St. Nicholas.

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Material Information

Title:
St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title:
Saint Nicholas
Physical Description:
68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language:
English
Creator:
Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher:
Scribner,
Publication Date:

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's literature
Literature for Children
Genre:
serial   ( sobekcm )

Notes

General Note:
Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note:
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier:
notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID:
TRAI000013:00001

Full Text



















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THE BOY RUBENS AND HIS -'


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ST. NICHOLA




MARCH, 1876.


RUBENS.

BY EMMA BURT.


LONG, long ago, toward the close of the sixteenth
century, a boy sat all alone, in an alcove of a queer
old studio in the beautiful Art-city of Antwerp.
The ill-tempered master had dismissed his pupils
and had gone away. The boy still loitered, rest-
less and distraught. What had troubled this tran-
quil young spirit? He said dreamily to himself:
"Perhaps, after all, I am mistaken. If I pos-
sessed power would this wonderfully able master
misuse me every lesson? Could he fling the brushes
and palette, and stools at my head? It may be
I mistake, and that I should have adopted the pro-
fession of law, or even should have continued as
the Countess de Lalaing's page. With her all was
lovely and stately and magnificent; here all is
ugly, uncouth, and unkind-except -
"Except, indeed! Nay, nay, Peter Paul Rubens,
you know that nothing besides is so dear to you as
beautiful, beloved art; and, right or wrong, we will
push ahead and see what will come of it!"
Having finished this little speech to himself, the
lad roused from his reverie and laid away the moist,
unhappy sketch on which his master had been
giving him instruction. He then found him a
fresh canvas, and retreating to this lonely corner,
placed it upon a chair and seated himself before it
upon an old wooden box.
He sat for a time quite thoughtful. All the
morning's trouble passed out of his mind. In its
place flitted a glorious train of visions-thoughts
of gods and goddesses, gnomes and satyrs, forests
and beasts, splendid courts with princely men and
women, lofty cathedrals, and innumerable saints.
At last he thought of Mary, the mother of Christ.
He lifted his downcast eyes and eagerly seized
VOL. *III.-I9.


a pencil, and sketched a strong outline of a woman's
head. "Ah I that is a little like my thought,"
he said.
He then boldly mixed his colors and laid them
on. the canvas. Stroke upon stroke he painted,
ardently, yet with care. He forgot he was wearied
with the morning's task, forgot he had not dined,
even forgot that he had been disturbed and doubt-
ing. Very happy was he in this close and anxious
task of creating a picture out of beautiful thought.
So absorbed he was that the door opened and he
never heard, and the master entered and gazed
silently over his shoulder, and he did not know it.
The master was a true painter by nature; but
intemperance had dulled his powers, and made him
irritable and brutal toward his pupils. Yet enough
of the artist remained to cause him to now lift his
hands in surprise and wonder at the bold and
powerful sketch this boy had dared to execute in
his absence; and he involuntarily cried out:
The boy's ardor, and courage, and industry
will make him great! "
Long ago both master and pupil passed away.
The master is remembered only from his great
pupil. The pupil is known, the world over, as one
of its remarkable men and masters.
In the "Pilot-race" of the December ST. NICH-
OLAS, you will find Rubens sailing along beside
Shakespeare. He was born in that same glorious
age when there were giants among men. Men
with minds so strong, unfettered and wide, that
they took in all human nature, and mythology and
fairydom besides. Those were royal times in the
history of mind!
Rubens was born in the year 1577, just thirteen


VOL. III.


No. 5.


M i


S.







RUBENS.


years after the birth of Shakespeare, and he has
been called The Shakespeare of Art; but this is
hardly true, for there has never been a Shakespeare
in art. Shakespeare was too. universal. Rubens
comes the nearest to him, doubtless.
Rubens' life was one long brilliant stream of
prosperity and happiness. It was as if a host of
fairies had conspired to see how much they could
do for a mortal. Ruin was all about him; but he
rose above it, superb in his greatness and success.
It was a troublous time of cruel civil war in his
own country, and disturbance abroad. His parents
fled for safety from Antwerp to Cologne, and
thence to the village of Siegen, just out of Cologne,
where, on the 29th of June, Rubens was born.
This was the festival day of St. Peter and St. Paul,
so they named the boy Peter Paul Rubens. Shortly
after his birth they returned to Cologne, and dwelt
in the modest house on the Sternen Gasse, with its
low-roofed rooms and its small garden of pot-herbs.
On the front of this house there is .an inscrip-
tion, calling it the birthplace of Rubens, and the
place where Marie de Medicis died. But Rubens
was not born in this house; he spent his childhood
there.
On his father's side his remote ancestor was a
tanner by trade; but his father was a doctor of
laws, a magistrate, a frequenter of courts, and a
friend of kings. His mother was of noble lineage.
The parents had great hopes for this fifth child,
Peter Paul. They would make him a doctor of
laws, and he should be even more distinguished
than his father. They placed him at the College
of the Jesuits in Cologne. Here he showed that
eager relish and facility for learning that went with
him through life. Soon there came a change. The
father died; the country became more tranquil;
the mother removed to Antwerp, for its better
advantages for the education of her children. This
was in his tenth year. At the age of thirteen, he
had made such progress in Latin, and several
modern languages, and in knowledge of common
law, that his mother placed him as page to the
Countess de Lalaing, thinking this might prove a
stepping-stone to distinction in his profession. For
in those days the patronage of the great was highly
regarded.
His good sense, docility, and natural grace made
conformity to the ceremony of this princely house
an easy task for Rubens. But he soon wearied
of this empty leisure and splendor. His spirit was
too noble, and his mind too active, for him to wdit
in content upon the favors of the great. Besides,
he had become inflamed with a love for the fine
arts, and his secret wish was to be a painter.
So one day he laid all his discontent, his hopes,
and his desires before his good mother. He told


her all his reasons, and begged her to permit him
to choose his life.
His mother was a woman of high ability. Ten-
derly sagacious and vigilant was she over her chil-
dren's interest. Now she was disappointed in her
child's wishes. She felt that the life of an artist
was unworthy of his birth, station, and superior
education.
But she listened to his plea, and consented to his
wish. With characteristic promptness, she took
him from the palace of the Countess, and placed
him for instruction with one Van Haegt, a painter,
and a friend of the family. This man had little
ability; so Rubens was soon after placed in charge
of Adam Van Oort, an historical painter of some
note in that day. With this intemperate and
violent man, Rubens spent four years in close, if
not happy, study.
At length the mild and courteous youth could no
longer bear this violence of manner, and he was
forced to leave Van Oort.
He now placed himself under the instruction of
Otto Venius, painter to the Archduke Albert, Gov-
ernor of the Netherlands.
This was a happy change. The way to his
cherished ambition was no longer a thorny one-it
was now an enchanting pathway.
Venius was a high-bred, generous, and learned
man; a painter of some reputation, a courtier,
and an excessive lover of art and letters. He saw
his pupil's genius, and became at once his com-
panion and friend.
Rubens was soon elected a member of the old
established painters' club, called the Guild of St.
Luke," and in various ways was recognized as the
equal of his master and of his guild.
At the end of four years, this excellent master
told him frankly he could teach him no more, and
advised his going to Italy in order to study the
older masters.
Eight years had this youth been toiling to learn
the technicalities of art, and to acquire unerring
perception of form and color, and mastery of touch.
A long apprenticeship, do you think ? Not too long.
Let me tell you what it did for him. All life
was glorious to him. His imagination was teem-
ing with the things that knowledge had brought
him. History, mythology, Christian religion, and
the strong life about him, peopled his mind with
countless pictures. He was filled with the fire of
hope and daring. Now he had reached his strong,
young manhood-the age of twenty-three years.
His master had pronounced him no longer an
apprentice, but a master also. He was thoroughly
equipped with a well-learned profession, and was
now ready to put forth his energies and work.
And this was the way he chose: He dared be


274


[MARCH,







1876.1 RUBE NS. 275


true to his own thoughts, without fear of school or
critic. What he could gather from others was
well; but his work and his way must be his own.
His subjects were dramatic. His force of thought,
and skilled mastery of hand, enabled him with
rapid stroke upon stroke, in a marvelously short
time, to lay upon the canvas one glorious, glowing,
living scene. So living were his pictures that the
great Guido Reni (whose thorn-crowned Christ you
have everywhere seen), when he first saw Rubens'
work, cried out: "Does this master mix blood with
his colors ?" This is Rubens. This is the master
-who became the founder of a new school in art.
Then in the year 1600, the good Venius pre-
sented Rubens to the Archduke Albert and the
Infanta Isabella.
These patrons of the fine arts were delighted
with the young painter. There was a charm about
him always, as a boy and as a man, that drew to
him friends wherever he went. He had a certain
elegance and fitness of behavior, ready wit, tact,
wide culture, most.engaging humor, and grace of
expression. Withal he had manly independence,
that commands respect always and everywhere.
He is said to have looked like this: "Tall;
well-made; fine florid complexion; noble in his
manners-both mild and proud; strong constitu-
tion; distinguished in his dress; and he generally
wore a gold chain about his neck."
So, with the favor of the Archduke, Rubens
went to Italy. Here he became the friend of the
Duke of Mantua, who, too, was delighted with the
young painter and his amazing work.
Observing Rubens' quick intelligence and noble
presence, the Duke drew him from his study ot
Titian and other old painters, in whom he was
absorbed, and sent him on a secret mission to the
Court of Spain, with a present to King Philip III.
of seven superb horses. Here again he won dis-
tinction. The King liked him much, and gave
him orders for pictures, and loaded him with gifts
and honors. His life in Spain would make a fairy-
tale in itself. His triumphant return to Italy, and
the honors there heaped upon him-the way
princes and nobles vied with each other in gaining
possession of the works of his hand at any price-
would make another story in itself. So would his
life in Paris, and in London, and again in Antwerp.
But, dear girls and boys, that would be too many
stories in one. I can give only glimpses as we go
along.
Eight years had passed since he left the good
Otto Venius. He was still young, he had been flat-
tered beyond measure, yet was unspoiled. He had
not lost sight of the one purpose of his life, for
which he had left the palace of the Countess de
Lalaing when a boy.


In the niidst of all changes and excitements here
and elsewhere, he continued the diligent study and
practice of painting, and proudly upheld the honor
of his profession.
Once, while in England, an eminent personage
said to him: The ambassador of his Catholic
Majesty, I see, amuses himself by painting."
Rubens replied: "I amuse myself by playing
ambassador sometimes.'
These years had been full of profit and pleasure
to him, yet he now looked longingly homeward.
He wrote to his mother: "How is it possible I
have lived so long away from you It is too long.
Henceforth I will devote myself to your happiness.
Antwerp shall be my future residence. I have
acquired a taste for horticulture, and our little gar-
den shall be enlarged and cultivated, and our home
will be a paradise."
Word came of his mother's declining -health.
He hastened home, but alas too late. Before he
arrived she had died. He was so stricken with
grief that, for four months, he withdrew from the
world into the Abbey of St. Michael, where his
mother was buried.
He now thought of returning to Italy. But the
Archduke Albert and the Infanta Isabella, as the
story goes, bound him to them with a chain of
gold." He yielded to their wishes on condition
that he might be allowed to dwell apart from the
gay Court at Brussels. To this they consented,
and he accordingly built him a beautiful home in
Antwerp. It included a splendid studio and a great
museum, which contained gems, pictures, cameos,
statues, and innumerable other rare antique objects.
In after years the Duke of Buckingham induced
Rubens to part with this collection for the sum of
1I0,000.
Connected with this fine home were gardens,
conservatories, stables of valuable horses, and a
collection of wild beasts.. These wild creatures he
always delighted to paint. Here, doubtless, he
painted all the scenes in which they occur; but it
is said that his famous picture of the Lion Hunt
was from a real adventure of his in Africa.
Thus he could arrange everything to his taste
and convenience,-he had become so extremely
rich.
At this time Rubens married Isabella Brandt, a
senator's daughter, and settled to a happy domestic
life, and to a systematic plan of work.. His method
of life was this: To rise at four o'clock in the morn-
ing; to eat a simple breakfast; to ride on horse-
back, and at an early hour set himself diligently at
work in his studio, where he painted all day.
He seldom made visits; but his friends were
always welcome, and conversed with him while at
work. It was his habit to have some person read


1876.]


RUBENS.


275







276 RUBENS. [MARCH,


to him, while painting, from Livy, Plutarch, Cicero,
Seneca, or other classic authors. This is one secret
of his inexhaustible resources of mind. He was
severely temperate in his habits-refusing to cloud
his intellect, impair his perceptions, to weaken the
power of his arm, or unsteady the firmness of his


QUENTIN MATSYS* WELL.


touch, by the use of strong drinks, or excess of any
kind.
A powerful man he was-with the.nerve, muscle,
endurance of a Hercules. So firm was his arm that


he had no need to use the "rest-stick" in painting.
And he preferred to keep his strength.
Yet he was none the less a gay and genial man.
At evening when he dined, the table was surrounded
with eminent and gifted people, whose discussions
one can fancy were like other table-talk across the
Channel, where "rare Ben
Jonson," Shakespeare, Gar-
rick, and others said their
Brilliant say. Those were
the days of mental giants.
These years Rubens had
become so madly the fash-
ion that he could not fill
the orders sent him. So
he adopted this method:
he made small distinct
sketches in oil (which lie
seldom changed) and had
his pupils transfer them to
1,;; large canvas, and carry
them forward to the last
Stages, when he took them
Sin hand again, and be-
Sstowed the finishing mas-
iI ter-touches.
For Marie de Medicis, the
Queen of France, he exe-
cuted twenty-four immense
S1 paintings for the Luxem-
II bourg Palace, which are
I 1 now to be seen in the
Louvre. I cannot give you
the names even of the pict-
ures he painted. They far
exceeded a thousand during
his life.
SIndeed his pictures are
to be found in nearly every
great gallery in the world.
Munich has an almost
Countless number. Ant-
werp now possesses very
many of his best works. In
S its Museum are twenty-
three,-among them, the
Crucifixion of Christ be-
tween the two thieves" is
wonderful, and the "In-
credulity of St. Thomas is
---- most expressive. In the
Church of St. Paul's is his
"Scourging of Christ." In
the churches of St. Jacques and of St. Augustine
other of his works are to be seen.
There are few places in Europe so rich in mag-
nificent churches, and in remarkable works of art,


276


RUBENS.


[MARCH,





RUBENS.


as is Antwerp. The great Cathedral of N6tre
Dame is especially interesting. The object of
greatest interest within is the famous work of Ru-
bens, The Descent from the Cross." In front of
the west door of this cathedral is Quentin Matsys'
well, a remarkable work in iron, executed by Quen-
tin Matsys, the celebrated Antwerp blacksmith,
who, some say, through love of a painter's daughter,
became himself a painter. Just opposite the cathe-
dral, in the Place Verte, is a fine statue of Rubens.
But to return to the story:
A gentle and painstaking master was Rubens.
He watched the least indication of genius, and
strove to impart to others who were worthy all that
he had learned at so great cost. Thus, at length,
his school of pupils became a school of master
painters of undying fame.
Such prosperity could not go unmolested. Mali-
cious and envious artists tried to injure him. But
his gay humor and gentle charity disarmed them,
and the slanders fell to the ground.
To me, the most. beautiful thing in his life was
the way he found employment for his needy ene-
mies; and the way he sought out and bestowed
richly upon poor and suffering, but gifted artists,
and set them in a way to help themselves.
Some person tried to sell to Rubens a share in
the "philosopher's stone," which he claimed to
have found. Rubens gayly pointed to his brushes,
and said, "I have found the philosopher's stone."
Truly, it could not have been placed in better
hands-this mighty gift-for the gold that came
from it blessed all about him.
He once visited a certain nobleman in prison,
and found there a stranger in whom he became in-
terested. He discovered the man to be one Brower,
a painter, whose merit he had before observed. He
at once procured his release and took him to his
own home. The man, though well endowed by
nature, had too dissolute tastes to be content in
this elegant and refined home, so he escaped to his
own element and soon after died.
Rubens' life was now exceedingly rich,-there
was his beloved wife, whom he so often painted,
and his two beautiful sons, and his princely home,
and his countless friends and patrons.
Yet he was at this time sadly afflicted by the
state of his country, and he carefully considered
political affairs.
The Archduke Albert felt so great confidence in
Rubens, that at his death he enjoined upon his
wife, Isabella, to choose Rubens as her adviser, as
he knew him to be an "upright, wise, clear-headed
man."
She selected him, therefore, to be her ambassador
to Holland. This difficult position he filled with
such success, that upon his return she sent him to


the Court of Spain upon another delicate political
mission. Here his wide knowledge and diplomatic
skill enabled him to accomplish that for which he
was sent. The King held him in so high regard
that he was made Secretary of the Privy Council.















D 1

--------
T M aII







STATUE OF RUBENS IN ANTWERP.

After long delay, in which great and many hon-
ors were paid him, he returned to Brussels. Here
he was not long permitted to remain-his country
still needed his service. He must go to England
to negotiate peace between England and Spain.
This mission also, after long delay, he accomplished
with singular success.
King Charles I.,-that gentle, melancholy and
doomed monarch, that passionate lover of the fine
arts,-grew very fond of this artist-ambassador,
and delighted to honor" him.
His career had now reached its utmost splendor.
He was lodged at Black Friars at the royal charge;
he was given the work of painting the ceilings at
Whitehall with scenes from the life of James I.; he
had countless orders; he was given an annuity for
life, and the King gave him besides, as a mark of
favor, a hat-loop of diamonds worth ten thousand
crowns.
And one day, in that same Whitehall, beneath his
own paintings, he knelt before the King, who pre-
sented him with the royal sword, and, attaching the
regal portrait to a rich gold chain, suspended it
about his neck; and so the artist Rubens was
knighted-Sir Peter Paul Rubens. Alas the poor


1876.]


277






THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


King was himself nearly bankrupt. Do you know
that not long after this, the gentle-hearted King
Charles laid his head down upon the block and
was beheaded?
And yet Rubens' prosperity went on. And I will
tell you another singular thing: Marie de Medicis,
ex-Queen of France, the former friend and patron
of Rubens, died in her 76th year a most pitiable
death. Deserted and exiled, she died so sadly in
the very little house, the childhood home of Rubens.
Was it not curious ?
But Rubens' prosperity went on to the very end.
True, he was not without sorrow. During these
years his wife died. This was a great grief.
After this delay in England, he gladly returned
to his native land. He became Director of the
School of Art. He married Helena Forman, and
settled to his old life in Antwerp. Very soon,
though, he was called again to public duty. This
time it was an embassy to Holland, by which he


succeeded in causing the States to enter into a
treaty of peace with Spain.
Once more he was at home, ready to enjoy a
well-earned repose. But now disease attacked him,
and he could no longer work as he had done.
Then death came to him, in his 63d year, 1640.
After this came the honors which he could never
know. Such a procession of utmost splendor was
perhaps never seen in the old Art-city of Antwerp.
People of all nations, stations, and professions fol-
lowed him to the tomb; and before his bier was
carried a crown of gold-for was not this man a
prince among painters ?
Well might the city of Antwerp do honor to him
by whom it had been so nobly enriched.
He was buried in the Collegiate Church of St.
Jacques, an imposing edifice which contains many
precious and rare works. To this day pilgrims of
art visit this church that they may see the tomb of
the great painter.


THE BOY EMIGRANTS.

BY NOAH BROOKS.


CHAPTER IX.
A MISADVENTURE.
THE next few days of the journey were toilsome
and uncomfortable. The nights were hot, and the
emigrants were greatly annoyed with mosquitoes,
so much so that Hi gave notice that he should go
crazy if they did not let up" on him. Long rains
had swollen the streams; the Platte overflowed its
banks in some places, and the bottom lands opposite
Fort Kearny were deluged. The boys had depended
on crossing the river for the sake of visiting the
fort, which was on the south side, but they were
prevented by the high water. They had no special
errand at the fort, but as they had now been a
month on the road, they thought it would be pleas-
ant to go over and "see where folks lived," as
Barney expressed it. He and Mont made the
attempt but gave it up, after wading a long distance
through the overflow without reaching deep water.
This was a disappointment, and they pushed on
with a slight feeling of loneliness. They all wanted
to see what a frontier fort was like, though they
knew that it was only a collection of substantial
buildings-barracks and storehouses-surrounded


by a stockade. There was something romantic
and adventurous about a military post in the In-
dian country, which, to Arthur at least, was very
attractive. The next fort on their route was Fort
Laramie, and to this stage on their journey they
now passed on, still keeping by the north bank of
the Platte.
There was no occasion for loneliness, however,
as the road was now all alive with teams. It was
the custom for emigrant companies to combine in
-trains of several companies each. These "laid" by
sometimes, for a day or two at a time, in order to
rest, repair the wear and tear of teams, and get
ready for a fresh start. On such occasions the
camp was busy, though our young fellows enjoyed
the rest when it came. It was tedious work march-
ing all day, camping at night, packing up and be-
ginning another march next day. They knew
they must be three or four months crossing the
continent, and a "lay-by" of two or three days
was always welcome; and nobody thought such a
stoppage was a serious delay. After a few weeks,
everybody got over all feverish eagerness to be the
first at the mines. Now and then some small party
of horsemen, lightly equipped and traveling rap-


278


[MARCH,






THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


idly, pushed by the body of emigrants, their faces
eagerly set toward the land of gold, and scarcely
taking time to sleep.
From such rapid travelers as these our boys
ascertained who was behind, and they soon learned
the names, origin and character of most of the
companies between the Sierra Nevada and the Mis-
souri. While they were camped for a day's rest-
Sunday's rest-near Dry Creek, Bush came up with
his little cow and cart. He had been traveling with
a Wisconsin company, but had left them behind
when near Fort Kearny and had pushed on by
himself. Bush was full of news. He had passed
several parties of whom our boys had heard; and-
he had been passed by several others, some of
whom were ahead, and others of whom were again
behind. In this way the intelligence on the trail
went back and forth. Emigrants thus learned all
about the fords, the grass, wood and water, and
the condition of the road before them. Somehow,
the gossip of the great moving population of the
plains flowed to and fro, just as it does in a small
village. Men sat. around their camp-fires at night,
or lounged in the sun of a leisure day, and retailed
to each other all the information they picked up as
they traveled. Every man was like a newspaper to
the next man he met. There were no tidings from
far countries, none from home, and only a very little
from the land to which they were bound. The
long column of emigration that stretched across the
continent had its'own world of news. It was all
compressed in the space that lay between the Mis-
souri and the Sierra Nevada. Thousands of camp-
fires sparkled at night along the winding trail that
ran on and on across the heart of the continent.
Thousands of wagons moved slowly on to the west-
ward, an almost unbroken procession through an
unknown land; by each fire was a community of
wanderers; each wagon was a moving mansion
carrying its own family with its worldly possessions,
and laden with the beginnings of a new State be-
yond the mountains.
Just now, camped on a level,greensvard, with a
bright June sun lighting up the landscape, our boy
emigrants enjoyed their day of rest very much.
They were grouped under the shelter of the tent,
which was caught up at the sides to let in the air,
for the weather was growing hot.
"'Pears to me," said Bush, "this tent is mighty
fine, but it lets the sun in. It's too all-fired white
inside."
Bush likes to camp under his go-cart," laughed
Hi. '"But I allow a tent is uncommonly handy
when it comes on to rain."
As for the sun shining in through the cloth,"
said Mont, "I think I see a way to help that." So
he caught up one or two of the blankets which were


opened out on the grass to air, and flung them over
the ridge-pole.
"You are a powerful known' creeter, Mont,"
said Bush, admiringly. A feller 'd suppose you
had been on the plains all your life. And you a
counter-jumper at that."
Barney remonstrated that Mont was not a coun-
ter-jumper. "Besides," he added, it don't follow
that a young fellow don't know anything beyond
his counter because he has spent some of his days
behind one."
"'Jess so, jess so," said Bush. "Mont is on
hand here to prove that. There's fellers as takes
to rough work, and plains tricks and doin's, as
a cat does to cream. Then, ag'in, there's fellers as
aint no more use around a team than a cow would
be in a parlor."
Mont listened with some amusement to this con-
versation, as he lay on the ground looking up at
the shaded roof of the tent. He explained: "You
see, Bush, I like teaming, roughing it, and living
out in the open air. Would you like to tend store,
lay bricks, or work in a factory ? "
Nary time," rejoined Bush.
"I don't believe you would take to any such
business, nor do well in it, if you were put to it.
Do you ?"
No. IP I was to be sot to work,-at regular
work, you know,-why, I should go right straight
down to where flour's fifteen dollars a bar'l, and
no money to buy with at that. Oh, no I'm gay
and chipper at lumberin', getting' out rock, teamin',
or any of them light chores; but come to put me
to work,-regular work,-I 'm just miserable."
"Then there's Arty," put in Barney. "He's
all for live animals. Just see that steer follow him
round after sugar."
Tige had been loitering about the camp instead
of keeping with the cattle that grazed near by,
and Arty, having allowed him to smell of a little
sugar which he carried in his hand, was enticing
him about the camping-ground.
Dreffle waste of sugar," commented Tom.
Never you mind about the sugar," said Hiram,
reprovingly. "That's the knowingest critter on
the plains; and if Arty has a mind to give him a
spoonful, now and then, it's all right. We've got
enough to carry us through."
Hearing the debate, Arty approached the tent,
holding out his hand toward the docile Tige, who
still followed him, snuffing the coveted sugar.
Take care take care! don't come in here !"
yelled Hi. But Arty kept on, laughing at Tige,
who seemed also to be much amused. Arty stepped
over the body of Barney, who lounged by the door,
the steer immediately following him.
He'll wallop your tent over," shouted Bush;


1876.]


279






THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


but Tige, still stepping after his master as lightly
as a full-grown steer could step, kept on with his
nose close to the boy's open hand, and drawing
long breaths as he smelled the sugar. Arty circled
about the interior of the little tent, and over the
prostrate forms of his comrades, who hugged the
ground in terror lest the unwieldy beast should
trample on them. They were too much surprised
to move, and Tige marched after Arty, turning
around inside the canvas house as gingerly as if
he had always lived in one.
"Why, he is as graceful as a kitten, and he
steps over you as if he were treading among egg-
shells," said Arty, shaking with fun. "See how
carefully he misses Hi's big feet. Why, Tige is
almost as spry as you are, Hi."
"If Tige knocks down that pole, I'11 wallop you
with it," said Hi, who did not relish the common
camp joke about his large feet. But the wise little
steer passed safely out by the front of the tent,
having gone in at one side of the pole and out at
the other, without doing any damage. He was
rewarded with the sugar which he had pursued into
the presence of so much danger, and he lay down
at a distance, contemplating the group which he
had just visited.
I think you said something about a cow in a
parlor, Bush," said Arty. What do you think
of a steer in a tent ? "
"Well, youngster, between you and me and the
post, I think the best place for me, as I said afore,
is out of doors. It's close, this living in a tent;
and when it comes to making' cattle to hum in one
of'em, I aint there."
Tige's friendship for his young master was put
to the test the very next day. It was a bright Mon-
day morning when they reached Dry Creek. But
the creek was by no means dry. Its steep banks
were slippery with moisture, and four or five feet
of water flowed through its bed. A large number
of teams had been passing over, and when our
young emigrants came up, there were several com-
panies laboriously making their way 'across, or
waiting an opportunity to strike into the trail.
Except at one place, a crossing was almost impos-
sible. The wagons were "blocked up," as the
water was deep enough in places to flow into the
wagon-boxes. Blocking up" was done by driv-
ing wide blocks of wood under the box or body of
the wagon, said box being loosely fitted into the
bed or frame-work. Thus raised on the blocks,
the body of the wagon is kept in place by the up-
rights at the sides, and is set up high enough to be
drawn over an ordinary stream without wetting its
contents.
The descent into the creek was no steeper than
the way out on the other side. It was hard enough


to get down to the stream without damage. It
would be still more difficult to get out. Those who
were then crossing made a prodigious racket shout-
ing to their animals, at each other, and generally
relieving their excited feelings with noise as they
worked through the difficulty.
"We shall have to double up, and there's nobody
to double up with us," said Barnard, ruefully.
The boys had resorted to the expedient of
"doubling up," or uniting their team with that of
some passing acquaintance, before this. The spirit
of good-fellowship prevailed, and two or more par-
ties would combine and pull each other's wagons
through by putting on each the horses or the cattle
of the whole, until the hardest place was safely
passed. Here, however, all the other travelers were
busy with their own affairs. There was nobody
ready to "double up" with others.
Howdy, youngsters ?" said a languid, discour-
aged-looking man, coming around from behind a
red-covered wagon. Powerful bad crossing this
yere."
Yes," said Arthur, who immediately recognized
him as the man who could not make his fire burn
when they were camped near "Pape's." Just then
the sallow woman put her head out of the wagon,
and said: Glad to see you. Me baby's wuss."
She takes yer for a doctor, Arty," whispered
Hi, who remembered that Arthur had tended the
sick baby while the mother was cooking supper.
We 'uns is havin' a rough time, ye bet yer life,
but I allow we '11 pull through. Want to double
up, you 'uns ?"
"Yes," replied Mont. "This is a pretty bad
crossing; and as you have a strong team, we should
be glad to join forces and go across together."
"Jine? Oh, yes, we '11 hitch up with ye. Things
is cutting up rough, and my old woman, she allows
we aint goin' through."
Not going through? "
Oh, you keep shut, will ye, ole man," said the
woman from the wagon. If you had a sick baby
to nuss, you would n't be so peart."
I aint so peart," said the husband, grimly.
"But I allow we'll double up, seeing' it's you. I
war agoin' to wait for Si Beetles, but we '11 just
snake your wagon over then we '11 come back for
mine."
The blocks were got out, and put under the
wagon-bed, and the stranger's cattle were hitched
on ahead of those of our boys. The wheels were
chained together, front and rear, so that they could
not revolve and hurry the wagon down the steep
bank.
Ye '11 have to wade for it, boys; you'd better
strip," advised Messer, for that was the stranger's
name.


280


[MARCH,







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


"Oh, it's only a short distance," said Mont,
measuring the width of the creek with his eye, and
observing the depth to which the men then in the
water were wading. Roll up your trousers, boys,
and we '11 try it that way."
The party, except Hi, who sat in the fore part of
the wagon and drove, stripped their legs bare by
rolling up their trousers; and the chained wagon,
drawn by four pair of cattle, pitched down the
muddy bank, attended on either side by the young
emigrants, and Bush and Messer. Slipping and


chains taken from the wheels. The cattle went
into the stream with some reluctance, and Hi, who
was driving, yelled, Haw, there, haw! "with great
anxiety. But the beasts would not "haw." Little
Tige held in now with sullen courage; the rest of
the team persisted in pushing up stream. Arty
and Barnard were on the off" or upper side of
the team, but they could not keep it from running
wildly away from the opposite bank. The ani-
mals were panic-stricken and angry; turning short
around, they were likely to overturn the wagon.


"EVERYBODY RUSHED TO THE WRECK.'


sliding, they reached the bed of the stream in safety,
unlocked the wheels and plunged boldly in, though
the cattle were bewildered by the cries of the
owners and the confusion of the crowd crossing the
creek.
By dint of much urging and some punching
from behind, the wagon was "snaked" up the
opposite bank, and our boys drew breath a few
minutes before taking hold of Messer's wagon.
Laws-a-massy me cried the poor woman, as
the team slid down the bank. This is wuss than
get-out. I'd sooner wade the branch myself."
But, before she could utter any more complaints,
the wagon was at the bottom of the slope and the


Arty rushed out to the leading yoke and tried to
head it off. Tige was in the second yoke, reso-
lutely pulling back his mate, Molly. It was in
vain. Bally, the ox just behind Tige, made a vi-
cious lunge at Arty, who, in dodging to escape the
horns of the creature, slipped and fell headlong
into the water, then about up to his waist. Imme-
diately he was struggling among the cattle, where
he could not swim, and was in danger of being
trampled by the excited beasts. Hi shouted with
alarm, and, all clothed as he was, leaped out of the
wagon. There was no need-. Before any of the
party could reach him, Arty had scrambled out
and had laid hold of Tige's head, that sagacious


1876.]


28I








282 THE BOY EMIGRANTS. [MARCH,


brute having stood perfectly still and stooping as
his young master floundered under his belly.
Dripping with muddy water, and breatlless,
Arty struggled to his feet just as Hi, similarly
drenched, waded up to him. This all took place
in an instant, and the cattle, left for a moment to
themselves, sharply turned toward the bank down
which they had come, still heading up the stream.
The wagon toppled on the two off" wheels, quiv-
ered, and went over with a tremendous splash.
Everybody rushed to the wreck and dragged out
the woman and her sick baby. Both were wet
through and through. The cattle now stood still.
The water gurgled merrily through the overturned
wagon, on which the owner looked silently for a
moment, and then said:
"Just my ornery luck !"
Luck, man !" said Mont, impatiently. "Why
don't you bear a hand and right up your wagon
before your stuff is all spoiled? "
Thar's whar yer right, strangerr" replied the
poor fellow. "But this is the wust streak yit. It
sorter stalls me."
Help came from the various companies on both
sides of the creek, and Messer's wagon was soon
set up on its wheels again, though nearly all of its
load was well soaked. The woman and her baby
were taken out on to dry land and comforted by
some women who were with the wagons already on
the further side of the creek. When the party
finally struggled up and out of this unfortunate pit,
they found that Messer's wife had been taken in
and cared for at a wagon which, covered with
striped ticking, stood apart from the others, with
the cattle unyoked near by.
Why, there's Nance said Johnny; and, as
he spoke, that young woman descended from the
wagon and approached.
Ye 're wet, young feller," she remarked to
Arty.
Yes," he responded, wringing out his trousers-
legs as well as he could. We were with the team
that upset, and I was upset first."
"Jest like ye. Always in somebody's mess. I'd
lend ye a gound, but have n't got but one."
"Thank you kindly. I don't think your gowns
would fit me. But that yeast of yours did first-
rate." Arthur thought lightly of his own troubles.
I knowed it would. Have you kept your risin'
right along?"
0 yes, we have saved leaven from day to day,
and so we have 'riz bread,' as you call it, every
time we bake."
"Glad of it. We'll have to divide with these
Missouri folks. I reckon they 've lost all their little
fixin's; but then they use salt risin'. Them ornery
critters from Pike always do."


The Missourians were in bad plight. Whatever
was liable to damage by water was spoiled, and
our party of emigrants felt obliged to stop and help
the poor man unload his wagon, spread out his
stuff to dry, and get himself together again for a
fresh start. The sun shone brightly, and the
weather was favorable to the unhappy emigrant,
who sat around among his wet goods, bewailing
his hard luck, while his chance acquaintances re-
paired damages and saved what they could of his
effects.
His wife, loosely clad in a dress belonging to
Nance's mother,-a large and jolly woman,-fished
out from the crushed wagon-bows, where it had
been suspended in a cotton bag, the wreck of an
extraordinary bonnet. It was made of pink and
yellow stuff, and had been a gorgeous affair. She
regarded it sadly, and said: "It was the gayest
bunnit I ever had."
Nance contemplated the parti-colored relic with
some admiration, and said:
"Just you hang that there up in the sun along-
side of that feller, and they'll both on 'em come
out all right. Fact is," she said, condescending to


.NANCE AP .
NANCE APPEARS.


approve Arty, "he's all right, anyhow; and if that
big chap had n't jumped out of the wagon and left
the cattle to take care of themselves, the wagon
would n't have gone over. So now !"


282


THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


[MARCH,








THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


"But Hi thought Arty was getting killed," re-
monstrated Johnny. So he jumped out into the
water, head over heels, when he saw Arty fall."
Don't care for all that," retorted Nance, with
severity. Yer altogether too chipper. If yer Hi
had n't upset that wagon, I might have seen this
yere bunnet before it was washed."
Never mind," said Arty. Perhaps Mont will
show you how to straighten out that bonnet, when
he has finished mending Messer's wagon-bows.
Mont knows almost everything."
Who is that yere Mont, as you call him, any-
how?" asked Nance.
"He's from Boston, is real smart, and just about
knows everything, as I told you."
Oho and that 's why you are called 'The
Boston Boys,' is it?"
But they call us The Lee County Boys.' We
came from Lee County, Illinois."
"Lee County, Illinoy repeated the girl, with
a knowing air. Folks on the prairie calls you 'The
Boston Boys.' So now "

CHAPTER X.

AMONG THE BUFFALOES.

WHILE the wagon was yet heavily loaded, the
boys spared the oxen, and so, seldom rode. At
first, the member of the party who drove the team
was permitted to sit in the wagon part of the time.
But the roads were now very hard for the cattle,
and so all hands walked. Old Jim's back was sore;
he could not be saddled, and he was left to follow
the team, which he did with great docility. The
boys hardened the muscles of their legs, but they
complained bitterly of sore feet. Much walking
and poorly made boots had lamed them. The
moccasins which they wore at times were more
uncomfortable than the cow-hide boots they had
brought from home.
Confounded Indians complained Tom,-
"they don't put no heels to their moccasins; they
tire a feller's feet awful."
Sprinkle some whisky in your boots; that's all
the use the stuff can be to us; and whisky is good
to toughen your feet." This was Mont's advice.
But why don't the Indians put heels on their
moccasins? That's what I'd like to know."
"Why, Tom, it is n't natural. Those Sioux
that we saw down at Buffalo Creek can out-run and
out-jump any white man you ever knew. They
could n't do it if they had been brought up with
heels on their moccasins."
But for all that, them moccasins are powerful
weak in the sole," grumbled Hi. "'Pears tc me,
sometimes, as if my feet was all of a blister, after


traveling all day in the dod-rotted things. Hang
Indian shoe-makers, anyhow "-and Hiram con-
temhplated his chafed feet with great discontent.
"Then there's old Bally," chimed in Arty.
" He's gone and got lame. He don't wear moc-
casins, though."
But," said Mont, "we may be obliged to put
moccasins on him-or, at least, on his sore foot."
What for ?"
"Well, we've fixed his foot now two or three
times, and he gets no better of his lameness. We
might put a leather shoe, like a moccasin, filled
with tar, on his foot. That's good for the foot-rot,
or whatever it is."
Gosh !" said Hi. "How much that feller does
know!"
"Well," laughed Mont, "I picked that up the
other day. Those Adair County men said that if
Bally did n't get better, tar would be healing; and
they said to bind it on with a shoe made from an
old boot-leg."
Lucky I picked up those boot-legs you thought
were of no use, Barney Crogan," said Arthur.
"They'll be just the things for Bally's moccasins."
The boys had put up with many discomforts.
Sometimes they had no water for drinking or cook-
ing except what they found in sloughs and swampy
places by the track. Often even this poor supply
was so mixed with dead grass and weeds that it was
necessary to strain it before using it. Then, again,
in the long stretch which they were now traveling
between Fort Kearny and Fort Laramie, fuel was
scarce. Not a tree nor shrub was in sight; buffalo
chips were seldom to be found, and the only stuff
from which a fire could be made was the dry grass
and grease-weed found in sterile spots among the
bluffs above the road. They were having hard
times. Along the valley of the Platte heavy rain-
storms are frequent in the summer-time; and,
more than once, all hands were obliged to get up
in the night and stand by the tent, in a pelting
rain, to keep it from blowing away. One night,
indeed, after bracing the tent all around outside
with extra lines, they were forced to stand on
bundles and boxes inside and hold up the ridge-
pole, which bent in the force of the gale and
threatened to snap in twain. And then the mos-
quitoes !
But here was a serious trouble. Bally was a
surly animal, but he was a powerful fellow and the
best traveler in the team. He had gone lame these
four days, and was getting worse instead of better.
The boys had passed many cattle, left behind on
account of their lameness by those who had gone
before. They did not like to think of turning out i
old Bally to die by the roadside. Matters were not
so serious as that. But Mont had said, almost


283


ix76.]








284 THE BOY EMIGRANTS. [MARCIS,


under his breath: If we should have to leave
Bally "
Serious remedies were now to be tried. The
tar-bucket was taken out from under the wagon,
and a shoe made from one of provident Arty's boot-

,-r-1 ,.-


MRS MSSRS BONNET.
MRS. MESSER'S BONNET.


legs. With the assistance of Bush, Messer, and
one or two neighbors at the camp, poor Bally was
cast by suddenly pulling on ropes attached to one
hind-foot and one fore-foot. The big beast fell
over on his side with a thump that made Arty's
heart jump. Then each person held that part of
the animal to which he had previously been assigned.
Nance, whose father was now with them for a time,
looked on with profound interest.
The struggling animal subsided, after awhile,
into an angry quiet, his eyes rolling wildly at Arty
and Johnny, who sat on his head to keep him
down.
Set onto him heavy, boys," said Bush.
"'S long's he can't lift you, he can't lift his head;
and 's long's he can't lift his head, he's got to lay
still."
But he did not lie still. When the shoe, full of
soft tar, was fairly on, but not tied, Bally wiggled
his tail very animatedly, cuffed Bush on the side of
his head with the lame foot, which he suddenly
jerked out of the hands of the operators, and, with
one mighty effort, threw up his head, angrily


brandishing his horns the while. Arthur and
Johnny flew into the air, one to the right and one
to the left, as Bally's head swung in either direc-
tion. Struggling to his feet, the worried beast
shuffled off a pew paces, his shoe half-sticking to
his foot in slip-shod fashion; then he stopped and
regarded the whole party with profound disfavor.
Wal, I allow you are a nice creeter, you are !"
said Hi, with disgust. Don't know yer best
friends, you don't, when they're trying' to cure
ye up."
"Why, he's as spry as a cat and as strong as
an ox," cried Bush. ".But them boys is spryer.
See 'em go ? Tore yer shirt, did n't it, Arty ? "
My belt saved me," said the boy, bravely, ex-
hibiting a huge rent in his flannel shirt, and a long
red streak on the white skin of his chest, where
Bally's sharp horn had plunged under his belt
and sharply along his "hide," as Bush called it.
Johnny had turned a somersault, lighting on his
shoulders, but without serious damage.
Well, we've got it all to do over again," was
Mont's philosophic comment; and, under his
leadership, Bally was once more thrown and held
down until the shoe was firmly fixed on his foot.
He walked off, with a limp, evidently very much
puzzled with his first experiment in wearing leather
shoes.
Looks like a bear in moccasins," said Hi,
grimly. Leastways, he looks as I allow a bear
would look in moccasins, or with one of 'em onto
him. Next time you are sot on a steer's head,
Arty, you git where he can't h'ist you higher 'n a
kite when he tries to git up."
I sat where I was told, Hi; but I did n't weigh
enough. That's what was the matter."
The lame ox did not keep his shoe on more
than a day or two at a time, and the boys soon had
the disagreeable task of replacing it quite often.
It was a troublesome affair; but they were now
obliged to face the more troublesome question of
supplying his place, in case it became necessary to
leave him behind. Bally's mate was like him-a
large and powerful ox; Tige and Molly, the leaders,
were lighter. With these three and their horse,
Old Jim, they might go on; but the prospect was
gloomy.
Pity we can't hitch up some of these buffaloes
that are running around loose," said Barnard, with
a personal sense of the wastefulness of so many
cattle going wild, while they needed only one
draught animal. "Could we catch one of these
critters and put him into the yoke, I wonder ? "
You catch one, and I will agree to yoke him,"
laughed Mont.
It was not surprising that Barney grumbled at
the waste of animal power, and that a wild notion


284


THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


[MARCH,







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


that some of it ought to be made useful crossed his
mind. The country was now covered with vast
herds of buffaloes, moving to the north. One day,
Mont and Arty ascended a steep bluff, to the right
of the road, while the wagon-train kept slowly on
below them. As far as the eye could reach north-
ward, the undulating country was literally black
with the slow-moving herds. Here and there, on
some conspicuous eminence, a solitary, shaggy old
fellow stood relieved against the sky-a sentinel
over the flowing streams of dark brown animals
below. They moved in battalions, in single files,
by platoons, and in disorderly masses, stretching
out in vast dark patches and covering the green
earth. Before them was grass and herbage; be-
hind them was a trampled, earthy paste.
Occasionally, these migratory herds, coming to
a stream, rushed in thirstily, each rank crowding
hard upon another. When the foremost struck
the water, galloping along with thundering tread,
the fury of their charge sent the spray high in the
air, like a fountain. In an instant, the crystal-cur-
rent was yellow and turbid with the disturbed soil;
then a dense mass of black heads, with snorting
muzzles, crowded the surface from bank to bank.
See see !" cried Arthur. "How those big
fellows run on ahead, lie down and roll, and then
jump up and dash on again. Why, they're spryer
than old Bally was, the other day, when he pitched
me sky-high."
Yes, and if you watch, you will see that all
the buffaloes on the side of that bluff drop in the
same place, roll and skip on again, almost like a
lot of cats."
Why do they do that, Mont?"
"Well, you know that most hairy animals like
to roll; I suppose it answers for a scratching-post.
If you ever come to a tree in this part of the
country, you will find it all worn smooth and tufted
with loose hair, where the buffaloes have rubbed
themselves against it."
But, somehow, these chaps all seem to drop
in the same place and then canter on again. I
should think each buffalo would want a clean spot."
no that place is worn to the soil now, and
is a better one to rub the hide of the creature in
than a grassy place would be. For years after this,
if we were to come along here, we should find a
big patch right there where the buffaloes are roll-
ing as they trot along. The grass wont grow there
again for a great while. That is what the plains
men call a buffalo-wallow,-though a 'waller,' I'
believe, is the correct plains expression."
I like you, Mont," said Arty, looking frankly
into Morse's brown face, "because you know
everything."
"0 no, Arty, not everything. You are a partial


friend. I'm only a greenhorn. But look at that!
My But is n't that a sight ?"
As he spoke, a vast crowd of animals, moving
from the eastward, came surging up over a swale
in the undulating surface. There seemed to be
hundreds of thousands. The ground disappeared
from sight, and in its place, as if it had swallowed
it, was a flood of dark animal life. There was no
longer any individuality; it was a sea. It did n't
gallop; it moved onward in one slow-flowing
stream. There was no noise; but a confused mur-
mur, like the rote of the distant sea before a storm,
floated on the air. There was no confusion; in
one mighty torrent the countless creatures drifted
on, up the hills and down the horizon.
"Jingo!" exclaimed Arty. "I don't wonder
Barney grumbles because there is so much cattle-
power running to waste. Don't I wish we could
hitch up four or five yoke of those old chaps!
We'd go to California, just 'fluking,' as Bush
would say."
If I had my way about it, my boy, I'd have
some of that good, nice, buffalo-beef that is run-
ning about loose here, cut up and sent to poor folks
in Boston."
Well, there are poor folks in other cities besides
Boston, Monty, you know."
"To be sure; only I think of them first, be-
cause I know them. And wherever they are, some
of those same poor folks don't get fresh meat very
often. And here's millions and millions of pounds
going to waste. It seems to me that there's a
screw loose' somewhere that this should be so."
Arthur regarded this wonderful cattle show with
great soberness and with new interest.
Why can't some rich man have these buffaloes
killed and the fresh meat sent to the poor who
starve in cities ?"
"Perhaps a more sensible plan would be to
bring the poor out here."
Sure enough," responded the lad, I never
thought of that. But if next year's emigrants kill
the buffaloes like they do now, there will be none
left when the settlers come. Why, I counted
twenty-seven dead ones on the cut-off, yesterday,
when Johnny and I took that trail back of Ash
Hollow."
"And even the animals that are cut into are not
used much for food," added Mont. We have all
the buffalo meat we want; and while you were off,
yesterday, I passed a place where some party had
camped, and I saw where they had kindled a fire
from an old, used-up wagon, and had heaped up
two or three carcasses of buffaloes to burn. Great
waste of fuel and meat too, I call that. But I
greased my boots by the marrow frying out of the
bones."


285


1876.]








286 THE BOY EMIGRANTS. [MARCH,


- Mont and Arty descended the bluff, and, reach-
ing the rolling plain behind it, moved to the north
and west, keeping the general course of the road,
but leaving the bluff between it and them.
"We have nothing but our pistols to shoot
with," said Mont, and I would n't shoot one if I
could. But we may as well see how near we can
get to them."
They walked rapidly toward the moving mass of
buffaloes. Here and there were grazing herds, but
most of them seemed to be slowly traveling with-
out stopping to eat.' Mont advised that they
should creep up a bushy ravine which led into a
gap in the hills, and was blackened on its edges
with buffaloes. Cautiously moving up this depres-
sion, they emerged at the further end and found
themselves in a throng of animals, just out of gun-
shot range. Some were standing still, others were
moving away, but all regarded the strangers with
mild curiosity.
Why, I thought I should be afraid," confessed
Arthur.
No," whispered Mont. "As long as they are
not maddened by a long chase, or driven into a
corner, they are as harmless as so many cows."
Passing out between the hills, the young fellows
found themselves on a nearly level plain. Here,
too, was a dense throng of buffaloes, stretching off
to the undulating horizon. As the two explorers
walked on, a wide lane seemed to open in the
mighty herds before them. Insensibly, and with-
out any hurry, the creatures drifted away to the
right and left, browsing or staring, but continually
moving. Looking back, they saw that the buffaloes
had closed up their ranks on the trail which they
had just pursued; while before, and on either hand,
was a wall of animals.
"We are surrounded!" almost whispered Ar-
thur, with some alarm.
Never mind, my boy. We can walk out, just
as the children of Israel did from the Red Sea.
Only we have waves of buffaloes, instead of water,
to close behind and open before and be a wall on
each side. See !"
And, as they kept on, the mass before them
melted away in some mysterious fashion, always at
the same distance from them.
See We move in a vacant space that travels
with us wherever we go, Arty."
"Yes," said the lad. It seems just as if we
were a candle in the dark. The open ground
around us is the light we shed; the buffaloes are
the darkness outside."
"A good figure of speech, that, my laddie. I
must remember it. But we are getting out of the
wilderness."
They had now come to a sharp rise of ground,


broken by a rocky ledge, which turned the herds
more to the northward. Ascending this, they were
out of the buffaloes for the time, but beyond them
were thousands more. Turning southward, they
struck across the country for the wagon-track, quite
well satisfied with their explorations.
Between two long divides, or ridges, they came
upon a single wagon, canvas-covered, in which
were two little children. Two boys-one about
seven and the other eleven years old-were play-
ing near by, and four oxen were grazing by a
spring.
In reply to Mont's surprised question as to how
they came off the trail, and why they were here

/\


IMONT
alone, they said that their father and uncle had
come up after buffaloes, and were out with their
guns. Their mother was over on the bluff-point-
ing to a little rocky mass which rose like an island
in the middle of the valley. She had gone to hunt
for sarvice-berries." They were left to mind the
cattle and the children.
Pretty careless business, I should say," mur-
mured Mont. "Well, youngsters," he added, "keep
by the wagon; if your cattle stray off, they may
get carried away by the buffaloes. Mind that !"


286


THE' BOY EMIGRANTS.


[MARCH,







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


They went on down the valley, looking behind
them at the helpless little family alone in the wilder-
ness.
A man ought to be licked for leaving his young
ones here in such a lonely place," said Mont.
Suddenly, over the southern wall of the valley,
like a thunder-cloud, rose a vast and fleeing herd
of buffaloes. They were not only running, they
were rushing like a mighty flood.
"A stampede! a stampede !" cried Mont; and,
flying back to the unconscious group of children,
followed by Arthur, he said: Run for your lives,
youngsters Make for the bluff! "
Seizing one of the little ones, and bidding Arthur
take the other, he started the boys ahead for the
island-bluff, which was some way down the valley.
There was not a moment to lose. Behind them,
like a rising tide, flowed the buffaloes in surges.
A confused murmur filled the air; the ground
resounded with the hurried beat of countless hoofs,
and the earth seemed to be disappearing in the
advancing torrent. Close behind the ;1'.: fugi-
tives the angry, panic-stricken herd tumbled and
tossed. Its labored breathing sighed like a breeze,
and the warmth of its pulsations seemed to stifle
the air.
To the left to the left! screamed Arthur,
seeing the bewildered boys, who fled like deer,
making directly for the steepest part of the bluff.
Thus warned, the lads bounded up the little island,
grasping the underbrush as they climbed. Hard
behind them came Arty, pale, his features drawn
and rigid, and bearing in his arms a little girl.
Mont brought up the rear with a stout boy on his
shoulder, and breathless with excitement and the
laborious run.
Up the steep side they scrambled, falling and
recovering themselves, but up at last. Secure on
a bare rock, they saw a heaving tide of wild creat-
ures pour tumultuously over the edge and fill the
valley. It leaped from ledge to ledge, tumbled
and broke, rallied again and swept on, black and
silent save for the rumbling thunder of many
hoofs and the panting' breath of the innumerable
multitude. On it rolled over every obstacle. The
wagon disappeared in a twinkling, its white cover
going down in the black tide like a sinking ship at


sea. Past the island-like bluff, where a little group
stood spell-bound, the herd swept, the rushing tide
separating at the rocky point, against which it beat
and parted to the right and left. Looking down,
they saw the stream flow by, on and up the valley.
It was gone, and the green turf was brown where
it had been. The spring was choked, and the
wagon was trampled in a flat ruin.
Fascinated by the sight, Mont and Arthur never
took their eyes from it until it was over. Then
returning to their young charges, they saw a tall,
gaunt woman, with a horror-stricken face, gathering
the whole group in her arms. It was the mother.
I don't know who you be, young men, but I
thank you from the bottom of my heart," she said.
Yes, I thank you from the bottom of my heart-
and, oh I thank God, too And she burst into
tears.
Arthur, at loss what else to say, remarked:
Your wagon is all smashed."
I don't care-don't care," said the woman,
hysterically rocking herself to and fro where she
sat with her children clasped to her bosom. So's
the young ones are safe, the rest may go to wrack."
As she spoke, a couple of horsemen, carrying
rifles, came madly galloping down the valley, far
in the wake of the flying herd. They paused,
thunderstruck, at the fragments of their wagon
trampled in the torn soil. Then, seeing the group
on the rock, they hastened on, dismounted, and
climbed the little eminence.
Great powers above, Jemimy we stampeded
the buffaloes said the elder of the pair of hunters.
Arty expected to hear her say that she was thank-
ful so long as they were all alive.
"Yes, and a nice mess you 've made of it."
This was all her comment.
Whar's the cattle, Zeph ?" asked the father of
this flock.
"Gone off with the buffaloes, I reckon, dad,"
was the response of his son Zephaniah.
The man looked up and down the valley with a
bewildered air. His wagon had been mashed and
crushed into the ground. His cattle were swept
out into space by the resistless flood, and were
nowhere in sight. He found words at last:
Well, this is perfeckly rediclus."


(To be conHtnued.)


287


1876.]







288 THE RARE OLD KING AND HIS DAUGHTERS THREE.


THE RARE OLD KING AND HIS DAUGHTERS THREE.

BY LAURA LEDYARD.


A RARE old king and daughters three,
Beside their castle by the sea,
Were eating peaches from a tree
That grew in the castle garden.

There came a gleaming, golden sail,
Through azure mists like a lady's veil,
And silver trumpets blew "All hail
The king and his lovely daughters!"


I!I ,77,
-'7


I
'-.\


The eldest princess blushing rose,
And lifting high her pretty nose
Above all earthly joys and woes,
She raised her eyes to heaven,

And smiling, told them what she saw,
Named lovely visions softly o'er.
Entranced, half-kneeling to adore,
The prince stood listening near her.


* ~--~-


--V I : ,


'-q ;:,
tptl /


*~ ?p;


* .i .1 ',

*f-,.1.-_, ,,,


I,


i-f--


A gallant prince from far away,
In scarlet plume and brave array,-
But, traveling by night and day,
His shoes were scarcely dainty,-

A-wooing came. This monarch grand
He kissed each lady's snowy hand,
And courteous made one fair demand-
A bud from the castle garden.


Alas alas! with head so high,
She scarce could see him standing by;
Her chin well nigh put out his eye,
And'she tripped and fell before him.

The second princess, tall and fair,
With downcast eyes and modest air,
Stole gently toward the garden where
The roses were a-blooming.


[MARCH,


a
I


''"
= ~6~ ~


--, '' __'-.-


-^







THE FESTIVAL OF TAPERS.


289


She saw such toads and newts and flies,
She walked with tears and groans and sighs.
Her shining hair and drooping eyes,
The prince was pleased to approve them.

But when this princess nearer came.
She saw no plume like scarlet flame;
She shuddered when he spoke her name.
" Your shoes !" she cried, a-swooning.

The youngest sister, smiling free,
Along the path tripped merrily.
Her eyes were sparkling like the sea,
As it glittered far before them.

And sang she then a roundelay:
" Your posies gather on the way;






.4 -"t] ,


- i. T-i other
'ers, at


t...f music
E i ug curt
entered
uch f
S -ommor
-xpecte
-:~pretty si
It wa
I-[ere in
--lay is s
festival,
saint or
pose that when leap-year bring
day, there is a saint ready to
February. Whatever the day
the evening was devoted to the c
thing I noticed was that the qua
lighted up with innumerable wa
usual sight, for the darkness of
in the evening is usually relieve
here and there, and by a blazing
on the high altar. The ise of
vulgar thing all over Europe, a
for a church or an aristocratic pa
VOL. III.-20.


An' if you do not, there they lay,
And you '11 wander on without them !"

She frankly smiled into his eyes;
She met his words with fair replies.
" I find this princess fair and wise,"
He said, and fell a-wooing.

Within his castle grand and old,
On fairy blue, in fairy gold,
A dainty maxim there is told,
Above his lady's chamber:
" Who wishes for the moon alone,
To many tumbles she is prone;
Who walks abroad with lowered eyes,
She sees but toads and newts and flies;
Who looks not low, nor yet -too high,
May pluck the flowers and see the sky."


STHE FESTIVAL OF TAPERS.

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.

Evening at Ves- Then I saw that each taper belonged to a little
tracted by a burst boy or girl, and that groups of children were scat-
c from the swing- tered all about the church. There was a group by
in ofthe door-way, every side altar and chapel, all the benches were
d a little church occupied by knots of them, and there were so many
frequented by the circles of them seated on the pavement that I could
People. An un- with difficulty make my way among them. There
I and exceedingly were hundreds of children in the church, all dressed
ght rewarded me. in their holiday apparel, and all intent upon the
s All Souls' Day. illumination, which seemed to be a private affair to
Italy almost every each one of them.
et apart for some And-not much effect had their tapers upon the
or belongs to some darkness of the vast vaults above them. The tapers
another, and I sup- were little spiral coils of wax, which the children
:s round the extra unrolled as fast as they burned, and when they
claim the 29th of were tired of holding them, they rested them on
was to the elders, the ground and watched the burning. I stood
children. The first some time by a group of a dozen seated in a corner
int old church was of the church. They had massed all the tapers in
x tapers,-an un- the center and formed a ring about the spectacle,
a Catholic church sitting with their legs straight out before them and
d only by a candle their toes turned up. The light shone full in their
Pyramid of them happy faces, and made the group, enveloped other-
gas is held to be a wise in darkness, like one of Correggio's pictures
nd specially unfit of children or angels. Correggio was a famous
lace. Italian artist of the sixteenth century, who painted


1876.1






THE FESTIVAL OF TAPERS.


cherubs like children who were just going to
heaven, and children like cherubs who had just
come out of it. But, then, he had the Italian chil-
dren for models, and they get the knack of being
lovely very young. An Italian child finds it as easy
to be pretty as an American child does to be good.
One could not but be struck with the patience
these little people exhibited in their occupation,
and the enjoyment they got out of it. There was
no noise; all conversed in subdued whispers, and
behaved in the most gentle manner to each other,


There is nothing that a baby likes more than a
lighted candle, and the church has understood this
longing in human nature, and found means to
gratify it by this festival of tapers.
The groups do not all remain long in place, you
may imagine; there is a good deal of shifting about,
and I see little stragglers wandering over the church,
like fairies lighted by fire-flies. Occasionally they
form a little procession and march from one altar
to another, their lights twinkling as they go.
But all this time there is music pouring out of


THE CHILDREN WITH THEIR TAPERS.


especially to the smallest, and there were many of
them so small that they could only toddle about by
the most judicious exercise of their equilibrium. I
do not say this by way of reproof to any other kind
of children.
These little groups, as I have said, were scattered
all about the church; and they made with their
tapers little spots of light, whicl looked in the dis-
tance very much like Correggio's picture which is at
Dresden,-the Holy Family at night, and the light
from the Divine Child blazing in the faces of all the
attendants. Some of the children were infants in
the nurse's arms, but no one was too small to have
a taper, and to run the risk of burning its fingers.


the organ-loft at the end of the church, and flood-
ing all its spaces with its volume. In front of the
organ is a choir of boys, led by a round-faced and
jolly monk, who rolls about as he sings, and lets
the deep bass noise rumble about a long time in
his stomach before he pours it out of his mouth.
I can see the faces of all of them quite well, for
each singer has a candle to light his music-book.
And next to the monk stands THE BOY-the
handsomest boy in the whole world probably at this
moment. I can see now his great, liquid, dark
eyes, and his exquisite face, and the way he tossed
back his long, waving hair when he struck into his
part. He resembled the portraits of Raphael,


290


[MARCH,









i8~6.] HOW DROLL! 291


when that artist was a boy; only I think he looked
better than Raphael, and without trying, for he
seemed to be a spontaneous sort of boy. And how
that boy did sing! He was the soprano of the
choir, and he had a voice of heavenly sweetness.
When he opened his mouth and tossed back his
head, he filled the church with exquisite melody.
He sang like a lark, or like an angel. As we
never heard an angel sing, that comparison is not
worth much. I have seen pictures of angels singing
-there is one by Jan and Hubert Van Eyck in the
Gallery at Berlin-and they open their mouths like
this boy, but I can't say as much for their singing.
The lark, which you very likely never heard either
-for larks are as scarce in America as angels-is a
bird that springs up from the meadow and begins
to sing as he rises in a spiral flight, and the higher
he mounts the sweeter he sings, until you think
the notes are dropping out of heaven itself, and
you hear him when he is gone from sight, and you
think you hear him long after all sound has ceased.
And yet this boy sang better than a lark, because
he had more notes and a greater compass, and
more volume, although he shook out his voice in
the same gleesome abundance.
I am sorry that I cannot add that this ravishingly
beautiful boy was a good boy. He was probably
one of the most mischievous boys that was ever in
an organ-loft. All the time that he was singing
the Vespers, he was skylarking like an imp. While
he was pouring out the most divine melody he
would take the opportunity of kicking the shins of


the boy next to him, and while he was waiting for
his part he would kick out behind at any one who
was incautious enough to approach him. There
never was such a vicious boy; he kept the whole
loft in a ferment. When the monk rumbled his
bass in his stomach, the boy cut up monkey-shines
that set every other boy into a laugh, or he stirred
up a row that set them all at fisticuffs.
And yet this boy was a great favorite. The jolly
monk loved him best of all, and bore with his
wildest pranks. When he was wanted to sing his
part and was skylarking in the rear, the fat monk
took him by the ear and brought him forward, and
when he gave the boy's ear a twist, the boy opened
his lovely mouth and poured forth such a flood of
melody as you never heard. And he did n't mind
his notes; he seemed to know his notes by heart,
and could sing and look off, like a nightingale on
a bough. He knew his power, that boy, and he
stepped forward to his stand when he pleased, cer-
tain that he would be forgiven as soon as he began
to sing. And such spirit and life as le threw into
the performance, rollicking through the Vespers
with a perfect abandon of carriage, as if he could
sing himself out of his skin if he liked.
While the little angels down below were patter-
ing about with their wax tapers, keeping the holy
fire burning, suddenly the organ stopped, the
monk shut his book with a bang, the boys blew out
the candles, and I heard them all tumbling down
stairs in a gale of noise and laughter. And the
Beautiful Boy I saw no more.


HOW DROLL!

BY M. E.

FOURTEEN little thin bugs, caught out in a shower,
Scrambled quick as lightning into the nearest flower.
"Dew and honey !" said they all. Dear me this is sweet!
Looks as though it really might be good enough to eat."
They smelled it, they tasted it,-" Yes, indeed it's nice "
Leaflet after leaflet vanished in a trice.

By the time the sun came, to chase away the shower,
There were all the fourteen bugs, but who could find the flower?
Into it the creatures went;. now it was in them-
Fourteen little fat bugs, sitting on a stem !


1876.]


HOW DROLL!


291







[MARCH,


WINDSOR CASTLE.

BY MRS. OLIPHANT.

CHAPTER I. it his pride and delight to add something new-
THE ORDER OF THE GARTER. some durable token that he too, and his genera-
tion, had lived there-to the building he loved. If
WINDSOR CASTLE is the chief State residence you study the noble art of Architecture, you will
of the Sovereigns of England. This is a fact, to soon learn by what changes of form and develop-
begin with, which the American boys and girls- *ments of ornament you can distinguish the handi-


for whom I have been asked to write something
about Windsor-know as well as I do. So here is
a little bit of standing-ground on which we can
meet, and, as it were, introduce ourselves to each
other. You on the other side of the big Atlantic
have probably never seen anything like this great
old medieval castle turned into a palace, and I hope
that I, who live under its shadow, may be able to
find something to tell you about it not quite so well
known as the broad fact with which we have be-
gun. I see this great, beautiful building every
day of my life, in the sunshine and in the mists-
sometimes standing up proudly over all the sum-
mer foliage like a majestic guardian of the peace-
ful country; sometimes rising gray against the
clouds like a dream-castle. I could show you
the very window in the Round Tower where the
last ray of the sunset lingers longest, and where
I think the enchanted princess must surely be
sleeping, waiting for her true knight. And when
we glide down the river of a summer's evening,
you should see how all the towers rise above us,
and the pinnacles of St. George's Chapel, and
the long line of palace-front, and the rugged
strength of the Norman donjon King Edward
Plantagenet built one portion-nay, two Edward
Plantagenets had a hand in it, and two Henry
Tudors, and Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Anne,
and Queen Victoria, not to speak of the Charleses
and the Georges. It is as beautiful as the dream
of a poet-the noblest royal dwelling-place in
Europe; and besides this, it is a long and splendid
history done into stone.
Now, this is a thing I should like you to notice
in passing, for it is full of interest. The modern
houses which are being built nowadays, are built
once for all and are done with. But in the old ages
an architectural foundation was like a seed, taking
root and growing, in soil fruitful or sterile, as the
case might be. To go over a castle, a cathedral, a
palace, or even a homely little parish church, in
England or France or Germany, is often like
making a visionary journey through several cent-
uries. Every new prince or bishop, and even
every homely squire or rude medieval baron, made


work of one century from another; and when you
have learned this, you will understand the pleasure
of being able to see at a glance where the Norman
began his heavy, solid work, and how the next
heir threw up a loftier arch and poised a nobler
roof upon his hereditary home, and how his grand-
sons worked the stone into loveliest fret-work of
decoration, and all the ages contributed something,
till Gothic beauty and variety gave way to Greek


.., -.. -
-.-- -- --
1,




.
-;
-P _
-T- -


WINDSOR CASTLE, FROM THE RIVER.
or Italian straight lines and modern comfort. This
is one of the great charms of Windsor Castle, as
of every other similar building. The Round Tower,
which you will see in the picture like the crown
of the whole edifice, is in reality its very heart and
beginning-the "keep" or "donjon," for strength
and defense, which was the first necessity of primi-
tive times. No one can exactly tell how many old
kings, from holy Edward the Confessor, planned,
and how many ancient workmen labored at, the
lower stories of those massive walls; but the final
builder was Edward III., who built them as they
stand (though not quite so lofty) six hundred years
ago. St. George's Chapel, to the left of the Keep,


292


WINDSOR CASTLE.






~X, WINDSOR CASTLE. 293

was built on that Edward's foundation by Edward you anything about King Edward except what is
IV. and his successor, Henry VII., Henry of Rich- associated with Windsor. Would you like to know
mond, the first Tudor king. I have not space who his architect was for those great works he
enough to tell you who built the other towers one made for us ? It was a certain priest called William
by one, the cloisters, and
the great square of the
Queen's palace on the -- --
other side of the Keep.
One gate-way is called
that of Henry VIII., an- __ -j
other of George IV. ; -
neither of these, alas! be-
ing very delightful speci--- -
mens of the genus mon- -
arch. The old Curfew -
tower, round and vast and --
solid, which rises up like: T -
a rock out of the hill- -
side, with the -.. i. pr.: : : i- -
street of Windsor wind- -
ing round its base, is per- -
haps the oldest of all.
Hundreds of our flimsy
modern houses will dis- ..
appear, and generations .
perish, before one corner WINDSOR CASTLE-THE GARDEN FRONT.
of that stone-work crum-
bles. It is as strong and perfect now as the day it of Wykeham, of whom some of you must have
was made. The town that clusters about it with heard, who was afterward bishop, and- founded the
red roofs, clinging picturesquely to the skirts of the great public school at Winchester, and the college
gray Castle, is as lively now, if not so quaint, as called New College at Oxford, now a very old col-
when Sir John Falstaff played naughty pranks lege, but beautiful in architecture, like all he did.
there, which Shakespeare betrayed to the world; This will show you what a great life a priest might
and as the Queen drives in at the peaceful gates, have, as well as a king, in those old times-greater
which now there is no occasion to shut in defense still in useful work than in honors and fame.
of her, the flag of England goes up upon the Wykeham made me," he carved on the door of
Round Tower, fluttering its rich quarterings over the great Keep when he had finished it, which
the old Keep which Edward Plantagenet built. Edward was not altogether pleased with, thinking
This flag (you will see it in the picture) makes a the credit was his rather than his architect's; and
beautiful termination and crown to the combination the boys at Winchester and the students at "New"
of woods and water-the winding Thames, the leafy still call themselves Wykehamists, and keep their
slopes, the gray noble walls, pinnacles, battlements, founder's day with affectionate pride in him. This,
and towers which make up'Windsor Castle. It is I think, is true fame.
the sign by which we always know when the Queen It must have been a curious scene on the green
is there. hill of Windesore ("Wyndleshora" in the Saxon;
Now the first story I will tell you of Windsor is "winding shore" the antiquaries suppose it means)
one which goes back to the first royal builder, when architect Wykeham was going about with his
whose work is still remaining, and upon whose plans and his compasses; very likely teased and
plans and foundation the whole after edifice has worried, as architects often are, by the King's per-
risen. This was King Edward III., who was a petual visits, and very generally in want of money,
great king and soldier, of whom you must have which is an evil shared alike by architects and
read in your histories, and who fought great battles kings. While King Edward disturbed him by
and made great conquests in France. Do you tournaments and revelings, Wykeham built the
remember how the burghers of Calais came out to banqueting hall, and the lodging, such as it was,
him with halters round their necks, and how his for the Queen and her ladies, and King Edward's
good Queen Philippa interceded for them and saved princely but simple chambers, as well as the Round
their lives ? But I have not room enough to tell Tower. No doubt he was deeply tried by the war-


, 6 ]1


~______^I_






WINDSOR CASTLE.


like gatherings which the King insisted upon hold-
ing continually in the half-inclosed grounds, filling
the place with a splendid rabble of knights and
squires, and stopping the works perpetually, how-
ever the architect might fume. Wykeham, no
doubt, had already his great school in his head,












ROUND TOWER, AS BUILT BY EDWARD III.

and was planning it while he measured and calcu-
lated and tried to keep his workmen from the tilt-
ing-field, where there was so much to be seen and
so many passages at arms going on. Probably
some of the great-great-great- (add as many greats
as you please) grandfathers of you young Americans
were spurring in the lists, or looking on outside the
barriers, very good subjects of King Edward, and
altogether unconscious of the great continent hid-
den in the mists of the far West; and probably
some of them thought with Wykeham that the
tournaments were a nuisance, though they were a
fine sight to see, stopping work and tempting
workmen and apprentices, not to say wives and
daughters, away from the workshop and the house.
But all the same, they were a very fine sight.
Knights out of foreign parts, even from countries
at war with England, carrying the safe conducts
which King Edward in his chivalrous hospitality
had offered; and all that England possessed of
gallant and splendid; and brave Scots from over
the border, poorer but not less noble, came together
in glittering crowds. And the Queen and her
ladies sat in balconies, with their beautiful Old
World dresses stiff with fine needle-work and pre-
cious stones, looking on. We never see a tourna-
ment nowadays, except in the theater. A great
many years ago a Scotch nobleman made an
attempt at one, which you may have heard of-the
Eglinton Tournament, at which everybody laughed.
But no one laughed at them in 1348. They were
the finest spectacle and the most splendid meeting-
ground of society which those ages knew-" as
good as a play," or indeed better, as being all real,
sometimes the fighting and all. And in the even-
ing, after baths and grand toilettes, the armor and
buff coats all put aside in favor of silken hose and
velvet doublets, what stately balls there were in the


new grand St. George's Hall 1 But if you think
all this was mere splendor and amusement, and
meant nothing more serious, you are mistaken.
King Edward, like his architect, had a great project
maturing in his mind through it all.
I have no doubt that you have all heard of the
orders of knighthood, which were one of the most
characteristic institutions of the middle ages. They
have fallen out of use and out of fashion now,
except in the limited class of great personages,
who still receive the distinction of the Garter,
or the Saint Esprit, or the Golden Fleece,-men
who are not at all likely to set out through the
world in search of adventure, like knights of ro-
mance. But even now orders are found to have
their use, and a British officer is more deeply grati-
fied by a K. C. B. than he would be by a much
more tangible reward; while to Frenchmen, in the
early days of the Legion of Honor, its cross was
the most sublime recompense that imagination
could conceive. If even now these signs of honor
are so much prized, you may imagine what they
were in the days when the symbol meant much
more, and when the order was a true brotherhood
in arms, bound by a vow which still had real mean-
ing. And a very noble meaning it was at bottom,
though seldom, perhaps, carried out as it ought to
have been. Probably a great many'of you have
heard of King Arthur and his Round Table, one
of the oldest and finest fables of Christendom, which
Mr. Tennyson has lately revived and made more
real to us than ever in his Idyls of the King. No
nobler moral purpose than that which held this
imaginary brotherhood together could be conceived.
Their object was to succor the weak, to redress
wrong, to punish oppressors, and to defend the in-
jured; and in search of adventure in this sense of
the word they were supposed to be continually rid-
ing about the world, seeking not whom to devour,
but whom to deliver. This, which we have got to
consider only as a beautiful vision of poetry, was
devoutly believed in during the fourteenth century,
and it seemed to King Edward very terrible that in
the country of Arthur, the very home of the Round
Table, there should be no brotherhood of knights
whose badge and society should be sought by the
greatest of the sons of men. Other orders, less
visionary than that of Arthur, were already existing,
religious orders chiefly, with great possessions and
wielding immense power, like that of the Knights
Templars. King Edward was a wise politician and
a great soldier, and no doubt he thought of this
order in no romantic point of view as we do, but as
a solid support to his throne and advantage to his
kingdom. His mind was full of it when he gath-
ered all that fine company about him for the tour-
naments, which he did not merely for pleasure or


[MARCH,


294






WINDSOR CASTLE.


show, but because this promised to be a real advan-
tage and source of strength to his country and
throne. It is one peculiarity of the very hard and
difficult trade of king, that sometimes its most seri-
ous undertakings are carried through under the
semblance of pleasure-making and festivities. You
may read in the papers to-day how the grim old
Emperor of Germany pays visits to other monarchs,
and goes to balls, though he is not far from eighty
years old. You don't suppose that is for pleasure,
do you? or that it is the dancing he is thinking of
when he stands by and talks to other kings or
prime ministers ? In the old days this was still more
the case than now. Great banquets, and tourna-
ments, and dances were part of the State business,
and King Edward, while he planned out the idea of
his Order, and dreamed of the important work it
might do for England, knew very well that all his
anxious thinking were not enough to set it bravely
going and make it popular, but that he must wait
and look out for some happy accident, some chance
adventure, that would charm the people, some
scene or story which would please their imagina-
tions, and make his elaborate plan look like a fine
sudden impulse. You know by your own experi-
ence, though you are only boys and girls, that a
thing which begins with a story always seems more
real than that which is founded on mere dry facts.
The people are always more or less of the same
mind; and in those distant days, you know, there
was very little of what we call education. A
great number of the splendid gentlemen who
fought in the tournaments could not read, neither
could those lovely ladies in the galleries, though
some of them were renowned all over Europe;
so that something that the minstrels could make
songs about, something that could be put into a
story, was much more striking and attractive to
them than all the State projects and serious
patriotic undertakings in the world.
Now King Edward knew this, being a wise
man; and instead of taking all these people into
his great new hall and making long speeches to
them at which they would have yawned, and
probably fallen asleep in the midst, he said
nothing about his great idea, but prepared all
his plans in his mind and waited till something
should happen to give him a picturesque begin-
ning. And now I will tell you how this happy
occasion came. Some of you, I have no doubt,
have heard the story before.
You must not think that King Edward was old,
or stiff, or too serious to enjoy everything that was
going on, because he had a great many serious
things in his mind. On the contrary, he tilted with
the best, and danced when the t.ir -, over, be-
ing still in the full force of manhood. There is an


account of his appearance at one of the tourna-
ments, with a white swan on his shield, and his
coat worked over with a motto which sounds some-
what profane to our ears, though there was no such
intention in it. We should think it also written in
the style of a braggart, did any man adopt it now;
but that was not the opinion of the time. Some of
you, perhaps, could put it into Gothic letters, in
which it looks best:
Hay hay the White Swan;
By God's soul I am thy man.

This was a universal challenge to the field, and
I don't doubt King Edward got and gave some hard
knocks. And perhaps it might be on the evening
of this very day when the King had been galloping
about the lists, defying all his guests to the friendly
but rough encounter, which was all for love, and
not in anger, that the occasion he had been looking
for arose.
The great banqueting hall of Windsor Castle is
still called St. George's Hall, but no doubt it looks
very different now from King Edward's hall, which
occupied the same position and bore the same
name. Many ancient halls, however, still exist in
England, so that we can tell how it must have looked.
The walls loftier and nobler than any ball-room
nowadays, but sterner in decoration as well as much
more really beautiful; great stately windows with
decorated tracery and painted glass, which shone





~-~~---~----- -:_


ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL.
like jewels; tapestries of wonderful workmanship,
upon which many patient women had worked out
their lives; no gaudy mirrors, or commonplace
glitter of _i..:i,, but plenty of color everywhere,
in mural paintings, in pennon and banner and he-
raldic shield, and in the dresses, above all, which
were marvelous combinations of splendid stuffs
and priceless embroideries; and the whole lit up


295


1876.]







WINDSOR CASTLE.


by candles stuck in brass sconces and circles sus-
pended from the roof, the flames waving about a
little, no doubt, for the winds got in freely under
the lofty vault, and through the great doors. At
one end would be the gallery for the musicians,
with delicate railings and canopy worked in stone,
and the floors were all strewn with fresh green
rushes, the luxury of carpets not having yet reached
England. Let us hope, however, that there were
no rushes where the dancing was, but only about
the dais where their Majesties sat and received all
their noble guests. But you may be sure King Ed-
ward did not sit there long. He was among the
dancers as he had been among the knights, ready
to say I am thy man to whosoever was fairest
and sweetest of the three hundred beautiful ladies
who were in Queen Philippa's train. There were
no waltzes in those days, nor light dresses of tulle
or tarletan to be torn in the scuffle, but stately
measures, beautifully danced to much less rapid
music than ours, in which the ladies and gentlemen
had room to show themselves, and were obliged to
keep perfect time, and move with courtly grace as
ladies and gentlemen ought. In most of these
dances one pair "trod their measure at a time,
while the others looked on, no doubt making their
criticisms. And when it came to the King's turn to
perform with his beautiful partner, you may imag-
ine how all the courtiers crowded to look on.
When-but at this one holds one's breath-as
they went through their dance with stately bows
and curtsies, she probably very proud of her posi-
tion as partner to the King, he courteous and gra-
cious, but thinking all the time of Arthur's Round
Table, and his own order of knighthood, what
should happen but that the lady's garter got loose
somehow, and dropped, in the midst of all the fine
people, at the King's feet! Here was a business !
Cannot you imagine the shock, the stir, the pause,
the general titter, people staring over each other's
shoulders, pointing and whispering, while the un-
mannerly laughed aloud? There is no harm in a
garter, which is a very necessary little article in-
deed ; but one can understand how these unkind
people made it look like harm, by their mocking
looks, and how the poor lady, abashed and blush-
ing at the moment of her triumph, stood overcome
with shame, surrounded by all those fine courtiers
tittering at her. When King Edward perceived
it, he gave them, however, a practical proof that
he was by far the finest gentleman there. He
stooped and lifted up the poor little blue band from
the floor. Shame be to him who thinks evil! "
he cried, with the honest indignation of a manly
soul. This he said as Edward: I ..i ,. _... ., a knight
and gentle'nan, bound to shield and succor every
lady who wanted his help, in small things or great.


But then as he stood in the center of the group,
holding the little ribbon, and shaming the mock-
ers, there came to him that happy instinct of kings
which so often does more for them than the weigh-
tiest counsel. Here was the very accident he
wanted, and he seized upon it with royal readiness.
"Sirs," he said, "you who laugh at this garter:
there is such honor destined for it that whosoever
wears it shall think himself happy." And from
that day the Order of the Garter was as good as
established, being named and settled in the public
imagination and in King Edward's mind.
Now many people have laughed at this story,
and many have supposed it to bear a less innocent
meaning, for in our day, as in King Edward's day,
a great number of persons everywhere are ready to
think evil. But Honi soit qv'i al y pense ; the
shame be to him, everywhere and always, who puts
an evil interpretation upon an innocent accident.
"Ill-doers are ill-dreaders," one of our Scotch prov-
erbs says; and I think Edward III. gave the world
and his courtiers such a lesson that day as became
a gentleman and a king,-for of these two, gentle-
man is the higher title, and in all English speech
we write it first, as in duty bound.
Thus the greatest order of chivalry in England,
and one of the most famous in Christendom, got its
name, a fit name in so far as it embodies that high-
est grace of courtesy which, like every other noble
sentiment, is in the very breath of Christianity, part
of the fragrance that ought always to surround the
purest of religions. There was no more laughing
after that, you may suppose, at the garter, which
the noblest there was proud to buckle round his
knee, with that pungent motto embroidered on it in
the old Norman French, which was the court lan-
guage in those days-" Honi soit qui mal y pense."
For centuries afterward I should not like to have
been the man who thought evil of that badge of
honor, or dared to whisper a word against it. He
would have had short shrift in those fighting days.
There was more than this, however, to do before
the order was fairly founded. First of all there
was a chapel wanted in which they might worship
God, who, according to tradition, is the founder
of all chivalry-and hold their high festivals on St.
George's day, and give solemn investiture to each
newly chosen knight. And the chapel required a
staff of priests and choristers, with lodgings for each
learned canon, and school and living for each sing-
ing boy. And that poor men might not be left
out, while greater men came to honor, the King in-
stituted another Order of Poor Knights, in order
to furnish an asylum for old soldiers who had not
made their fortunes by their swords. Accordingly
the Chapel of St. George's was founded, which
now stands perfect, in a later architectural style


296


[MARCH,







WIJNDSOR CASTLE,


than that of Edward IIL's reign,-the richer, if not
so L.-*-: .. :. -n -'L wiich came ito full
maturity in the l.. of .-n '. 11 and vtich
is the latest development of purely Gothic archi-
tecture in e i .. Behind ae he cloisters and
canons' houses; in front of it the cnrious bright


and overeach stall hangs the banner and the sword
of the owner, So it has been for nearly six centu-
ries, and j be, all hunanr proLb-
i for centuries more.
And I wish I could take you into this lovely old
chiapel when the sumimner afternoon annshline lias


CWaIMaia' f *r csmmcsa ew'B


little houses of the Poor l .1
exis -, a-s it was foanded then. caniOs
are church .. .. I *. oer, n9waday5, aid thei
oor i' .- 1. retired ithle I I rof
the Order of the Garter is the state I of the

,TAhe chair is p
with stalb of beantifl tarred oark far the 1


got iB I \- I etrelkof .. -. Y the
,carer f a oer
ouir heo fi-aMg ..i a1pa' tie ahaaners han bgimg
........ .. ... .. th sadden toA Es i f T -' i
,T"eIedae: r 0 *I. -*i ,. be-
i I, ",., lie fs hat..-l: Rbe tan, fcloE'r- f
,- ... .* .. ". i t r .. 1, .- -. ,
of .. a n ... ... I I ",.-


y/'







THE CHOICE.


to glorious music of Handel and Mozart, as if their
whole hearts were in it; and when the service is
just over, the officiating clergyman reads a prayer
peculiar to the place. God bless our most graci-
ous Sovereign the Queen, and all the Companions
of the most noble Order of the Garter," is what he
says daily, morning and evening, as his predeces-


sors have said it for these last six hundred years.
This is how our old England carries unconsciously,
naturally as the air she breaths, the old into the new.
In the next chapter I will try to tell you how a
young captive prince, out of his prison window, fell
in love with a beautiful lady in her garden, and
what became of this young pair and their race.


_~YIEC-i :~


THE LONG WALK AT WINDSO0


THE CHOICE.

BY MARY N. PRESCOTT.


I WOULD not be a leaf, oh no,
To wait for April winds to blow
Before I should have power to grow;
I would not be a leaf, to lose
The red and gold of autumn hues,
And drop when giddy winds should choose;
I would not be a brook that strays
Through pastures and sweet hidden ways,
And nowhere loiters or delays,-
A brook that hurries here and there,
Whether the day be dark or fair,
Till caught within the frost's white snare;
I would not be a bird that weaves
Her dainty nest beneath the eaves,


And has no peace for fear of thieves;
I would not be a bird to trill,
And teach my fledglings with a will,
And find one day the nest quite still;
I would not be a bee to roam,
Seeking the sweetness far from home
With which to fill my honey-comb;
Nor would I be a. red rose, borfi
With many a hidden cruel thorn,
Where children's fingers might be torn.
But I would simply choose to be
A little child at mother's knee,
Of years that number one, two, three,-
0 that is far the best for me!


298


[MARCH,


--L---;- ~


R.







THE PETERKINS DECIDE TO KEEP A COW.


THE PETERKINS 'DECIDE TO KEEP A COW.

BY LUCRETIA P. HALE.


NOT that they were fond of drinking milk, nor
that they drank very much. But for that reason
Mr. Peterkin thought it would be well to have a
cow, to encourage the family to drink more, as he
felt it would be so healthy.
Mrs. Peterkin recalled the troubles of the last
cold winter, and how near they came to starving,
when they were shut up in a severe snow-storm,
and the water-pipes burst, and the milk was frozen.
If the cow-shed could open out of the wood-shed,
such trouble might be prevented.
Tony Larkin was to come over and milk the cow
every morning, and Agamemnon and Solomon
John agreed to, learn how to milk, in case Tony
should be "snowed up" or have the whooping-
cough in the course of the winter. The little
boys thought they knew how already.
But if they were to have three or four pails full
of milk every day, it was important to know where
to keep it.
"One way will be," said Mrs. Peterkin, to use
a great deal every day. We will make butter."
"That will be admirable," thought Mr. Peterkin.
"And custards," suggested Solomon John.
"And syllabub," said Elizabeth Eliza.
"And cocoanut cakes," exclaimed the little boys.
"We don't need the milk for cocoanut cakes,"
said Mrs. Peterkin.
The little boys thought they might have a cocoa-
nut tree instead of a cow. You could have the
milk from the cocoanuts, and it would be pleasant
climbing the tree, and you would not have to
feed it.
"Yes," said Mr. Peterkin, "we shall have to
feed the cow."
"Where shall we pasture her?" asked Aga-
memnon.
"Up on the hills, up on the hills," exclaimed
the little boys, where there are a great many bars
to take down, and huckleberry-bushes "
Mr. Peterkin had been thinking of their own
little lot behind the house.
"But I don't know," he said, "but the cow
might eat off all the grass in one day, and there
would not be any left for to-morrow, unless the
grass grew fast enough every night."
Agamemnon said it would depend upon the
season. In a rainy season the grass would come
up very fast, in a drought it might not grow at all.
I suppose," said Mrs. Peterkin, "that is the
worst of having a cow, there might be a drought."


Mr. Peterkin thought they might make some
calculation from the quantity of grass in the lot.
Solomon John suggested that measurements
might be made by seeing how much grass the
Bromwicks' cow, opposite them, eat up in a day.
The little boys agreed to go over and spend the
day on the Bromwicks' fence, and take an observa-
tion.
"The trouble would be," said Elizabeth Eliza,
"that cows walk about so, and the Bromwicks'
yard is very large. Now she would be eating in
one place, and then she would walk to another. She
would not be eating all the time, a part of the time
she would be chewing."
The little boys thought they should like nothing
better than to have some sticks, and keep the cow
in one corner of the yard till the calculations were
made.
But Elizabeth Eliza was afraid the Bromwicks
would not like it.
"Of course, it would bring all the boys in the
school about the place, and very likely they would
make the cow angry."
Agamemnon recalled that Mr. Bromwick once
wanted to hire Mr. Peterkin's lot for his cow.
Mr. Peterkin started up.
That is true; and of course Mr. Bromwick must
have known there was feed enough for one cow."
"And the reason you did n't let him have it,"
said Solomon John, "was that Elizabeth Eliza was
afraid of cows."
I did not like the idea," said Elizabeth Eliza,
"of their cow's looking at me over the top of the
fence, perhaps, when I should be planting the
sweet-peas in the garden. I hope our cow would
be a quiet one. I should not like her jumping
over the fence into the flower-beds."
Mr. Peterkin declared that he should buy a cow
of the quietest kind.
"I should think something might be done about
covering her horns," said Mrs. Peterkin; "that
seems the most dangerous part. Perhaps they
might be padded with cotton."
Elizabeth Eliza said cows were built so large and
clumsy, that if they came at you they could not
help knocking you over.
The little boys would prefer having the pasture
a great way off. Half the fun of having a cow
would be going up on the hills after her.
Agamemnon thought the feed was not so good
on the hills.


1876.1


299







THE FLOSCULE.


"'The cow would like it ever so much better,"
the little boys declared, on account of the variety.
If she did not like the rocks and the bushes, she
could walk round and find the grassy places."
"I am not sure," said Elizabeth Eliza, "but it
would be less dangerous to keep the cow in the lot
behind the house, because she would not be com-
ing and going, morning and night, in that jerky
way the Larkins' cows come home. They don't
mind which gate they rush in at. I should hate
to have our cow dash into our front yard just as I
was coming home of an afternoon."
"That is true," said Mr. Peterkin; "we can
have the door of the cow-house open directly into
the pasture, and save the coining and going."
The little boys were quite disappointed. The
cow would miss the exercise, and they would lose a
great pleasure.
Solomon John suggested that they might sit on
the fence and watch the cow.
It was decided to keep the cow in their own
pasture; and as they were to put on an end kitchen,
it would be perfectly easy to build a dairy.
The cow proved a quiet one. She was a little
excited when all the family stood round at the first
milking, and watched her slowly walking into the
shed.
Elizabeth Eliza had her.scarlet sack dyed brown
a fortnight before. It was the one she did her
gardening in, and it might have infuriated the cow.
And she kept out of the garden the first day or
two.
Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza bought the
best kind of milk-pans of every size.
But there was a little disappointment about the
taste of the milk.
The little boys liked it and drank large mugs of it.
Elizabeth Eliza said she never could learn to love


milk warm from the cow, though she would like to
do her best to patronize the cow.
Mrs. Peterkin was afraid Amanda did not under-
stand about taking care of the milk; yet she had
been down to overlook her, and she was sure the
pans and the closet were all clean.
Suppose we send a pitcher of cream over to the
lady from Philadelphia to try," said Elizabeth Eliza; .
" it will be a pretty attention before she goes."
'"It might be awkward if she didn't like it,"
said Solomon John. "Perhaps something is the
matter with the grass."
I gave the cow an apple to eat yesterday," said
one of the little boys, remorsefully.
Elizabeth Eliza went over, and Mrs. Peterkin too,
and explained all to the lady from Philadelphia,
asking her to taste the milk.
The lady from Philadelphia tasted, and said the
truth was that the milk was sour !
"I was afraid it was so," said Mrs. Peterkin;
"but I did n't know what to expect from these new
kinds of cows."
The lady from Philadelphia asked where the
milk was kept.
"In the new dairy," answered Elizabeth Eliza.
Is that in a cool place ?" asked the lady from
Philadelphia.
Elizabeth Eliza explained it was close by the new
kitchen.
"Is it near the chimney?" inquired the lady
from Philadelphia.
It is directly back of the chimney and the new
kitchen-range," replied Elizabeth Eliza. "I sup-
pose it is too hot I "
Well, well said Mrs. Peterkin, "that is it !
Iast winter the milk froze, and now we have gone
to the other extreme! Where shall we put our
dairy ? "


THE FLOSCULE.

BY MARY TREAT.


ON the following page you see a curious animal
which the microscope reveals. It is called a Flos-
cule. There are several species of Floscule,, but
the one here represented is, perhaps, as odd and
novel as any that we have seen. The creature lives
in a transparent, glass-like house that, when magni-
fied, looks very much like the candy-jars that we see
in the confectioners' shops. The house is securely


fastened to some leaf or stem that grows under
water. It seems to be a good housekeeper; how
it manages to keep its house so neat and clean,
with the door always open, is a mystery. Perhaps
there is a transparent door that we have not yet
discovered, that prevents the particles of dirt from
entering the house.
We frequently find as many as seven or eight


300


(MARCH,







THE FLOSCULE.


eggs in the Floscule's house, and there it moves
about to suit its convenience; sometimes they are
scattered about, at other times we find them in a
nice little pile.
The Floscule does not always show off to good
advantage; it settles down in a heap in the bottom




V, i ///\/,
f

\/,z





.. .. -
S--- -


THE FLOSCULE, MAGNIFIED.
of its house, and then it does not look much like
anything alive, but if we watch it awhile we will
soon see it move. It has a voracious appetite, and
has to depend upon its own exertions for a liveli-
hood. When it wants its dinner it rises up and
stands on a long foot-stalk; the foot is securely
fastened to the bottom of the house, and the most
tempting dinner will not induce it to leave its house;


so we always find our Floscule at home. The foot-
stalk is about as long as the house; so the whole
body can be outside of the house, while the foot is
firmly planted within.
The Floscule is a good deal like some people
that I know; when it is within its house it is a very
plain-looking body indeed, but as it rises to go out,
it dons its holiday attire, and very fascinating and
brilliant it looks. It reminds me of the story of
Cinderella, when the fairy godmother waves the
wand that transforms the plain Cinderella into the
beautiful princess; so the Floscule when it comes
to the door of its house waves a wand, and now its
beauties begin to unfold. The wand is attached
to the creature, and while it is waving it about, five
lobes appear, from which radiate numerous gossa-
mer-like filaments which glisten and shimmer in
the light, making it a marvel of beauty. We won-
der if all this beauty is simply for a trap to capture
prey for the Floscule's dinner ?
If we watch it awhile, I fear we shall be obliged
to come to this conclusion. A tiny animal becomes
entangled among the gossamer filaments, and now
the wand is moved over it and forces it into the
wide opening, where there is room for the little
creature to swim about; but if it attempts to escape,
the opening contracts, and this sudden movement
forces the little victim into the jaws of the Floscule.
The Floscule is a very sensitive creature-quick
to take alarm; a slight tap on the microscope, or
on the table on which the microscope stands, will
send it quickly into its house. It does not seem to
be aware that it lives in a glass house, where all its
movements can be plainly seen.; but the house, no
doubt, is a protection against marauding animals,
or it would not drop down so quickly when alarmed.
The mother Floscule takes very good care of her
eggs, but as soon as the tiny Floscules are hatched
she sends them adrift. She will not have her house
turned topsy-turvy by a lot of young ones-she is
too good a housekeeper for that; so the poor little
things go drifting about for a while, as if they did
not know what to do. Part of them are pretty sure
to fall a prey to some voracious animal, while the
remainder become attached to some water-plant,
where they soon grow to respectable-sized Floscules,
and have houses of their own, and settle down to
staid housekeepers, like their parents before them.


1876.1


301







THE ANGELS' LADDER.


THE ANGELS' LADDER.

BY MRS. M. F. BUTTS.


" IF there were a ladder, mother,
Between the earth and sky,
As in the days of the Bible,
I would bid you all good-bye,
And go through every country,
And search from town to town,
Till I had found the ladder,
With angels coming down.


" Then I would wait, quite softly,
Beside the lowest round,
Till the sweetest-looking angel
Had stepped upon the ground;
I would pull his dazzling garment,
And speak out very plain:
'Will you take me, please, to heaven,
When you go back again?'"


"Ah, darling," said the mother,
"You need not wander so
To find the golden ladder
Where angels come and go.
Wherever gentle kindness
Or pitying love abounds,
There is the wondrous ladder,
With angels on the rounds."


[MARCH,


302







THE LITTLE HOUSES ON THE TELEGRAPH-POLES.


303


THE LITTLE HOUSES ON THE TELEGRAPH-
POLES.

BY WILLIAM H. RIDING.


S ASTENED to the telegraph-poles
S in New York City there are
five hundred and forty-eight
little houses, in each of which
S dwells an invisible spirit with
greater powers than the fairy
-godmother who made a car-
riage for Cinderella out of
pumpkins and horses out of
S mice. They are built of iron
and painted green, and look
for all the world like post-
-office boxes. Indeed, I have
been told that honest country
S folks visiting the city some-
times almost wrench them to
pieces with their umbrellas
in trying to get their let-
ters in.
Under the eaves of these
little houses there is a bit of
a glass window, behind which is a blind with
some printing on it, and the printing says that a
key to the door may be found at the baker's or the
tailor's or the shoemaker's over the way. But the
possessor is forbidden to loan it, unless there hap-
pens to be a fire in the neighborhood and the spirit
is wanted to go on an errand. So, in order that
we may have a peep within, we will enlist the
services of a friend of mine who is a city fireman,
and who carries a duplicate key in his pocket.
When the door is opened, we look into the front
room; let us call it the parlor, and, like many
other parlors, it is cold and bare. The only furni-
ture is a little knob projecting from one of the walls.
The back room, which the fireman opens with
another key, is much more interesting, however;
and it is here that the wonderful spirit is imprisoned
in a curious-looking little machine, with brass cog-
wheels, levers and springs, which is set in motion
by that simple knob in front.
He is on duty all the year round. Pull the knob,
and he will fly like a flash of lightning over the wire
that enters the house from behind, telling the fire-
men throughout the city that they are wanted, and
where. His name is Electricity, and his house is
called a fire-alarm telegraph-box. So you will see
that I am writing something more real than a fairy-
story, although the facts I have to relate are about
a kind of giants and dwarfs.


The Fire Department of New York City, which
electricity controls, is the finest and most extensive
in the world. Great big London and brilliant Paris
have nothing to compare with it. It costs us a
good deal of money to keep it going, but we are
proud of it, and no one who has seen it at work
can fail to admire it. The engines and horses are
the best that can be obtained, and the men are
skillful and brave. Perhaps you have stood in
some street when an alarm of fire has been sent
out from one of the boxes. A minute or two after-
ward a fireman has dashed around the corer,
clearing the way for his engine, which has followed
along behind at race-horse speed, with bells ringing
and a trail of smoke pouring from the chimney,-
the wheels a bright scarlet, and every bit of brass-
work throwing back the sunshine in blinding rays.
Then the hose carriage has come,-a drum on
wheels, with hundreds of yards of leather tubing
wrapped around it, and half a dozen men clinging
to their seats for their lives, and slipping on their
coats as they were whirled onward. It seemed like
a cavalry charge in a battle, and has stirred your
blood with excitement. The busiest man on the
thronged street has paused to watch the heroes
galloping to their work. The vehicles in the road-
way, that were all wedged in together, have drawn
aside and left a clear passage in the center.
So, within a few minutes of the time of the alarm,
the gallant firemen have reached the burning build-
ing, and have scaled the walls and poured torrents
of water on the flames, perhaps putting them out
in less than half an hour, and perhaps fighting them
for the greater part of a day.
The moment the knob in the little house is
pulled, all the cog-wheels revolve with a noise like
clock-work, and Electricity leaps out of the roof and
along the wires with a warning to the engine-houses.
Away he goes over the highest buildings in the
city, up this street, down that street, now along a
narrow cornice seventy feet high, then around a
church steeple, stopping for the millionth part of a
second on a fifth story, then down to the ground,
never pausing until he alights at his destination
with a crash like the sound of a bad boy tumbling
through the roof of a glass house.
And when he arrives there ? What then ? Well,
I will tell exactly what happens then; but before
doing that, I must ask you to swallow a few nice,
dry, important facts.


1876.]






THE LITTLE HOUSES ON THE TELEGRAPH-POLES.


You understand, of course, that no great business
attends to itself, and in the Fire Department each
man has a particular place and some particular
duties assigned to him. The whole city, from the
Battery Park at one end to Fordham at the other,
is divided into districts, each of which has a certain
number of alarm-boxes and station-houses in it.
The station-houses are occupied by companies of
firemen, and are built of brick, three stories high,
with wide green gates in front. The first floor is
level with the street, and contains the engine, in
the rear of which are stalls for the horses. On the


of whiteness that would do a tidy woman's heart
good. The kalsomine on the walls is spotless,
and a great big brass gong shines like a miniature
sun. The engine, standing in the center, is as
bright as though it had just come from the builder's
hands. Its wheels are painted a flaming scarlet,
and every bit of brass-work is a looking-glass. Yet
it was at a fire only last night, and was drenched
with water and clouded with smoke. The furnace
is filled with fuel, and a brand of cotton soaked in
kerosene lies near by, ready to be lighted the mo-
ment it is wanted. Perhaps you have not observed


_I- --- I*


I I,


- ~ -- i;--- -


GOING TO A FIRE.


second story there is a sitting-room, nicely carpeted
and papered, containing a small library and pict-
ures of celebrated firemen on the walls. Above
this are the dormitories, with long rows of narrow
iron beds, and a wash-room. Altogether, these
station-houses look very comfortable, and many
boys will, perhaps, consider a fireman's a very de-
sirable life.
Suppose that you and I drop into one quite by
chance some afternoon or evening; it matters little
what the hour is, for the firemen have no respite,
and are on duty all day and all night.
As we enter the house from the street, we are
at first impressed with the marvelous neatness of
everything. The floors are scrubbed to a degree


the pipe that comes up through the floor. But if
you look at the little dial over the furnace, you will
see that twenty-five pounds of pressure are regis-
tered, which amount of steam is constantly main-
tained in the boiler by means of this pipe, which is
attached to another boiler in the cellar beneath;
so that when the engine is called out, and her own
fire is lighted, she is immediately ready for use.
In the stalls behind the front apartment three
plump, .. !l- ...,..i .I horses are securely altered,
with the pet name of each written in golden letters
over his bed. Some of the firemen, who are mostly
young, wiry, and muscular, are in the parlor over-
head, reading or playing dominoes. Others are
chatting in the rear yard.


304


[MARCH,


I


Il







JON OF ICELAND.


Although the station is on a noisy thoroughfare,
it is as quiet as a church within, and an overfed
kitten is coiled up in tranquil sleep on the door-
mat. But a surprise is in store for us, and when it
comes it shakes our nerves.
Crash The roof seems to be falling in. Crash !
crash! crash! again and again. The three horses
come galloping out of the stable one after the
other, and stop short in front of the engine and
hose-carriage. The men leap about like bounding
Arabs. There is a rattle of harness; the drivers
spring to their seats, and the wide doors fly open.
Ready!
And the captain of the station, who has been
standing quietly in a corner with his watch in his
hand, comes toward us, who are dumbfounded, and
smilingly says to us: "Exactly thirteen seconds,
gentlemen !" What on earth does he mean?
Simply that, in order to show us what his men
could do, he gave a false alarm, and that a little
more than a quarter of a minute after Master Elec-
tricity had sounded the gong, every man was at his


place, horses were harnessed, and all things were
ready for a fight with the flames.
Whenever the knob in the little houses on the
telegraph-poles is pulled, the same things occur in
at least four engine-houses. The moment the ham-
mer of the gong falls, which it does when touched
by that marvelous fellow Electricity, it disengages
the horses from their halters by a connecting iron
rod, and they, trained to their duties, spring to
their places with as much eagerness as the men.
The same signal tells exactly where the fire is, and
within ten minutes four engines are on the spot,
sucking water from the mains and throwing it
eighty or ninety feet high.
If the knob is pulled a second time, four more
engines are called; and if again, four more; and
by repeating the call, all the engines in the city
may be brought to the ground.
Does n't all this recall the story of Jack the Giant-
killer to your mind? Electricity is Jack, who,
although such a bit of a fellow, has the power to
command this great giant of the Fire Department.


THE STORY OF JON OF ICELAND.

BY BAYARD TAYLOR.


CHAPTER VII.
AT the end of two weeks, Sigurd's wife received
a letter from her brother, and it was better than
she' had dared to hope. Magnus wrote that his
wife was dead, his son was a student in Copen-
hagen, and he was all alone in the big house at
I.._-., d.. He was ready to give Jon a home,
even to take herself and her husband, provided the
latter could sell his farm to good advantage and
find some employment which would add to his
means. He must neither live an idle life, nor
depend on my help," Magnus said; and his sister
felt that he was right, although he told the truth in
rather a hard, unfriendly way.
She read the letter to Sigurd next morning, as
he was lying very weak and quiet, but in his right
mind. His eyes slowly brightened, and he mur-
mured, at last, with difficulty:
Sell the farm to Thorsten, for his eldest son,
and go to Magnus. Jon will take my place."
Jon, who had entered the room in time to hear
these words, sat down on the bed and held his
father's hand in both his own. The latter smiled
VOL. III.---2I.


faintly, opened his lips to speak again, and then a
sudden quivering passed over his face, and he lay
strangely still. It was a long time before the widow
and children could believe that he was dead. They
said to each other, over and over again, amid their
tears : He was happy; the trouble for our sakes
was taken away from his heart; "-and Jon thought
to himself: "If I do my best, as I promised, he
will be still happier in heaven."
When Sigurd's death was known, the neighbors
came and helped them until the funeral was over,
and the sad little household resumed, as far as
possible, its former way of life. Thorsten, a rich
farmer of Kyrkedal, whose son was to be married
in the spring, came, a few weeks later, to make an
offer for the farm. No doubt he hoped to get it
at a low price; for money has a greater value in
Iceland, where there is so little of it. But the
widow said at once: I shall make no bargain un-
less Jon agrees with me; and then Jon spoke up,
looking a great deal more like a full-grown, honest
man, than he supposed:
We only want the fair value of the farm, neigh-


1876.]


THE STORY OF


305







THE STORY OF JON OF ICELAND.


bor Thorsten. We want it because we need it,
and everybody will say it is just and right that we
should have it. If we cannot get that, I shall try
to go on, and do my father's work. I am only a
boy now, but I shall get bigger and stronger every
year."
"Thy father could not have spoken better
words," said Thorsten.
He made what he considered a fair offer, and it
was very nearly as much as Jon and his mother
had reckoned upon; the latter, however, insisted
on waiting until she had consulted with her brother
Magnus.
Not many days after that, Magnus himself arrived
at the farm. He was a tall man, with dark hair,
large gray eyes, a thin, hard mouth, and an im-
portant, commanding air. It was a little hard for
Jon to say "uncle" to this man, whom he had
never seen, and of whom he had heard so little.
Magnus, although stern, was not unfriendly, and
when he had heard of all that had been said and
done, he nodded his head and said:
Very prudent; very well, so far "
It was, perhaps, as well that the final settlement
of affairs was left to Uncle Magnus, for he not only
obtained an honest price for the farm, but sold the
'ponies, cows, and sheep to much better advantage
than the family could have done. He had them
driven to Kyrkedal, and sent messengers to Skal-
holt and Myrdal, and even to Thingvalla, so that
quite a number of farmers came together, and they
had dinner in the church. Some of the women
and children also came, to say good-bye" to the
family; but when the former whispered to Jon:
" You '1 come back to us some day, as a pastor or
a skald" (author), Magnus frowned and shook his
head.
The boy is in a fair way to make an honest,
sensible man," he said. "Don't you spoil him
with your nonsense "
When they all set out together for Rejkiavik,
Jon reproached himself for feeling so light-hearted,
while his mother and Gudrid wept for miles of the
way. He was going to see a real town, to enter
school, to begin a new and wonderful life; and just
beyond Kyrkedal there came the first strange sight.
They rode over the grassy plain toward the Geysers,
the white steam of which they had often seen in
the distance; but now, as they drew near a gray
cone, which rose at the foot of the hill on the west,
a violent thumping began in the earth under their
feet. "He is going to spout!" cried the guide,
and he had hardly spoken when the basin in the
top of the cone boiled over furiously, throwing
huge volumes of steam into the air. Then there
was a sudden, terrible jar, and a pillar of water, six
feet in diameter, shot up to the height of nearly a


hundred feet, sparkling like liquid gold in the low,
pale sunshine. It rose again and again, until the
subterranean force was exhausted; then the water
fell back into the basin with a dull sound, and all
was over.
They could think or talk of nothing else for a
time, and when they once more looked about them
the landscape had changed. All was new to the
children, and only dimly remembered by their
mother. The days were very short and dark, for
winter was fast coming on; it was often difficult to
make the distance from one farm-house to another,
and they twice slept in the little churches, which
are always hospitably opened for travelers, because
there' are no inns in Iceland. After leaving the
valley, they had a bitterly cold and stormy journey
over a high field of lava, where little piles of stones,
a few yards apart, are erected to guide the traveler.
Beyond this, they crossed the Raven's Cleft, a deep,
narrow chasm, with a natural bridge in one place,
where the rocks have fallen together from either
side; then, at the bottom of the last slope of the
lava-plains, they entered the Thingvalla Forest.
Jon was a little disappointed; still, he had never
seen anything like it. There were willow and birch
bushes, three or four feet high, growing here and
there out of the cracks among the rocks. He could
look over the tops of them from his pony, as he
rode along, and the largest trunk was only big
enough to make a club. But there is no other
"forest" in Iceland; and the people must have
something to represent a forest, or they would have
no use for the word !
It was fast growing dark when they reached
Thingvalla, and the great shattered walls of rock
which inclose the valley appeared much loftier than
by day. On the right, a glimmering water-fall
plunged from the top of the cliff, and its roar filled
the air. Magnus pointed out, on the left, the
famous "Hill of the Law," where, for nearly nine
hundred years, the people of Iceland had assembled
together to discuss their political matters. Jon
knew all about the spot, from the many historical
legends and poems he had read, and there was
scarcely another place in the whole world which he
could have had greater interest in seeing. The
next morning, when it was barely light enough
to travel, they rode up a kind of rocky ladder,
through a great fissure called the .-1."':,'* :..- .f or
"People's Chasm," and then pushed on more
rapidly across the barren table-land. It was still
forty miles to Rejkiavik,-a good two days' journey
at that season,-and the snows, which already cov-
ered the mountains, were beginning to fall on the
lower country.
On the afternoon of the second day, after they
had crossed the Salmon River, Magnus said:


306


[MARCH,






THE STORY OF JON OF ICELAND.


307


In an hour we shall see the town !"
But the first thing that came in sight was only a
stone tower, or beacon, which the students had
built upon a hill.
Is that a town ? asked Gudrid; whereupon
the others laughed heartily.
Jon discreetly kept silent, and waited until they
had reached the foot of the beacon, when-all at
once-Rejkiavik lay below them. Its two or three
hundred houses stretched for half a mile over a
belt of land between the sea and a large lake.
There was the prison, built all of cut stone; the
old wooden cathedral, with its square spire; the
large, snow-white governor's house, and the long
row of stores and warehouses, fronting the harbor
-all visible at once To a boy who had never
before seen a comfortable dwelling, nor more than
five houses near together, the little town was a
grand, magnificent capital. Each house they
passed was a new surprise to him ; the doors, win-
dows, chimneys and roofs were all so different, so
large and fine. And there were more people in
the streets than he had ever before seen together.
At last, Magnus stopped before one of the hand-
somest dwellings, and helped his sister down from
her pony. The door opened, and an old servant
came forth. Jon and Gudrid, hand in hand, fol-
lowed them into a room which seemed to them
larger and handsomer than the church at Kyrke-
dal, with still other rooms opening out of it, with
wonderful chairs, and pictures, and carpets upon
which they were afraid to walk. This was their
new home.
CHAPTER VIII.
EVEN before their arrival, Jon discovered that
his Uncle Magnus was a man who said little, but
took good notice of what others did. The way to
gain his favor, therefore, was to accept and dis-
charge the duties of the new life as they should
arise. Having adopted the resolution to do this,
it was surprising how soon these duties became
familiar and easy. He entered the school, where
he was by no means the lowest or least promising
scholar, assisted his mother and Gudrid wherever
it was possible, and was so careful a messenger that
Magnus by degrees intrusted him with matters of
some importance. The household, in a little while,
became well-ordered and harmonious, and although
it lacked the freedom and home-like feeling of the
lonely farm on the Thiorvd, all were contented and
happy.
Jon had a great deal to learn, but his eagerness
helped him. His memory was naturally excellent,
and he had been obliged to exercise it so constantly
-having so few books, and those mostly his own
written copies-that he was able to repeat,.cor-


rectly, large portions of the native sagas, or poet-
ical histories. He was so well advanced in Latin
that the continuance of the study became simply a
delight; he learned Danish, almost without an
effort, from his uncle's commercial partner and the
Danish clerk in the warehouse; and he took up
the study of English with a zeal which was height-
ened by his memories of Mr. Lorne.
We cannot follow him, step by step, during this
period, although many things in his life might
instruct and encourage other earnest, struggling
boys. It is enough to say that he was always
patient and cheerful, always grateful for his oppor-
tunity of education, and never neglectful of his
proper duties to his uncle, mother, and sister.
Sometimes, it is true, he was called upon to give
up hours of sport, days of recreation, desires which
were right in themselves but could not be grati-
fied,-and it might have gone harder with him
to do so, if he had not constantly thought: How
would my father have acted in such a case?"
And had he not promised to take the place of his
father ?
So three years passed away. Jon was eighteen,
and had his full stature. He was strong and
healthy, and almost handsome; and he had seen
so much of the many strangers who every summer
come to Rejkiavik,--French fishermen, Spanish
and German sailors, English travelers, and Danish
traders,-that all his old shyness had disappeared.
He was able to look any man in the eyes, and ask
or answer a question.
It was the beginning of summer, and the school
had just closed. Jon had been assisting the Danish
clerk in the warehouse; but toward noon, when
they had an idle hour, a sailor announced that
there was a new arrival in the harbor; so he walked
down the beach of sharp lava-sand to the wooden
jetty where strangers landed. A little distance off
shore a yacht was moored; the English flag was
flying at the stern, and a boat was already pulling
toward the landing-place. Jon rubbed his eyes, to
be sure that he saw clearly; but no the figure
remained the same; and now, as the stranger
leaped ashore, he could no longer contain himself.
He rushed across the beach, threw his arms around
the man, and cried out: Lorne! Lorne !"
The latter was too astonished to recognize him
immediately.
Don't you know me ? Jon asked; and then,
half laughing, half crying, said in Latin: To-day
is better than yesterday."
Why, can this be my little guide ?" exclaimed
Mr. Lorne. But to be sure it is! There are no
such wise eyes in so young a head anywhere else
in the world."
Before night the traveler was installed in the


1876.]







THE STORY OF JON OF ICELAND.


guest-room in Uncle Magnus's house; and then
they truly found that he had not forgotten them.
After supper he opened a box, and out there came
a silver watch for Jon; a necklace, that could not
be told from real pearls, for Gudrid; and what a
shawl for the mother! Even Uncle Magnus was
touched, for he brought up a very old, dusty bottle
of Portugal wine, which he had never been known
to do before, except one day when the Governor
came to see him.
"And now," said Mr. Lorne, when he was a
little tired of being thanked so much, I want


fields sparkled in the blue of the air. They saw
many a wild and desolate landscape, but also many
a soft green plain and hay-meadow along the inlets
of the northern shore; and in the little town of
Akureyri Jon at last found a tree-the only tree in
Iceland It is a mountain-ash, about twenty feet
high, and the people are so proud of it that every
autumn they wrap the trunk and boughs, and even
the smallest twigs, in woolen cloth, lest the severity
of the winter should kill it.
They visited the Myvatn (Mosquito Lake) in the
north-eastern part of the island, saw the volcanoes


A HALT ON THE JOURNEY.


something in return. I am going, by way of the
Broad Fiord, to the northern shore of Iceland, and
back through the desert; and I shall not feel safe
unless Jon goes with me."
Oh cried Jon.
I am not afraid this time," said Gudrid.
Magnus looked at his sister, and then nodded.
"Take the boy!" he said. "He can get back
before school begins again; and we are as ready
to trust him with you, as you are to trust yourself
with him."
What a journey that was They had plenty of
ponies, and a tent, and provisions in tin cans.
Sometimes it rained or snowed, and they were wet
and chilly enough at the end of the day, but then
the sun shone again, and the black mountains be-
came purple and violet, and their snows and ice-


which last year occasioned such terrible devasta-
tion, and then crossed the great central desert to
the valley of the Thiirva. So it happened that
Jon saw Gudridsdale again, but under pleasanter
aspects than before, for it was a calm, sunny day
when they reached the edge of the table-land and
descended into the lovely green valley. It gave
him a feeling of pain to find strangers in his father's
house, and perhaps Mr. Lorne suspected this, for
he did not stop at the farm, but pushed on to
Kyrkedal, where the good old pastor entertained
them both as welcome guests. At the end of six
weeks they were back in Rejkiavik, hale and ruddy
after their rough journey, and closer friends than
ever.
Each brought back his own gain-Mr. Lorne was
able to speak Icelandic tolerably well, and Jon was


308


[MARCH,







THE STORY OF JON OF ICELAND.


quite proficient in English. The former had made
the trip to Iceland especially to collect old his-
torical legends and acquire new information con-
cerning them. To his great surprise, he found Jon
so familiar with the subject, that, during the jour-
ney, he conceived the idea of taking him to Scot-
land for a year, as an assistant in his studies; but
he said nothing of this until after their return.
Then, first, he proposed the plan to Magnus and
Jon's mother, and prudently gave them time to
consider it. It was hard for both to consent, but
the advantages were too evident to be rejected. To
Jon, when he heard it, it seemed simply impossible;
yet the preparations went on,-his mother and
Gudrid wept as they helped, Uncle Magnus looked
grave,-and at last the morning came when he had
to say farewell.
The yacht had favorable winds at first. They
ran along the southern shore to Ingolf's Head,
saw the high, inaccessible summits of the Skaptar
J6kull fade behind them, and then Iceland dropped
below the sea. A misty gale began to blow from
the south-west, forcing them to pass the Faroe
Islands on .the east, and afterward the Shetland
Isles ; but, after nearly coming in sight of Norway,
the wind changed to the opposite quarter, and the
yacht spread her sails directly for Leith. One
night, when Jon awoke in his berth, he missed the
usual sound of waves against the vessel's side and
the cries of the sailors on deck-everything seemed
strangely quiet; but he was too good a sleeper to
puzzle his head about it, so merely turned over on
his pillow. When he arose the quiet was still there.
He dressed in haste and went on deck. The yacht
lay at anchor in front of buildings larger than a
hundred Rejkiaviks put together.
This is Leith," said Mr. Lorne, coming up to
him.
Leith ? Jon exclaimed; it seems like Rome
or Jerusalem Those must be the king's palaces."
No, my boy," Mr. Lorne answered, they are
only warehouses."
But what are those queer green hills behind
the houses? They are so steep and round that I
don't see how anybody could climb up."
"Hills?" exclaimed Mr. Lorne. Oh, I see
now Why, Jon, those are trees."
Jon was silent. He dared not doubt his friend's
word, but he could not yet wholly believe it. When
they had landed, and he saw the great trunks, the
spreading boughs, and the millions of green leaves,
such a feeling of awe and admiration came over
him that he began to tremble. A wind was blow-
ing, and the long, flexible boughs of the elms
swayed up and down.
Oh, Mr. Lorne he cried. See 1 they are
praying Let us wait awhile; they are saying


something-I hear their voices. Is it English ?-
can you understand it ? "
Mr. Lorne took him by the hand, and said: It
is praise, not prayer. They speak the same lan-
guage all over the world, but no one can under-
stand all they say."
There is one rough little cart in Rejkiavik, and
that is the only vehicle in Iceland. What, then,
must have been Jon's feelings when he saw hun-
dreds of elegant carriages dashing to and fro, and
great wagons drawn by giant horses ? When they
got into a cab, it seemed to him like sitting on a
moving throne. He had read and heard of all
these things, and thought he had a clear idea of
what they were; but he was not prepared for the
reality. He was so excited, as they drove up the
long street to Edinburgh, that Mr. Lorne, sitting
beside him, could feel the beating of his heart.
The new wonders never ceased: there was an
apple-tree, with fruit; rose-bushes in bloom; whole
beds of geraniums in the little gardens ; windows
filled with fruit, or brilliant silks, or silver-ware
towers that seemed to touch the clouds, and end-
less multitudes of people As they reached the
hotel, all he could say, in a faltering voice, was:
" Poor old Iceland "
The next day they took the train for Lanark, in
the neighborhood of which Mr. Lorne had an
estate. When Jon saw the bare, heather-covered
mountains, and the swift brooks that came leaping
down their glens, he laughed and said:
"Oh, you have a little of Iceland even here!
If there were trees along the Thi6rvd, it would look
like yonder valley."
I have some moorland of my own," Mr. Lorne
remarked; "and if you ever get to be homesick,
I'll send you out upon it, to recover."
But when Jon reached the house, and was so
cordially welcomed by Mrs. Lorne, and saw the
park and gardens where he hoped to become
familiar with trees and flowers, he thought there
would be as much likelihood of being homesick in
heaven as in such a place.
Everything he saw tempted him to visit and ex-
amine it. During the first few days he could
scarcely sit still in the library and take part in Mr.
Lorne's studies. But his strong sense of duty, his
long habits of patience and self-denial, soon made
the task easy, and even enabled him to take a few
more hours daily for his own improvement. His
delight in all strange and beautiful natural objects
was greatly prolonged by this course. He enjoyed
everything far more than if he had rapidly ex-
hausted its novelty. Mr. Lorne saw this quality of
Jon's nature with great satisfaction, and was very
ready to give advice and information which he
knew would be earnestly heeded.


1876.]


309






SNOW-SHOES, AND HOW TO MAKE THEM.


It was a very happy year; but I do not believe
that it was the happiest of Jon's life. Having
learned to overcome the restlessness and impatience
which are natural to boyhood, he laid the basis for
greater content in life as a man. When he returned
to Rejkiavik, in his twentieth year, with a hundred
pounds in his pocket and a rich store of knowledge
in his head, all other tasks seemed easy. It was a
great triumph for his mother, and especially for
Gudrid, now a bright, blooming maiden of sixteen.
Uncle Magnus brought up another dusty bottle to
welcome him, although there were only six more
left; and all the neighbors came around in the
evening. Even the Governor stopped and shook


hands, the next day, when Jon met him in the
street. His mother, who was with him, said, after
the Governor had passed: I hope thy father sees
thee now." The same thought was in Jon's heart.
And now, as he is no longer a boy, we must say
good-bye to him. We have no fears for his future
life; he will always be brave, and manly, and truth-
ful. But, if some of my readers are still curious to
know more of him, I may add that he is a very
successful teacher in the school at Rejkiavik; that
he hopes to visit Mr. Lore, in Scotland, next sum-
mer; and I should not be in the least surprised if
he were to join good old Dr. Hjaltalin, and come
to our Centennial.


THE END.


SNOW-SHOES, AND HOWTO MAKE THEM.

BY FREDERIC G. MATHER.


PERHAPS not many boys who read this magazine
ever see enough snow to make it worth while to
have a pair of snow-shoes; but I would like to tell


AN INDIAN TRAPPER ON SNOW-SHOES
AN INDIAN TRAPPER ON SNOW-SHOES.


all the boys, and girls too, something about them,
and then I will describe a very simple method of
making a pair which will answer every purpose.


You all know that the Canadian winters are very
severe, and that the ground is covered with snow
for almost half of the year. The roads are covered
up and all the paths in the woods are hidden, and
the trappers only know their way by marks on the
trees. Now, if they should try to walk with only
boots upon their feet, they would sink into the
snow, for the same reason that the runners of a
sled would sink. But if the area or surface of the
runners or of the boots can be increased, the sled
or the man may avoid sinking. We have seen, in
the February ST. NICHOLAS, how a sled can be
made which overcomes this difficulty, and which is
called a toboggan. Now that we have satisfactorily
settled the question of riding upon the snow, we
will turn to another and more important one, and
ask: How can a man walk on the snow? The
remedy is found by using snow-shoes, which are
very light, and which give such a large surfacethat
one who uses them cannot sink down into the snow
even if he tries to do so.
In Quebec one may see a great variety of snow-
shoes. Many trappers used to go there with their
furs. In the summer, when they were not hunt-
ing, they would make snow-shoes, which the white
people used. The white people still use these
shoes, and it is considered a very fashionable thing
to go on a "snow-shoe tramp," as it is called.
There are clubs of gentlemen in Canada, formed
for this purpose; and whe-n distinguished strangers


31o


[MARCH,


r-
"*^ ^^-






SNOW-SHOES, AND HOW TO MAKE THEM.


go over there, they are often invited, not much to
their satisfaction, to tramp over the snow with the
Canadians, who have been used to such things all
their lives. The custom originated with the In-

C F

A

'_ -- .7
-iE t


I


'I


A SNOW-SHOE.

dians, as I have said. On the preceding page is a
picture of a trapper who has on his snow-shoes.
He is out on a solitary hunt, and is looking for
some animal whose fur he wants far more than
he wants his flesh.
Some of the boys who read this live in the north-
ern part of the United States, and they have all
the snow they want, and perhaps
they have the snow-shoes too.
= -I: But I know that there are a great
many boys who live where there
is enough snow in the year to
-i- pay them for having snow-shoes,
and many of these have never
HOPELESS CONFUSION, seen such articles, and s? I will
tell how they can be made.
You first need to take a long strip of oak or ash,
about one inch broad and one-third or one-half of
an inch thick. The length should be about six
feet, but for a large boy it would be well to have
the length eight feet. Your first move will be to
bend this long strip in the shape of the shoe, as
shown in the cut below. This can easily be done
by steaming the strip at the middle point, H. It
would be well to insert the braces at B and E,
before fastening the two ends at A. The ends of


the braces should fit into the long strip, and should
be fastened with nails.
Now comes the hardest part of the work,-to
weave a strong, light covering which will fill up
the whole of the frame-work. You
can use either small strips of sheep-
-'-. skin, or you can cut a small hide
Into lengths no larger round than a
S -' shoe-string. If you can find any
.*. :- rattan, you can split it and use the
S splinters just as the men do who
make cane-seated chairs. In fact,
that is just what you want; and the
nearer you weave your work like
the bottom of a chair the better it
will be. I have drawn a picture of
the way in which the seat of a chair
is woven, and have called it hopeless confusion,"
because I do not think you can copy it in your
work. It would be easier for you to try the way
which I have shown in the opposite cut, and weave
your strips as closely together as possible. You
must bore or burn holes all about your frame-work,
for the purpose of receiving and fastening the ends
of your thongs or splinters, as the case may be.
Do not have all of these holes in line with the grain
of the wood, or else you may split the frame-work.
At C you must have a very strong cord or
thong, with two others at
right angles to the brace E. -- I .I
The object is to leave a hole ----
at D for the heel. A is the
toe of the shoe, and it is fas- UNDER AND OVER.
tened to your boot by.leather straps or cords at
F and G.
You will find that it will be an easy matter to
make two such shoes; and then, whenever a heavy
snow comes, you can walk over it wherever you
please. But you must be careful to behave your-
selves while you are out on a tramp, because every-
body can tell by the tracks just where you have
been; and if anything wrong happens on your
line of march, it may be charged to you.


1876.]


3II


'i I









312 THE SHARK.


THE SHARK.

BY L. E. R.


I I


K.j~


K



iC

C I6


OH, blithe and merrily sang the shark,
As he sat on the house-top high,
A-cleaning his boots, and smoking cheroots,
. With a single glass in his eye.

With Martin and Day he polished away,
And a smile on his face did glow,
While merry and bold the chorus he trolled
Of Gobble-em-upsky ho "


He sang so loud he astonished the crowd
Which gathered from far and near,
For they said, Such a sound in the country round
We never, no never did hear."

He sang of the ships he'd eaten like chips,
In the palmy days of his youth;
And he added, "If you don't believe it is true,
Pray examine my wisdom tooth "


[MARCH,


/
(I /.,,
I,


Nl c
N


1.111n


312


THE SHARK.


.1


~~
'


I


- I






HELPING ALONG.


He sang of the whales who'd have given their tails
For a glance of his raven eye;
And the swordfish too, who their weapons drew,
And vowed for his sake they'd die.

He sang about wrecks, and hurricane decks,
And the mariner's perils and pains,
Till every man's blood up on end it stood,
And their hair ran cold in their veins.


But.blithe as a lark the merry old shark
Sat on the sloping roof;
Though he said, "It is queer that no one draws near
To examine my wisdom tooth "

He carolled away by night and by day,
Until he made every one ill;
And I'll wager a crown that unless he's come down
He is probably carolling still.


HELPING ALONG.

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.


"Now she has got a moral fit, and is trying to
be dreadful good. She always does so after being
naughty," said a little friend of mine, glancing at a
younger sister with the superior air of one who
was never naughty.
The meek, repentant expression of the other
child changed at once to a half-sullen, half-defiant
look, and she turned away grieved and angered by
the very voice that should have been full of kindly
encouragement in the well-doing so hard to most
of us.
We often witness little scenes like this, and very
naturally wonder why children are sometimes so
unsympathetic, why trying to be good should excite
ridicule instead of respect, and why, when we all
know by experience how hard it is to do right, we
are not more ready with the helping hand, the
hearty Cheer up and try again," which is so
sweet and comforting.
This is work that we girls are eminently fitted
for by nature and by grace, if we choose to see and
make the duty ours. The gift of sympathy is a
very lovely one,-more lasting than beauty, more
useful than many an accomplishment, more magi-
cal than any art a woman, can possess, for it is the
key that opens hearts, a passport to the hidden
world of romance that lies behind our every-day
life, the touch of nature that makes the whole
world kin.
Not the sentimental sympathy ready to gush
into tears at the loss of a pet bird, and to exhale
in sighs when the test of real trouble comes. But
the power of reading in the faces of those about
us something of the hopes, the doubts and needs
that live in all of us; the skill to answer a wistful


look with a cordial Can-I-help-you ? glance, and put
into the grasp of a hand the subtle warmth that
telegraphs without a word the glad message,
"Here 's a friend."
It must be genuine, simple and sincere, with no
thought of reward, though wonderful returns are
made from most unexpected sources, as in the dear
old fairy tales the beggar whom the good girl feeds
gives her a gift that smooths her way through life.
I think we cannot begin too early to cherish this
winsome grace both in ourselves and others.
Fathers and mothers, set a good example, which
brothers and sisters should follow, glad and proud
to stand loyally by one another through both
defeats and victories.
I well remember how helpful was this sort of
sympathy in my own tempestuous girlhood, when
every day was a struggle with the trials that beset
a strong-willed, hot-tempered child. A look, a
word, a warning gesture; and often going to my
little journal to record with tragic brevity, A bad
day," I found a line or two waiting for me full of
the tender disappointment that goes deeper than
reproach, the never-failing belief in the possibility
of success, the sweet assurance that Mother
never forgets to ask God to help the little daughter
trying to be good."
Next to mothers come sisters, and to them I
earnestly recommend the subject, for I cherish a
cheerful belief that the girls of the present are
going to profit by the work of the girls of the past
so well that the girls of the future will have a
splendid start.
Boys are so horrid nobody can be patient with
them," says many a sister, driven to her wit's end by


1876.]


313








314 HELPING ALONG. [MAIiCH,


the manifold transgressions of the brothers, whom
she too often regards as inflictions to be lamented
over and got rid of as soon as possible. The boy's
rude enjoyments, droll mishaps and soaring aspira-
tions have no interest for the girl, busy with her
gentle pleasures, little duties, and romantic dreams.
So they grow apart, and years later, when the man
has done something to be proud of, the woman
wants to share the glory; or if he fails and troubles
come, the sister, taught by her own experience,
longs to comfort him; but now it is a hard task,
for the hearts are shut, and it is almost impossible to
establish in a day the affectionate confidence which
should have grown with their growth, and too late
they learn how much they might have been to one
another if they had only begun in time.
Girls are quick to see and feel many things that
escape other eyes, and how can they use this
,power better than in watching over the more
adventurous and willful spirits of the boys? Bear
and forbear, help them to shun temptation, be
ready for the first sign of repentance, and try to
make it easy for the proud or stubborn to say the
hard words, I am sorry." No matter how absurd or
inconvenient a form the penitence may take, never
laugh at it or put it by as of no value. A repulse
just at the tender moment may lock up a confi-
dence that never will come back. No matter how
often the solemn resolutions are broken, believe
that amendment is always possible, and be to those
brothers what I heard a sister once called, with
looks that were blessings, Our Conscience."
As young people like stories better than sermons,
and have great skill in finding the moral, if there
is any, I will sugar-coat my little pill with an inci-
dent which illustrates this point exactly.
A certain scapegrace-Johnny by name-tor-
mented his sister's kitten, and being discovered,
excused his cruelty by saying coolly:
"Well, a cat's got nine lives, and I don't see
any harm in hanging her a little, 'cause if she does
lose one she's got eight more to fall back on."
The anguish of Sue over the injured darling was
great, and a day of solitary confinement on bread
and water did not seem too severe a punishment
for the hard-hearted boy who could even think of
harming a downy white kit like Puff.
But as night came on, Sue began to relent, for
Pussy was so lively that partial suffocation really
did seem to agree with her, and the vision of poor
lonely Johnny, with his three slices of bread and
three mugs of water, rose before her in the most
pathetic manner.
Getting a free pardon from the higher powers,
she went to bear the glad tidings, but peeped
through the key-hole first to see how it was likely
to be received. A somewhat limited view of the


cell revealed the prisoner's head lying on his arm,
and a candle in dangerous proximity to his curly
pate.
"Poor Johnny breathed tender Sue, and, un-
locking the door, she entered, beaming with peace
and good-will.
But brief as had been her delay in getting the
key to turn, an entire change had come over the
captive, and no sign of "poor Johnny" could be
discovered in the unrepentant-looking boy who sat
with his boots on the table, hands in his pockets,
and an expression of the utmost unconcern upon
his youthful countenance.
"I thought you might like to know that Puff
is quite comfortable again," began Sue, rather
daunted by this sudden change.
Course she is! can't kill a cat so easy as all
that," with a contemptuous shrug.
Would n't you like to come down now? "
Don't care particularly about it."
Please do care, Johnny, for I'm lonely if you
are n't. No one shall say a word about it, and we '11
all be glad to see you back."
Johnny put his feet down and moved uneasily in
his chair, for Sue had smoothed the way to free-
dom so sweetly, his bottled up remorse began to
work within him.
Did you ask father ?"
"Yes; I knew you would n't do it again, and
must be very tired of staying here so long."
"Oh, I 've been busy, and had lots of fun making
that."
Lifting the light, Johnny proudly displayed upon
the wall the motto, Do as you would be done by,"
made of what at first looked -like a series of queer,
black blots.
"That is a very good one for you to have," began
Sue, then started back with an irrepressible "Ow!"
for on going nearer to admire, she discovered that
the blots were beetles of some sort.
"Oh, Johnny, how horrid! What are they?
How could you do so to those poor things ? "
Cockroaches; and you need n't howl, for they
were all as dead as Julius Casar before I put a pin
into 'em."
Then, as if some explanation were necessary, and
this a good opportunity to make the amende honor-
able, he added, soberly:
"You see, when I came up, I was so mad I
planned to put all the bugs and things I 'd caught
in my trap into your bed and pockets, and down
your back, first chance I got. But I had to wait,
and somehow my mad all went off, and then I
thought I'd have a motto, something like those
you've got. The one in your room has leaves and
ferns around it, and I had n't a thing but these old
chaps lying around. Don't you know, in that Dick-


314


HELPING ALONG.


[MARCH,








18764 HELPING ALONG. 315


ens' book, one of the fellows makes a picture of
dried skeets? I thought I 'd try the cockies, and
it was great fun putting 'em up. Neat thing, isn't
it ? "
The utter absurdity of the golden rule being
framed in starved cockroaches never struck Johnny,
but it did Sue, and she was on the brink of a laugh,
when a glance at the boy's face, as he surveyed his
work with pensive satisfaction, made her smother
her merriment, by a great effort, and try to answer
gravely.
"I never saw anything so curious; and I do
hope you will remember not to be cruel, for papa
says really brave people never are, and I know you
are n't a coward, for you never hit a boy smaller
than yourself," gently moralized Sue.
"I'd be a mean sneak if I did!" exclaimed
Johnny with scorn.
Then I should n't think you'd hurt a poor little
cat, who cannot fight one bit," added Sue, feeling
that she had got him now.
No answer from Mr. John, who suddenly affected
to be absorbed with a refractory roach, who would
twirl round on his pin instead of pointing grace-
fully upward in the last letter of the word You."
But Sue saw a slight pucker round his mouth, and
knew that it was all right, for that peculiar pucker
was a sure sign that emotions of the tender sort
were getting under weigh. So she put her hand
on his arm, whispering, with a gentle pat:
You need n't say you are sorry, for Puff and I
forgive and forget. Wont you please come down,
dear; I can't enjoy myself a bit if you don't."
You go along, I'11 come in a minute," from
Johnny in the gruff tone that Sue knew by experi-
ence was the last growl of the storm,
But she had barely time to get to the dark corner
of the hall when there was a rush from the rear, a
rough arm came round her neck, a kiss went off
like a pistol shot, and a voice that was no longer
gruff, said, all in one hearty, incoherent burst:
I am sorry, I never will again, you're a first-
class girl, and I'll keep the old cockies up there
forever 'n' ever, to make me remember to be as
good to cats and things as you are to me !"
Sue had many a laugh afterward to pay her for
the one so wisely smothered at that critical moment,
and Johnny's repentance, though it took a droll
form, was sincere, for he laid the words of the cock-
roach motto to heart, and tried to be worthy the
love and respect of a first-class sister."
School-mates and bosom friends can do a great
deal for one another in this direction, not by con-
stant fault-finding, but by patiently trying to cure
the faults in the kindest way. There are plenty of
little reforms in manners and habits, as well as in
thoughts and feeling, to be undertaken, and the


best test of friendship is this mutual help and con-
fidence.
I once heard about a set of girls who felt it their
duty to tell one another their faults with entire
frankness; in fact they quite exerted themselves
to drag forth the hidden weaknesses of their young
souls, all with the best intentions in life. Of course
a general explosion soon followed, and the eternal
friendships lasted about a week.
A wise observer interested in these attempts at
" culture," as the girls called it, suggested that,
instead of looking for faults, they should try to dis-
cover and strengthen the virtues in one another,
remembering that only those without sin may throw
stones at their neighbors.
The damsels tried the plan, and it is pleasant to
know that it succeeded admirably, and many last-
ing friendships rose from the ruins of the Candor
Club and the Palace of Truth.
Here is another little story in which some younger
girls learned the same lesson in another way :
Two sisters were at school together, one a gene-
ral favorite, the other almost universally disliked,
owing to an unfortunate temper which was always
giving and taking offense. Being as proud as pas-
sionate, the poor child felt keenly the prejudice
against her, and tried to conquer it; but her efforts
took such odd or inconvenient shapes that they
were received with laughter, incredulity, or cold-
ness.
Even her sister, annoyed by her freaks and wea-
ried by her short-lived repentances, seemed to shut
her out from the happy world in which the others
lived amicably together, and little Jane, after hotly
resenting this banishment, retired into herself to
mourn over her own iniquities with all the helpless
anguish of a sensitive, unhappy child.
No one guessed, the little tragedy going on in
Janey's heart, but left her to herself till accident
betrayed how much she suffered and how severely
she was punishing herself for the faults all con-
demned, yet no one helped her to cure.
A teacher, going her rounds one night to see if
all was safe in the dove-cot, found Janey lying on
the floor beside the bed in which her sister lay,
snugly tucked up and fast asleep. Thinking that
the restless child had fallen out, the teacher stooped
to waken her, but saw that this chilly couch had
been purposely chosen, for a corner of the bed-side
carpet was folded over Janey's feet, and under her
cheek lay a little handkerchief, still wet with secret
tears.
Surprised and touched, the lady.stood a moment,
feeling that this was some self-inflicted penance of
the odd child's, which must be stopped, yet might
be turned to good account if rightly treated.
Lifting the little icicle, she carried her away to a-


1876.]


HELPING ALONG.


315







316 HELPING ALONG. [MARCH,


warm room, 'and Janey waked up with an arm
about her, a kind face bending over her, and a
motherly voice saying, "Tell me all about it, dear."
Taken off her guard, Janey's reserve melted like
mist before the sun, and the full heart involuntarily
overflowed at the first gentle touch.
No, I did n't fall out, I went on purpose when
Fan was asleep," began Janey, unable to resist
questions that were accompanied by caresses.
But why ? "
I heard the big girls reading about some good
folks who did such things to make them better.
I'm so bad nobody can love me, not even Fan,
and so I tried this way, though I can't ever be a
saint, I know."
"This is not the first time, then? and this is
how you get such colds and chilblains ?" exclaimed
the teacher, wondering what revelation would come
next.
Oh, I want to have them, for if I ache and
sneeze it makes me remember better than black
marks or scoldings. Those good people had prickly
belts and whips, and things that I can't have; but
colds do very well, and chilblains are first-rate,"
answered the young martyr for conscience' sake,
chafing the poor feet, which were nearly as red as
the flannel nightgown she wore.
"But, Janey, dear, there is no need of punish-
ing yourself like this. You will get sick, and that
would grieve us all," began the teacher, touched to
the heart by these innocent confessions.


No, I don't think anybody would care much.
P'r'aps if I died the girls might cry a little, and be
sorry they were n't kinder to me when I was alive.
I'd like them to know I tried to be pleasanter,
though they did n't believe me when I said so. Do
you think they would then ? asked the child, with
a sob, as if her morbid imagination already pic-
tured the pathetic scene and rather enjoyed it.
Feeling that something must be done at once,
the teacher promised to speak to the girls, and
assure them of Janey's sincerity in her efforts at
reformation. But Janey stood in such dread of
their ridicule she was terror-stricken at the idea,
and would only consent to Fan's being told in strict
secrecy; and after much comfortable counsel, was
about to depart to bed in a happier frame of mind,
when another sprite appeared.
It was Fanny, who had waked to find her sister
gone, and, being rather conscience-pricked for her
late neglect, had come to kiss and make up."
Seizing the propitious moment, the teacher told
the story of Janey's private penances so well, that
long before the tale was done there were two red
nightgowns cuddling on the rug, two faces cheek
to cheek, two little sisters promising to love, and
trust, and help one another truly, truly all their
lives.
I hope they did, for in this troublous world of
ours there is no braver, better work, for young or
old, than that of patiently, kindly lending a hand
and helping along.


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.


316


HELPING ALONG.


[MARCH,








1816.1 THE FIGHTING FLEET. 317


THE FIGHTING FLEET.

BY MRS. S. B. C. SAMUELS.


"WILL," said Lulu Ashley, as she was helping
her brother clear up" their play-room, "what can
it be that rattles so in this box? I must look and
see,"-and suiting the action to the word, she
C opened the box. "Oh, Will!"
she exclaimed, if here is n't
our old game of guns "
Well, what of that ?" asked
Will.
Why, don't you remember
what fun we had with them last
fall?"
"Yes, of course; but our
soldiers are all gone."
"Well, let's make some
forts and ships, and have a
naval battle."
I declare we might. That
is n't a bad idea for a girl,"
said Will, condescendingly.
Lulu did not mind the slight.
She helped Will shove the
kindling-box and basket into
the closet, and then they sat
down on the sofa, little Alice
looking on in admiration, and
crowding her head between
theirs while they examined the
S contents of the box. There
D ----- ----- were three little black pop-
guns and an abundance of
ammunition in the shape of


dried peas.
What fun we did have with
those guns !" said Lulu, "and
how nicely brother Herbert
made them !"
Pooh said Will, they
are easy enough to make."
"Yes," assented Lulu, "like
the egg Columbus stood on
end-easy enough if you once
know how."
That our boys and girls may
know how to make them, I will
describe these guns that Lulu's
older brother, Herbert, had
made. He took strips of soft
pine wood, five and a half
inches long and about an inch
thick, and bored them out


with a number-five auger. These formed the bodies
of the guns, and were painted black. The ram-
rods he made of red cedar. These
were left nearly square at the top,
a little place being hollowed out, as
at A, Fig. 2 ; the rest was whittled
down to about the size of a com-
mon pencil, and rubbed with sand-
END VIEW OF GUN. paper. The ram-
rods were then
fitted into the guns. They slipped
easily in and out. Next Herbert
cut strips of India-rubber about
six inches long, and put one on
each gun, as at B, Fig. I, carrying
it along one side, over the top
(where it fitted as at C, Fig. I,
into the hollow or groove) and
down on the other side, securing
it on both sides with a piece of
string, as at D, Fig. I.
The ramrod can be drawn out
at the top, the shot put into the
end of the gun, and the ramrod
let go with a snap. The spring
is very powerful and the gun very
strong.
The children already had three
of these, so they did not have to
make any more; but Lulu's idea
of forts and ships found favor
with Will, and he began draw-
ing some models. After several
attempts, he decided upon the
following plan, made on card-
board.
Fig. 4, on the next page, repre-
sents one side of the vessel; the
other side is like it, but is re-
versed. The places marked X
are the port-holes for the guns,
and are to be cut out. The bows
(A, Fig. 4) of both sides are
pasted together, and little strips
of paper should be pasted on,
overlapping both sides, to help
hold them in place. Then the
deck (Fig. 9) must be pasted
along the edges and set in, just
above the port-holes. Fig. 5
represents the lower part of the FIG. 2.-THE RAMROD.


FIG. I.-THE POPGUN.


317


1876.1


THE FIGHTING FLEET.







THE FIGHTING FLEET.


[MARCH,


stern. A piece of paper, of the same width and the bow they are short, and must be made gradu-
about an inch long, should be pasted upon the ally longer to "amidships," decreasing in length

a _o _______ B


FIG. 4.-SIDE OF THE MAN-OF-WAR.


under side of each end (F and G), and should over-
lap about half an inch. The stern should then be
bent to the right curve and fastened, by the over-
lapping strips, to the under side of the end of Fig.
4 at B. Care should be taken that the lines match.
The upper part of the stern, represented by Fig. 6,




"FIG. 5.-LOWER PART OF STERN.

is put on in the same way; being longer than the
lower part, this projects beyond it in the curve.
The smoke-stack (Fig. 7) is made of soft pine,
whittled in shape and painted black, and is glued
to the deck at I, Fig. 9. Three little holes should
be made in the deck at the places marked H, a
little square of card-board should be pasted under
them, and the holes continued through these
squares. The holes may be made with a
large-sized darning-needle or shawl-pin. The
masts are then made, of soft pine, of the
same size and shape as Fig. 8. The masts
are each of two pieces (c and D), and are
lashed together at E with black thread. The
FIG top of the mainmast must be longer than
SMOKE- the two others. The rigging is illustrated
STACKby Fig. o1. The cross-bars (J and K) are
made of pins, with their points inserted in the
wood; L and M are threads which twist around the
mast where the two parts join, and pass at N and
o through needle-holes on the sides of the vessel,
where they are neatly tied; these help to support
the mast and keep it in place.
Fig. 1 represents a cannon; this is made of soft


from there to the stern. They are passed through
opposite port-holes, under the deck, so that each
piece represents two guns, except the two at the
stern. These may rest on the last side gun. All

( PO WHATAN
FIG. 6.-UPPER PART OF STERN.
should project a little beyond the body of the ves-
sel, and they all should be pasted to the edges of
the port-holes to keep them in place. With
a little flag rigged to the mizzen-mast-of
any size, shape, or design approved by the
young builder-the little man-of-war is com-
plete; and if the card-board is strong and the
C paste or glue of good quality, it will turn out
a trim and stout little ship, capable of stand-
ing under considerable fire.
Will made two of these, one for his cousin
Fred, who was to visit them the next day,
and one for himself. Lulu made the fort.
She did very well, with some help from papa.
E Her model is given in Fig. 12. The places
marked X are to be cut out. The back and
the two sides are like this front (Fig. 12), ex-
cept that they have no door. The portcullis,
D or iron door, is given in Fig. 13. This must
be set into the door-way and pasted in place
with a thin strip of paper put upon the under
side, and set half upon the door and half
upon the body of the building, to act like a
FIG. 8. hinge. When this is dry the door may be
MAST. opened and shut. The front and sides are
pasted together at the edges, and wooden cleats
are set into the corners and glued there to assist in


I *
H H H


FIG. 9.-DECK.
pine and painted black. The man-of-war in our holding the posts firmly together. The back is put
illustration carries sixteen guns. These are of dif- on in the same way. Care should be taken to fit
ferent length, owing to the shape of the vessel; at the edges of the card-board neatly together.


318








1876.) TIlE FIGHTING FLEET. 319


Lulu did not consider her fort finished until a
bright little flag floated above it. Will drew the
flags for both vessels
and the fort, and Lulu
cut them out and
painted them.
Before bed-time they
were all complete, and
the tired children stood
looking at their work
with intense satisfac-
tion.
K Let's clear away all
the scraps now, Will,"
said Lulu, as Will start-
ed for the door.
"Oh, no," said he;
L M\ "wait till morning."
"No," said Lulu firm-
ly; "I made a resolve
N 0 this afternoon to keep
this room tidy, and I 'm
FIG. 10.-RIGGING.
going to do it. Only
think how much nicer it will be in the morning to
find it in order; and it wont take us three minutes,
Will."
"Oh, well!" said Will, yawning and stretching
his arms; "hurry up then, for I am so sleepy."
Lulu whisked off the scraps and chips on the
table, put away the glue, the pencils, scissors, ruler
and knife, while Will brushed up the floor and
emptied the dust-pan into
'( I the wood-box.
FIG. II.-A CANNON. Now," said Lulu, tri-
umphantly, how much
better that looks, and how much nicer it is !"
The next day their cousin Fred came to see them.
The children had a holiday, and as the morning


The guns and shot were brought out; the boys
each took a ship, and Lulu the fort, from which
the first shot was fired. Lulu said the fort belonged
to the United States, and the vessels were
foreign men-of-war trying to run by. They
quickly returned the fire from the fort, and
then rattle, rattle, rattle went the shot;
snap, snap went the guns, and peal after
peal of merry laughter rang from the FIG. 13.
happy boys and girls. Little Alice looked T"LI"T
on in delight, clapping her hands and
scrambling after peas on the.floor, all of which with
great partiality she gave to Lulu, who in the end
came off victorious, as she was constantly supplied
with ammunition and that of the boys became ex-
hausted.
After the battle, it was found that the Powhatan,
Will's vessel, had lost her flag, one mast and two
guns. The Empire, Fred's ship, was more for-
tunate. The Powhatan was quickly repaired, how-
ever; and while Will was playing ship's carpenter,
Fred proposed to make another fort
and a fleet of vessels.
Will hailed the idea with delight. -
Lulu was eager to begin at once, and -
said when they were done she would
ask Bessie and Harry Newton to
come and help in the battle.
So to work they went, and ships-
big, little, and middle-sized-were
turned out from under their skillful FIG. 14.
hands with a rapidity that would THE FLAG.
have astonished a government contractor. The
fighting fleet was a great achievement in the eyes
of the neighboring boys and girls. Two or three
envious ones, however, told Lu she was a Tom-
boy."
"I'm not," said Lulu. Mamma and papa like


FIG. 12.-THE FORT.

was bright and pleasant they played out of doors; to have me play with my brother and cousins.
but in the afternoon it rained hard, and then Papa says good play is the best medicine for chil-
they came in and hurried up to the play-room, dren, and keeps nonsense out of their heads."


z876.1


THE FIGHTING FLEET.


319






THE PRESSED GENTIAN.


THE PRESSED GENTIAN.

Q BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

HE time of gifts has come again,
And, on my northern window-pane,
Outlined against the day's brief light,
A Christmas token hangs in sight.
The wayside travelers, as they pass,
SMark the gray disk of clouded glass;
l And the dull blankness seems, perchance,
S Folly to their wise ignorance.

S010" They cannot from their outlook see
The perfect grace it hath for me;
S For there the flower, whose fringes through
/ The frosty breath of autumn blew,
0. o Turns from without its face of bloom
To the warm tropic of my room,
SAs fair as when beside its brook
The hue of bending skies it took.

So, from the trodden ways of earth,
Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth,,
And offer to the careless glance
The clouding gray of circumstance.
They blossom best where hearth-fires burn,
To loving eyes alone they turn
The flowers of inward grace, that hide
Their beauty from the world outside.

But deeper meanings come to me,
My half-immortal flower, from thee!
Man judges from a partial view,
None ever yet his brother knew;
The Eternal Eye that sees the whole,
May better read the darkened soul,
And find, to outward sense denied,
The flower upon its inmost side !


320


[MARCH,






HEROD.


HEROD.

BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS.


LOOK-A yeah now. Let dat ar dog alone now !
Dat ar a dang'ous dog, I tell you He goes mad
mos' every summer."
One always knew when Primus and King Herod
were coming down street. The boys from the
levees found no better' fun than to tease them,
while the old slave and the dog, who prided them-
selves on their aristocracy, both treated the "wharf-
rats with a fine scorn.
Bring dat rubbish to de Sunday-school?" said
Primus to the superintendent. "Fus' thing you
know, sah, dey'll be trying' to get into heaben!
Dey 've got jess dat much brass "
Primus looked upon heaven as a retreat reserved
for certain good Virginya famblys," with their
house-servants. For himself, he scorned colored
churches, and was the most prominent member of
the little Sunday-school, and King Herod the only
dog allowed to cross its threshold. The old fellow
sat just under the stained window, with the hound
at his feet, in a class of little boys, spelling over his
thumbed, dog-eared Bible. Besides his lesson, he
had taken on himself to stir the fire and help carry
round the books, and to keep a sharp eye on the
boys outside. When service began, Herod took a
nap in the vestibule, while Primus devoutly joined
in the hymns and slept through the sermon. In
short, we children looked upon him as so strong a
pillar of the church that, when the Sunday-school
had contributed enough money to choose a life
member of the Missionary Society, Primus was at
once elected. A few weeks after, a gorgeous parch-
ment entitling him to this dignity, engrossed in
German text, and with colored seals affixed, arrived,
and was framed and hung up in his shanty; and I
should like to have -heard anybody question his
right of way into heaben after that!
His little cabin stood on the sunny side of the
hill just out of town; the walls were literally half
windows, as Primus, who was a tolerable carpen-
ter, had a habit of begging odd sashes out of torn-
down houses, and of cutting a place for them in
his own. His cot-bed was in front of a square win-
dow, the table beside a triangular one, and the
dog's carpet under a round one from the old
church.
Over the mantel-shelf hung the missionary parch-
ment, and beneath stood a row of tomato-cans with
the red labels turned out; -in the little shed out-
side were heaps of wood, coal, a corner cupboard
of provisions, and the barrels of vinegar which
VOL. III.-22.


Primus called his manufactory,"-to be sold only,
however, to certain "famblys."
The children of these famblys were always mak-
ing journeys up the hill to see "how comf'ble me
and Herod keeps house togedder." If we were
"bores," and "nuisances," and "little pitchers"
elsewhere, in Primus's shanty we were guests worthy
of high honor. The old man's eyes began to twin-
kle as he saw us coming up through the paw-paw
bushes, and King. Herod dashed wildly to and fro
(if ever a dog laughed, he laughed then); the fire
was piled up, johnny-cake put on the ashes, and
delicious sausages set on to sizzle in the pan, while
Primus was coaxed out of some of his hunting
stories, in which Herod's father and uncles bore a
thrilling part.
Old Mars' Cha'les he kept none but de best
blood of dogs; look at de muzzle now ob dis pup's,
and de ears, fine as any lady's. Hi you He-rod !
you laughing' at dat ? You's nuffin' to compare' wid
yer fader," winking aside to us, and whispering,
" Mus' take he's spirit down. He's awful vain
pup."
The pup was older than any of us, except Primus,
who might have been born with Methuselah, for
all we knew. His woolly hair was white, and hung
about his neck; his leather-colored skin crinkled in
countless wrinkles, and the half-worn clothes which
we carried to him, as soon as he put them on, sud-
denly took on a look of immeasurable age. Primus,
coming like a shadow down the sunny street, knock-
kneed and gray, with his big demijohns of vinegar,
one in each hand, always seemed to us children to
have just walked out of that far-away time of his
fairy stories, that Once upon a time, when tur-
keys drank wine, and swallows built their nests in
old men's beards."
Herod, Primus, and the demijohns made weekly
rounds of the "famblys; they had the freedom
of every kitchen and pantry, and. there was always
a pie, or loaf, or plate of turkey 'n' fixin's set
away for them to carry back to the corner cupboard.
The old man, too, took the keenest interest in all
the affairs of the house, from the new wash-tubs to
Miss Embly's furrin' lover from New York." He
would trot down by daylight on a winter's morning
to know if letters had come from Master Joe, who
was ill at college; or protesting that he "could n't
sleep all night for thinking' of dat ar debble of a
chimbly, an' had made out a way to make it
draw," while Herod stood by as anxious as he. In


1876.]


321







HEROD.


fact, Primus talked to him so constantly of such
things that the dog, I am confident to this day,
understood all about them.
One of the stories Primus told us oftenest was of
how he came to own Herod, who was a pure-blooded
hound of the best English breed.
"Dis war de on'y mis'able pup ob his mother,-
um weak, good-for-not'in' chap; an' Mars' Cha'les


clean blind,' I say. 'I mos' hab make up my mind
to drown dat pup, sah.' Well, one day dah wus a
hunt. Mars' Cha'les he start a buck up de Norf
Mountain, an' I had de dogs; an', shore's you lib,
I tuk Herod in my pocket! f dah 's any life in
him,' I say, 'it's got to come out now. Now or
nebber !' So I puts him down whah you could see
de buck a-tearin' down de gohge, de dogs af'er, pell


HEOUD JOINS THE HUNT.


he say, 'Primus, drown dat un; he disparage de
pack.' Howseveh, I takes um, an' feeds um, an'
nusses um foh two or t'ree months; but 'twant no
use. He war allus a-winkin', an' his legs a-shakin'
under him. So, Mars' Cha'les he say, 'What foh
you keep dat onfortnit creatshure ? It's onhuman,
forcin' sech a skelington to lib,' he say. But I say,
' He got de blood, sah. De blood ob his fader 's
in de skelington.' Howseveh, he gets leaner an'
leaner, and winks wus each day. 'He done gone


mell! high-sky! Ef you'll beleeb me, sah, dat
blind pup he staggers up an' he gibs a yow-how,
an' he goes off at a swingin' trot Course he tum-
bles in de fus' ditch; but de blood hed kum out,
sah Af'er dat, dat pup see as well as any dog, an'
he kum in fus' at de death of many a buck. But
Mars' Cha'les he say, 'He's your pup, Primus. It
wor you dat find de blood in him !' "
The rheumatism laying siege to Primus one win-
ter, he announced his intention of going off to find


[MARCIe







HEROD.


this same Master Charles, who, he told us, had
"married a rich wife in Missoury. He hab n't seen
me dese six year. But he's 'sponsible fur my keep
an' Herod's. Nebber had no free papers."
How the old man and the dog found their way
to Missouri nobody ever knew. We were all afraid
that Mars' Cha'les would have a cool welcome
for the helpless pair.
Early one morning in spring we saw a faint
smoke curling from the shanty, and there was a
rush from the school-house up.
Primus and Herod came out to meet us, and
there was a general jollification.
Mars' Cha'les treated me like a brudder, but I
could n't stan' his new wife or her niggers," he said.
It mout suit him to put up wid such an or'nary
lot. But I hab n't no necessity to do it. So I jes'
turned an' kum back."
The next winter the rheumatism came back also,
and the road to town being almost impassable in
deep snows, Primus had to give up his weekly
journeys to his customers. Master Charles had
supplied him with plenty of money, and he had no
lack of provisions. Herod, too, came trotting into
one kitchen or another, every day or two, with an
empty basket tied about his neck, which was filled
with some nice little mess for the old man; and
there was not a wharf-rat" in the town depraved
enough to touch it on its way back.
One day in December, just before the river
closed, a colored man, body-servant to a passenger
on a steamboat, met Herod with his'basket, coming
at his usual loping pace down the street. The
man saw the delicate muzzle, the fine ears, the
noble build of the dog, and he knew the signs of
" blood" as well as Primus. He showed him some
lumps of sugar-which no hound can withstand-
and in ten minutes had him on board the boat and
going at full head of steam to Louisville. The
next day the river closed.
Now it happened that'in the basket Primus had
placed a paper, on which was scrawled, "Vitels
out," his usual warning when he wanted somebody
to come up to buy a fresh supply of provisions for
him. The paper, of course, was never received.
There was a heavy fall of snow that night, which
made our Saturday's journey to the cabin impos-
sible, and, although day after day passed, and
Herod did not appear in any of the houses which
he frequented, he was not missed, each family sup-
posing that Primus had sent him elsewhere.
Meanwhile, the old man, as night approached,
watched from one or another of his many windows
for the dog.
He 's bin in a fight he muttered again and
again. Nothing but a fight, he was sure, would
tempt Herod to stay away from him so long. Night


came on so dark with falling snow that he could
not see ten feet down the hill; he dragged himself
to the door, and whistled and called incessantly.
He could see far off the dull glow of light where
the town lay, and hear the church-clocks striking
the hour; now and then the shrill whistle of a
steamboat would cut the silence, or a calliope far
down the river, with its coarse, ghostly music. He
could hear everything but the joyous bark and the
soft crunch of snow under the bounding feet.
The next day Primus found himself absolutely
without fuel or provisions, except a bag of corn-
meal. But the fear of hunger did not dismay him
so much as the possible fate of the dog. He tried
to work himself into a passion.
"He's running' with some ob dem young pups
in de woods af'er rabbits Time he'd sowed he's
wild oats I'll gib him de debble when he comes
back, he's tail between his legs "
Then his conscience wrenched him, and he sat
down and cried-the tears of old age, that has lost
its one friend this side of the grave.
I don't want to bring tears to any little child's
eyes, so we will pass over the days that followed
while old Primus lay alone on the hill, as he
thought, dying. The corn-meal lasted for nearly
a week, and he burned such sticks and boards as
he could drag in from under the snow. He had lost
all anxiety to live. He was sure now the dog was
dead, and talked of him constantly to himself.
Him an' me was kimpanions many a year, an'
I'11 not stay ahint him long. But I thort we'd
hev kep' togedder to the las'."
On Friday the last grain of meal was gone, and
the old man's hunger was very great; on Satur-
day he was weaker, and sinking fast. He remem-
bered what day it was and thought some of the
children might come up, deep as the snow was.
But there was some birthday party going on that
day, and Primus was forgotten. Sunday was
Christmas, and there were little presents and dishes
of dainties set aside in many houses to be sent up
to him in the morning, while the old man lay liter-
ally slowly starving to death.
Just before nightfall the bay of a hound was
heard outside of the house to which Herod had
been sent ten days before-a weak, low sound, but
we all knew it was Herod. When the door was
opened there he stood, a very ghost of a dog. He
wagged his tail feebly, and looked at us with eyes
that told a dreadful story of hunger and abuse.
Of course he was hurried in to the warm fire, and
the whole household gathered about him. But he
would not be quiet-running like a half-mad creat-
ure to the-door and back. We then saw the cord
about his neck and the broken handle of the basket.
Primus is ill, and has sent him, and he has


7876.]


323,






THE WOOD-WITCH.


been in a fight on the way," we said, little thinking
how long a fight it had been, and that it was with
death itself.
The horse was soon harnessed to the buggy, a
store of provisions put in, with the dog in front, as
he seemed scarce able to drag his weight along.
As we drove up the hill-side, we saw there was no
smoke from the chimney nor light from the win-
dows. All was still and dark and cold; and when
we opened the door and groped about, we put
our hands on the bed and felt something stiller and
colder than all beside.
But Primus was not dead. As he said afterward,
" Seemed as if I could n't go ober Jordan 'n' leave
dat pup alive."
In a few minutes a roaring fire made the little
shanty glow, and loving hands were busy chafing
the old man back to life.
When he opened his eyes they wandered wildly
about until they rested on the dog, who stood
beside an untasted platter of meat, watching his
master. Primus put out his hand to him.
De Lohd be praised he said, the tears creep-
ing down his face.


Months afterward we learned that the dog had
been carried down the river as far as Cincinnati,
and there escaped and made his way home on foot.
How he did it through a country which he had
never traveled before, across hills covered with
snow and frozen rivers, was always a mystery to
Primus and to us; he was desperately wounded in
two places, and had evidently gone through hard
fights. But the remembrance of his forgotten
errand had been with him all the time, for as soon
as he had reached the town he came straight to the
house to which he had been sent.
He was a skelington, shure nuff," Primus said,
"but de blood was dar."
When I last saw Primus, he and King Herod
actually seemed to have renewed their youth; they
were both growing fat, and moved leisurely on
their journey. But the apple vinegar was yet as
choice in flavor, the delicious sausages yet sizzled
in the pan, and a party of children sat about the
fire and listened to the story of Herod's journey,
while the light shone through the many windows
of the little cabin, and made it glow like a beacon
on the lonely hill.


THE WOOD-WITCH.

BY EMMA BURT.


IN Deutchland the people do not wish the cold
to enter their dwellings. Not that they have aught
against it, for they often go out and meet it in the
most friendly manner, and enjoy their gardens
even unto mid-winter.
But they do not wish the cold to come in. So, in
the early winter, double windows are put into their
homes. Between the window within and the one
without is quite a little garden of space. This is
nearly filled with mosses; evergreens often run also
up at each side, with an artificial flower fastened
here and there to make one think it is summer.
One day when these were to be adorned for win-
ter, Emil and Gretchen, two small children, begged
of the good Frau, their mother, to permit them to
go out and gather the mosses for the windows. To
this she readily consented. Then one put on his
cap and the other her hood, and they went, hand
in hand, up a lonely and crooked lane into the
forest.
Winter had already come. Only a few leaves
trembled in the wind on the naked boughs of


the tall trees. Almost all of the little plants were
ragged and forlorn, and the flowers on the ground
were dead. Mats of brown leaves were beaten into
the ground, just as the fall rains had left them.
These two very small folks felt most lonesome
when they stepped into this great forest. The sky
and the trees seemed so far above them, and the
rough ground hurt their young feet, and there was
nowhere a fire to make them warm.
By and by they forgot the cold and loneliness,
for they found wonderful things hidden away.
Long vines covered with red berries lay under
the leaves; bits of fir and balsam abounded; and
upon and about an old decaying- log was suck a
bunch of moss as made them clap their hands and
shout till the woods laughed too,-moss so deep
and rich that they fairly lost their little cold red
hands in it; and oh! so green and bright it was
that they laughed over and over again to think
how glad the good Frau would be, and what two
wonderful children she would think them for hav-
ing found so great treasure. So the deep mosses,


324


[MARCH,






7876.] THE WOOD-WITCH. 325
~'* -----i-- --~--- ------ '--- ---


"THE OLD WOMAN STOOD STILL BEFORE THEM, LEANING ON HER STAFF."


softer than Persian wool, went into young Gretchen's
apron along with the fir and balsam and berries.
Besides, on the very same log, was a whole army.
of gray-coated lichens, with red caps on their heads
-the funniest little soldiers you ever saw, and not
an inch long were they.
These, too, were going into the apron after the
mosses, close pp against a happy heart, with a face
up above it that had cheeks as round and red as


apples, and eyes as bright as cups of water in the
sun. Then right by were two other cheeks, and
two other eyes as bright as they.
Just as the little lichen soldiers were going.in by
the moss, the children heard a breaking of twigs,
as if some one were walking in the wood. They
looked up and saw a dreary old crone coming right
toward them.
The same chill crept over them from head to






THE WOOD-WITCH.


foot that they felt when first they came into. the
lonesome woods, and looked up at the tall, knotty
old trees, so gaunt and bare, that were swaying in
the wind.
"Dear Gretchen, are you afraid?"
"Just a little bit, Emil."
And Emil crept close to his sister, and she stood
quite still, and trembled very hard.
And will she kill us, Gretchen, with her stick?"
They say good children never need to fear."
And is she a witch, Gretchen ? "
Oh, Emil, I am very much afraid "
What will you say ?"
I will speak very gently."
And if she lifts her stick ?"
Then I will say, 'You are a witch We are
God's kleine kindern, and you dare not touch us !'"
The dismal old crone drew nearer and nearer,
and the little children grew meeker, and trembled
more and more. They wished the earth would
open and let them down out of sight; but the
earth did no such thing. The old woman drew
nearer and nearer, and then stood still before them,
-leaning upon her staff.
She looked just like the trees, gnarled and knotty,
and without life. She opened her thin lips and
spoke; and her voice moaned and whistled like the
north wind. '
What are you doing here ?" she asked.
Gathering greens for the winter."
"Why do you gather greens?"
To make the windows like the summer."
"Then you are fond of summer ?"
"Yes."
"And you hate the winter ?"
"A little."
"And you think these trees hateful old things ?"
she asked.
The children shivered "Yes."
"Do you know who I am ? "
"Perhaps you are a very old Frau answered
Gretchen, for she dared not call her witch."


"I am the spirit of the trees. When the winds
wail you hear my voice.. Do not hate me, young
children! I am not a witch, as you thought, neither
am I a very old Frau as you said. Listen! I am
the spirit of the trees. Nothing is ever old. The
winter is young as the summer. The heart of the
oak is young as the greens in your apron. The
heart of the winter trees holds sap to feed young
leaves, and the ugly knot in the fire burns a great
red coal to make you warm.
Nothing is ever old. What you call age comes
just before the bright to-morrow that never grows
dark or cold, and where all deformity passes away.
What seems, is not. At the heart of all, is good.
Adieu Fear me not."
And she lifted her staff and hobbled away, sigh-
ing softly as the south wind at the breaking of
winter: "Nothing grows old! nothing grows old!"
Then the little children ran swiftly home. And
when they entered the house, all the red apples
had gone out of their cheeks; and their eyes were
indeed like cups of water, for the tears spilled out
of them down their cheeks. When the good Frau
had taken them both into her arms and comforted
them, they told her the whole story.
"Oh," said she, laughing heartily, "that was
the harmless old body who lives in the. small house
away upon :1! !rn.:.ui-Jt:iintop She was a great
lady once, but now she is poor, and has gone
wrong here," she said, tapping her forehead with
her finger. "Wrong here!" she repeated, say-
ing just what all the world says of those who say
things they cannot understand.
"Just a little crazy, dears, but quite harmless,
and as good as she can be. Some day we will go
and take her a seed-cake and a mug of beer. Poor
old lady !"
Then the good Frau and the children fixed the.
mosses into the windows, and"made them most
beautiful to look upon. While all the time some-
thing sang in young Gretchen's heart: Nothing
is ever old 1 "


326


[MARCH,







327


LATIFA.

BY SARA KEABLES HUNT.


I HAVE IT cried the girl, scrambling out of
a half-excavated ruin, unnoticed by the group of
Arabs who were searching eagerly for antiques."
The afternoon sunlight glared redly in her face as
she turned from the vast heap of debris and hurried
away, her little brown hand clasping tightly the
small object she had found; and when at last
she looked at her treasure, Yes," she whispered,
"this is what she wanted-the pure, beautiful
maiden. Oh !' she said, 'if I could only have a
scarabeus that I knew was genuine; but, alas I
cannot go down into these wonderful ruins !' Poor
thing added the girl a moment after, she is so
white and frail-like a beautiful lily How she has
loved the flowers I have carried her I will take
this to her now; I can get home before sundown.
When I tell her how I found it, how her blue eyes
will shine She will believe me. What can she
want of it,'this little dirty-looking beetle? Why1
do those foreigners rave so over the things we dig
up out of the ground? "
Musing thus, her bare feet hurried over the
sandy road toward Alexandria.
She was a dark-eyed Arab girl of about twelve
years, though in appearance much older. Her
hair, black and glossy, contrasting well with her
richly tinted skin,, hung in long braids, tied at the
ends with a bright gilt cord; and her teeth gleamed
white and even. There was a bright, intelligent
look in her face; an utter absence of the languid
expression which characterizes so many of the Arab
women. Her name was Latifa, the signification
of which in Arabic is "favored of fortune."
Soon she reached the busy square, and, hurrying
up to the Hotel d'Europe, she passed in to the
kitchen, where a boy sat peeling vegetables.
Mahomet, brother," she whispered in Arabic,
"can I see her ?"
"Who?" said Mahomet, indifferently.
"The beautiful lady who is ill."
O, Miss Lulu ?" queried the boy.
"Yes, yes," replied Latifa, impatiently. "May
I go up to her room ? I have brought her some-
thing."
What is it ? said Mahomet, with awakening
interest. "Will she pay you ?-will you get back-
sheesh ?"
"No, no," she answered sharply; it is nothing
-nothing, only you know I like to go there; she
gives me bright ribbons, and -- "
"Yes, yes," said Mahomet, yawning. "Well,


go along, if you want to. Don't forget to knock."
Latifa hurried upstairs, along the wide passages,
and reached the door of the stranger's room. Her
breath came quickly, as she paused a moment be-
fore entering.
I would not tell Mahomet; he would want me
to sell it. Ah, beautiful lady it is not your rib-
bons that I care for-no, no."
She had knocked. "Come in," said a sweet
voice. Latifa entered. On a divan by the window
a young girl of fifteen years reclined. She looked
up eagerly.
"Ah, my little Arab friend! she said, putting
out her hand. I am so glad to see you. Papa
has gone out for half-an-hour. I begged him to go
for a little walk. Nurse is all tired out, too, and is
lying down. I had a bad night, coughing. We
are going to Cairo to-morrow."
Latifa could not speak English very correctly,
but she had picked up a great deal of the language
in her intercourse with the many strangers and
English residents in Alexandria, and understood it
better than she could express herself.
"Me bring you something," she said, holding
out the treasure she had found; you wanted one
like dis. I look, look, look down in de ground,
and I found it-all sand, all dirt; it is antico, it is
real-you believe me?"
The sick girl looked up into the dark eyes that
flashed so eagerly before her. She took the scara-
beus in her thin, transparent hand, exclaiming:
0 Latifa thank you; and you got it for.me,
-you dug it out of the ruin for me, a stranger!
Why did you, Latifa? "
"Because me love you; lady," said the girl.
"You are like the great sun shining; when me
far from you, the dark cometh. Ah! how me tell
you ?-me know not your language too better.
You keep the antico, lady; it is real-me no lie
to you."
"I believe you, Latifa," the young girl replied.
Then, clasping the hand of the Arab girl, she said,
inspired by a sudden thought: Latifa, could you
go with me to-morrow, and up the Nile ? I like
you. Can you go? Is there any one to hinder
you? Have you a mother? "
Latifa's eyes flashed with pleasure. "0 yes, me
want to go. Me take care of you, fan you-oh, so
much gesticulating vehemently. Me ask my
mother now. She will say: Tyebe, ya bint, rah !'
('Good, my child, go!')."


1876.]


LATIFA.







328 LATIFA. [MARCH,


Tell her," said the invalid, I. will pay you
well."
The girl was gone, and Lulu Hastings sank back
weak and trembling.
How any little excitement fatigues me she
murmured. "What will papa say to this arrange-
ment of mine; the idea came upon me so sud-
denly, but I think he too will say Tyebe, ya bint,'
and poor Miss Warner will have less care. How
kind of the girl to bring me this valuable speci-
men," turning the strangely-colored beetle over
and over. This must be the seal of Thothmes
III. on this under side. How proud I shall be to
take it home and tell my friends that an Arab girl
dug it out of an old ruin for me-if I live to go
home Ah if this Nile trip could but make me
better, for papa's sake "
Lulu Hastings was the only daughter of a wealthy
New York merchant, a widower. Her physicians
had ordered a winter in Egypt and a trip up the
Nile; so here they had arrived one bright Decem-
ber day-the father and daughter, and her good
nurse, Miss Warner.
They were glad to hear of Lulu's adventure that
evening, when she told it to them, half-doubtingly,
and admired the scarabeus to her heart's content;
Mr. Hastings even commending his daughter for
asking the girl to accompany them.
I had thought of the matter myself, and wished
we could find a native girl to go with you. She
will relieve Miss Warner of much care, I hope," he
said, smiling pleasantly, and sitting down to read
some American papers which had come by mail.
Long before sunrise, Latifa was wending her way
to town, with her wardrobe for the journey tied up
in a huge towel, and her face shining with happi-
ness. Lulu was told she was there when she awoke,
and the day began very happily.
They reached Cairo in the evening, and two
days later went on board their floating home, with
the American flag waving over their heads. The
dahabeih was well fitted up, and glided along like
a bird over the waves. It was a great delight to
Lulu to sit upon the deck, under the awnings, in
her easy camp-chair, and feel the mild dry air
blowing her hair from her forehead, while she
watched the sailors and listened to their incessant
jabber, or monotonous sing-song, "Allah, Allah,
ya Mohammed, ya Mohammed while they
worked at the sails and rigging.
Just hear them, papa," she said one morning,
as Mr Hastings was taking his accustomed walk
on the deck, smoking a cigar and intently think-
ing. I do believe," she added, that sailors all
over the world sing while they work. Don't you
know, on the 'Scotia,' how they used to sing,
'Whisky for the journey ?'"


Mr. Hlastings smiled. Yes," said he, some-
thing about Whisky killed my brother John.'"
Then," laughed Lulu, how they -all joined
with such a zeal, 'Whisky for the journey.' Papa,
I am enjoying this trip so much "
Mr. Hastings paused, leaning over her chair a
moment with a gentle caress.
"And you look much better. We shall take
you back home as strong and robust as Latifa."
Here she comes now," said Lulu, as the Arab
girl came up from the cabin, bringing her a light
shawl. Now, Latifa, come and tell me all about
these things I see."
So, day after day, the Arab girl, curling herself
up at Lulu's feet,-a pretty Oriental picture,-
would explain, as well as she was able, the different
objects they passed, learning steadily more and
more of the language she desired to know.
Now, Latifa, is n't this delicious ? How sweet
the clover smells from the banks But how calm
it is growing! The wind has all died away; and
see we are going ashore. What are they doing ?"
Tracking," said Latifa.
What's that ? queried Lulu.
* You see those eight men going ashore ? They
pull the boat along by that rope fastened to it."
It must be hard work," said Lulu, as they now
glided on to the monotonous singing of the eight
men on the shore.
"Arabs no care," briefly uttered Latifa, shrug-
ging her shoulders.
There is a native craft, laden with .merchan-
dise," exclaimed Lulu, and they are tracking,
too. How heavy that must be; and they've only
six men at work, too 0 Latifa and just look at
those other boats. Why, they are nothing but
palm branches made into a frame-work, and filled
with chopped straw! Oh, how high and how
cleverly it is piled up What is done with it? "
Eaten," said Latifa.
Eaten exclaimed Lulu. Who eats it ?"
Not the Khedive," said Latifa, laughing. "0
no, not he !-camels, donkeys, horses, etc. ; it is
like your-your "
0 yes, I see," said Lulu; like our hay."
Sometimes Latifa would sing Arab songs, accom-
panying them by the "tum, tum" of the dara-
boukek, a kind of drum made of a skin stretched
over the wide mouth of an earthen vessel, and
there was a pleasure in the novelty if not in the
melody. There were two or three English gentle-
men who had joined their party, and sometimes,
when the wind was quiet and the boat tracking,
they would go on shore, joining them two or three
hours later, loaded with game and specimens of
different birds.
But of the whole day, Lulu loved best the two


LAfTIFA.


328


[MARCH,








1876.] LATIFA. 329


hours just before dark, when they all sat together
on the deck, watching the busy scenes on the
banks, and the glorious skies as the setting sun
went down behind the red rocks of the Libyan
Desert.
In the numerous villages, half-hidden in palm-
trees, which they occasionally passed, they could
see men and boys hoeing, working with their bare,
closely shaved heads entirely unprotected from the
sun.
It is astonishing," said one of the English trav-
elers, how these people endure the sun's rays."


a lovely picture in the red sunset light. Lulu's eyes
were fixed on the western horizon, her face flushed
with a solemn admiration; her long waving hair
gleaming like gold, and falling a glittering mass all
around her; the hands clasped, and her slight
figure bent forward, as if to stay the fleeting glory
of that dying sun. Latifa crouched in her favorite
attitude at her feet, her face upturned, not to the
sunset sky, but to the rapt countenance of Lulu.
The white Swiss muslin veil which she usually wore
thrown over her head, partly concealing her feat-
ures, had fallen back, revealing the blue turban


W.. -


"LULU'S EYES WERE FIXED ON THE WESTERN HORIZON."


Yes," replied Mr. Hastings. I believe Herod-
otus says 'the Egyptian skulls are so strong that
you may smite them with a stone, and you will
scarcely break them in,' and gives as a reason, 'be-
cause from early childhood they have the head
shaved, and so by the action of the sun the skull
becomes thick and hard.' They are a singular
race. I have neven seen but one who was n't crazy
for your money."
".And that one ?" said the Englishman.
Is that girl over there," replied Mr. Hastings,
looking at his daughter's companion.
Their eyes turned to the two girls, who formed


and handsome face, the parted lips and glistening
teeth. Her long braids hung heavy upon her
bright dress of Oriental pattern, while her hands
lay idly in her lap upon the forgotten darabouka.
The sun went down in a sudden burst of radiance,
and a chill crept through the air. Lulu arose
silently, and went below.
"Earth is beautiful! she whispered, kneeling
in her little room, overpowered with the memory
of that heavenly vision she had just beheld.
The Nile party were returning at last, Lulu's
strength very much increased, and her general
health rapidly improving. They were speeding


LATIFA.


1876.1


329


IQ3~LL.~








330 LATIFA. [MARCH,


toward Thebes one clear afternoon, all the party
sitting upon the deck. Lulu and Latifa were lean-
ing over the vessel's side, watching the ripples and
talking idly.
I can swim," said Latifa, looking out over the
waters, as if she would like to jump into them that
very moment.
"Can you, really?" questioned Lulu in reply,
gazing admiringly at the strong figure of the girl
beside her.
Yes; my brother Mahomet, he taught me
long ago. We lived near the sea, and every day
would go off into the waters. Mahomet say he no
swim so good as me."
"Tell me more about yourself, Latifa," said
Lulu, dreamily; tell me of your past life."
My father was a jewel merchant of Cairo," the
girl began. "He married my mother when she
only thirteen-so little. But they live happy a few
years; then my mother-oh her temper is bad-
my mother quarrel, quarrel all de times; my father
no say nothing. I remembers so much. He say
to my mother, 'Oh, Zaida, no scold all de times;
I weary, weary !' One day, my mother say, Me
take you children to my mother's, for stay a little-
make little visit.' Then she packed our clothes,
and we go away while our father was in another
,city for two days., We went on a boat--oh, so long
it seem 'Mahomet, he sleep in my lap. Mother
look all de time so angry. We go to Alexandria,
to an old house, where my grandmother she live
there. We never go back; I never see my father
again Once I listen when my mother talk to my
grandma; she say he gone in a far country, no
one know where. And I see her look at a box,
count jewels and gold-then I see how she support
us, though sometimes she no give us much. Ah !
me wish my father come back. If he come, I
would not care if he be poor. I love him. I work
for him-make him happy. I try be good always,
-good as I know how,-so that, some day, if he
-come back, please God, he find me his good little
daughter."
You will meet again, I do believe," said Lulu,
with sudden energy. Oh, I hope you will "
Lulu, darling," called out Mr. Hastings, don't
lean over there so-you will fall! "
The caution came too late. There was a wild
Scry, a sudden plunge, and a gleam of a pale, horri-
fied face went down beneath the waters.
In a second all was confusion. A boat was
lowered-moaning and wailing among the crew,
who stood helplessly doing nothing. Mr. Hastings
threw off his coat, and prepared to leap into the
waters. Latifa's arms pushed him away.
Back back she shouted. I can swim; I
will save her and leaped into the river.


A solemn silence fell on all the group. They
felt the only hope of safety was in that child. None
of the gentlemen could swim.
Latifa had disappeared for a moment, but now
arose and struck out boldly in the waters. Away
in the distance an object has arisen. She is there-
she has seized it-oh, thank God !
But can she bear it up ?-the weight is heavy.
The boat bounds toward them.
They can see the girl's teeth clinched, and the
veins swelling in her forehead, with the almost
superhuman efforts which she is making. Can she
bear up? Yes, yes! The boat is there she has
reached it they have lifted them in and-a wild
shout of joy rose from the dahabeih. Sailors and
passengers alike join in the thanksgiving, while the
father, seizing his darling in his arms, could only
cry, Thank God "
Miss Warner was invaluable; the two girls were
soon clothed in dry garments, and sitting with their
wet locks spread out in the sunshine, both pale and
solemn.
Lulu took the hand of her companion in hers,
and said: You have saved my life, Latifa! "
It was the grandest sight I ever beheld," said
one of the Englishmen to Mr. Hastings, when
that Arab child grasped the drowning girl and kept
her above the waters."
-" It was a brave act," he answered, with trem-
bling voice. I must do something for the child.
If she would go home with us, I would take her
and educate her, and treat her like my own."
But Latifa would not. They proposed the plan
to her the last night of their journey on the Nile.
You are good," she said, "and I should love
to go-love to be near this dear young lady; but
when the ocean should roll between my kindred
and me, there would come a great homesickness
into my heart. I should be alone in a strange
country. I could never find my father. No, sir,
I will remain as I am; but I shall always think
about you."
On they sailed toward Cairo. It was nearly
noon when they landed, with a little sadness as
they bade good-bye to the dakabei/ and its cap-
tain and crew, driving silently to the hotel where
they had engaged rooms before leaving Cairo.
You must stay with me, Latifa, until we leave
Egypt," said Lulu, as they sat in their parlor at
the hotel. I cannot be separated yet from the
little girl who saved my life. How I wish you
would go home with me "
Sometimes," said Latifa, sadly, I think I
will go; then I hear my father calling me from the
desert. I dream in the night he comes back. If
he comes and Latifa be far off,-no, no me wait
for him."


,330


LATIFA.


[MARCH,






1876.1


LATIFA.


There was a knock at the door, and two gentle-
.men, dressed in rich Oriental costume, entered.
"My brother! cried Latifa, rushing to the
younger. "It is Mahomet,--or am I dream-
ing? "
Not dreaming, oh my sister! And this,"-
he led her to his companion,--" is ourfather/ "
There was a low cry of joy, and the child sprang
to the arms outstretched to receive her. Lulu's
tears were beginning to flow, but she checked them
as Latifa turned to introduce her father to her
friend.
She might well be proud of him: he looked as
Lulu had often imagined some of the old Bible
heroes did in the ages gone by; and his eyes
beamed so kindly upon her, as Latifa rapidly talked
to him in Arabic, that Lulu felt home would be
best for the girl, after all.
"And now," said the Pacha, "will you go home
with me-? It is not far, Latifa; and to-morrow I
will send the carriage for this young lady and her
father to visit us, if they will come."
"Papa is coming now," said Lulu, as her
father then entered, and must speak for himself.
I shall be very happy to see Latifa in her new
home."
More explanations ensued, and, with hasty con-
gratulations, and a promise to come to the Pacha's
home the next day, they separated.
"Well, well!" said Mr. Hastings; "this is really
like a tale in the Arabian Nights. Our little Latifa
is well named: her father seems to be a man of
intelligence as well as wealth."
0 papa! cried Lulu; how glad I am for
her I cannot wait for to-morrow to come-I am
so anxious to hear all about it."
The morrow came at last, and during the morn-
ing the carriage of the Pacha whirled up to the
door, drawn by two fine Arabian horses. Two
Syce ran before, according to the custom of the
country, waving their wands, and crying out in
Arabic, Clear the way! ". There was something
very exciting to Lulu in this adventure; and as she
took a seat in the beautiful cushioned carriage, her
eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were pink with
pleasure.
On through the streets of Cairo they were rap-
idly whirled, until the horses paused in front of a
magnificent building half hidden in a perfect grove
of Eastern trees. Then they were driven slowly
in along the winding carriage-road, under orange
and fig trees, through clumps 'of lofty palms,
until they came to the entrance. Latifa's father
met them here with grave courtesy, conducting
Mr. Hastings to a seat in the broad veranda, while
two slave girls came to escort Lulu to Latifa's
presence. Over the mosaic floors, up the winding


331


stairs of glistening marble,-suddenly a door flew
open, and Latifa sprang out, seizing Lulu's hand
impulsively.
"I could not wait for you to enter," she ex-
claimed: I hear your dear footstep on the stairs.
Come, welcome to my home "
The two girls entered,-Lulu admiring the
pretty rooms, much to Latifa's satisfaction. There
was a long suite of apartments, but the reception-
room where they stood claimed the first attention.
The richly inlaid floor was half covered by Persian
carpets; divans of rare Turkish embroidery sur-
rounded the room: it was not all Eastern, for there
were a few paintings on the walls, and upon quaint
brackets were bronze figures and alabaster orna-
ments, gathered from all parts of the world. Rich
curtains hung at the latticed windows, and in the
center of the apartment was a marble fountain,-
the jets of water coming from the bills of golden
birds, who fluttered in the branches of a miniature
tree, heavy with foliage.
But Latifa was the crowning beauty of the scene,
in her rich Oriental dress of green satin, fastened
at the waist by a girdle of jewels. Her hair hung
in heavy braids, flashing with diamonds; and her
arms and hands were loaded with gems. They
were becoming to the Arab girl, but on Lulu they
would have looked out of place.
"Is it not like a dream?" said Latifa, when,
having dismissed her attendants, she sat down on
the divan beside Lulu.
"It is, indeed, and I am longing to know all
about it."
"Well, one day, Mahomet was astonished by
our father come suddenly to the hotel where he
work-(Mahomet so pleased-say to me he no
work now any mote). My father tell how he been
far away so unhappy ever since my mother take-us
away: he go here-he go there-get much riches,
but oh, he long so to see his children So he come
back, put on plain costume, and seek my mother:
he ask her to live with him again; but she say
'No,' she 'like her mother best.' Then she look
at my father's plain dress, and laugh with scorn,
and say, 'You poor you want me give you
money?' Then she say, 'Get out of my house!'
So my father then find Mahomet, and my brother
fall on his neck and kiss him, he so glad. Then
my father take Mahomet to Cairo-buy this house,
and wait for Latifa."
"He give me this," she added, "to present
you," taking from her bosom a case elegantly set
with diamonds. On pressing a hidden clasp, there
sprang to view a portrait of Latifa, smiling and
happy. Then, without waiting for thanks, she
clapped her hands, the sound bringing a slave girl
to her presence. A few Arabic words, and the






THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK.


girl vanished, returning soon with a full Eastern
costume of scarlet satin, embroidered with gold.
Everything was complete, even to the silver anklets,
necklace glittering with gold coins, gemmed coro-
net, and embroidered slippers.
This," said Latifa, I want you to take home
to America. When you have the pretty-what you
call tableaux you told me of, then you can have
Latifa there. You will tell your companions of
me. Latifa will not be forgotten."
The day passed swiftly, the young girls spending
part of it in the spacious grounds, plucking the
fruits and gathering the brilliant flowers. .There
were many more days like it, and Miss Warner
joined them in their visits, rejoicing with them in
Latifa's good fortune.


But the day of departure came, and, with .affec-
tionate good-byes, our American friends left Egypt,
and after traveling leisurely through Europe,
crossed once more the broad Atlantic, and were
welcomed gladly home.
Lulu wears upon her watch-chain the scarabeus,
set in a circle of diamonds, while back and forth
over the waters, carrying pleasant greetings from
time to time, little gifts are exchanged between the
young girls, that bring to Lulu memories of the
Egyptian Bazaars, redolent with perfumes and san-
dal-wood; while to Latifa, in her luxurious but se-
cluded home, the presents from over the sea tell
stories of the outer world, which is gradually creep--
ing into and merging itself with the Land of the
Pharaohs.


THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK.


IT is probable that most boys and girls have
heard of the mysterious Man in the Iron Mask,"
who was shut up in a French prison, nearly two
hundred years ago, and who was obliged, at all
times,-night and day, sleeping and waking,-to
wear an iron mask, which prevented any one from
seeing his face. He was apolitical prisoner in the
reign of Louis XIV., and he lived, masked, in the
Bastille, the great prison of Paris, for five years.
But as he was brought there from another prison,
it is not known how long the poor man had been
imprisoned or had worn his mask.
This mask, we are told, was not really of iron,
but was made of black velvet, with steel springs.
He was forbidden to remove it, on pain of death ;
and was not allowed to speak to any one but those
who had him in charge. He was allowed no com-
munication with the outside world, and even his
soiled linen was destroyed, for fear that he might
have written something on it that would enable
some one to find out who he was. If he but stood
by one of his heavily barred windows, his guards
were fearful that he might in some way com-
municate with some one outside. He was carefully
watched all the time. He died in 1703, and every-
thing which had been used or worn by him was
burned, so that no clue to his name or history


should be discovered by secret marks on his clothes
or other property.
No one knows who this poor man was. There
have been all sorts of suppositions about him, and
books have been written, trying to prove he was
this man or that one. Some think he was an Eng-
lish duke; others, a son of the King, Louis XIV.
Others, again, said he was Henry, son of Oliver
Cromwell. Many Frenchmen believed him to be
Fouquet, who had been the French minister of
finance, and who was said to have died just about
the time that the "Man in the Iron Mask" was
first heard of.
It has been also supposed that he was Mattioli,
an agent of the Duke of Mantua, who had been
arrested for divulging some state secrets of France.
But none of these suppositions, or any others, have
been proved to be true, and the Man in the Iron
Mask" is as much a mystery now as he ever was.
His secret was well kept, and it appears to have,
died with him and those who imprisoned and
watched over him.
It is probable that, no matter who he was o0
what his abilities nr position, he would never have
been so well and so long known in his real charac-
ter, as in his enforced position of the most mysteri-
ous prisoner of which history tells us.


332


[MARCH,







1876.1 THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK. 333


THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK.







JACK- IN-THE-PULPIT


JACK-IN -THE -PULPIT .


HEIGHO We ordinary flowers of the forest
sha'n't stand much of a chance this year, now
that the great National Century-plant is about to
bloom. But never mind. Your Jack feels the
stir of American greatness in all his roots and
shoots, and he'll glory in this grand Centennial
flower with the best of you. Meanwhile, time
speeds on-and so must we.
Forward, March !

THE DEACON ATTACKS AN OLD SAYING.

I LIKE Deacon Green. He goes straight to the
heart of things, and is not led off by moonshine.
The other day, when a very positive and loud-voiced
lady was talking with the little schoolmistress and
himself about a certain troublesome child, the loud-
voiced lady exclaimed:
"Pooh! good influence isn't what she needs.
A bird that can sing and wont sing must be made
to sing; that's my doctrine."
With these words the lady glared at the school-
mistress, who made no- reply, and then with an air
of conscious victory she turned to the Deacon,
repeating:
Yes, sir, that's my doctrine."
"A capital doctrine," said the Deacon with a
bow, but there 's a flaw in your illustration,
ma'am."
But !" almost screamed the lady. "There's
no but about it. I tell you there's no other way.
A bird that can sing and wont sing must be made
to sing. You'll admit that, I hope ? It is true as
Solomon.
"Granted," said the Deacon, with a voice as
soft as the swish of a water-lily, "most certainly, a
bird that can sing and wont sing must be made to
sing; but how are you going to do it?
"The fact is, my dear madam," continued the


Deacon, "some of these old sayings sound very
well, but there's nothing in them. I'd like to see
the person who can take a bird that wont sing and
make him sing. Now, your bird that can't sing
and will sing, is easily dealt with. You can at
least quiet him. But, for my part, I'd rather
undertake the management of all the brass bands
in the country than to force music out of the tiniest
canary when he chose to be silent."

PERPETUAL MOTION.

MANY men have wasted a great deal of time
fruitlessly trying to invent something that once set
in motion should never stop. They might have
saved themselves-the trouble, for Nature is ahead
of them in the matter. In all the universe there
is nothing that is ever quite still. I hardly believed
this at first. I supposed that I had often stood
quite still myself. But no; though I was not
thinking about it, I was all the time silently grow-
ing. The doctors say that every particle of a living
human body is changed in the course of every
seven years. The change is brought about very
quietly and gradually. Now that can't very well
happen without constant motion of some sort-can
it? Even the big rocks that seem to lie motion-
less for hundreds of years are, in reality, slowly
and silently increasing in size, or moving particle
by particle toward decay.
Then I said to myself-at least some of the
stars, those we call fixed stars, are motionless.
But, no again. They only seem to be so because
they are so very far off. In reality they, too, are
ceaselessly moving. Nothing big or little in all the
wide universe can ever be quite still.

ABOUT THE SOUND-BEARERS.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Papa says you have set me to think-
ing, and I do believe you have, for when I read what you said in the
January ST. NICHOLAS about the Sound-Bearers, I thought of some-
thing all by myself. It was this: If semi always means half, as our
teacher has told us, why, of course, semi-breve must mean half a
breve-but what is a breve?
Well, I looked in the dictionary for breve, and there it was. As I
did n't take it away, all the other girls can find it there if they want
to. But the breve is n't used in modern music. We start off with the
semi-breve. When I told papa, he said it was n't the only thing
that's done by halves nowadays. Then he asked if I could tell him
what minim meant. I could n't exactly, but I remembered that
minimum meant the least of :r.* i-.: -. 1 so I said I guessed minim
meant the littlest. Then he i .i.j ..;:,,, ... ancient times the minim
was the shortest note in use. But in our days we go beyond that,
anyhow, with crochets and quavers and the rest. Papa said the whole
thing reminded him of Paddy's sheet, which was made longer by cut-
ting offthe top r... .. : 1- r n.
1-,..- .[, ,- i .I ANNIE KEM P.

PEAS AND PEPPER.
Syracuse, January 1o, 1876.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Wishing to contribute, for once, to
the source whence my children derive so much pleasure, I offer to
your puzzle-lovers the following:
"A lady sent her husband this note: M DEAR, WILL YOU HAVE
PEAS FOR SUPPER THIS EVENING ?' He replied: MY DEAR, I PRE-
FEE SUER.' "
What does his answer mean ?-Respectfully yours, A.

Thanks to A," who puts the answer in a P. S.,
Jack can tell you that the gentleman preferred
"supper without peas" (pp). You can pass on
the riddle for others to guess. Jack is not quite


334


[MARCH,







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


sure that it is new. He has heard the old story of
the boarder who, on inspecting his landlady's cas-
tors, exclaimed: Madam, I'm sorry to say that
your pepper is half peas The landlady was in-'
dignant, of course, and she probably denies it to
this day; but you and I, my chicks, know that
the boarder was right.

ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.
Is Jack growing sentimental? Not a bit of it.
He never saw a romantic swan in his life; but this
is what he wishes to say:
A bright girl stopped the pretty schoolmistress.
yesterday, right on the edge of the wood, with:
"Oh, I 'm so glad I met you, dear Miss --.
Wont you please tell me of a pretty piece to re-
cite? Something fresh, you know, that other girls
have n't spoken, and that is not intended for little
children."
The schoolmistress thought a moment.
"Try Mrs. Browning's 'Romance of the Swan's
Nest,'" said she; "it is not long, and it is very
pretty-just the thing for you. Give it good action
and expression, and I.am sure you will make it a
success."
The young girl fairly clapped her hands with
delight.
'11 learn it-indeed I will-and I'm so much
,, obliged to you !"
"If Jack is listening," laughed the schoolmis-
tress (and I hope he is) "he'll tell his big ST.
NICHOLAS girls just what we have said."

CAREFUL HUSBANDRY.
SUCH queer things as the birds tell me! It's
wonderful how much they know. For instance, it
appears that in Japan crops are so carefully tended
that every single wheat-stalk which by accident gets
bent down, is supported and straightened. Every
heavy head of rice, each boll of cotton, is tended
and propped, if need be, till it is ready to be gath-
ered. Labor must be cheap in Japan.

CHINESE BEDS FOR LODGERS.
TALKING of Japan, makes me think of China;
and now I '11 tell you of something I 've lately heard:
In the north of China the hotels have no beds-or
what we would call so. They have, running across
the side of a room, a shelf built of brick, two feet
high, and eight or ten feet wide. Under this is a
fireplace, with flues extending all around the lower
surface. It is covered with matting. Every one
carries his own bedding, and travelers pack them-
selves away on this shelf, as many as can squeeze in.
Of course it is exceedingly warm, but never lonely.

SUPPOSE." '
ONE advantage of being a Jack-in-the-Pupit is,
that you can hear the animals talking :
Suppose," said a little lamb to a big calf that
was feeding in the pasture beside her, that I was
an elephant."
But you 're not an elephant," said the calf.


." But suppose I was," continued the lamb, "andi
had ivory tusks."
But you have n't any tusks at all, let alone ivory.
tusks," said the calf.
But suppose I had," insisted the lamb, and:
a great long trunk."
Stuff and nonsense said the calf.
"And I went off with a menagerie, like that
we saw going down the road yesterday," said the
lamb, "and "
"You couldn't go with a menagerie. They
would n't have you," interrupted the calf.
"I could, and they would, if I were an elephant,"'
said the lamb.
But you're not an elephant," repeated the calf,.
kicking up his heels and jumping about in the most
absurd manner.
"0 dear said the lamb, "I sha' n't try to,
play with you any more. How can I,.when you:
have n't the least bit of 'suppose' in you ? "
The calf stood still and looked at her for a mo-
ment, with serious brown eyes, and then went off
whimpering: "Very well, you needn't play with.
me if you don't want to-so, there now-and 'I'11
go and tell my mother you're mad at me just,
because you're not an elephant."
And away he ran, while the lamb went on crop-
ping the young grass, and'supposing to herself.

HOW SOME SHIPS ARE SCRUBBED.
IT seems that in several places in the world there-
are volcanoes under the sea. Such volcanoes, of
course, do not send up volumes of flame and smoke.
Instead, they pour forth streams of sulphurous acid.
vapor that mingle with the sea-water. Some of
these volcanoes are situated in bays where ships.
can safely ride at anchor.
As is well'known, the bottoms of many ships are-
protected by a covering of copper. This copper,
after a time, becomes corroded by the action of the
sea-water; a sort of green mold forms, sea-mosses.
begin to grow, and even small sea animals, like
the barnacles, build their shell-houses upon it. Of
course, all these things roughen,the ship's bottom,
and as the vessel gathers more and more, it sails.
very much slower by reason of the great accu-
mulation. Then, if she happen to be anywhere-
in the neighborhood of one of these submerged
volcanoes, the captain sails her thither to be-
scoured.
This scouring process does not require hands or
machinery of any sort. All that is necessary is.
that the ship should lie quietly at anchor where the.
sulphurous acid vapor, mingling with the sea-water,
can gently wash her sides and bottom. In a few
days, or weeks, as the case may be, not a weed,
not a barnacle, not a bit of the dark green mold
remains, and the ship can sail off again, her copper
bottom as clean and as bright as when it was first.
put on.
I've heard the boys speaking of this same thing.
They read about it in a book called Cosmos, written.
by one Humboldt. Some of you may like to,
look into it.


x876.]


335







336


THE


FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


BLACK HORSE "BOB."


*


-,..


BOB is all ready to take his master out riding. His bridle and saddle
are on, and, as it is a cold day, Bob's blanket is thrown over him while



[MARCH,






FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


337


he is waiting. Bob is a good horse, and likes to eat a bit of sugar if
any one will give it to him. See how he is turning his head Perhaps
he thinks you have a piece of sugar for him. Bob's mistress often goes
to his stable and pats him, and gives him a piece of candy or sugar. So
Bob is always glad to see her, and he follows her about when he is out
of doors eating grass. He hopes that she has some sugar for him. Bob
thinks that sugar tastes very well with grass. Bob is a fine horse, because
he is so handsome and strong, and can go so fast; but his master and
mistress like him most of all because he is so gentle and so.good.






THE MOUSE WHO LOST HER GREAT LONG TAIL.

ABOUT twenty-five years ago my mother told me this story: One morn-
ing, when a little gray mouse was running across the pantry floor, a great
black-and-white cat pounced on her, and bit off her nice long tail. The little
mouse felt dreadfully about it, and she said to the cat: Old cat, will you
please to give me back my great long tail ?"
Yes," said the cat, I will give it to you if you will bring me a saucer
of milk."
So the mouse ran down to the barn, where an old red cow was tied
in the stall, and said: Please, old cow, will you give me a saucer of milk
for the cat, so she will give me back my great long tail ?"
The cow said: Yes, I will give you the milk if you will bring me a
bunch of hay."
Then the mouse went to the farmer who was plowing in a field near
by, and said to him: Will you please to give me some hay for the cow,
and then she will give me a saucer of milk for the cat, and the cat will
give me back my great long tail?"
The farmer said: "Yes, I will give you the hay if you will promise
me not to go in my corn-crib and eat my corn."
And as the little mouse said she would never, never touch the corn,"
the farmer gave her a bunch of hay, which she gave to the cow; and the
cow gave her a saucer of milk, which she gave to the cat; and the old cat
gave her back her great long tail, which made the little mouse very happy.
But, best of all, she kept her word, and did not touch the farmer's corn.
VOL. III.-23.


1876.1






LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS' PAGE.


338


LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS' PAGE.

BY MARION HARLAND.

BEEF-TEA.

V- BEEF-TEA is a very
S" / nourishing and safe form
S of food for invalids or
/ / ---" delicate persons; and
S many a little girl might
> be glad .to be able to
/ make it for some friend
or member of the family
if she knew how. So
/ here is our first recipe :
STake one pound of
very lean beef; and if
you cannot obtain, or weigh out, exactly a pound, take about as
much as would fill a pint measure if it were pressed tightly into
it. Cut the meat into bits not larger than raisins, and put it into
a clean glass jar or wide-mouthed bottle. Cover it, but do not
screw the top on tightly, or it may burst when heated. Set this
jar in a saucepan of cold water; put a weight on top to keep it
from floating, and put the saucepan upon the range or stove,
where it will heat slowly. Keep the water in the saucepan at a
gentle boil for at least three hours. If it should boil away very
much, add hot water from the tea-kettle. The meat should look
S like white rags, and the gravy that has flowed from it be of a clear
S brown color. Take from the fire and strain through a sieve or a
? bit of tarlatan into a cup. The quantity of tea will seem very
small to you, but it is all of the pound of meat that is worth saving.
S The tasteless rags left in the strainer would only tire and hurt
the poor, weak stomach of the invalid for whom you have pre-
Spared the nourishment. Season the tea with a little salt and less
Pepper, and let it stand until cold. Then skim off every bit of
fat from the top. Greasy soups are always unwholesome.
sm When the sick person is ready for his, ior her beef-tea, heat
\ some of it by setting the tin cup containing it in a shallow vessel
of boiling water,-a frying-pan will do,-and leaving this on the
fire until the tea is warm enough. Pour into the prettiest bowl
t or cup you have. It is well to have this heated also, by pouring
hot water into it and letting it stand while your tea is warming.
Have ready a waiter covered with a clean napkin; put the bowl
upon it; lay beside this a bright silver spoon, and by this have a
plate with a few Albert biscuits or cream crackers, or a slice of
delicate toast, with the crust pared off; and take the tray with
your own hands to papa's or mamma's bedside, not as if it were
medicine,-which it is not,-but good and tempting food, which it ought to be.
I hope it will be long before mamma or papa needs this sort of nourishment, or baby has to be "built
up" with it. But it is well to know how to get the pure essence of beef for them should they require it.
My little housekeepers may think this recipe rather a gloomy first course." But we have thought
it best to begin with something easy and useful. Next time we will have a talk about "frosting." And
lest the prospect should chill the imagination, we whisper the possibility that a r.: tlprll- cake may lie
under the sweet whiteness of the meringue.


[MARCH,







THE LETTER-BOX.


339


THE LETTER-BOX.

Marietda, Pa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It gives me great pleasure to send you a copy of a song which I think would meet with great popularity
among the Bird-defenders, and I am certain that it is very appropriate. It is called "Don't Kill the Birds." I first saw it in a music-
book, and at once I thought of sending it to you for publication; and, considering all views to the negative, I made up my mind to send it.
As it is, it is all in your hands; but I am confident that it would cause enough of enthusiasm among the "Defenders" to richly repay
you for your trouble. In conclusion, I would say that I have obtained the permission of the publishers; also, that it is dedicated to
the "Bird-defenders of America."-I remain, yours very respectfully, HORACE M. ENGLE.
We take pleasure in complying with Horace's request, and we believe with him that many young Bird-defenders will enjoy singing
this pretty song.
DON'T KILL THE BIRDS.
(Dedicated to the Bird Defenders.)


fModerato.


Music BY E. O. L,


I. Don't kill the birds, the lit tie birds, That sing a bout the door, Soon as the joy ous
2. Don't kill the birds, the lit tie birds; Do not dis turb their play; But let them war ble


S1..,... And chill ing storms are o'er. The lit lie birds that sweet ly sing, Oh,
S.... ... Till cold drives them a way. Don't kill the birds, the hap py birds, That








let them hap py live; Oh, do not try to take the life That you can nev er give.
cheer the field and. grove; So harm-less, ten der, tim- id, mild. They claim our warm-et love.

-4-r-


Racine, Wis., Dec. 5th, 1875.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I like your magazine more every
year, and now I am reading "The Boy Emigrants." Mamma has
been reading "The Old Curiosity Shop" to me, and it seems too
bad when we think that Rose, in The Eight Cousins," and little
Nell were nearly the same age; but Rose had such a nice home and
splendid times, while Nell had not any home, and had to wander
around so much, and had hardly one pleasant day to cheer her life.
MAMIE DOUD.

WE have received information that the demand for reading matter
for the inmates of the hospitals and other public institutions is greater
than The New York State Charities Aid Association is able to supply.
The many thousands who pass their days friendless and alone in
these institutions, eagerly desire something to read, while in many a
house are stowed away unused and forgotten books, old magazines,
and illustrated papers, which would give pleasure and benefit to those
to whom life is little else than destitution and suffering.
Will not our readers send what children's books, old, magazines,
and illustrated papers they can spare to the Rooms of the Associa-
tion, No. 52 East 20th street?


C. J. R.-Your story proves to be a very dishonest piece of work.
It is taken from a sketch by Nora Perry, published in Our Young
Folks for May, 1866, and elsewhere. The fact that you have altered
the title and changed the names of the characters, besides making
other slight changes, shows how deliberately you have sinned in the
matter. Never send anything to ST. NICHOLAS again.


Muncy, Pa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please answer this question
directly, as it is of great importance: If twins are two, how many
are a pair of twins ?" LULU JOHNSON.
What have our readers to say to this question ? If a pair of twins
are four, how many are a pair of scissors ?

J. W. AND OTHERS.-The publishers of ST. NICHOLAs probably
will offer no other premiums for the coming year than those already
advertised in their premium list for 1875.

DEAR GIRLS AND BOYS: During our stay last Summer in South-
ern Germany, we spent several weeks in the pretty town of Roth
(pronounced Rote), not far from the ancient city of Niirnberg. This
queer little stadt (town) and surroundings afforded us many sights so
unlike those to which we were accustomed that I am tempted to write
to you about them.
The old church which stands opposite the large square school-
house has "weathered the storms of many, many winters. We wit-
nessed its nine hundredth anniversary. A feeling of awe stole over
me whenever I entered the wide door-way and glanced around at the
plain, high-backed pews; scanned the great, barren organ-loft, then
deserted by the choir-boys, whose young, fresh voices often rise
amidst the lofty arches of the blue vaulted roof. But my gaze always
lingered on the old, time-worn pulpit, from which Martin Luther
once preached, no doubt infusing much of his brave, unerring spirit
into the anxious hearts of those weary, hard-working peasants. Often
as I stood there the setting sun would, for a moment, illuminate that
great reformer's picture, hanging beside the pulpit, which is a copy
from the original of his friend, Lucas Cranach. One of the beautiful


X876.]


2----- =3 r3- ----- -- ^- --- ---E_--- r------| --






THE LETTER-BOX.


customs is the playing of a band, from the church tower, after the
ringing of the evening bell. How inspiring sounded those grand
chorals as the music was wafted over the town, the hills taking up
and reiterating the echo. Then the nacht-wAchter (watchman), who
makes his round about the city, commences at ten o'clock, and from
that hour until daybreak repeats, or rather sings, in rhyme, the pass-
ing hours.
H6rt Ihr Herren und last euch sagen-
Die Glocke hat zehu geschlagen;
Bewahrt das Feuer und auch das Licht,
Auf das der Stadt kein schaden ,eschicht,
Und lobat Gott den Herren.'
TRANSLATION.
Good sirs, give ear while I unfold-
The clock hath now the tenth hour toll'd;
Then quench each fire, and douse each light,
So that no harm the town affright,
And praise ye God the Lord."
We also witnessed the "Kirchwey," an annual celebration of the
building of the church, generally beginning August 16th and contin-
uing three or four days.
This is the one great excitement for Rothers and other villagers.
The band is hired to play on the "green," and all day troops of poor
little children are seen sporting on the grass, or merrily taking their
"kreutzers' worth of ride in the "carousel." There are Punch and
Judy shows, lottery booths and the much frequented refreshment
stall, where "braunschweic sausages, Leb kuchen (life cake), and
candy hearts and German babies are displayed before the admiring
eyes of numerous white-haired lads and lassies. In the Markt Platz
(market place) is, however, the liveliest scene. There are rows upon
rows of booths, where everything from a wheelbarrow to a toy watch
is sold. There the peasants, in holiday costume, flourish about,
gossiping and munching "Johanna's Brod." The women are ar-
rayed in home-spun dresses, gay shawls, and odd caps, consisting of
a round frame-work adjusted on the back of the head, from which are
suspended several yards of purple or black ribbon; the men, attired
in tall beaver hats, short breeches, with knee buckles, and long frock-
coats reaching to their heels, and ornamented in front with a double
row of bright silver buttons.
Here we remained for some time, enjoying the novelty, wandering
in and around each booth, invested in some of the famous Niirnberg
toys, and then, though loth to leave such a picturesque, novel scene,
we threaded our way through the labyrinth of booths and people, and
soon were at our temporary home. H. S. M.

To BIRD-DEFENDERS.-In order that there may be no mistake
about it, we hereby lay the following letter of resignation before our
army of Bird-defenders:
Peoria, Illinois, Dec. x8th, 1875.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am sorry that I put my name in the ST.
NICHOLAS, and my brother is sorry the same; and besides, I may
come across some wild fowl that I may want to kill; and I shall only
wait two weeks from the time I wrote this letter; and I and my brother
are in a great hurry to get our names out, and unless you take them
out in that two weeks, we shall kill them, anyhow, whether our names
are out or not And these are the names that are to be taken out:
Philip B. Tyng and Pierre K. Tyng. And if again a person sends
you our names, don't put them in the book. And this is the person
that writes his name: PHILIP B. TYNG.


ful; Picciola, the Prison Flower," a lovely story; "Elizabeth; or,
The Exiles of Siberia," as good to-day as ever; and a great many
more books, which we have not space for enumerating here, but which
are equally suitable for you. Ask for one of the above-named when
next you go to the library in search of interesting reading. If you
wish to take up a course of specially profitable reading or study, we
cordially refer you to the Ladies' Society for the Encouragement of
Study at Home," 9 Park Street, Boston, Mass. State your case to
the ladies by letter. We should like to call the attention of all our big
boy and girl readers to this society, an excellent account of which
will be found in the Atlantic Monthly for September, 1875.


Rensselaer, Ind., Dec. 5th, 1875.
DEAR EDITOR: I found something about Jack's sea-horse. It is a
bony fish, of the order of lokhobranches, of the family of the pipe
fish, of the genus hlfiocamzus. They have no teeth. They inhabit
all the parts of the temperate oceans. They live on very small ani-
mals, and catch' their prey with great dexterity. There are many
species.-From a faithful reader, ELMER DWIGGINE.

WE have received an interesting account of an historical doll, now
over eighty years of age, but still in a state of good preservation. It
was sent by General Varnum to a little girl then living at Newport,
R. I., at the time of the first assembling of the Federal Congress
(1789). The little girl kept it for many years, and after she became
a woman, gave it to a niece as a reward for good behavior. The
mamma of this second owner very sensibly took charge of it, and
saved it from the casualties common to most dolls, until, in this way,
its peaceful life has at last been extended over four-fifths of a century.
rIt shows the signs ofage, however, and looks very like an old lady
of eighty, with yellow and shriveled complexion, and sunken eyes.
It is dressed in the costume of that day-silk hose; thin muslin dress,
open behind, with the waist ending just under the arms; and a bonnet
with cap-crown, and flaming brim.

December 2oth, 1875.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please be kind enough to tell me
where this line is to be found; In maiden meditation, fancy free ?"
And also these: If she be not fair for me,
What care I how fair she be?"
And why is the first day of Lent called Ash Wednesday ?-Your lov-
ing friend, BRENDA.
The first quotation is from Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's
Dream," Act II., Scene ist; and the second from George Withers'
poem of" The.Shepherd's Resolution."
"Ash Wednesday" is so called from the Roman Catholic cere-
mony of strewing ashes on the head, as a sign of penitence. The
ashes, after being sprinkled with holy water, were strewn upon the
heads of the congregation, with a repetition of the words, "Remem-
ber that thou art dust, and shalt return to dust." Pope Gregory the
Great is said to have introduced the ceremony.


THOSE of our readers who remember "Peter Parley will be inter-
E. G. AND OTHERS.-The article on Postage-stamps in our Novem- ested in the following hitherto unpublished lines, written in a young
ber ST. NICHOLAS was written by Mr. Joseph J. Casey, of this city. lady's album about thirty years ago:


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: If it is not too much trouble, will you let
me know through the Letter-Box the names of a few of the books
suitable for a gir of thirteen. I can get plenty of books to read, but
I always tbos eoksuitable for older people, such as "St Elmo"
and What Can She Do ?" I knew all the time that St. Elmo"
was not a good book for me; but I could not stop. It seemed as
though it had some strange power, which, when I commenced it,
kept me from stopping, and held fast to me until I had finished it.
I do hope you will answer my request.-Yours respectfully,
FLORENCE T-- .
Have you read Miss Alcott's stories, Florence ? or Mrs. A. D. T.
Whitney's books, or George McDonald's Princess and the Goblin,"
or his "Double" story, or Miss Mulock's novels, or Mrs. Stowe's
novels, or William Black's ? If not, you have a rich store before you,
and all of these books can be obtained at any public library. Then,
if you wish older books, there are "Vanity Fair," by Thackeray,
all of Dickens's works (especially his" Tale of Two Cities "), and Sir
Walter Scott's "Kenilworth," "Ivanhoe," and "Quentin Durward;"
Bulwer's "Last of the Barons" and "Last Days of Pompeii." Be-
sides these, you have "Paul and Virginia," always fresh and beauti-


"And must I set my signature to pages
Graced by the names of Senators and sages?
Will not their lordly autographs look down
On "Peter Parley," with a sneering frown
Will not the mighty masters of the land,
Shrink from the side of one whose humble hand
Hath been content to guide the foot of youth
Up the steep cliff to bubbling springs of Truth?
It hath been so-but be it so again-
Pride's poisoned shaft hath lost its power to pain:
And thus my heart in calm content shall shine,
While youths approving smile, and yours, are mine,"
S. G. GOODnICH.

THE SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES, edited by John Greenleaf
Whittier, and lately published by Osgood & Co., of Boston, while
welcomed by all lovers of English song, will be of especial value to
our boys and girls. It gives them a rare collection of good poetry,
selected by one whose choice is sure to be true and pure, and who,
while trying, as he says, to make "a readable book," has taken care
that it shall be a record of 'the best thoughts and happiest moments
of the best and happiest minds."


340


tMARCH,







THEIR RIDDLE-BOX.


THE RIDDLE-BOX.


CLASSICAL PUZZLE.
TAKE a letter from each of the following names, and
find a famous Greek hero: I. Ajax. 2. Hector. 3.
Anchises. 4. Priam. 5. Ulysses. 6. Alexander. 7.
Homer. 8. JEneas. G: and T.

PICTORIAL DIAMOND PUZZLE.
(In this picture, find words for a diamond puzzle, the central word
containing seven letters.)




'.'l I,, '' ;'

it L Ih;l..,' I_ 'te 1












syncopate, and leave a household utensil. L. E.
syncopate, and leave a h.ou, --s .


CONCEALED BIRDS.
I. WHICH do you prefer to read-adventures in the
Far West, or knightly tournaments ? 2. I much prefer
to read of lowly lives. 3. Some stories have a gleam of
sunshine to many persons. 4. That man on this wall
owes me for some books I sold him. 5. My little pet
relies on my reading to him every night. 6. He will
never tire if the stories are told over and over again.
D.
INCOMPLETE SENTENCES.
FILL the second blanks with the word of the first
blank decapitated.
I. We had in the room. 2. After we
went into the room and played dominoes. 3. At
- we began game. 4. At John was -
ahead. 5. At we were -- 6. We then played
some under the c.

NUMtERICAL ENIGMA.
THIS enigma is composed of thirty-four letters. The
3, 33, 2, 19, 7 is a girl's name. The 4, 5, 6, 9, 22 is
malice. The II, Io, 8, 20 is a weapon. The .3, 14, 15,
16 is a girl's name. The 24, 25, 26, 23, 34 are often
given but not always taken. The 12, 18, 28, 29, 17 is a
river in Scotland. The 30, 32, 31 is to know. The 33,
21, 6, 27 is another word for slender. The whole is an
old proverb. CYRIL DEANE.


ANSWER TO PRIZE-PUZZLE, "THE RACE OF THE PILOTS,"
IN DECEMBER NUMBER OF "ST. NICHOLAS."


BOAT. NAME.
1 .... Abraham Lincoln.......
2.... Sir William Herschel....
3... Handel ................
4... .Rubens .............. .
5....Galileo ................
6 ... Shakspeare ............
7. ... Luther ................
8... Machiavelli ...........
9 ....Dante .................
10.... Godfrey de Bouillon.....
11... Charlemagne ...........
12 ... Constantine ............


BORN. DIED. required by distant competitors. Finally, the first prize (the sailing
. D. 1809.... A. D. 1865 schooner-yacht "St. Nicholas") was awarded to


1 1



it



it
it
I
a


13 .. .Julius Caesar ........... B. C.
14 Hannibal .............. "
15 ... Plato. ................ "


1738 ....
1684 ....
1577 ....
1564 ...
1564 ....
1483 ....
1469....
1265 ...
1058 ...
742....
272....


1t
il

it


it



11
"


1822
1759
1640
1642
1616
1546
1527
1321
1100
810
337


100 ... B.C. 44
247.... 183
429.... 347


THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM'S REPORT ON PILOT
PUZZLE.
THE judges appointed to decide upon the relative merits of the
answers to the Pilot Puzzle* have at last finished their agreeable
labors. Every answer has been examined, and out of over two
thousand (sent in from all parts of the United States, and from
Canada, England and Scotland), very many have been found worthy
of special notice. Forty were considered so very good that at first it
was difficult to name the best. In selecting the finest answers, every
point was taken into careful consideration -promptness, accuracy,
clearness, relative fullness of the biographical notes, good spelling
and painstaking-while full allowance was made for the extra time


F. H. BRIGGS, OF SPRINGFIELD, MASS.,
and a second prize (the first volume of ST. NICHOLAS, bound), to
GEORGE HOWARD BAILEY, NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.
The first prize answer, besides being entirely correct and admirable
in expression, is a marvel of painstaking and finish. The second is
scarcely inferior to it, and another answer (from N. A. S., a Russian
boy) might have borne off high honors but for its mistake in nam-
ing the oath boat Alexander tke Great, instead of Constantine.
One sent from Camden, New Jersey, was so beautifully put upon the
paper that it was hard to pass it by, but'it contained two mistakes in

names, and so had no chance. Although all of the many hundreds
of answers sent in showed commendable effort and real zeal, and were
welcomed with hearty appreciation, so large a number of them were
correct that it was decided that those having even one boat named
incorrectly must be cast aside. The boys and girls named in the fol-
lowing lists sent answers not only correct, but in other respects de-
serving of honorable mention. Conspicuous among these, especially
in point of penmanship, stands T. H. L., who leads the list.
This Pilot Puzzle has required a good deal of patient ingenuity on
the part of the competitors, considerable research among histories
and encyclopedias, and often many days' hard work. It has sent
crowds of children to the public libraries, and greater crowds still
have besieged parents and friends for needed information, taking
care not to be "helped" too much. One little girl says she never
would have found out No. 15 had it not luckily occurred to her to
ask a friend of her father the Greek word for broad-and that, she
said, soon led her to Plato. (See page 134 December ST. NICHOLAS.)
For the satisfaction of many who sent in careful answers, but who
failed to get on the Roll of Honor, it is right to say that certain
differences in dates were allowed, as good authorities vary by a few
years in regard to them. Nor was any exception made to answers


1876.]


34I






THE RIDDLE-BOX.


sent from children who are not subscribers, or who live outside of the
United States-for ST. NICHOLAS is open to every boy or girl in the
world who wishes to compete for its prizes. Ages also were taken
into account, and in every way the judges have tried to do their best.
In most instances, the spelling was found to be excellent,--though
mistakes have sometimes slipped in. The most common of these are
inexhaustiblee,' "enemys," "recieve," "crucifiction," "aught"
(for ought), "Charlemange." tragedydy" succeede" and "par-
alel," and boys and girls will do well before bidding good-bye to the
Pilot Puzzle to make sure that they can write these words correctly.
It has. been delightful to note the great interest and zeal of our
young friends, and the honest good-will shown in nearly every case.
The general sentiment has been well expressed by Maud Hassall,
who adds to her answer:
"And now I make this little note,
If I am right, please send the boat;
If I am wrong, then, let me say,
Please let it sail some other way."
In conclusion, the Little Schoolma'am wishes to acknowledge
hundreds of kind and delightful letters sent in, and to heartily
echo the burden of one and all-" Long live ST. NICHOLAS."

FIRST ROLL OF HONOR.


Thos. H. Loomis, Brooklyn, N.Y.
Lilian Reese, Baltimore, Md.
Fred B. Haight, San Francisco
Nettie McFarland, Chicago, Ill.
G.W. S. Howson,Yorkshire, Eng.
Bertha W. Ferguson, Alton, Ill.
Wm. McH. Spencer, Grass Val-
ley, Cal.
Philip Mosenthal, N. Y. city
Wm. Edward Craighill, Charles-
town, W. Va.
Lily Colvin, Creetown, Kirkcud-
brightshire, Scotland
May Holmes, Montclair, N. J.
Harry L. Broomall, Media, Pa.
Herbert H. White, Boston, Mass.
Louise W. Bates, Dubuque, Iowa
J. McLaughlin, Montclair, N. J.
Gee. Urquhart, Wilkesbarrc, Pa.
Theodore W. Noyes, Washington
Will A. Anderson, Washington
Carl A. Lewis, New Haven, Ct.
Hattie Lee Eastman, Media, Pa.
Josiah H. Fitch, N. Y. city
Henry Abbey, Cleveland, O.
E. T. Sanford, Knoxville, Tenn.
E. Lawrence Wise, N. Y. city
Nellie W. Pearsall, Philadelphia
Fred H. Sargent, Chicago, Ill.
Horace F. Clark, Washington
Fannie Binswanger, Philadelphia
James M. Ballantine, N. Y. city
Percy W. Eaton, Buffalo, N. Y.
Jessie J. Cassidy, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Cornelia W. McCleary, Boston
Jamie H. Hayden, N. Y. city
Chas. L. Kemp, Jr., Baltimore
Jas. Mifflin Linnard, Philadelphia
Frank E. Davis, North Somer-
ville, Mass.
Harry R. Averill, Brooklyn, N.Y.
Bessie Almcndorf, Poughkeepsie,
N..Y.
Asa B. Morgan, Cincinnati, O.
Laura Charles, Covington, Ky.
Emma Kate Scott, Washington
Willie C. Williams, Brooklyn
Jennie L. Brownell, East Orange,
N.J.
Alice M. Rowe, Bangor, Me.
H. R. Pickering, Titusville, Pa.
Arthur B. Hodgkins, Cambridge,
Mass.


Harry H. Wyman, Boston High-
lands, Mass.
S. L. Leete, Providence, R. I.
Robt. F. Morrison, N.Y. city
"Vie," Detroit, Mich.
Jennie Pettigrew, San Francisco
W. F. Morgan, N. Y. city
Mary T. Pitman, Providence, R.I.
Robie G. Frye, Belfast, Me.
Geo. E. Percival, Buffalo, N. Y.
Fanny A. Lester, White Plains,
N.Y.
Harry H. Herdman, Chicago, Ill.
Benjamin Brewster, New Haven
Hattie Raymond, Detroit, Mich.
Nicholas Brewer, Jr., Annapolis,
Md.
Waiter C. Fish, Taunton, Mass.
Thornton M. Ware, Fitchburg,
Mass.
Warren P. Ncwcomb, East Hart-
ford, Ct.
George W. Gage, Chicago, Ill.
Dickie Comly, Detroit, Mich.
Helen Johns, Decatur, Ill.
Frank W. Smith, Philadelphia
FrankG. Ramsburgh, Clarksville,
Nebraska
Lida H. Dodd, Fainnount, Kan.
Horace J. Howe, Boston, Mass.
Jessie Lewis, Bangor, Me.
Eunice Hall, Edgefield, Tenn.
Agnes C.Worrall, Elizabeth, N.J.
Nina Carpenter, Poughkeepsie,
N.Y.
James P. Dike, Jr., Brooklyn
I. H. Pugh, Thibodaux, La.
H. E. Hildreth, Elizabeth, N. J.
Dee L. Lodge, Madison, Ind.
Seth Sprague Terry, Rochester,
N. Y.
W. O. Lewis, Washington, D. C.
E. F. Hill, Wakefield, Mass.
Nellie S. Colby, Harlem, N. Y.
Allen B. Gowing, Cal.
Henry C. and Gco. Blair, Truro,
Nova Scotia.
Charlie J. H. Crowder, Barton-
on-Humber, England
Clara B. Potwin, Hartford, Ct.
James McClees, Taylorstown, Pa.
Gee. H. T. Babbitt, Columbus, O.
Allied Good, Brooklyn, N. Y.


Calvin Bullock,
Frank W. Anthony
Edward C. Powles
Florence P. Spofford
Henry Gils
S. Morris Knapp
Chas. S. Parke
Emmie D. Merrill
Lucius J. Otis
Frank Brown
F. I. and C. Alexander


Cleveland L. Moffett
Florence M. Awl
Laura H. Earle
Guy M. Watkins
Mary M. Fiske
George F. Cooke
E. R. Knowles
Emily Godley
Frank D. Woodruff
Kate M. Hurlburt
Hattie and Ella Woodruff


SECOND ROLL OF HONOR.
Bessie Eyre Alexander Noyes J. M. Paton
Maggie A. Birming- Stephen H. Whidden Eldridge W. Jones
ham Fanny B. McClintock Minnie Morgan
Tom Charles Enna Bassett Charley Hall
Hortense Beauharnais Willy Aldrich Lyman B. Garfield
Mellier Wm. Heasley Lewis J. and Ollie C.
C. Frank Bridge J. K. Taylor Kingsley
William G. Wallace L. Jourolmon Walter Fisher
May Whitman Benjamin L. Pease Eddie C. Wall
Chas. E. Daniels Edwin S. and Grace Emmet T. Brysland
Philip Gilbert D. Hubbard B. A. Hegeman, Jr.
Thos. S. Southwerth R. Jennie Thayer Willard G. Lake
Ellis A. Frink Frank L. French M. L. H.
Royal Smith Charles C. Mumford Maud E. Potts
Mary L. Robinson Annabel Crandall J. W. Lohman
Nina Wilson Nellie M. Lillis Anna Miller
Fannie Lincoln Lota Fellows Hortense Dufourcq
Wm M. Semans Waldo W. Willard C. J. Field
Walter A. McFarland David Lapsley Walter Irving
Henry W. Fitch Annie Lounsbery Lavinia Irwin
Kate G. Child Meta Gage John Edward Hill
Hugh C. Brown GrieI Hebben Fred S. Chase
May Estelle Mott Laura D. Stroud Edward L. Peck
A. P. Saxer Samuel D. Preston, Jr. Maria E. Lay
Jennie McLaren I. Saunders O'Neale Wm. H. Woodruff
Caroline H. Barbour Hattie Blair An answer on pink
Susie E. Hunt John C. Ingram paper, N. Y. city,
Laurence Townsend Edmund D. Howe no name given
Eliza G. Quigley Charles B. Verlender Kate Sprott
Erast.Worthington, Jr. Grace Armstrong Bella B. Pullman
T. B. Stearns May M. Morse May E. Ogden
William C. Farrington Ken Moody George Parker
Miltie N. Keim W. H. Dillingham Georgie F. Sprague
Francis W. Nicholls Edward B. Horton Lilian Evans
L. K. Pratt Alice Capcn Virginia B. Ladd
Natalie J. Brown S. Cuyler and Malcolm Hermori G. Pierce
Clara M. Todd D. W. Greene Ben P. Edwards
Edmund Benjamin Julian S. Allen A. S. Dodge, Jr.
A M. Collier Chauncey R. Burr Adele A. Cherbuliez
Frank C. Roberts Maude Lovett H. G. Black
John J. Tebley G. W. Warner Mary W. Barnes
E. C. Clark Stella J. Braman May Ludington
David Fisher Lewis N. Lukens Gil. K. Harroun, Jr.
Henry Abbey Charlotte S. Blanchard Harry Evans
Edson G. Case Adele Bonnycastle Carrie Glover
Bradford WV. Hitchcock C. A. Gilman Lewis B. Ives
Norval Wilson Gallaher R. S. Hondy Harry N. Paul, Jr.
Clinton B. Burgess Florence Ware Sarah E. Smith
Anna D. Thurston Frank F. Johnson Sallie & Hattie Camp
V. J. Smith Clement A. Woodnutt Nannie Trowbridge
J. Goldsbury Walter M. Bennett H. P. Manning
Henry D. Maxwell Carrie H. Bovey John Lynn Cochrane
Fred A. Cheney Charlie A. Kitts Geo. S. Dial
Robt. S. Neely Warren T. Hillman Willie W. Haskell
Will M. Booth Daisy B. Gould Laura E. M. Manly
Harry A. H. Smith Ollie P. Gentry Carrie R. Holler
Geo. Henry Williams Robt. M. Reese Anna Bell Monroe
Willie S. Burns Mary A. Many J. Fred Stodder
Annie M. and Lulu Harold Mason Plaisted Willic J. Searle
N. Thorbum John F. Scott Fanny S. Hall
Sarah W. Putnam Paul H. Birdsall Albert P. Carman
Charles H. Hull James J. Ormsbee Osgood Smith
Charles W. Fletcher W. E. Smith Lee Brand
Baird A. Farr Charles V. Shufeldt John Burk


342


MARCC,







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


Ednah B. Hale Herbert Lewis Phillips George'Wells Fitz
Edgar B. Sampson Lizzie B. Allen Nellie J. Swain
Edward B. Fox R. W. Cooley Wm. L Allen
Wm. A. Mahoney Delia M. Conkling Gee. W. Maupin
Millie Stockwell John Fuller Frames Aggie Dielman
Clara Redding Lucy F. Soule Carrie G. Hammond
Hattie Granger C. Vanderbilt Barton Emma M. Sawyer
C. F. L. James S. Merritt Edward S. Tyler
Charles M. Andrews Fannie P. Anderson Jennie Moore
Annie E. Trumbull Arthur Rogers Wm. Henry Bower
Minnie K. Mixer Jimmie Grant Clara H. Morgan
Helen S. Pearson Grace A. Flack Theresa M. Lawrence
Alida Bevier L. S. Rogers Franklin A. Hart
A. Monte Cutler Clarence H. Campbell Mary Wattson
Nathan C. Osgood Maria A. Bond Cora L. Jones
Linnie Ayer Percy Pipoon G. F.
May Washburne Freddie McCrosky Herbert J. Polk
Alice F. Worcester Annie Barber Laura H. Pinion
Geo. M. Custis Hattie Merwin George W. Monteith
Allee Good Harvey L. McBricr Edwin C. Garrigues
Frank M. Wichman Nettle H. McKilvey John B. Neale
Fanny Hunt Ellie Colcgrove Joseph M. Vose
Minnie B. Merrill H. Irving Hale Stella Hubbell
Fred W. Phillips Lydia Richardson J. Edmond Page
Clara L. Anthony Anna M. Porter Heloise Wilmington
Julia W. Porcher Frank P. Gordon Mary S. Heddrick
Alice Sears E. M. Kempshall Willie Y. Kinne
Wm Scarlett, Jr. R. Marshall Jones John Acton, Jr.
H. S. Elder Phcebe Loving Willie A. Parker
Kate G. Lawson Laura Eastman Agnes S. Covert
Nettle Ely Sallie H. Borden Grace Hattie Stennett
W. F. Bridge, Jr. James T. Hatfield H. V. A. Anderson
Frank B. Bemis Lena Marshall C. Frank Culley
Charlie Mead S. M. Osgood Helen R. Guthrie
Sue G. Wilson Ethel E. Fisher Carrie E. Campbell
S Marie C. Sieboth Edward F. Wells Edith E. Thompson
Anna Trout Rigely P.. Randall Clara Ida Stelle
Perice B. Wilbur A. Lockwood Daniel- Samuel J. Shaw
Walter B. Taft son Robert Pearsall
James R. Goodale Carrie Wiley Ethelbert Dowden
Marcia E. Billings Lillie S. Sharpe Mattie E. Blow
Austin F. Haven Bessie Blair Chas. S. Smith
'ALittle Schoolma'am' Nellie E. Moses George G. Munger
Robt. H. Noble M. A. Barney Fannie H. Smith
May Pughe Fred. Geo. Woodman Warner Demond
John Stewart, Jr. Julia Teare Banny Stewart
Eleanor B. Manchester Kate S. Sweeney Jessie Dunsmore
F. M. Wright Maud Hassall Katy E. Rand
John H. Long Rudolph Leonhart Clarence H. Bradley
Hattie F. Miller Mary Otis Gay Launcelot M. Berke-
Jacob D. Early Anne Atwood ley
Clara H. Bannister Geo. Casper Pennell John R. V. Gilliat
Isaac Ford Jimmie Cravens George K. Taylor
Jeannie C. Pinner Walter Hawkes Allie W. Laird
Anna G. Elmendorf Charlie W. Balestier J. Eddie Milhau
Samuel S. Van Pelt Lilian B. Miner James B. Hanker
Clara E. Latty Bennie Swift Richard L. Hill, Jr.
H. S. Hart Charles W. Gibert Frederika V. Sabine
Frank H. Carroll Lester Woodbridge Sophie Logan
Edward W. Blodgett Ella M. Darrell Edith Clay
Ella Whilldin W. N. Todd Emma H. Babcock
Davie W. Osborne Franklin M. Welsh Henry B. Ashmore
R. H. Rerick Philip M. Robertson Bessie B. Gardner
J. M. Marshall Eliza D. Fitch J. Charles Trezinger
W. E. Bailey, Jr. Fannie S. Hulbert Jas. W. Hatch
Helen L. Miller James E. Whitney, Jr. Wm. Scott
Gee. P. Carroll Ida Pease Bertie Dawson
Richard L. Everit W. B. Thomson Heaton Manice
Johanna Fleischmann Frank F. Coon Mary I. Tilghman
Harold H. Eames Bessie Plimpton Fannie Miller
Charles L. Rilliet Willie Fox Stella Williams
Will E. Brayton Courtney Smith Daisy Fawcett
Addie M. Sackett Jeanie Matthews R. B. Mather
Lydia M. Dame Emma P. Wood Robt. W. Lovett
Wm. M. K. Olcott Maria M. Jones Kate H. Russell
John K. Makin Kittie L. Brainerd C. F. Perce
Lilla Wilkinson Charles D. Smith A. V. Griswold


Harry W. Ordway Robt. E. Wright Willis B. Currier
Annie Fitzgerald Robt. F. Camp Belle Hyde
Lulie H. Farmer Fairman Warren W. G. Nickerson
Samuel T. Halsted Edith S. Cushing Fred C Weld
Wm. S. Wolle Anne and Emma Webb Minnie Wilson
Louise T. Murdoch May L. Nichols Carrie F. Granger
Tracy Lyon Addie I. Clark Thomas E. Camp
Samuel W. Lambert Harrie C. Dickinson Arthur Evans
Chas. W. Scovel Susie A. Murray M. Odora Foster
Harry M. Thomas Mollie H. Miner Norman Barbour
Theodore W. Noyes Charles L. Morss H. G. Thompson
Kate Cady Corson Howard Case Jas. C. Elms, Jr.
Walter Watrous Johnnie W. Knight F. W. Shepardson
F. M. Stebbins Newton C. Adams Thomas M. Moore
J. A. David Dollie W. Kirk Jeannie T. Durant
Willie Conway Bessie Le Moyne Sydney A. Smith
Henry H. Suplee Aaron Rice Mark Howe
Mary and Edith Hen- Logan Bullitt Frank Anderson
person Isabel Bend Agnes Marples
Edith Harrison Charles K. Billings Grace Greenough
Anna Lee Morris Charles B. Wilson Emily B. Topping
Grace E. Hoyt Herman N. Tieman George Hay
Thos. P. Conant Wm. F. Clark Mary C. Foster
James L. Fisk Florence Townsend Taddie Williams
Frank E. Avery Alice R, Murdock S. Knight
Will B. Gleim Joseph Lippman Eliz. Julia Turnor
Adda M. Sheffield Charles Jewett Hum- S. H. Macky
Sarah H. Leavens phrey Callie Ellis
Willie F. Booth L. N. Henry Charles Livingston
Julia Dean Hunter John W. Laws Hubbell
Louise H. Macomber Wm. R. Cordingley Robt. M. Kershaw
John A. Hunneman R. S. Minturn Chas. H. Oatman
John J. Zimmele Herbert Wilson J. Lewis Howe
Geo. Leighton Blood Irving Swan Pierce
Harry G. Fitler W. Phelps J. M. Brice
Edith Carpenter Eva A. Smith Reginald W. Rives
Eddie H. Sawyer Camilla Morris Fred E. Wiltberger
Geo. W. Lay Charles E. Maxfield Susan R. Harrison
Lewis L. Smith and Annie C. Lincoln Maud H. Du Puy
Edwin N. Fussell Anna and Sammie Pi- Fanny H. Flint
"Uncas" per Helen K. and Camp-
Walter C. Brace Bethune Duffield bell Holton
Marian E. Gross Cynthia P. Leet Julia Linton
Herbert A. Shattuck Ruth Ella Benjamin Harriet B. Townsend
Lizzie C. Jarvis Harry Carrier Alfred C. Young
Eddie Van Vleck Jerome L. Cheney Emily Shaw Sargent
Jennie V. Martin Allen D. Vorce Emma C. Perry
MacGregor Goodale Hinton E. Spalding Cathy P. Darlington
Jessie M. Benedict Harry Weeks Eddie H. Gay
Maybelle Powell Mabel Carrington C. Holmes Seymour
Annie Manning Bennie Wynkoop Dora M. Dickinson
Louis T. Reed May Utley Lewis E. Gates
Mary Harned J. G. Armour O'Con- Cary Harrison '
Elsa L. Hobart nell Herbert H. Parsons
Alfred C. Kennedy Wm. W. Thomas, Jr. Duncan Curry
Frank E. Vaughan L. B. Coggeshall Carl Heydrick
Bertha Cooper Cora Conant Willie A. Seelye
Hattie C. Fernald Emily S. Boston John Edward Wiles
Alice T. Gold G. H. Hudson Willie A. Whitemore
Thomas A. Murray Katie M. Inglis H. McCormick Smith
Geo. Hinman Fuller Katie R. Wisbart Cornelia W. Stimpson
Hetty R. Paret John D. Bullard Nellie Wood
Mahlon Betts E. R. Greene Robt. V. Gardner
Julia, Willie, and Mad- David M. Pratt Ben A. Cunningham
gie Walsh Fred M. Pease Willie Merle Carlart
Florence and Louise Abe Bickham Fred Evans, Jr.
Worthington L. O. G. Bucklin Ida T. Weeks
Arthur S. Anable Henry H. Strong Spencer C. Hunt
Julia P. Harvey Charlie M. McCook Jennie A. P. Brown
Herbert S. Underwood E. N. Aston J. Henry Gucken
Hatty L. Cady Philo P. Safford L. A. Johnson
Sarah J. Russell Bessie Pulsifer E. L. Weaver
Lulu K. Snow John L. Sturtevant Emily Morrison
Josie C. Rockwell Fred R. Martin Hunter B. Stiles
Nellie Cooley Helen L. Peet Susie D. Sherwin
Agnes Haffelfinger Albert L. Carson Washington Minor
C. Townsend Brady Helen E. Vail Wm. Adger Law


1876.1


.343







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


W. C. Reed George F. D. Frask Affa A. Gray
Emma Purinton Herbert V. Abbott Mary McFarland
Bertha Torrance George H. Gurley Wm. J. Gregory
Nellie W. Banks Gertrude Huntington Sadie Lytle Young
John P. Stockum Stephen Burton Marie E. Krackowizer
Ella A. Leland Frances A. Gould Lily R. Church
Madge McComb Helen A. Sherwood Johnny French
Birdie Gillespie F. Swift Billings F. E. Rookledge
Ada M. Frost W. L. Amerman John H. Kennard, Jr.
Helen Worrell Clarkson Josie Morse Frank G. Warrington
Geo. Milton Anna Beers Wm. R. Kemp
E. L. Clapp Allie Anthony Edward L. White
Bryan Cumming Win. Martin Currier Geo. G. Sears
E. E. Perrine Elam L. Clarke Austin Meigs Poole
Lewis A. Clapp Hattie J. Whitney Hattie Maud Mallory
Bessie Van Patten Eva A. Madden Alice R. Blunt
C. N. Peck Lucy A. Barbour Elsie Johnston
Belle Murdoch Horace P. Taylor Willie F. Servis
Ella Otis Wm. M. Gobeille GriffRensmanr
G. E. Krauth George W. Howe Anson L. Carroll
James S. Barstow H. P. Robbins Emilie E. Betz
Alfred H. Cooper Mary E. Goodwin Ellen H. Munroe
Nelson S. Stirling Peter W. Hitchcock Theron H. Hanks, Jr.
Fanny E. Throop ClarenceW. McIlvaine Warren P. Laird
Martha S. Davis Benj. Stephens Cooke Lily M. Storrs
Earle S. Alderman Annie M. Lang Alice W. Heald
Mary R. & C. A. Cook J. Frank Knox, Jr. Louis W. Flanders
Katie Noble James E. Haseltine Austin S. Palmer
Mary T. Leonard Sada Rabb Henry Petry
Willie W. Lanthum Anna Woltzen Harry H. Carlton
Richard White Lillie Calkin Lily Van Wyck
Henry C. Young S. M. Brice Jessie Newlands
Mamie L. Kimball Frank H. Wells Susie C. Williams
Josiah H. Fitch Ida M. Grisell A. Jennie McNeil
Seymour C. Payne Geo. Emlin West Sallie B. Maclay


Chas. B. Clemens Lafayette Vorce Eddie M. Harris
Mary Cheney J. R. Ohl Annie R. Stratton
Bessie H. Van Cleef James Alfred Merrill Genevieve Near
R. Jones Stanley S. Covert James F. Phelps
Sara M. Richardson H. S Loper Aggie H. Halloway
Jessie Mallory James P. Munro Gracie E. Bushnell
B. Parker, Jr. Edmund Kirk Titus George H. Knowles
Mary Isabel Rissman Edward L. Middleton H. J. Bowman
Susie C. Fobes Willie S. Barnes Wm. H. Seward
Jack F. Henry Nillie Hall Bella H. White
E. M. Nadal George N. Hannam Alice B. McLear
Eleanor J. Clarke M. E. H. Hammett Chas. C. Harrington
Mabel Moore Chas. S. Plumb E. R. Tilton
Geo. E. de Steigner Frank S. Beavis E. Floyd Branch, Jr.
Stella T. Johnson W. I. Sinnott Tracy H. Harris
Chas. H. Walker Bert Watson Minna G. Austin
Charley A. Miller Georgie E. Hume Henry Robinson
Donald B. Toucey R. W. Mallet Lucy Boisliniere
Harry A. Prince Anna M. Paddock Edwin F. Webster
Nannie Robbins W. C. Landon Stephen Chase
Rich'd Frank Rankins Daniel Rollins Willie H. Chapple
Lizzie L. Howard Louisa Vulliet M. Louise Rice
Lulu De Vyne Wm. B. Roberts Celia P. Nott
Edward P. Draper Thomas McKittrick Gee. F. Davidson

C. L. W., shrewdly suspected to be rather an old "boy," sent in
so witty a set of notes on the fifteen characters, that for awhile it quite
upset the gravity of the judges. His account of Hannibal, "who
swore at nine years of age, and came to a bad end, committing
suicide just before he died," and of-" Julius Caesar, commonly called
' Casar,'" and of Mr. D. A. Dante, who was treated shabbily
and exiled by his countrymen, but who gave some of them excellent
situations in his Inferno," and his humorous descriptions of some of
the other "gentlemen," are well worth printing, if ST. NICHOLAS
could afford the space.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN FEBRUARY NUMBER.


NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-" Every sin carries its own punishment."
BEHEADED RHYMES -Scowl, cowl, owl. Clair, lair, air. Chill,
hill, ill. Preach, reach, each.
PYRAMID.- S
APT
TRITE
INGRATE
n NO R A T E
REFRACTED
EQUAL ENESS
EASY HIDDEN CITIES.-i. Newport. 2. Oxford. 3. Pisa. 4.
Dover. 5. Cork. 6. Windsor. 7. Perth. 8. Toronto. 9. Ottawa.
WORD-SQUARE.- HO W L
OGRE
WREN
LENT
DOUBLE AcRosTIc.-Browning, Tennyson.
B -andi- T
R-enegad-E
O -rion- N
W -idgeo-- N
N -orwa- Y
I --ri- S
N -er- O
G -alleo- N
PICTORIAL ENIGMA.-Harvesting. Stag, grate, seat, vine, hat
gate, nest, garnet, ring, net, tea, gnat, rest, vest, sting, hearts.
CHARADE.-Orion.


DIAGONAL PUZZLE.-
LIBERALLY
TELES COPE
WITTI CI SM
FORTHWITH
CONVENING
CORPORALS
ADMIRABLE
LEXINGTON
HETERO DOX
CLASSICAL CHARADE.-Antiparos.
WORD-SQUARE.- S T 0 R M
THREE
ORIEL
REEVE
MELEE
DECAPITATIONs.--Shrink, rink, ink.
DIAMOND PUZZLE.- M
LED
PALES
LACONIC
M EL 0 COTTON
DENOTED
SITES
COD
N
REBus.-" Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."
ENIGMA.-Courtship of Miles Standish.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.-France.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN JANUARY NUMBER were received, previous to January 18, from Hattie Allis, "Gussie," A. A. W., Stanford
T. Crapo, E. and A. Herron, Arthur Stuart Walcott, Charlie Prudhon, David and Jonathan," Walter Cassidy, Thomas Hunt, R. S. Min-
turn, Willie Dibblee, "Alfred and Rosie," James Hillborn, Eddie Shurtleff, Clara A. Williams, Julia D. Hunter, C. A. P. Club, "Nimble
Dick," Lillie May Farman, Arthur S. ii 1 .- .label T. Thayer, Charles D. Rhoades, Agnes and Cora Hodges, Annie P. Richardson,
Belle Betts, Madeleine D. W. Smith, J .' i .., Jr., T. M. Lightfoot, Nogy," Charles R. Lamb, Ji ".. ... Remsen, C. L. :-Ti ;, ..
-i..-.r, i:..,. th Ashmore, A. H. Eastman, Madison Porter, M. C. R., Mattie E. Blow, "Regie and 1. i S. Clark, "Cur .
........i :... L. F. A., Lewis E. Gates, Ida M. Bourne, Annie G. Parker, Howard S. Rodgers, John Hinkley, W, H. Rowe, Bessie Vroom,
S.1 1 i ..:, Jennie A. Arthur, G. P. Brady, John R. Slack, Montie Horton, Freddie S. Pickett, Mamie A. Johnson, C. W. Hornor, Jr.
THE prize for the first correct answer to the Christmas-tree Puzzle," published in the holiday number of ST. NICHOLAS, was awarded to
BEssIE PLIMPTON, of Wrentham, Mass., and a beautiful illustrated copy of" Beauty and the Beast" (London edition) forwarded to her
address. We are sorry that we cannot give credit to other boys ;.... .:.I who answered the puzzle, but the correct answers received after
Bessie's were so numerous that we cannot possibly acknowledge '1 1- ..I and therefore prefer to mention none. It may interest competitors
to know that Bessie's answer, though the first correct one, was not the first in point of time, as several answers from various cities of the West
and South even, preceded hers in their arrival; and that, in awarding the prize, no account was taken of the answer to No. 14, which, as our
readers will remember, was by mistake left incomplete. It is onlyjustice however, to say that Bessie answered it correctly as well as the others.


344


[MARCH.


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