and tried to picture the scene.
But we will not speak of it now. You must com-
fort yourself w-ith knowing that, instead of losing
the babies, you saved them. Only don't forget a
single thing about the twins and their mother.
Tell me all you can remember about them.
Have n't you some little thing that belonged to
them or to any of the party ? .\ lock of hair or a
piece of a dress — anything that was theirs? Oh, I
hope you have — it is so very important ! "
" Ah, yes, sir ! I was just coming to that.
966
DONALD AND DOROTHY,
lOCTOBER,
There 's a few things that belonged to the babies
and the poor mother — -and, to tell you the truth,
they 've pressed heavy enough on my consciefice
all these years."
Donald, with difficulty, controlled his impatience
to see the articles, but he felt it would be wisest to
let Madame have her way.
" You see how it was: a young man — the same
young man who had taken the picture — came to the
ship to bid me good-by, and stood talking apart
with me a minute, while the ladies were looking
into their state-rooms and so on ; and somehow he
caught hold of my little satchel and was swinging
it on his finger when Mrs. Reed sent for me. And
before I could get back to him, the ship was ready
to start; all who were not passengers were put
ashore ; somebody shouted an order, and we began
to move. When at last 1 saw him, we were some
distance from shore and he was standing on the
dock looking after me, with my satchel in his
hand ! We both had forgotten it — and there was
nothing for me to do but to sail on to America
without it."
" Were the things in that satchel ? " cried Uon.
" Where is the man ? Is he living ? "
Her eyes filled with tears. " No, I shall never
see him again in this world, " she said.
Her grief was so evident that Donald, whose dis-
appointment struggled with his sympathy, felt it
would be cruel to press her further. But when she
dried her eyes and looked as if she were about to
go on with the story, he could not forbear saying,
in a tone which was more imploring than he knew :
" Can't you tell me what was in the satchel ? Try
to think."
"Yes, indeed, 1 can," she said, plaintively.
" There was the picture of the babies and me ;
the baby Dorothy's dress-ribbon ; my purse and
the key "
"A key!" cried Donald. "What sort of a
key ? "
" Oh, a little bit of a key, and gloves, and my
best pocket-handkerchief, and — -most of all, Mrs.
Reed's letter "
"Mrs. Reed's letter !" echoed Don. "Oh, if
I only could have had that and the picture ! But
do go on."
"You make me so nervous, Mr. Donald — in-
deed you do, begging your pardon — that I hardly
know what I 'm saying ; but I must tell you first
how each of the things had got into my hands.
First, the picture was my own property, and I prized
it very much, though 1 had not the courage to
show it to Mrs. Reed ; then the pink ribbon was
for baby Dorothy. My lady had handed it to me
at the hotel when we were dressing the twins, and
in the hurry, after cutting off the right lengths to
tie up the dear little sleeves, I crammed the rest
into my satchel."
"And the key?"
"Oh, you see, baby Dorothy had worn a chain
from the time she was a week old. It fastened
with a key. Mr. Reed himself had put it on her
little neck and locked it the very day before he was
taken down, and in the hurry of dressing the babies,
as I was telling you, Mrs. Reed let fall the speck of
a key ; it was hung upon a bit of pink ribbon, and
1 picked it up and clapped it into the satchel,
knowing I could give it to her on the vessel. But
the letter — ah, that troubles me most of all."
She paused a moment and looked at Donald,
before beginning again, as if fearing that he would
be angry.
"It was a letter to a Mr. George Reed, soine-
where in America — your uncle, isn't he? — and
your mother had handed it to me a week before
to put in the post. It would then have gone
there in the steamer before ours, but — ah, how
can 1 tell you ? 1 had dropped it into my little
satchel (it was one that I often carried with me),
and forgotten all about it. And, indeed, I never
thought of it again till we had been two days out,
and then 1 remembered it was in the satchel. I
don't wonder you feel badly, sir, indeed 1 don't,
for it should have gone to America, as she intended,
the poor, poor lady ! "
" Heaven only knows what trouble it might have
spared my uncle, and now he can never know,"
said Donald in a broken voice.
"Never know? Please don't say that. Master
Donald, for you '11 be going back alive and well,
and giving the letter to him with your own hands,
you know."
Donald could only gasp out, " With my own
hands? What! How?"
" Because it 's in the satchel to this day. Many
a time, after I was safe on shore again, 1 thought
to post it, but I was foolish and cowardly, and
feared it might get me into trouble in some way,
I did n't know how, but 1 had never the courage to
open it when the poor lady who wrote it was dead
and gone. May be you '11 think best to open it
yourself now, sir "
So saying, Madame Rene stepped across the
room, kneeled by an old trunk, and opening it, she
soon drew forth a small leather hand-bag.
Handing it to the electrified Donald, she gave a
long sigh of relief
" There it is, sir, and it 's a blessed day that sees
it safe in your own hands ! "
Yes, there they were — the ribbon, the picture,
the tiny golden key, and the letter. Donald, look-
ing a little wild (as Madame Rene thought), ex-
amined them one after the other, and all together.
DONALD AND DUKOTUV.
967
with varying expressions of emotion and delight. He
was bewildered as to what to do first : wliether to
take out the necklace, that he now always carried
about with him, and fit the key to its very small
lock : or to compare the group with the babies'
photographs which his uncle had intrusted to him,
and which he had intended to show to Madame
Rene during the present inter\'icw ; or to open and
read his mother's letter, which the nature of his
errand to Europe gave him the right to do.
The necklace was soon in the hands of Madame
Rene, who regarded it with deep interest, and
begged him to try the key, which, she insisted,
would open it at once. Donald, eager to comply,
made ready to push aside the top of the clasp, and
then he resolved to do no such thing. Uncle
George or Dorry should be the first to put the key
into that long silent lock.
Next came the pictures. Don looked at the
four little faces in a startled way, for the resem-
blance of the babies in the group to those in the
two photographs was evident. The group, which
was an ambrotypc picture of Kllen Lee and the
twins, was somewhat faded, and it had been taken
at least three weeks before the New York photo-
graphs were. But, even allowing for the fact that
three weeks make considerable change in very
young infants, there were unmistakable points of
similarity. In the first place, though all the four
heads were in baby caps, two chubby little faces
di '.layed delicate light locks straying over the
fo. head from under the caps, while, on the other
ha. 1, two longish little faces rose baldly to the
very edge of the cap-border. Another point which
Ellen Lee discovered was that the bald baby in
each picture wore a sacque with tlic fronts rounded
at the corners, and the "curly baby," as Donald
called her, displayed in both instances a sacque
with square fronts. Donald, on consulting his
uncle's notes, found a mention of this difference
in the sacques ; and when Madame Rene, without
seeing the notes, told him that both were made
of flannel, and that the boy's must have been
l)lue and the girl's pink, — which points Mr. Reed
also had set down, — Don felt quite sure that the
shape of the actual sacques would prove, on exami-
nation, to agree with their respective pictures. Up
to that moment our investigator had, in cominon
with most observers of the masculine gender, held
the easy opinion that "all babies look alike," but
circumstances now made him a connoisseur. He
even fancied he could see a boyish look in both
likenesses of his baby self; but Madame Rene un-
consciously subdued his rising pride by remarking
innocently that the boy had rather a cross look in
the two pictures, but that was " owing to his being
the weakest of the twins at the outset."
Then came the pink ribbon — and here Donald
was helpless; but .Madame Rene came to the res-
cue by explaining that if any ribbons were found
upon baby Dorothy they must match these, for
their dear mother had bought new pink ribbon on
purpose for her little girl to wear on shipboard, and
this was all they had with them, excepting that
which was cut off to tie up the sleeves when the
baby was dressed to be carried on board the ship.
And now Madame recalled the fact that after the
first day the twins wore only their pretty little
white night-gowns, and that, when it was too warm
for their sacques, she used to tie up baby Doro-
thy's sleeves loosely with the bits of pink ribbon, to
show the pretty baby arm.
Next came the letter. Donald's first impulse was
to take it to Uncle George without breaking the
seal ; but, on second thoughts, it seemed probable
that for some yet unknown reason he ought to
know the contents while he was still in Europe. It
might enable him to follow some important clew,
and his uncle might regret that he had let the op-
portunity escape him. But — to open a sealed letter
addressed to another !
Yet, all things considered, he would do so in
this instance. His uncle had given him permis-
sion to do whatever, in his own judgment, was
necessary to be done; therefore, despite his just
scruples, he decided that this was a necessary act.
Madame Rene anxiously watched his face as he
read.
" Oh, if you had only posted this, even at any
time during the past ten years ! " he exclaimed,
when half through the pages. Then, softening, as
he saw her frightened countenance, he added :
" But it is all right now, and God bless you ! It
is a wonderful letter," said Donald, in a tone of
deep feeling, as he reached the last line, " and one
that Dorothy and I will treasure all our lives.
Every word seems to confirm Dorry's identity, and
it would complete the evidence if any more were
needed. How thankful Uncle George will be when
he gets it ! But how did you ever get all these
treasures again, Ellen Lee?"
Madame Rene started slightly at hearing her old
name from Donald's li])s, but replied promptly :
" It was by neither more nor less than a miracle.
The satchel was given back to me not very long
after I found myself in Europe again."
" Not by that same young man ! " exclaimed
Donald, remembering Madame Rene's tears.
" Yes, Mr. Donald, by that same young man
who took it on the vessel. — the photographer."
" Oh ! " said Donald.
" I may as well tell you," said Madame Rene,
blushing, and yet looking ready to cry again,
" that I had his address, and, some months after
968
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[October,
the shipwreck, I sent him a Une so that he might
find me if he happened to pass my way. Well,
you may believe 1 was glad to get the purse and
some of the other things, Mr. Donald, but the
picture and the key were a worriment to me.
The picture did not seem to belong to me any
longer. Sometimes 1 thought I would try to send
them to the ship's company, to be forwarded to the
right persons, and so rid my mind of them ; but I
had that foolish, wicked fear that 1 'd be traced
out and punished. Why should 1, their bonne,
be saved and they lost ? some might say. Often 1
was tempted to destroy these things out of my
sight, but each time something whispered to me to
wait, for some day one who had a right to claim
them would be helped to find me. I little thought
that one of the very babies I threw down over the
waves would be that person "
" That 's so," said Donald, cheerily.
Hearing a doleful sound from the alley far be-
low them, he opened, the window wider and leaned
out.
A beggar in rags stood there, singing his sad
story in rhyme.
Verse after verse came out in mournful measure,
but changed to a livelier strain when Don threw
down a piece of money, which hit the ragged
shoulder.
" Well," said Donald, by way of relief, and
again turning to Madame Rene, " that 's a sorry-
looking chap. You have all kinds of people here
'in Paris. But, by the way, you spoke of tearing
strips from your gown on the night of the ship-
wreck. Do you happen to have that same gown,
still?"
"No, Master Donald — not the gown. 1 made
it into a skirt and wore it, year after year, as I had
to, and then it went for linings and what not;
yonder cape there on the chair is faced with it,
and that 's ready to be thrown to the beggars."
" Let this beggar see it, please," said Donald,
blithely ; and in a moment he was by the window,
comparing his samples with the cape-lining as
knowingly as a dry-goods buyer.
" Exactly alike ! " he exclaimed. " Hold ! let 's
try the flavor."
This test was unsatisfactory. But, after explana-
tions, the fact remained to the satisfaction of both,
that the " goods" were exactly the same, but that
Madame Rene's lining had been washed many a
time and so divested of its salt.
Here was another discovery. Donald began to
feel himself a rival of the great Wogg himself
Strange to say, in further corroboration of the story
of the buxom matron at Liverpool, Madame Rene
actually gave Donald a fragment of the gown that
had been given to her so long ago ; and it was
identical, in color and pattern, with the piece Mr.
Wogg had lately sent him.
" How in the world did you ever get these
pieces, Master Donald ?" asked Madame Rene.
Whereupon Donald told her all about hi^ Liver-
pool friend and her rag-bag — much to Madame's
delight, for she was thankful to know that the
good woman who had helped her long ago was
still alive and happy.
"And now," said Donald, pleasantly, "let me
hear more of your own history, for it interests me
greatly. Where have you lived all these years ? "
" Well, Master Donald, I went on keeping my
own counsel, as I told you, and never saying a
word about the wreck or the two dear babies, and
living with Mr. Percival's family as seamstress
and nursery governess, under my old French
name of Eloise Louvain. I was there till, one day,
we said we 'd just get married and seek our fortunes
together."
" We ! " repeated Donald, astonished and rather
shocked ; " not you and Mr. Percivai ? "
" Oh, no, indeed ! — 1 and Edouard Rene," she
said, in a tone that gave Don to understand that
Edouard Rene was the only man that any girl in
her senses ever could have chosen for a husband.
" What ! The photographer ? "
" Yes, Mr. Donald, the photographer. Well,
we married, and how many nice things the\' gave
me — and they were not rich folk, either ! "
" They ? Who, Madame Rene ?"
"Why, Mrs. Percivai and the children — gowns
and aprons and pretty things that any young wife
might be proud to have. She had married a fine
gentleman, but she had been a poor girl. Her
little boy was named after his grandfather, and it
made such a funny mixture, — James Wogg Percivai,
but we always called him Jamie."
"Wogg!" exclaimed Don. " 1 know a James
^^^ogg — ^ London detective "
" Oh, that 'sthe son, sir, Mrs. Percival's brother ;
he 's a detective, and a pretty sharp one, but not
sharp enough for me."
She said this with such a confident little toss of
her head that Don, much interested, asked what
she meant.
" Why, you see, Mr. Wogg often came to see
his sister, Mrs. Percivai, as I think, to borrow
money of her, and he was always telling of the
wonderful things he did, and how nothing could
escape him, and how stupidly other detectives did
their work. .A.nd one day, when 1 was in the
room, he actually told how some people were look-
ing for one Ellen Lee, a nursemaid who had been
saved from shipwreck, and how- one of the sur-
vivors was moving heaven and earth to find her,
but had n't succeeded ; and how, if the case had
i883.|
DONALD AND D O K O T 1 1 V
969
been given to him he would have done thus and
so — for she never could have escaped him. And
there I was, almost under his very nose! — yes,
then and many a time after ! "
"It 's the funniest thing I ever heard!" cried
Donald, cnjciying the joke immensely, and con-
vulsed to think of Mr. Wogg's disgust when ho
should learn these simple facts.
"Poor old Wogg!" he said. "It will almost
kill him."
'• 1 tell you, Mr. Donald," continued Madame
Rene, earnestly, though she had laughed with
him, " I listened then for every word that man
might say. I longed to ask questions, but 1 did
not dare. I heard enough, though, to know they
were looking for me, and it frightened me dread-
fully.
" Well, as soon as we were married, — Kdouard
and I, — we went to my old home, and 1 made my
peace with my poor old parents, Heaven be praised !
and comforted their last days. Then we went about
through French, Swiss, and German towns, taking
pictures. I helped Edouard with the work, and
my English and French ser\'ed us in many ways.
But we found it hard getting a living, and at last
my poor man sickened. I felt nothing would help
him but the baths at Aix-la-Chapelle. He felt the
same. We managed to work our way there, and,
once safe at Aix, I found employment as a doucli-
eitse in the baths.
" What is that, please ?" asked Don.
" The doHcheiisc is the bath-woman who gives
the douche to ladies. My earnings enabled my
poor husband to stay and take the waters, and
when he grew better, as he did, he got a situation
with a photographer in the town. But it was only
for a while. He sickened again — Heaven rest and
bless his precious soul ! — and soon passed away like
a little child. 1 could n't bear Aix then, and so I
went with a family to Paris, and finally became a
visiting dress-maker. My poor husband always
called me Elise, and so Madame Elise Rene could
go where she pleased without any fear of the
detectives finding her. At last, only the other
day, I picked up a French newspaper, and there I
chanced to see your notice about Ellen Lee, and I
answered it."
" Bless you for that ! " said Donald, heartily.
" But had you never seen any other? We adver-
tised often for Ellon Lee in the London and Liver-
pool papers."
" No, 1 never saw one, sir; and, to tell the truth,
I hated to remember that I had ever been called
Ellen Lee, for it brought back the thought of that
awful night — and the poor little babes that I
thought 1 had killed. If the notice in the paper had
not said that I saved their lives, you never would
have heard from me, Mr. Donald. That made
me happier than I ever had been in all my life
— mostly for the babies' sake, though it seemed to
lift a load of trouble off my mind."
Several times, during the long interview with
Elise Rene, Donald found himself wondering how
he could manage, without hurting her pride in any
way, to give her the money which she evidently
needed. For she was no pauper, and her bright,
dark eyes showed that time and trouble had not
by any means quenched her spirit. The idea of
receiving charity would shock her, he knew ; but
an inspiration came to him. He would not reward
her himself; but he would act for Dorothy.
'• Madame Rene," he said, with some hesitation,
"if my sister had known 1 was coming here to
talk face to face with the friend who had saved her
life, 1 know what she would ha\e done ; she would
have sent you her grateful love and — and some-
thing to remember her by; something, as she
would say, ' perfectly lovely. ' 1 know she would."
Madame had already begun to frown, on prin-
ciple, but the thought of Dorry softened her, as
Donald went on: "1 know she would, but 1 don't
know what to do about it. I 'd buy exacth' the
wrong article, if 1 were trying to select. The fact
is, you '11 have to buy it yourself."
With these words, Donald handed Elise Rone a
roll of bank-notes.
" Oh, Mr. Donald !" she exclaimed, flushing, "I
can't take this — indeed, I can not ! "
" Oh, Madame Rene, but indeed you can," he
retorted, laughing. " And now," he added hastily
(to prevent her from protesting any longer), " I
am not going to inflict myself upon you for the
entire day. You must be very tired, and, besides,
after you are rested, we must decide upon the
next thing to be done. I have cabled to my uncle,
and there is no doubt but ho will send word for
you to come at once to America. Now, can't you
go? Say yes. I '11 wait a week or two for you."
Elise hesitated.
" It would be a great joy," she said, "to go to
America and to see little Dorothy. She is a
great deal more to me — and you, too, Mr. Donald
— than one would think ; for, though you were
both too young to be very interesting when I was
your hoiitic, 1 have thought and dreamed so often
of you in all these long years, and of what you
both might have lived to be if I had not thrown
you away from me that night, that I "her
eyes filled with tears.
" Yes, indeed ; I know you take an interest in
us both," was his cordial reply. " And it makes me
wish that you were safe with us in America, where
you would never see trouble or suffer hardship any
more. Say you will go."
970
DONALD AND DOROTHY.
[October,
"Could, I work? "she said, eagerly. " Could I
sew, make dresses, do anything to be useful to Miss
Dorothy ? My ambition of late has been to go
back to England and set up for a dress-maker, and
some day have a large place, with girls to help ;
but that would be impossible — life is so hard for
poor folk, here in Europe. I feel as if 1 would do
anything to see Miss Dorothy."
'' But you can have America, and Miss Dorothy,
and the dress-making establishment, or whatever
you please," Don pursued with enthusiasm ; " only
be ready to sail by an early steamer. And, since
you go for our sakes and to satisfy my uncle, you
must let us pay all the cost and ever so much more.
Think what joy you give us all in proving, without
a doubt, that Dorothy is — Dorothy."
" I will go," she said.
That same day Donald, who had found a letter
waiting for him on his return to the hotel at which
he had that morning secured a room, flew up the
long flights of stairs again, to ask if he might call
in the evening and bring a friend.
••.A. friend?" Madame Rene looked troubled.
Donald, to her, was her own boy almost ; but a
stranger ! — that would be quite different. She
glanced anxiously around, first at the shabby apart-
ment and then at her own well-worn gown — but
Mr. Donald, she thought, would know what was
best to do. So, with a little Frenchy shrug of her
shoulders, and a gesture of resignation, she said.
Oh, certainly ; she would be much pleased.
The evening visit was a success in every way,
excepting one. The bonne of former days did not
at first recognize the "friend," M. Bajeau, though
at the first sight he was certain that this tall,
comely woman was the veritable person who had
come with Mrs. Reed and the pink-faced twins into
his little shop. But she remembered the visit per-
fectly, and nearly all that happened on that day.
She recalled, too, that Mrs. Reed had intended to
have the baby's full name, Dorothy, engraved upon
the clasp, and that, on account of the smallness of
the space, the initials D. R. were decided upon.
Still it was annoying to M. Bajeau, and, conse-
quently, rather embarrassing to Donald, that the
woman did not promptly recognize him as the
same jeweler.
The simple-hearted and somewhat vain old
gentleman, who felt that this would be a very
important link in the chain of evidence, had
recognized Madame Rene ; and why could she not
return the compliment ?
Donald, by way of relieving the awkwardness,
remarked, during a rather stiff moment, that it was
unusually warm, and begged leave to open the
door. At this. Monsieur, hinting delicately that a
draught would in time kill an angel, produced a
skull-cap, which he deftly placed upon his head ;
and no sooner was this change effected than
Madame Rene grew radiant, clasped her hands in
honest rapture, and declared that she would now
recognize M. Bajeau among a million as the very
gentleman who engraved that blessed baby's dear
little initials upon the clasp.
Chapter X.\XV.
A T>\\ OF JOY.
While the great ship that bears Donald and
Madame Rene to America still is plowing its way
across the ocean, we who are on dry land may
look into the home at Lakewood.
Uncle George and the two girls have just come
in from a twilight walk, the glow of exercise is on
their faces, and they are merry, not because any-
thing funny has been seen or said, but because
their hearts are full of joy. Donald is coming
home.
Down-stairs, in the cozy sitting-room, are a pair
of old friends, and if you could open the door with-
out being seen you would hear two familiar voices.
"Where's the use," Mr. Jack is saying confi-
dentially, "in Master Donald's bein' away so long?
The place aint natteral, nothing 's natteral, without
that boy. And there 's Miss Dorothy, the trimmest
little craft that ever was, here she 's been tossin'
about and draggin' anchor, so to speak, all because
he haint here alongside. He 's gone to find out
for certain ! Is he ? Where 's the use in findin'
out ? One clipper 's as good as another, if both are
sound in the hull and full-rigged. To my mind,
the capt'n 'd better took what the Lord 's giv
him, and be thankful accordin'. You can make
any sea rough by continyelly takin' soundin's. I
tell you, messmate — "
He stops short as Lydia raises a warning
finger :
"You're forgetting again, Mr. Jack!" she
pleads, "and after all the grammar me and Miss
Dorry have taught you. Besides, you might Ijc
just as elegant in talking to me as to the family."
" Eleganter, Mistress Blum — eleganter," is the
emphatic rejoinder, "but not when a chap 's trou-
bled— 't aint in the order o' things. A cove can't
pray grainmatic and expect to be heard, can he ?
But, as 1 was sayin', there 's been stormy times
off the coast for the past three days. That boy
ought t' have been kept at home. Gone to find
out. Humph! Where 's the use ? S'pose, when
them t«o mites was throwed out from the sinkin'
ship, I 'd 'a' waited to find out which babies they
iSSi.]
DONALD AND DOROTHY
971
were; no, I ketched 'em fur what they was.
Where 's the use findin' out ? There aint no use.
I 'm an old sailor, but somehow I 'm skeery as a
girl to-night. I 'vc kind o' lost my moorin's."
"Lost what, Mr. Jack?" said Liddy, with a
start.
" My moorin's. It seems to me somehow 's that
lad '11 never come to land."
"Mercy on us. Jack!" cried Lydia, in dismay.
" What on earth makes you say a thing like that ? "
" 'Cos I 'm lonesome. I 'm upsot," said Jack,
rising gloomily, "an' that's all there is about it:
an' there 's that wall-eyed McSwiver "
"Mr. Jack." exclaimed Lydia, suddenly, " you
're not talking plain and honest with me. There 's
something else on your mind."
"An' so there is. Mistress Lydia, an' 1 may as
well out with it. Ken you pictur' to yourself a
craft tossed about on the sea, with no steerin' gear
nor nothin', and the towin'-rope draggin' helpless
alongside — -not a floatin' thing to take hold of it.
Well, I 'm that craft. I want some one to tow me
into smooth waters, and then sail alongside allers
— somebody kind and sensible and good. Now.
do you take the idee ? "
Lydia thought she did, but she was not quite
sure ; and as we can not wait to hear the rest of the
conversation that followed, we will steal upstairs
again and see Mr. George lock up the house, bid
Dorothy and Josie good-night, and climb the softly
carpeted stair-way, followed by a pretty procession
of two.
Later, while the girls are whispering together in
their room, the long letter is written to Ebcn
Slade, which tells him at the close that he may
now come on with " legal actions" and his threats
of exposure ; that Mr. George is ready to meet him
in any court of law, and that his proofs are ready.
Then at the last follows a magnanimous offer of
help, which the baffled man will be glad to accept
as he sneaks away to his Western home — there to
lead, let us hope, a less unworthy life than of old.
The letter is sealed. Now the lights are out.
THE
Mr. Jack, tranquil and happy. h;is tiptoed his
way to his bachelor-room above the stable, and
Watch settles himself upon the wide piazza to
spend the pleasant midsummer night out-of-doors.
Sleep well, good old Watch ! To-morrow will
be a busy day for you. A trim young man will
come with a letter from the telegraph office, and
you will ha\e to bark and howl as he approaches,
and slowly subside when Dorothy, after calling
from the window, "Be quiet. Watch!" will rush
down to receive the telegram. Then affairs at the
stable will occupy you. Jack, getting out the car-
riage in a hurry, and harnessing the horses with
trembling hands, never heeding your growls and
caresses, will drive to the house, and (while you are
wildly threading your way between wheels and the
horses' legs) Uncle George, Josie, and Dorothy,
radiant with expectation, will enter the vehicle,
Jack will mount to the box, and off they will start
for the station !
Lydia, happy soul ! will scream for you to come
back, and then you may amuse yourself with the
flies that try to settle on your nose, while she
makes the house fairly shine for the welcoming that
is soon to be, and rejoices that, after their wedding,
she and Jack are to continue living on the old place
just the same, only that they are to have a little
cottage of their own. ^■es, you may doze away
your holiday until the sunset-hour when Lydia,
Jack, and all the Danbys stand waving handker-
chiefs and hats, as two carriages from the station
come rolling up the shady avenue.
Hurrah ! Hark your loudest now, old Watch !
Ed. Tyler, his father, and Josie Manning jump
out of one carriage : I'ncle George, leaping like
a boy from the other, helps a tall, bright-eyed
woman, dressed in black, to alight, and then, amid
a chorus of cheers and barking, and joyous cries
of welcome, happiest of the happy, follow the
brother and sister — ^ Donald and Dorothy!
EN'D.
Vol. IX.— 62.
972
WHAT CAN BE MADE WITH A HANDKERCHIEF.
[October,
WHAT CAN BE MADE WITH A HANDKERCHIEF.
By Daniel C. Beard.
If a folder of handkerchiefs folds as he 's told.
Rolling and folding the folds he has rolled.
The folder unfolds, from folds he has rolled.
Amusing amusement both for young and for old.
A PLAIN white handkerchief would hardly appear
a very promising object from which to derive any
great amount of amusement, but, as the compli-
cated and intricate steam-engine was evolved from
make from an ordinary pocket-handkerchief. As the
conjurer says, after surprising you with some marvel-
ous trick, " It 's quite easy when you know how."
" The Orator" (Fig. 4) is one of the most simple,
and, in the hands of a clever exhibitor, one of the
most amusing, of all the handkerchief figures.
To ■' make up " the Orator, tie a common knot
'THE ORATOR.
the boiling tea-pot, you need not be astonished when in the corner A (Fig. i). (See Fig. 2.) Fit the
you see what curious and interesting things we can knot on the forefinger of the left hand, as in Fig.
WHAT CAN BE MADK W Tl' H A II A N I) K K K C H I E F.
973
3, draw the sides B and C over the thumb and
middk- finger to form the arms, and our orator
stands forth (Fig. 4) ready to entertain his audience.
If, now, the speech of Othello,
beginning "Most potent, grave,
and reverend seigniors," be re-
peated, accompanied with appro-
priate gestures of its arms and
solemn nods of its head, the
ludicrous effect will cause great
fun and many a merry laugh.
■ ' The Father Confessor and the
Repentant Nun " properly come
next, as the Orator will serve for
the Priest. To form the Nun,
another handkerchief is required.
As you know, the dress of a nun
is very simple. You have but to
turn the corner B (Fig. 5) and
place it over the forefinger of the
right hand with the fold upper-
most, so as to form the cap ; then
draw the handkerchief over the hand, using the
thumb and middle finger as arms, as in the Orator,
and the Nun is complete (Fig. 6). With the left
priate for the Utile folks. The first thing which sug-
gests itself as a toy for a child is almost invariably a
doll. .Almost all children have a natural curiositj' to
'THE REPENTANT NIN.
discover the mechanism of their playthings, other-
wise toys would last much longer than they do ;
so, to stand and watch the manufacture of the
doll will prove a new source of pleasure to our lit-
tle ones. "The Doll-baby" is a little more com-
plicated than the preceding figures, but, after
one or two trials, is not difficult to make. First,
roll the two sides of the handkerchief until they
meet in the middle ; next, fold the two ends, A
and B (Fig. 7), as shown in Fig. 8 ; then fold
the upper ends, C and D, over and down, as in
Fig. 9. The rolled ends, C and D, are then
brought around the middle of the handkerchief
and tied, the ends of the knot forming the arms ;
then, with a little pulling and arranging, you
have a pretty fair doll (Fig. 10).
We know that some little boys will disdain
to play with dolls, as belonging exclusively to
hand dressed as the
Priest, and the right as
the Nun, any dialogue
that suggests itself may
be repeated.
If the proper gest-
ures, nods, and bows
be introduced, this will
prove very laughable
to those who have never
seen it before.
Now, let us see if
the handkerchief can-
not produce something
more especially appro-
"the doll.
9 74
WHAT CAN BE MADE WITH A HANDKERCHIEF.
[October,
the girls. Such little fellows can be paci
once by the production of a very creditabl
and one that can be thrown
against a looking-glass or
window without the slightest
danger of damage. To roll
up a ball, fold the corner B,
as in Fig. 5, and roll the
handkerchief as in Fig. 1 1 ;
fold back the two ends, A and
fied at
e ball,
the
(Fi^
white rabbit. Take the two corners B and C
;. i), holding them as shown in Fig. 16, while
you bring the end D over
the back of the hand, and
hold it down with the second
finger (Fig. 17). Draw the
end A over the front of the
hand, and hold it down as
seen in Fig. 18. Still holding
these tightly, fold the end A,
D (Fig. 12), — the reverse
side is represented in Fig.
13, — and turn the point
C back over A and D;
then the pocket (Fig. 14)
formed by the sides should
be turned inside out, and
this process of turning kept
up (being always careful to
take hold at the corners
when turning) until a firm
ball is formed (Fig. 15).
The first attempt may not
produce as round a ball as
might be desired, but prac-
tice will make perfect.
You can further delight
the children with "Bunny,"
"THE BALU" — "the RABBIT.'
and bring the corner D
through the hand, clasp-
ing it as in Fig. 19. The
portion of the handker-
chief covering the back of
the hand must then be
turned over that in front,
taking heed, however, to
prevent the ends B, C, and
D (which are to form the
ears and the tail respect-
ively) from being wrapped
in with the body ; keep
turning (after the manner
in making the ball) until
the body is firm ; then
spread out the ears and
arrange the tail, and you
i
i882.]
WHAT CAN HE MAUE WITH A H AN DKERC H I K F
975
have " Bunny," as shown in Fig. 20. A pink
button fastened on makes ;m effective eye
"The Twins" are not so difficult to
make as the preceding, but would
be quite odd, if they were not
tied loosely in one corner ; the remainder of
the handkerchief is then wrapped around the
two first fingers, as shown in Fig. 25.
Call the attention of the spectators to
the comical appearance that a man
even. Fold the handker-
chief as in Fig. 21 ; roll
up the two folded ends
as in Fig. 22; then take
the handkerchief by the
two lower corners and
gently pull them in op-
posite directions. (See
Fig. 23.) A doll's head
may then be placed in
each of the rolls, or a
string tied around them
a little below the upper
ends, which will give the
appearance of heads.
The hammock, with the
twins in it, will then
appear, as in Fig. 24.
The Bather is simple
in construction, consist-
ing of a handkerchief
with an ordinarv knot
'THE TWINS. — "THE BATHER.
cuts in a bathing-dress,
and then run the hand-
kerchief figure (Fig. 26)
rapidly toward the com-
pany. He is sure to
create a laugh, if made
properly.
"Oh, you have left
out Little Red Riding
Hood!" exclaimed a
young friend of mine,
after she had carefully
examined the foregoing
sketches.
"And, pray, how is
Little Red Riding Hood
made ? " I asked.
She answered by run-
ning into the next room,
and, returning with a
bright red silk pocket-
976
WHAT CAN BE MADE WITH A HANDKERCHIEF.
[October,
handkerchief, she
proceeded to fold
it in the manner
shown in Fig. 27.
Then, at the places
marked by the dot-
ted line, she fold-
ed the corners
back, and, revers-
ing the handker-
chief, the opposite
side appeared fold-
ed as shown in Fig.
28. At each fold,
she patted the
handkerchief, and
said : "There, you
see how that 's
done ? "
"Yes, but that
looks like a sol-
dier's hat," said 1.
"Now, you wait
a moment," she
/ J!
Sure enough,
here was the hood
(Fig- 3°)-
Putting it upon
her head, and deft-
ly tying the ends
under her chin,
she exclaimed :
"And here is Lit-
tle Red Riding
Hood ! "
A more simple
but ver)- cunning
little cap may be
made for baby (see
final illustration),
by tying knots in
the four corners
of a handkerchief,
and fitting it close-
ly to the head.
Of course, these
are only a few of
the curious and
'iiiiil'iMiihuiwii/mmm/mrJ^
LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.
answered, and, as she spoke,
she folded the bottom mar-
gin, C D, over, until it had
the form of Fig. 29.
"Now, what do you call
that ? " I asked.
"Why, that " (here she
picked it up by the corners
C and D and bent the cor-
ners back, making a fold at
K) "is the hood!"
interesting things that can be
manufactured from a hand-
kerchief And now that the
girls and boys have seen how
easily these have been made,
they can exercise their own
ingenuity in devising other
methods of using their hand-
kerchiefs for the amusement
of their friends in the coming
winter evenings.
iSSa.]
1-OR VERY LITTLK l-OLK.
977
THE I'UOR i)UL LV
THE POOR DOL-I.V.
It was a good while af-ter Christ-mas, when Su-sie and
Jen-nie, two lit-tle girls who had en-joyed the hol-i-days
ver-y much, made up their minds that they would let
their doll-ba-bies have the same pleas-ure that they had
had. and that they would give them a Christ-mas of their
own. So the\- set up a lit-tle tree, and got out the dolls'
stock-ings to hang up, and did ev-ery-thing that lit-tle
girls do for dolls when they give them hol-i-days of this
kind. Ikit Su-sie thought they ought to do some-thing
more than this.
'• I '11 tell you what we '11 do," said she to Jennie.
"We '11 have a poor dol-ly. She shall be hun-gry and
cold and wear rag-ged clothes, and then our dolls, who have ev-ery-
thing they want, shall in-\ite her to their Christ-mas par-ty. and give
her some of their clothes and good things, and hang some pres-ents for
her on their tree, and nev-er say one word to hurt her feel-ings."
"Oh, that will be splen-did ! " said jen-nie, and the two lit-tle girls hur-
ried off to find a poor dol-ly. They had three good dolls, who.se names
were Hen-ri-et-ta, Lau-ra, and Car-min-a-tive. The oth-er name of this
last doll was Bal-sam. The\- had read
the whole name on a bot-tle, and they
thought it ver-y pret-ty. They once had
an-oth-er doll, who lost her anus, and
so she had been put a-way in a clos-et.
They thought she would make a good
poor dol-ly, and so they brought her out
and called her Ann. They tore her clothes,
which were pret-ty old, any-way, and
made her look ver-y rag-ged and cold.
Ann was in-vit-ed to the Christ-mas par-ty, and she came. The tree
was all read-y, the dolls' ta-ble was spread with their best chi-na, and
there was can-dy, cake, and jel-ly, be-sides al-monds and rai-sins.
" Now then," said Su-sie, " I will speak for our dolls, and you must
speak for Ann. "
Jen-nie a-greed, and then Su-sie said, speak-ing for Hen-ri-et-ta:
" How do you do, lit-tle girl ? Are you ver-y cold ? Come up close
HEN-RI-ET-TA, LAU-RA, AND CAR-MIN-A-TIVE.
978
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
[OCTOBBR,
to the fire, and eat some of this jel-ly. It will warm you." And then
Su-sie took a small spoon-ful of the jel-ly, and af-ter put-ting it to
Ann's mouth, she of course ate it her-self
" Thank you ver-y much," said Jen-nie, speak-ing for Ann. " I think
.r-
I will take some of this can-dy as well as the jel-ly." And Jen-nie put a
piece of can-dy to Ann's mouth and then in-to her own.
"Are you ver-y poor?" said Su-sie, speak-ing for Lau-ra. "Is your
fa-ther dead? Do you like al-monds?"
" Yes, ma'am," said Jen-nie, speak-ing for the poor dol-ly, and each of
the lit-tle girls gave her an al-mond, and then ate them themselves.
" Have you any lit-tle broth-ers and sis-ters ? " said Su-sie, speak-ing
for Car-min-a-tive Bal-sam. " Do they have to go out and work ? "
"Yes, ma'am," said Jen-nie, for Ann. "They go out to work at five
o'-clock ev-ery morn-ing. They are ver-y young."
"What do they work at?" asked Su-sie, speak-ing for Hen-ri-et-ta.
"They make but-tons," said Jen-nie, af-ter think-ing a-while.
Then all the dolls were set up at the ta-ble, and Su-sie and Jen-nie
ate for all of them, giv-ing the poor dol-ly just as much as the rest.
Af-ter .sup-per the pres-ents were tak-en down from the tree, and Ann
had a lit-tle sil-ver thim-ble which had once be-longed to Jen-nie.
It was now time to hang up the stock-ings, and Su-sie said that Ann
must hang up her stock-ing just the same as the rest.
Then all the dolls were laid on their fac-es on the floor, so that they
should not see, while Su-sie and Jen-nie played they were San-ta Claus
I
i883.]
FOK VERY LITTLE KOLK.
979
and his wife, and filU;d the four stock-ings with small hits of can-dy and
pieces of ap-ple cut quite small. As Ann was so poor, a raisin was al-so
crammed in-to her stock- in l,''. When the dolls were tak-en up and seat-
ed in a row, and af-ter the\- had looked at the stock-ings long e-nough
to won-der what was in tiieni, each one's stock-ing was placed in her lap.
It was ni)w ([uitc liiiu' tor Ann Ui go home l)iil he-fore she went
a-way Hen-ri-et-ta gave lur a trt)ck ; Lau-ra gave her a lit- tie straw hat,
while Car-min-a-tive gave lu-r a red shawl, which was much bet-ter for
her than a cloak, as she had no arms. Some cake, and some of the
jel-1)' that was left, was wrapin-d up in a piece of pa-])er for her to
car-ry home to her m<ith-tr and her lit-tle l)roth-ers and sis-ters, and
then, be-ing made just as hap-p)- as it was pos-si-ble for a poor dol-ly
to be, she was tak-en back to the clos-et, which was now sup-posed
to be her moth-er's home, up a lit-tle al-ley.
"Those chil-dren ot ouis," saiil Su-sie, in a ihoughl-hil lone, "ought
to be much hap-])i-er for ha\ -ing been kind to that poor dol-ly."
"I think they look hap-pi-er al-read-y," said little Jen-nie, who
looked hap-py hcr-self for e-ven hav-ing played at kindness.
When the old-er sis-ter of these two lit-tle sfirls has time to make
arms for poor Ann, Susie and Jen-nie in-tend to a-dopt her in-to their fam-
i-ly, and be moth-ers to her, as the\- are to the oth-er dolls.
98o
lACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT,
Little squirrels, crack your nuts;
Chip your busy tune ;
Sound your merry rut-a-tuts —
Boys are coming soon !
Hide to-day, and pile to-day,
Hoard a goodly store ;
When the boys are gone away,
You may find no more.
Hear you not their merry shout,
Song, and happy laughter?
Sure as leaping, boys are out !
Girls are coming after.
Hide and pile, then, while you may.
Hoard a goodly store :
If the children come this way,
You may find no more.
THE TROUBLES OF THE TELEGRAPH.
I HAVE told you before of the way in which my
birds look at the telegraph wires. The little rascals
truly believe them to be hanging in mid-air just
for their benefit — a sort of perching ground, you
know. But some birds are wiser — either because
they have traveled more, or because they number
traveled birds among their intimate acquaintances.
What stories, now, some of those gay foreign song-
sters and talkers might tell of far-away telegraph
lines ; and who knows what the sea-gulls may hear
of the trials of the ocean cable ! Think of the fish
that gnaw its covering; the heavy shell-animals
that cling to it and weigh it down ; the whales that
bump against it ! And as for overland wires, it
would astonish you to hear the birds tell secrets
about that telegraph in Sumatra, which, you know,
is one of the East India Islands. Think of it there,
helpless and alone among the jungles ! The dear
Little School-ma'am says that at first, within three
years, there were over fifty serious interruptions on
this Sumatra telegraph, on account of elephants.
They actually pulled down the wires, in some in-
stances, and hid them away in the cane-brakes !
Probably they mistook them for a sort of trapping
apparatus. Imagine a suspicious elephant (with a
young family growing up about him) wrenching up
poles and dragging down wires, by way of precau-
tion ! Think, too, of the tigers and bears that
gently rub their sides against the poles, and the
monkeys that delight in finding such grand tight-
ropes all ready for their performances ! Ah, the
telegraph in that region has a hard time of it, and
the men who have to go and repair it are certainly
not to be envied. How would )-ou like to be in
that service, my hearers ?
Very much ? Well, well ! Go and tell your
mothers at once, then, and we '11 see what can
be done about it.
THE SQUIRREL AND HER CHILDREN.
Dear Jack : Here is another letter about squirrels. A lady
that we know tamed a squirrel, and it became so tame that it would
sit in her lap and eat out of her hand. One day, after it had been
with her about two months, it disappeared, and the lady was much
troubled to know what had become of it. One day, after it had been
missing about a month, she was out on the piazza ; she saw the
squirrel running toward her with five little squirrels, the body of each
being about as long as a boy's finger. The mother brought them
forward, one at a time, as if to introduce them. They were very
timid at first, but they soon got bolder, for their mother was ashamed
of them for being so much afraid. When they ran away, she would
run after them and scold at them. — Yours, sincerely,
M. AND W.
THE LAST OF THE SEVEN WONDERS.
A YOUNG friend, fourteen years of age, sends
me this account of a big pyramid, and when 1 ask
the dear Little School-ma'am whether it is exactly
correct or not, she says: "Ask the children." So,
why not ?
Dear Jack : I have been reading a good deal about the Great
Pyramid of Cheops. It is the only one remaining of the seven
wonders of the ancient world. It stands on a bluff on the edge of
the desert across the Nile from Cairo. It is 460 feet high and 793
feet square — -ill built of large blocks of stone. I have some pieces
of it. They are yellowish-white, and somewhat harder than chalk.
There is no rain or frost in Egypt- It is said there arc as many
solid feet of rock in the pyramid as it is miles to the sun. If
this pyramid was converted into paving stones two feet wide and
one and a half inches thick, it would make a pavement around the
earth twice, and then leave enough to pave from New York to the
principal cities of the Union. You or your "chicks" can make
the estimate. J. M.
A TRICYCLE JOURNEY.
What tliink you, young bicyclers, of a three-
wheeled, no-horse journey of over two thousand
miles ? The dear Little School-ma'am has just given
me the particulars of precisely such an exploit.
M. Someliody, Vice-President of a French Bicycling
Club, and his wife, started from Lyons lately on
a two-seated machine. They went on into Italy,
through Nice, Genoa, and Rome, to Naples. On
their way back to France, they took in Florence
and Turin, making, in fact, a total journey of
2300 miles, and at an average rate of fifty to sixty
miles a day.
Exactly. And your Jack has an idea that the
worthy but enterprising couple have been resting
at the rate of fifty to sixty days a mile ever since.
But then, what can a poor Jack-in-the-Pulpit
know of the charms of bicycle travel ?
i88>.]
THE LETTER-BOX.
983
who knows but you. too. may yet smile through your spectacles at
gray*haired Master Tommy or Miss Sue, your present chum, when
(in the year nineteen hundred and something) you call to mind that
picnic near the melon-patch last month, or yesterday's iine trick
upon Cousin Jack ?
Dear St. Nicholas: I read the article in the No%ember number
about some curious birds'>nests, and thought 1 would tell you of one
which I saw near Muscatine, Iowa.
The Cedar River, though quite wide at Muscatine, is very shallow,
and each ferry-boat is run across by means of a wire rope stretched
from one bank to the other. A block and pulley slips ahmg the wire,
and from each end of the boat comes a rope, which is fastened to the
block ; by means of ihe^e ropes the boat is inclined to the current in
such a manner that the force of the stream drives the boat across with-
out the use of oars, paddles, or screw-propeller.
On this traveling block, .1 pair of birds built their nest, and success-
fully reared a brood of young The boat crossed at all times of the
day and night, and every time the block, with the nest on it, would
go rattling across on the iron cable, above the water. The nest was
well yarded by the ferry-man, and was the mancl of all who passed
by.— Yours, I. M.
The following bright little puzzle is from a seven-year old reader
of St. Nichou^s:
lHAVBMhDEAU3u3.
.\ZLA}ASEnWBAKs.OL(l
The following are the most important e3dsting works of the artists
mentioned in this month's "Art and Artists'* paper:
DoMENiCHiNo: Communion of St. Jerome, Vatican. Rome; Mar-
tyrdom of St. Agnes, Pinacotheca, Bologna ; St. Marj' Magdalen,
Pitti Gallery, Florence: Portrait of a Cardinal, UfTizi (Jallciy, Flor-
ence: the Cumsan Sibyl. Borghcse Palace, Rome; Six Pictures
in the Louvre, Paris: Tobias and the Angel. National Gal!er>', Lon-
don; St. Jerome and the Angel. National Oaller>', London; many
frescoes in the Churches of Rome, Fano, and Naples.
GriDO Reni: Aurora, Rospigliosi Palace, Rome: Portrait of
Beatrice Cenci. Barberini Palace, Rome; Madonna dcUa Pieti. and
seven other pictures. Pinacotheca, Bologna; Sis. Paul and Anthony,
Berlin Museum; Cleopatra. Pitti Gallery*. Florence: Virgin and
Child. Ufiizi Gallery, Florence : Sts. Paul and Peter, Brera, Milan :
Fortune, Academy of St. Luke, Rome : Bacchus and Ariadne.
Academy of Si. Luke, Rome ; and many others in European gal-
leries and churches.
Elisabetta SiKANi : St. Anthony Adoring the Virgin and Child,
Pinacotheca, Bologna : Charity, Sciarra Palace, Rome ; Martha and
Mary, Belvedere, Vienna: Ciipids, Lichtenstein Gallery, Vienna;
Infant Christ, Hermitage. Sl Petersburg.
Caravacgio; Beheading of Si. John, CaihedntI, Malta: En-
tombment of Christ. Vatican, Rome; Holy Family, Borghesc Gal-
lt:r>', Rome ; Cheating Gamester, Sciarra Palace, Rome : Geometry,
Spada Palace, Rome ; Fortune-teller, Capitol Gallery, Rome ;
Earthly Love. Berlin Museum: Portrait of Vignacourt, Louvre,
Paris.
1 1. Spagnoletto: Flaying of Si. Hartholomew, Queen of Spain's
Gallery, Madrid; Ixion on the Wheel, Queen of Sp.iin's Gallery,
Madrid ; Jacob's Dream, Queen of Spain's Gallery, Madrid ; Jacob
Watering the Flock, Escunal. Spain : Adoration of the Shepherds,
Cathedral of Valencia: Calo of Utica, Louvre, Paris.
<]■/- ASSOCIATION -
REPORT.
. XINKTEKNTH
OtKlNi; the summer months many, if not most, <>f our Chapters
have been scattered. But the objects of ihe society have not been
forgotten. Indeed, freed from city limits and roaming by the sea-
shore and among the mountains, we have all enjoyed the best
opportunities for collecting and observing. And now the tide has
turned, and the town-bound trains have been the full ones, and our
dispersed naturalists have gathered together again, and arc busily
comparing the fniits of their various expeditions. Your Presi-
dent lately had the pleasure of visiting Chapter 283, of Greenfield,
Mass., and was greatly surprised and delighted- There are now
thirty members, and all are wide-awake and enthusiastic. Every
day, during vacation, exxursions were made for flowers, eggs, or
insects, or time was spent in classifying and arranging the
specimens. They have built three elegant cases, and have in one
of them over one thousand insects, many of which are accurately
labeled. We hope that the Secretary will be willing to write for us
a complete description of their entomological and botanical cases, for
they are the best adapted to the wants of the A. A. of any we have
seen. They have eggs to exchange. Other requests for exchanges
follow.
Exchanges.
Oregon and Washington Ter. Plants, for eggs, minerals, fossils,
and shells. — H. W. Cardwell, White Salmon, Klikital Co., Washing-
ton Ter.
Sandwich Islands. Shells, for insects or living chrysalids. — Miss
Isabel P. Cooke, Concord, Mass.
Petrified wood, for sea-beans, buck-eyes, ores, or Florida moss : also
desired, .a foreign correspondent. — Jacob Gaddis, Fairfield. Iowa.
Insects and birds' eggs. Please write before sending specimens.
— Fred. W. Hatch, Box 338, Nashua, N. H.
Copper ore, fur fossils. — Ezra Lamed, 2546 S. Dearborn St., Chi-
cago. III.
Eggs, for eggs and sea-mosses. — C. W. Sprague, Hodges' Block,
Twenty-second St. , Chicago, III.
New Chapters.
No.
Name.
312. New York. N. V. (G).
313. Chicago, 111. (H) ....
314. Lancaster, Pa. (A)...
315. Syracuse, N. V. (A)
3'6.
318.
Palmyra. N. Y. (A) .
Buffalo, N. Y. (E) .
Sweetland, Cal. (A).
Members. Secretary's Address.
4. . Geo. Wildey. 249 W. 26th St.
13. .0. J. Stein, 51 S. Sheldon St.
6..E. K. Heitshu,
322 W^ James St.
6 , , E. J. Carpenter,
222 Montgomery' St.
8. -Jarvis Merick.
10. .W. L. Koester, 523 Main St.
7.. Miss K. M. Fowler.
Chapter Reports.
Jefferson, Ohio.
We have an aqiianum almost finished. On apiece of fresh cocoa-
nut I saw what I took to be a mold, but it was very strange. All
over it were tiny crimson s.ics. Will some one tell me what it was?
1 have analyzed twenty-four flowers.
We have heard essays on chalk, the echinus, reindeer, etc. The
boys are going to make a cabinet.
CiARA L. Northwav, Sea
984
THE LETTER-IMKX.
[October,
One of our members found a petrifted mushroom. We think it a
wonderful specimen. David K. Orr, Allegheny City, Pa.
H. V. Williams, of Buffalo (B), writes : We know Number 14. We
try to have the subject of every paper something which has fallen
under the writer's personal observation. I think it will please you
to know that the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences allows us to
meet at its rooms. We also have the benefit of its library and
museum.
Sycamore, III.
The cat-birds have held a grand concert in our cherry-trees this
morning. Is n't it a pity that, when they are such fine songsters,
they condescend to squall as they usually do ? I have a little garden
with twelve varieties of wild flowers. It is ever so much better
than an herbarium, for I can watch the flowers grow. 1 love the
A. A. work more and more. Pansy Smith.
[It will be new lo many that the ca^-bird is a "fine songster," but
he is little inferior to the mocking-birii. How many have heard him
do his best ?]
Galveston, Texas.
This city is on an island of the same name, in the Gulf of Mexico.
It is low and flat, not being more than six feet above the gulf in
the highest part. It is formed of sand from South American rivers,
brought over by the gulf current. It was settled in 1836, after the
battle of San Jacinto, which secured the independence of Texas.
Before this it was covered with tall grass, and the only trees upon
it were three small groups of stunted oaks. The nearest rocks are
three hundred feet below the surface of the island, and therefore
there is no way of collecting them. I have sea-shells and "sand-
dollars" to exchange for ores. Philip J. Tucker.
Malden, Mass.
Our Chapter was organized early in June, with six members. Wc
now have nine. Being in a region rather unfavorable to research in
natural history, it is more difiicult for us than for some of the more
favored Chapters. Nevertheless, the difficully of acquiring knowl-
edge and obtaining specimens will make us value more highly the
results of our exertions. Chas. C. Beale.
[Nothing is more true. If a large collection were gh-efi to any
Chapter, it would be nearly worthless.)
St. Clair, Pa.
AUow me to oflfer a suggestion as to the possible formation of
geodes. Water, we know, sinks into the ground until it comes to
some thick rock, and then stands, and is reached by artesian wells.
The water, standing thus in pools, may have had a hard crust formed
around it, and afterward the water may have dried, leaving a crys-
tallized surface. Large caves are formed by the action of water on
limestone, and my thought is that geodes are only miniature caves,
and formed in the same way. Geo. Powell.
Leverett, Mass.
One day 1 saw this : At the base of the stalk of an herb was a
web extending entirely around the stalk, and within it a mass of life
which, on examination, proved to be small green spiders. I think
I am not exaggerating when I say there were not less than ten
thousand of them. Are spiders ever gregarious, laying their eggs so
that the young form vast communities? One morning 1 noticed
that our fly-trap, which had been full of flies the evening previous,
was nearly empty. Soon I saw, to my astonishment, aline of black
ants enter the trap, where each one seized a fly, whirled it rapidly
around a few times, and then tugged it off" to its nest. I calculated
that several hundred flies had been carried off during the night.
Edith S. Field.
Independence, Kansas.
We have eighteen members, and we are trying to impiove our
minds in natural histor>'. The praines are covered with wild flowers,
and we are learning to analyze them. We have a large room, with
a picture of Prof. Agassiz hung up in it. We have had essays read
on diflferent subjects. The next will be on serpents. We gave an
entertainment recently, and took in enough money to buy a good
microscope (magnifies 1000 times), and had some left besides. We
are tr>'ing to be one of the Banner Chapters.
Willie H. Plank, Sec.
^ Fort Wayne, Ind.
I have prepared a number of microscopic objects in Canada bal-
sam, between glass slips, such as blood-corpuscles, bees'-wings, sul-
phur (which looks very beautiful under the condensing lens at nightl.
scales of butterflies, etc. I have three dainty humming-birds' nests,
and a humming-bird and egg from Southern California. The bird
(Chrysoiampis moschitus) is three and a quarter inches long, includ-
ing the bill. The back is brilliant green, and the throat a bright
ruby, that sparkles in the sunlight like gems. The nests are about
the size of small walnuts. They are made of sage-leaves, cotton,
wool, seeds of grasses, down, feathers, and cobwebs. One has pale
green lace-moss woven in and streaming out. The egg is like a .
small white bean. I have also an oriole's nest from California, made '
of straw and lined with hair and wool. The straw is woven in and
out of eucalyptus leaves, and looks as if it had been sewed. The
egg is white, with scrawls on it, which look as if made with a pen.
John L. Hanna, 219 Madison Street.
West Medford, Mass.
Chapter iSg has been analyzing minerals. We have been given
the use of a small room. It has been freshly papered and we are
now painting it. We are to have a press in the club-room, and each
is to bring her flowers and press them there.
Edith Lamson, Sec.
Lansing, Mich.
The interest increases, and we have added four new members.
Our work has been mainly on the questions from St. Nicholas.
We have quite a number of specimens for our cabinet.
Mrs. N. B. Jones.
Germantown, Pa.
We like the following method of preparing a paper on any sub-
ject: First, think of all the questions you can on the subject; write
them down and number them ; then read up on each of these, and
write the answers from memory-. Elliston J. Perot.
Peekskill, N. Y.
Peekskill Chapter has made a fort on a small rocky island in the
Hudson, and christened the island Agassiz Island, and the fort
Fort Agassiz. Geo. E. Briggs.
Condensed Reports from Chapters assigned to
Jno. F. Glosser, Berwyn, Pa.
Linville H. Wardwell, Secretary Beverly, Mass., Chapter, reports
appropriation of $14.00 for instruments, etc. Among those pur-
chased is a microscope. The question whether all animals are
useful to man was discussed, but remained undecided at date of
report. Three keepers were appointed, one each to have charge
of the herbarium, minerals, and insects. A vacation of two months
was taken by this Chapter.
The report of Chapter 126, E. Philadelphia. Pa., through its
Secretary, Raymond P. Kaighn, says a vacation, extending through
July and August, is taken. Many specimens are contributed,
among which are two nicely mounted red-wing blackbirds.
[In reading this letter to our Berwyn Chapter, one bright member,
of about twelve years, took exception to the name " red-wing black-
bird," and said the proper name is " starling." Whether he is right
or not, I leave to you, but judging from the number of specimens he
brings in at a meeting he has fallen madly in love with natural
history. ]
Report from Chapter 109, Washington, D. C, states that all rules
are suspended from June to September, and that a picnic will be
held each week during that time. The President sends the report
this time, and says the Secretary will be abroad for several years.
While we regret losing her pleasantly written reports, the Chapter,
no doubt, will gain numerous specimens from the countries she may
visit.
Charles W. Spra^e, Secretary Chapter 108 (D), Chicago, III.,
says they have obtained a great number of birds' eggs, and have a
variety in good condition to trade for rare and valuable specimens of
any kind.
A General Debate.
Instead of the regular monthly reports for November, we propose
a general debate, in which all Chapters and all corresponding mem-
bers are invited to participate. Let the question be :
Resohied, That geodes are formed without the intervention of
animal or vegetable life.
We hope that the President of each Chapter will interest himself
to appoint some one who can worthily represent his Chapter (the
person might be determined by competitive papers in the Chapter),
or that he will cause the Chapter, as a whole, to prepare a paper on
this subject. The best arguments on both sides shall be printed.
All papers must reach us by the first of January', 1883. The usual
reports will be resumed again in December. Let us get all the infor-
mation possible on this subject. Consult books, papers, and fiiends.
Examine specimens and localities, if possible; reason out your own
conclusions, and let us see whether we can not settle the question.
Address all communications to H* \n H. Ballard, Principal
Lenox Academy, Leno.v, Mass.
358'
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