St. Nicholas.


Material Information

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


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


General Note:
Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note:
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
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:

Full Text

..-i~ / J

[See Letter-Box.]


VOL. III. MAY, 1876. No. 7.

(A Legend of St. Thomas.)

BY H. H.

WHEN King Gondoforus desired
To have a palace built that should
Be finer than all palaces
Which in the Roman Empire stood,

He sent his provost Abanes
To search the countries far and-wide
For builders and for architects,
Whose skill and knowledge had been tried.

Then God unto St. Thomas said:
"Go, Thomas, now, and tell this king
That thou wilt build a palace which
Immortal fame to him shall bring."

Then to the saint, Gondoforus
Gave stores of silver and of gold,
And precious stones and jewels rich;
Nought did the eager king withhold.

"Now see thou build, O saint," he cried,
All proud and arrogant of mien-
"Now see thou build right speedily
Such palace as was never seen !"

Then to far countries journeyed he-
Two years and more he staid away;
At other sovereigns' palaces
All scornful gazing, he would say:
VOL. III.-28.

"St. Thomas, sent from God, doth build
For me a palace. God hath said
Its splendor an immortal fame
Upon my name and reign shall shed."

Gondoforus returned and sought
With eager haste his palace site;
The field was bare as when he went,
The sod with peaceful daisies white!

'What has the man called Thomas done
With all my gold?" he hotly cried.
"Given it all unto the poor,"
The courtiers sneeringly replied.

The king, in rage no words could tell,
St. Thomas into prison threw,
And racked his brains to think what he
For fitting punishment could do.

That very day, his brother died;
His vengeance now must cool and wait;
Until a royal tomb was built,
The royal corpse must lie in state.

Lo on the fourth day, sat erect
The royal corpse, and cried aloud,
While all the mourners and the guards
Fled terror-stricken in a crowd:


"0 king! 0 brother! listen now.
These four days I in Paradise
Have wander'd, and return to tell
Thee what I saw with my own eyes.

"This man whom thou wouldst torture is
God's servant, dear to God's own heart.
Behold, the angels showed to me
A palace wrought with wondrous art,

'fOf silver, gold, and precious stones:
Most marvelously it did shine;
And when I asked whose name it bore,
O brother! then they told me thine I

" 'St. Thomas this hath built,' they said,
'For one Gondoforus, a king.'
'It is my brother!' I exclaimed,
And fled to thee the news to bring."

Then fell the royal corpse again
Back, silent, solemn in its state;
Until the royal tomb was built,
The royal corpse must lie and wait.

Oh swift, the king the prison doors,
With his own hands, did open wide.
"Come forth come forth! 0 worthy saint!"
He, kneeling on the threshold, cried.

"The dead from heaven this day hath come,
To tell me how in Paradise
The palace thouhas built for me
Shines beautiful in angels' eyes.

"Come forth! come forth! 0 noble saint!'
And graciously forgive my sin.
As honored guest, my palace gates
Oh condescend to enter in !"

Then, smiling, said St. Thomas, calm
And gracious as an angel might:
"0 king! didst thou not know that we
Build not God's palaces in sight

"Of men, nor from the things of earth?
All heaven lieth full and fair
With palaces which charity
Alone can build, alone can share.

"Before the world began, were laid
Their bright foundations by God's hand,
For Charity to build upon,
As God and his son Christ had planned.

"No other palaces endure;
No other riches can remain;
No other kingdoms are secure;
No other kings eternal reign."

Henceforth the king, Gondoforus,
Went on his way, triumphant, glad,
Remembering what a palace he
Already in the heavens had.

No more the Roman emperors
With envy could his bosom move.
How poor their palaces by side
Of one not made with hands, above!

His treasures in the good saint's hands
He poured, and left for him to use,
In adding to that palace fair
Such courts and towers as he might choose.

And there to-day they dwell, I ween,
With other saints and other kings;
And roam with hosts of angels bright,
From place to place, on shining wings.





(Translated from /te French of M. BiDOLLIERRE.)


[Last winter, when I turned this charming little story into English,-for the entertainment of two small critics, who were amiable enough
to accord the translation their difficult approval,-I was not aware that the interesting cat of Mother Michel had already domesticated
itself in this country. Indeed, it was not until these pages were in type that I learned the fact On finding that a translation of M. Bedol-
lierre's story had appeared in Philadelphia ten or eleven years ago, my impulse was to suppress my own version; but, on reflection, I decided
to print it. There are I know not how many translations of the "Iliad." Now, the cat Moumouth is every inch as fine a fellow, in his way,
as Achilles, and very much superior to many of the impossible persons who figure in the siege of Troy. In one respect, he is superior to
Achilles himself-there is no weak spot in Moumouth's heel! It seems to me that two translations of the narrative recording his adventures
are not too many. Moreover, if I were to destroy my work, the world would lose the exquisite series of silhouettes which Mr. Hopkins has
prepared to illustrate the text. These drawings are so ingenious and spirited, that they form in themselves a sufficient excuse for a Twice-told
Tale.-T. B. ALDRICH.]



Roch- Eustache J6rmie,
had fallen gloriously at

SHERE lived in Paris, un-
der the reign of King
Louis XV., a very rich
old countess named
Yolande de la Gren-
ouillere. She was a
worthy and charitable
lady, who distributed
alms not only to the
poor of her own parish,
Saint- Germain- 1'Aux-
errois, but to the unfor-
tunate of other quar-
ters. Her husband,
Count of Grenouill&re,
the battle of Fontenoy,

over his death. Left without children, and almost
entirely alone in the world, she gave herself up to
a strange fancy,-a fancy, it is true, which in no
manner detracted from her real virtues and admira-
ble qualities: she had a passion for animals. And
an unhappy passion it was, since all those she had
possessed had died in her arms.
The first, in date, in her affections had been a

on the IIth of May, 1745. The noble widow had
long mourned for him, and even now at times wept

green parrot, which, having been so imprudent as
to eat some parsley, fell a victim to frightful colics.
An indigestion, caused by sweet biscuits, had taken
from Madam de la Grenouilltre a pug-dog of the
most brilliant promise. A third favorite, an ape
of a very interesting species, having broken his
chain one night, went clambering over the trees in
the garden, where, during a shower, he caught a
cold in the head, which conducted him to the
Following these, the Countess had birds of divers
kinds; but some of them had flown away, and the
others had died of the pip. Cast down by such
continuous disasters, Madam de la Grenouill6re
shed many tears. Seeing her inconsolable, the
friends of the Countess proposed successively squir-




rels, learned canaries, white mice, cockatoos; bui
she would not listen to them; she even refused -
superb spaniel who played dominoes, danced t(
music, ate salad, and translated Greek.
"No, no," she said, "I do not want any mor(
animals; the air of my house is death to them."
She had ended by believing in fatality.
One day, as the Countess was leaving the church
she saw a crowd of boys hustling and elbowing eacl
other, and giving vent to peals of joyous laughter
When, seated in her carriage, she was
able to overlook the throng, she dis-
covered that the cause of this tumult
was a poor cat to whose tail the little
wretches had tied a tin saucepan.
The unfortunate -cat had evidently
been running a long time, for he seemed
overcome with fatigue. Seeing that he
slackened his speed, his tormentors
formed a circle around him, and began
pelting him with stones. The luckless
creature bowed his head, and, recognizing that h
was surrounded by none but enemies, resigned
himself to his hard fate with the heroism of
Roman senator. Several stones had already
reached him, when Madam de la Grenouillr(
seized with deep compassion, descended from he



carriage, and, pushing the crowd aside, exclaimed:
"I will give a louis to whoever will save that ani-
mal "
These words produced a magical effect; they
transformed the persecutors into liberators; the
poor cat came near being suffocated by those who
now disputed the honor of rescuing him safe and
sound. Finally a sort of young Hercules overthrew
his rivals, brought off the cat, and presented it
half dead to the Countess.


"Very well," she said; "here, my brave little
man, is the reward I ,promised." She gave him a
bright golden louis just out of the mint, and then
added, "Relieve this poor animal of his incon-
venient burden."
While the young Hercules obeyed, Madam de la







&L e V,
r 3 1

... ; "..



Grenouillere regarded the creature she had rescued.
It was a true type of the street-cat. His natural
hideousness was increased by the accidents of a
long and irregular career; his short hair was soiled
with mud; one could scarcely distinguish beneath
the various splashes his gray fur robe striped with
black. He was so thin as to be nearly transparent,
so shrunken that one could count his ribs, and so
dispirited that a mouse might have beaten him.
There was only one thing in his favor, and that
was his physiognomy.
Dear me, how homely he is! said Madam de
la Grenouillere, after finishing her examination.
At the moment she stepped into the carriage,
the cat fixed his great sea-green eyes upon her and
gave her a look, strange, indefinable, full at the
same time of gratitude and reproach, and so
expressive that the good lady was instantly fasci-
nated. She read in this glance a discourse of great
eloquence. The look seemed to wish
to say:
"You have obeyed a generous
impulse; you saw me feeble, suffer-
ing, oppressed, and you took pity on
me. Now that your benevolence is
satisfied, my deformity inspires you
with contempt. I thought you were
good, but you are not good; you
have the instinct of kindness, but you
are not kind. If you were really
charitable you would continue to
interest yourself in me for the very
reason that I am homely; you would
reflect that my misfortunes are owing
to my ugly appearance, and that the
same cause,-should you leave me
there in the street, at the mercy of
the wicked boys,-the same cause, I
say, would produce the same effects.

Go you need n't pride yourself on your half-way
benevolence !-you haveL not done me a service,
you have only prolonged my agony. I am an out-
cast, the whole world is against me, I am con-
demned to die; let my destiny be accomplished!"
Madam de la Grenouillere was moved to tears.
The cat seemed to her superhuman-no, it was a
cat; it seemed to her superanimal! She thought
of the mysteries of transformation, and imagined
that the cat, before assuming his present form, had
been a great orator and a person of standing. She
said to her maid, Mother Michel, who was in the
Take the cat and carry him."
"What, you will bring him with you, madam ? "
cried Mother Michel.
"Certainly. As long as I live that animal
shall have a place at my fireside and at my table.
If you wish to please me, you will treat him






with the same zeal and affection you show to my-
Madam shall be obeyed."
That is well,-and now for home "

MADAM de la Grenouillere inhabited a magnifi-
cent mansion situated on the corner of the streets
Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre and Orties-Saint-Louis;
there she led a very retired life,
on almost intimate terms with
her two principal domestics-
Madam Michel, her maid and
companion, and M. Lustucru,
the steward. These servants be-
ing elderly persons, the Count-
ess, who was possessed of a
pleasant humor, had christened
them Mother Michel and Father
The features of Mother Michel
bore the imprint of her amiable
disposition; she was as open and
candid as Father Lustucru was
sly and dissimulating. The
plausible air of the steward
might deceive persons without
much experience; but close ob-
servers could easily discover the
MOTHER MICHEL. most perverse inclinations under

his false mask of good nature. There was duplicity
in his great blue eyes, anger concentrated in his
nostrils, something wily in the end of his tapering
nose, and malice in the shape of his lips.
However, this man had never, in appearance at
least, done anything to forfeit his honor; he had
been able to guard an outside air of honesty, hiding
very carefully the blackness of his nature. His
wickedness was like a mine to which one has not
yet applied the match-it waited only for an occa-
sion to flash out.
Lustucru detested animals, but, in order to flat-


ter the taste of his mistress, he pretended to idolize
them. On seeing Mother Michel bearing in her
arms the rescued cat, he said to himself:





What, another beast 1 As if there were not
enough of us in the house "
He could not help throwing a glance of antipathy
at the new-comer; then, curbing himself quickly,
he cried, with an affected admiration:
"Oh, the beautiful cat! the pretty cat that cat
has n't his equal! "-and he caressed it in the most
perfidious fashion.
Truly? said Madam de la Grenouillere; you
do not find him too homely ? "
"Too homely! But, then, he has charming
eyes. But if he was frightful, your interesting
yourself in him would change him."

cat was found. An old
scholar, whom she con-
sulted the next day, sug-
gested that of Moumouth,
composed of two Hebrew
words which signify saved
from saucepans.
At the end of a few days,
Moumouth was uprecog-
nizable. His fur was pol-
ished with care; nourish-
ing food had filled out his
form; his mustaches stood
up like those
of a swords-
man of the


"He displeased me at first."
"The beings who displease
at first are those one loves the
most after awhile," replied
Father Lustucru, sententiously.
They proceeded at once to
make the toilet of the cat, who,
in spite of his instinctive hor-
ror of water, submitted with
touching resignation to being
washed; he seemed to under-
stand that it improved his per-
sonal appearance. After giv-
ing him a dish of broken meat,
which he ate with great relish,
they arranged the hours for
his meals, the employment of
his days, and the place where
he.was'to sleep.
They thought also to give
him a name. Mother Michel
and Father Lustucru proposed
several that were quite happy,
such as Mistigris, Tristepatte,
&c.; but the Countess rejected
them all successively. She de-
sired a name that would recall
the circumstances in which the



century; his eyes shone as emeralds.
He was a living proof of the influ-
ence of good fare upon the race. He
owed his excellent condition chiefly
to Mother Michel, whom he held
in affectionate consideration; he
showed, on the other hand, for Father
Lustucru a very marked dislike. As
if he had divined that here he had
to do with an enemy, he refused to
accept anything presented by the
steward. However, they saw but lit-




tie of each other. The days passed very happily
with Moumouth, and everything proml.i d .a snin l n
future for him; but, like the sword of Damocles,
troubles are ever sus-
pended above the heads
of men and of cats. On
the 24th of January,
1753, an unusual sadness f
was observed in Mou- l
mouth; he scarcely re- THE CAT GROWS FAT.
sponded to the caresses
which Madam de la Grenouillere lavished upon
him; he ate nothing, and spent the day crouched
on a corner of the hearth, gazing mournfully into
the fire. He had a presentiment of some misfor-
tune, and the misfortune came.
That night a messenger, sent from the Chateau

de la Gingeole in Normandy, brought a letter to
the Countess from her younger sister, who, having
broken a leg in getting out of her carriage, begged
the Countess, her only relative, to come to her at
once. Madam de la Grenouillere was too sympa-
thetic and kind-hearted to hesitate an instant.
I depart to-morrow," said she.
At these words, Moumouth, who followed his
benefactress with his eyes, gave a melancholy miau.

Id ~1 3

tarily. Was it from wickedness? No, it was
from sensibility. However, since that day my sis-
ter has sworn an
eternal hatred for
Moumouth re-
garded his mistress
with an air which
seemed to say:
"But you, at
least, you do us
justice, truly supe-

rior woman "
After a moment
of silence and med-
itation, the Count- "I DPART TO-MORROW I"
ess added:
"Mother Michel, I confide my cat to you."
We will take good care of him, madam," said
Father Lustucru.
Don't you trouble yourself about him, I pray
you," interrupted the Countess. "You know that
he has taken a dislike to you; your presence merely
is sufficient to irritate him. Why, I don't know;
but you are insupportable to him."
That is true," said Father Lustucru, with con-
trition; "but the cat is unjust, for I love him and
he does n't love me."
"My sister is also unjust. Cats, perhaps, love
her, and she does not love them. I respect her
opinion. Respect that of Mou-
Having pronounced these words
in a firm tone, Madam de la
Grenouill&re addressed herself to
Mother Michel.
"IN HER YOUTH "It is to you, Mother Michel,
SHE CARESSED A and to you alone, that I confide
him. Return him to me safe and
sound, and I will cover you with benefits. I am
sixty-five years of age, you are ten years younger;
it is 'probab' that you will live to close my
eyes -"
"Ah, madam! why such sorrowful ideas ?"

- //I

"Poor cat!" resumed the lady, with emotion,
"it is necessary that we should be separated I
cannot bring you with me, for my sister has the
weakness to hate animals of your species ; she pre-
tends they are treacherous. What slander! In
her youth, she caressed a kitten, who, too much
excited by marks of affection, scratched her involun-







Let me finish. To guard against mischance,
I have already thought to provide for you comfort-
ably; but, if you keep Moumouth for me. I will
give you a pension of fifteen hundred livres."
"Ah, madam !" said Mother Michel, in an im-
pressive tone, "it is not necessary to hire my

'i, i4ir^' .


services; I love the cat with all my heart, and I
will always be devoted to him."
I am sure of it, and I shall also know how to
reward your zeal."
During this conversation, Father Lustucru em-
ployed all his forces to conceal the expression of his
Everything for her, and nothing for me! he
said to himself. "Fifteen hundred -livres a year !
It is a fortune, and she will have it! Oh, no! she
shall not have it!."
The next morning, at half-past seven, four lively
horses were harnessed to the post-chaise which was
to convey the excellent old lady to Normandy.
She said a last adieu to her favorite, pressed him
to her heart, and stepped into the carriage.
Until then, Moumouth had felt only a vague
uneasiness; but at this moment he understood it
all! He saw his

to depart; and,
trembling at the
thought of losing
her, he made one
bound to her side.
O." It is necessary
for you to stay
here," said Madam de la Grenouillere, making an
effort to restrain her tears.
Will it be believed ?-the cat also wept!

To put an end to this painful scene, Mother
Michel seized the cat by the shoulders and de-
tached him from the carriage-cushion, to which
he clung; the door closed,
the horses gave a vigor-
ous pull, and started off at
a speed of not less than
three leagues an' hour.
Moumouth rolled in a con-
vulsion, and then fainted.
Madam de la Grenouil-
l~re, her head stretched out
of the post-chaise, waved
her handkerchief, crying:
Mother Michel, I com-
mend my cat to you I "
"Be tranquil, madam; I swear you shall find
him large and plump when you return."
"And I," muttered Father Lustucru, in a deep
voice, I swear he shall die "


/ OTHER MICHEL, worthy
of the confidence which
had been reposed in
/ll her, displayed for Mou-
S ,' mouth a truly maternal
Tenderness; she tended
him, coddled him, took
such pains with him, in short, that he became one
of the most beautiful cats in that quarter of the
town where the cats are magnificent. She watched
over him constantly, gave him the choicest bits to


eat, and put him to bed at night on the softest of
eider-down quilts.
Fearing that he might fall ill some day, and
wishing to inform herself concerning the maladies




to which cats are liable, she procured various books
on that important subject; she even went so far in
her devotion as to read the History of Cats," by
Frangois-Auguste Paradis de Moncrif, a member
of the French Academy.
The conduct of Mother Michel had no low mo-
tive of personal interest. She gave scarcely a
thought to herself, the
good old soul! Con-
tent with little, she
would always have
enough to live on;
she required nothing
but a small room,
brown bread, a supply
of wood in winter, and
a spinning-wheel. But
she had nephews andnieces, god-children, whom
she hoped to be able to help; it was to them that
she destined in advance the gifts of Madam de la
The continually increasing prosperity of Mou-
mouth exasperated Father Lustucru. He saw with
a sort of dread the approach of the hour when the
faithful guardian would be rewarded; he dreamt
day and night of the means to prevent it-to carry
off her four-footed pupil, and bring down on her
the wrath of their mistress. By dint of indulging
his hatred and envy in solitary reflections, he ceased
at last to draw back at the prospect of committing
a crime.
"How," he said-" how rid the house of that

miserable cat? What arms shall I use against
him ? Fire, poison, or water? I will try water "
This resolution taken, he thought of nothing but

to put it into execution. It was difficult to get
possession of Moumouth, of whom Mother Michel

rarely lost sight; and Mioum:ouh too, not having
the slightest confidence in the steward, was always
on the defensive.' Lustucru watched during several
days for a favorable occasion.
One night, after making an excellent supper,
Moumouth curled him.eli up near the fire in the
parlor, at the feet of Mother Michel, and slept the

sleep of the just with good
digestion. In the midst
of this, Father Lustucru
came into the room.
"Good !" he thought.
"The cat sleeps. Let us
get the guardian out of
the way.'"
How amiable of you

- -

THE STEWARD HURRIES AWAY. to come and keep me
to come and keep me
company said Mother Michel, politely.. "You
are quite well this evening ?"
"Perfectly; but everybody is not like me. Our
porter, for example, is in a deplorable state; he is
suffering excessively from his rheumatism, and
would be very happy to see you a moment. You have
gentle words to con-
.sole the afflicted, and
excellent receipts to
cure them. Go, then,
and pay a little visit
to our friend Kraut-
man; I am persuad-
ed that your presence
will help him."
Mother Michel got
up at once and de-
scended to the apart- HE DANCES WITH DELIGHT.
ment of the porter,
who was, indeed, suffering from a violent rheu-
matic pain.
"Now for us two !" cried Father Lustucru to
He went stealthily into an adjoining room, walk-





ing upon the tips of his toes, and took a covered
basket which he had hidden in the bottom of a
closet. Then he returned to Moumouth, whom he
seized roughly by the neck. The unfortunate ani-
mal awoke with a start, and found himself sus-
pended in the air face to face with Father Lustucru,
his enemy. In that horrible situation he would
have cried, and struggled, and called for assist-
ance, but he had no time.
--The odious steward plunged
the poor cat into the basket,
quickly clapped down the
solid cover, and ran rapidly
to the staircase, his eyes hag-
gard and his hair standing
on end, like a man who com-
mits a crime.
It was a beautiful night in
February, with a clear sky
and a dry, cold atmosphere.
The moon shone with all her
brightness; but, at intervals,
S great clouds drifted over her
face and rendered the obscu-
rity complete. Father Lus-
tucru was obliged to cross the
garden, in order to pass out
by a small door, of which he
had taken the key. He glided
_. from bush to bush, carefully
avoiding the paths, except
when the clouds veiled the
moon. He had half-opened
the door, when he heard a
sound of footsteps and voices
outside. He started back in-
voluntarily, then stood still
and listened.
"What foolishnessI" he
said, after a moment of silent
observation. I had forgot-
ten that it was carnival-time;
those are masqueraders pass-
=- ing."
S It was, in effect, a band of
S -:- masqueraders from the Palais
Royal. Lustucru waited until
they were gone; then he hur-
ried out. When he reached
the quay, in the joy of suc-
cess, he began to whistle a
THE CAT S THROW dancing-tune and cut capers;
his transports resembled those
of a cannibal who dances around his victim.
He went up the Seine as far as the bridge of
Notre Dame, in the middle of which he halted, and
holding the basket over the parapet, turned it


suddenly upside down, and launched the luckless
Moumouth into the icy waters of the river. The
cat, in dropping through space, gave a cry that
seemed to come from a human voice. The assassin
shuddered, but his emotion did not last long. He
thrust his hands into his pockets and said, in a tone
of bitter mockery:
"Pleasant voyage to you, dear Moumouth; en-
deavor to arrive all right! -By the way," added he,
"I think cats know how to swim; that brigand is
capable of getting himself put of this business.'
Bah it is a long distance from the bridge of Notre
Dame to Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre "
Re-assured by this reflection, Lustucru continued
on his way home; re-entered by the door of the
garden, climbed cautiously up to his room, and
held himself in readiness to enjoy the lamentations
of Mother Michel.
Mother Michel was detained some time by the
porter; finally, she left him, to give her cat the
cup of milk and sugar with which she regaled him
every night.
She ascended to the parlor with measured steps,
calmly, not antki.iparin"g any catastrophe. Failing
to see Moumouth in the place he had occupied, she
simply believed that he had smuggled himself be-
bind the cushions of the sofa. She looked there,
and beneath the sofa, and searched under the other

pieces of furniture. Then, running to the stair-
case, she called: "Moumouth Moumouth!"
He does n't answer me," said she. But when







I went down-stairs, Lustucru was here; may be he
can tell me what has become of the cat."
She knocked without delay at the door of the
steward, who pretended to rouse himself from a
deep slumber, and, in a gruff voice, demanded
what was wanted.
"Is n't Moumouth with you ?"
"Does your cat ever come where I am? You
know very well that he can't bear me."
"Alas where is he? I left him in the parlor,
near the fire, and.I cannot find him."
Can he be lost ? said Father Lustucru, feign-
ing the most lively anxiety.
"Lost Oh, no, it is impossible! He is some-
where in the house."
He ought to be found," said the villain, gravely.
"He ought to be searched for this very instant.
Moumouth is a precious animal, whose merit makes
it well worth while to wake up the servants."
All the inmates of the house were soon on foot,
each armed with a candle. They ransacked the
nooks and covers, from the cellar to the garret,
from the court to the garden. Lustucru directed
the operations with apparent zeal. After ineffec-
tual searches, Mother Michel, exhausted by emo-
tion and fatigue, threw herself helplessly into an
Alas said she, I left him only an instant,
and it was to do a good action."

I begin to believe that your cat is really lost,"
replied Lustucru, in a severe tone. It is a great
misfortune for you! What will Madam de la
Grenouillire say when she comes back? She is
capable of turning you out of doors "
"Turn me out of doors! cried Mother Michel,
suddenly drawing herself up to her full height.


Then she sunk down again, her face grew pallid,
her eyes closed, and she fell back without con-
Father Lustucru regarded her with a dry eye,
and without feeling the slightest remorse. He
laughed, the infamous man !


(To be continued.)




L -


j 4




WHAT does the brook say, flashing, its feet
Under the lilies' blue, brimming bowls,
Brightening the shades with its tender song,
Cheering all drooping and sorrowful souls ?
It says not, "Be merry!" but, deep in the
Rings back, "Little maiden, be good, be good !"

What does the wind say, pushing slow sails
Over the great, troubled path of the sea;
Whirling the mill on the breezy height,
Shaking the fruit from the orchard tree?
It breathes not, "Be happy!" but sings, loud
and long,
"0 bright little maiden, be strong, be strong!"

What says- the river, gliding along,
To its home on far-off Ocean's breast;
Fretted by rushes, hindered by bars,
Ever weary, but singing of rest?
It says not, Be bright!" but, in whisperings grave,
"Dear little maiden, be patient, be brave!"

What do the stars say, keeping their watch
Over our slumbers, the long, lone night;
Never closing their bonnie bright eyes,
Though great storms blind them, and tempests
fright ?
They say not, "Be splendid !" but write on the
In clear silver letters, Maiden, be true!"

(A German Game or ize Little Folks.)


You have all heard a great deal about kinder-
gartens, and if you live in a city you have perhaps
visited one. But I am not going to take you into
one of these, but into an old-fashioned klein kinder-
schule, or infant school, much older than any of the
kindergartens; in fact, the latter have drawn a great
many things in their system from this-so far as
I can learn, the first school ever established in
Prussia for children too young to go to the public
schools. The story of its origin, more than forty
years ago, is very interesting; but I must make it
here very short. When the good Pastor Fliedner,
of Kaiserswertz, saw how hard it was for the poor
laboring women to go away in the morning to their
work, leaving their little ones exposed to all the
dangers that can befall the careless, meddlesome
little bodies, he opened a knitting-school and play-
ing-school in a little stone summer-house in his
garden, which I see every day; there the younger
children were amused and taken care of all day,
and the elder ones, in the evenings, taught to knit
their own stockings, like true little Germans, sing-
ing all the time they worked, the merriest little

knitting songs written, or selected, for them by the
good pastor. Aunt Hetty, as the children called
the good young woman who took charge of them,
showed such skill in her work, that first one and
then another young girl came to stay with her and
learn from her how to take care of a similar school.
The busy pastor, who found time for everything,
took great interest both in the little scholars and
the grown ones; for the former he invented all
sorts of pretty games, and set them to music with
suitable words.
I want to tell children outside of Germany how
to play some of these games. Somebody once said
that there are two great heaps in the world, one of
human happiness, and the other of human misery;
and that everybody in the world is busily engaged
all day long in taking something from one heap
and carrying it to the other; also that each of us
should strive every day to let it be the heap of
misery we are diminishing and the heap of happi-
ness we are increasing, if only by one little grain.
What a large armful that man added to the heap
of human happiness who invented blindman's




buff, or puss in the cornel I do not know but
that I, for my own part, would have preferred to be
that benefactor of humanity, rather than the man
who invented the steam-engine. But the names
of the inventors of these time-honored pastimes are
forever lost to the world; however, in Pastor Flied-
ner we can honor the representative of their class-
the grown-up man who really went to work and
invented all sorts of games which the German chil-
dren will play as long as the language lasts.
I live in Germany, and when I am tired, even of
interesting lectures on German literature, I slip
away into the klein kinderschule for an hour of
play; the school grew too large for the summer-
house long years ago, and the children have now
three comfortable rooms. I come back so refreshed
and pleased from these visits that I want to let oth-
ers share them with me. I think the children who
speak another language would enjoy playing these
games, and singing these songs, just as much as lit-
tle Germans do; so I have written some of them
out in English; and I want American boys and
girls to try them with a party of their younger
brothers and sisters and their playmates.
Here is one, music and all: this game is called
"The Postman's Boy; the players must provide
beforehand a military cap for the postman's boy, a
satchel for him to hang over his shoulder, in which
to carry the letters, and a tin or paper horn. Also
quite a number of letters and packages must be
made up beforehand, their number depending on
that of the little players, or the number of times
the game is to be repeated. If the postman's boy
is very young a stick horse, if possible with a stuffed
head, will be an improvement.
All the children clasp hands in a circle, except
the postman's boy; he puts on his official cap,
swings his satchel over his shoulder, takes his
horn in his hand, and comes running or riding post-
haste into their circle, round and round, on this
side and on that, singing:
Good folks, I wish you joy !
I am the postman's boy!
I ride post-haste from morning light
Till fall the dews of night;
I bring you valentines,
Letters and magazines;
Or packages of books and rings,
And lovely Christmas things.
That, you may hear,
When I am near
Always blow my horn! tra-ra tra-ra! tra-ra!
I am the postman's boy! tra-ra!
I am the little postman's boy,
I am the little postman's boy,
Tra-ra tra-ra! tra-ra !"
Every time he sings tra-ra," he raises his horn
to his lips, and pretends that the note comes through
that. I have made the translation exactly in the
measure of the German song, and send the music

with it; so that, if the editor will be so good as to
print the music for us, a little American postboy,
with help from sister or mamma, can sing it quite
as well as the young Germans do.
Then the circle of players sing the next verse,
extending their arms toward the postman's boy and
keeping time to their music with bows and waving
hands. They sing only the last twelve bars of the
music; and whenever "tra-ra" comes, raise both
hands, hold them before them, and move the fin-
gers as if they were using the keys on a flute or
What brings the postman's boy? Tra-ra!
What brings the little postman's boy?
What brings the little postman's boy?
What brings the little postman's boy?
Tra-ra! tra-ra! tra-ra!"
Then the little postman's boy opens his satchel,
and gallops round the circle on his gallant steed,
distributing his mail, singing as he goes:

A letter, mafor you. Tra-ra!
I bring for you a magazine;
I bring for you a valentine,
I bring for you a valentine.
Tra-ra! tra-ra! tra-ra!

Then all the circle, with polite gestures, sing in
We thank you, postman's boy; tra-ra
We thank you, trusty postman's boy;
We thank you, trusty postman's boy;
We thank you, trusty postman's boy;
Tra-ra tra-ra tra-ra!
"Adieu, now, postman's boy; tra-ra!
Adieu, now, trusty postman's boy;
Adieu, now, trusty postman's boy;
Adieu, now, trusty postman's boy;
Tra-ra tra-ra tra-ra! "
And the postman's boy gallops off on his steed.
Does it all seem too simple to be pretty? Try it!
I assure you when thirty little folks play it together
with spirit, it is quite as pretty as the prettiest dance
you know. Only try it with half a dozen or more
little sisters, and cousins, and brothers, at the next
children's party, and I think all other young folks
present will soon be glad to join the game.
If the children are quite young it will do just to
read the superscriptions of the letters to them, and
then give them back to the postman for the next
time, and if they are large enough to enjoy it, you
can prepare beforehand comical letters, with comi-
cal addresses, complimentary or otherwise: For
little Miss Muffet, who sat on a tuffet; "For Lord
Blue Beard; For little Blue Eyes; "For Lady
Bird; For Mrs. Scroggins, of Nubbin Ridge;"
"For Mr. Squeers, of Do-the-boys Hall." (This
last one for the teacher, if he has condescended to
play with you.) Names from fairy tales will always
be pretty for the children; and if any of the grown
folks have enough of the child left in them to enjoy





taking part in these games as much as I have done,
there will be no end of suitable addresses to be
One of the letters should be a large envelope,
resembling exactly a number of others; and that it
may be. used over and over again, not sealed. In
this must be placed a pasteboard badge, as gay as
possible, with the words "Postman's Boy" in bright
letters upon it; the one who receives this envelope
puts on the badge, and becomes the second post-

man's boy; ind so on until the game has been
played as often as the little folks wish.
A pretty way to close it, will be for the last post-
man's boy to hand to every one of the circle a pack-
age containing a cake, bonbons, or whatever else
mamma has provided for refreshments.
An accompaniment to the song, played on the
piano, or violin, or both together, will add very
much to it. In fact, the game will be nothing at
all without the music-so here it is:

Good folks, I wish you joy I I am the Post-man's Boy; I ride post haste from morn -ing light Till

fall the dews of night. I bring you Val en tines, let ters, and mag a zines, And pack a ges of

books and rings, And love ly Christmas things; That you may hear, when I am near, I al ways blow my

S horn, T -ra-ra! Tra-ra! Tra-ra! I am the Post-man's Boy! Tra ra I am the Postman's Boy Tra -

ral I am the lit tie Postman's Boy! I am the lit tie Postman's Boy I Tra ra Tra ra Tra ra I


ANIMATED, not because they kick, like so many
of the guns our readers are familiar with, but be-
cause they swim; because they shoot themselves
off, not accidentally, like ordinary guns, but pur-
posely; because they shoot to kill, and to eat what
they shoot; more remarkable still, because they
load themselves with water, which they live in,
and shoot their game in the air, which they can't
live in.
They are about six inches long, and the natural-
ists call them Toxotes jaculator. You will see on
the next page a picture of one in the act of shoot-
ing a fly that is I ,iin i, on a leaf. They look very
much like perch, only more beautiful. Their gen-
eral color is greenish above, and greenish silvery-
gray below. Across the back are four short dark
brown stripes, shaded with green. Those who
have seen them flashing through the water, speak
with enthusiasm of their lovely and ever-changing
hues. No wonder they are a favorite with the pet-

loving Chinese, who keep them in jars, as we do
gold-fish, and amuse themselves by tempting the
fish to display their skill by dangling a fly over the
The Toxotes are natives of the waters of Java,
but have been widely distributed throughout the
East as an ornamental fish. It is said that their
aim is so accurate that they can bring down an
insect from the height of three or four feet above
the water.
This fish has a near relative, Chatodon rostratus
by name, which inhabits the Chinese seas and
rivers,-a beautifully colored fish, which may be
called an animated rifle, from the fact that it shoots,
not a shower of drops, like the Toxotes, but a
single drop, bringing down-its game with wonder-
ful certainty and precision. In this fish the jaws
are prolonged into a sort of beak, which serves as
a rifle barrel. In other respects it resembles the
scaly shot-gun above described, although we may





''.- ---r

r '-
. .-_


suppose that a fish furnished with a rifle is able to a longer range than one which is obliged to shoot
bring down its game with greater accuracy and at with a shot-gun, and a single-barreled one at that.



_- i
^*- ^*:^dS


ONE day last summer our peaches were found to
be decaying so fast, that I excused my nieces from
their morning lessons, to have their help in pre-
paring a quantity of the fruit for preserving.
We were sitting on the piazza working when my
brother Ned came home from his office, somewhat
earlier than usual.
I should think you were having a paring bee,"
said he.
So we are," I answered. "Will you join us? "
"With pleasure, if you will let me do my part
by eating," he replied, sitting down on the steps
and helping himself liberally from S .i;:'s plate.
"It seems to me there is a good deal of com-
bustion going on here," he added, presently.
"Combustion? said Annie, inquiringly.
"Yes," he answered, "look at that dish of
burning peaches," and he pointed to a pan into
which we were throwing such as were too much
spoiled for use.
Burning exclaimed Susie. "Why, they are
only J..::: "
"What is that but burning ?" asked Fred.
"Decaying is slow combustion, Susie." said I.
And so is starving," said he; and then we both
laughed at the girls'look of astonishment.
"Uncle Ned," said Susie slowly, after a moment's
thought, "what do you mean? Was that kitten I
found starving on the road the other day burning?
I did n't see any fire, and grandmother was n't afraid
of its burning the carpet, for she let me take it
right into the sitting-room."
"Susie, what are you talking about?" asked
Harry, joining us and beginning to help in the
same way as his uncle.
About fire," said Ned.
But what has that to do with Susie's forlorn
kitten? asked the boy. It has n't died of spon-
taneous combustion, has it ? "
No," said I; but it would if Susie had not put
out the fire with meat and milk."
Rather," said Ned, "she keeps it regularly sup-
plied with fuel, so that it may not burn itself out."
Quite true," said I, and the children looked
more than ever puzzled.
I don't believe you know what fire is, children,"
said Ned.
Why, yes, we do," said Annie, indignantly.
"It's something burning."
Annie does n't like to have her knowledge ques-
VOL. III.-29.

But when is a thing burning ?" asked Ned.
When it's on fire," said Annie; but the instant
the answer had passed her lips she was blushing at
its foolishness.
"I do not see that you have told us what fire
is," said Ned, with a provoking smile, and Harry
laughed outright.
I don't believe we, any of us, know. Tell us,
please," said Susie, coming to the assistance of her
discomforted sister.
"It is oxidation," answered he. "If it is so
rapid that we can perceive the heat and light, we
call it fire; and when it is so slow that neither is
noticeable, we speak of it as rust, decay, or starva-
tion, as the case may be; but the chemical process
is always the same."
"Now, Uncle Ned," said Susie, "you must tell
us what oxidation means."
"Do you know what oxygen-is ? he asked.
You do, Annie," said I, seeing that her recent
discomforture made her hesitate to speak, and that
Susie did not know.
"Yes," she answered. "It is a gas that forms
one-fifth of the air we breathe and eight-ninths of
the water we drink."
"Good," exclaimed Ned. "Do you know what
it was first called, and why ?"
It was called vital air, because it was necessary
to life," she answered, trying to recall the very
words in one of her recent lessons.
"But can an animal live in pure oxygen ? he
"Not long," she replied. It is so powerful a
stimulant that it soon causes fever and death."
"Capital," said he. "You talk like a book.
Oxygen makes life possible, but it also does its best
to destroy it. It is constantly uniting with such
elements of organic bodies as will combine with it,
and setting free such as will not; and this process,
whether slow or rapid, is combustion, or fire. Hence
oxygen has been compared to a' destroying spirit,
clasping the world in its arms and striving to reduce
every living thing to dust and ashes."
"There was much aptness in many of the names
given by the old alchemists," said I, and I think
in none more than in the term gas applied to the
invisible forces with which they dealt."
No," said Ned, for its original meaning was
ghost or spirit, and' it was very natural that the
superstitious should apply it to the strange lights
and poisonous vapors found in grave-yards and






marshes, and to the invisible forces that burst
the strongest vessels, in their experiments in al-
"'And they called their vessels crucibles, because
they marked upon them the sign of the cross, to
keep the evil spirits from breaking them," I added,
by way of helping Uncle Ned.
But, Uncle Ned," said Susie, I don't under-
stand yet why starving is burning."
No, pet," he answered, I do not suppose you
do, but I '11 try to make it plain to you. But, first,
are you sure you know what fire is ?"
You said it was oxidation," she replied.
And what did I mean by that? "
Susie hesitated, and Uncle Ned answered for
her: That when a thing is burned, the oxygen
from the air unites with such of its elements as it
can, and sets the rest free."
"Now," said he, "what makes a fire quick or
slow? To make the stove give out more heat, what
would you do ? "
Open the drafts," said Harry.
Exactly," replied Ned. You would give the
fire more air, and, of course, more oxygen. The
rapidity of fire depends upon the amount of oxygen
consumed in a minute. The difference between
consuming a piece of iron in a flame and consuming
it by dampness is only in time. The same quantity
of oxygen is used in each case, but in the one
the light and heat produced are easily perceived
by us, and in the other they are not. The iron
is just as much burned in one instance as in the
'"And is the same true of vegetable matter? "
asked Harry, beginning to be much interested.
If I should throw that pan of spoiled peaches into
the fire they would burn quickly, and if I do not
they will burn slowly, but the chemical process and
the result are the same. Is that it? "
"That is exactly it," answered Ned. When
the peach was cut off from a supply of nutriment
the burning kept on, and will continue until every-

thing combustible is used up; and it is the same
with animals."
Now he is coming back to your kitten, Susie,"
said I.
Yes," said he. Kitty, when she was eating
nothing, was supplying no fuel to the fire that was
constantly burning within her."
You don't mean that we are all burning all the
time cried Susie, in a horrified tone.
Yes, I do," he replied. Our bodies are fur-
naces in which continual fire is kept. The oxygen
is supplied by the air we breathe, and the other
elements by what we eat and drink; so you see if
either supply is cut off the fire goes out, and death
is the result. That is what I meant by saying that
starvation was burning. Do you understand now,
Susie ? "
She did, and so did Annie and Harry, who, being
several years older, and knowing something about
chemistry, had comprehended what their uncle
meant with much less difficulty.
Ned," said I, when he had eaten a few peaches
in silence, I do not like a term you used several
times. You spoke of substances being destroyed
by being burned. They are not destroyed, only
made over."
"~You are right," said he. Nothing is ever
lost or wasted in this world. Nature is too thrifty
a housewife for that. Whenever changes take
place the elements are re-arranged in some new
and useful form. Gas and vapors, poisonous, to
animals, are eagerly taken up by vegetables, and
made over into forms suited to our use. A constant
interchange is thus kept up; the vegetable world
supplying the animal with food, and the animal
returning it to the vegetable in a form to be again
used by it, each serving the other."
And teaching us a lesson, that you and Harry
will please to obey, by throwing this rubbish to the
hens, while the girls and I clear up here," said I,
stoning the last peach and beginning to scrape the
skins together.






IT is a very queer story, that about the way the
Dotterels found gold. The Dotterels, you must
know, were not all men whose names were Dotterel.
They went to California, in early times, from a
small town in Missouri, and that town was Dot-
terel, in Pike County. You need not look on the
map for it; it is too small to be put on any map,
unless it might be a county map. But Peletiah

gold. How hungry everybody was for gold You
would have supposed that gold was the only thing
that could save the lives of these excited men.
From morning until night, it was nothing but gold!
gold! gold in the talk of everybody.
The Dotterels would not have been human if
they had not been stirred up by all these stories.
Obe Murch could scarcely eat, he was so excited


Persimmons, Sam Handy, Obed Murch, and Sol
Taggart were from that town, and that is why they
were called "The Dotterels." In those early days
it seems almost nobody was known by his right
name. Men had nicknames given them before
they had traveled half way across the continent.
For instance, Sam Handy wore a suit of buckskin
that he had bought of a Winnebago Indian, so
emigrants whom they met on the road called him
" Buckskin Sam," and Buckskin he is to this day,
for all I know to the contrary.
When the Dotterels, who were a pretty jolly
party, had crossed Honey Lake Valley and got into
the thick forests that cover the Sierra Nevada, they
began to be very much interested in the stories of
gold-digging brought to them by men who were
wandering about everywhere, hunting, hunting for

now, although he and the rest of the Dotterels had
expected to hear just such tales when they first
started from home.
"Tell yer what," said Buckskin Sam, "this yer
gold business aint near so fillin' as corn-dodgers
and side-meat." For Sam liked his "regular
rations" of corn-bread and bacon, even if he was
hunting for gold.
So when they had climbed to the dividing ridge
of the Sierra, and had begun to go down on the
other side, Sam was more intent on shooting game
than he was about anything else. Somehow the
Dotterels began to grow suspicious of each other,
and while one was "prospecting," or trying the
creeks and rivulets for gold, the others would watch
as if afraid that he would keep his findings to him-
self if he discovered anything.




One evening, as they were sitting ab
camp-fire, eating their scanty supper, a
men came up from an adjoining camp,
spokesman said:
See here, boys, we'd like to chip in
on supper, if you've no objection. We 'v
cooking outfit down by Dry Creek ford."
The Dotterels said that they had no ob
the strangers sharing their meal if they
had anything to put into the common
"Well, we allow we've got a right
smart show of bread left over yet, and
here's a bunch of ducks one of our fel-
lers brought in to-day. How's that ?"
It was agreed upon, and the stran-
gers sat down, helped dress the ducks
and prepare the supper, which was all
made over by this welcome addition.
The Dotterels liked game, especially
Buckskin Sam, who went into the work
of dressing the ducks with a great deal
of gusto.
Cutting through the craw of one of
the birds, Sam's knife struck some-
thing hard and gritty. Gravel stones,
most likely," thought Sam, as he turned
the contents of the thing to the light.
Gravel it was to be sure, but in the
midst of the pebbles shone a bit of
bright yellow gold!
What makes yer hand tremble so,
stranger ? asked one of the visitors, as
Sam hurriedly dropped the whole mass
into his pocket. Sam muttered some-
thing that meant nothing, and went
on with his work, his heart thumping
against his ribs.
It was the first piece of gold he had
ever found. He had no idea how much
it might be worth. But it was the gen-
uine metal, he was sure, although he
had no real knowledge of the ore. He
felt it almost burning in his pocket, as
he sat by the fire with his supper a
little later.
'Pears like you are off your feed,
Sam," said Persimmons, who noticed
that Sam eat almost nothing. The fac
he could not enjoy even stewed wild ducl
was hot with the gold-fever.
Where'd you shoot these yere birds, s
he asked of his visitor.
Over on the south fork of the north f
Feather," said he. "And there's as goo
around those parts as you '11 find in all C
Ponds?" queried Sam.

Mostly; that is, mostly ponds where the ducks
flock in; but the Feather's a right good stream
for trout. And it was trout I was after when I
knocked over them yer ducks?"
"Any gold over there?" spoke up Sol Taggart.
That was just what Sam wanted to ask, but
dared not.
"No, none so high up as this. There's good

e ,
,t /

---- u --



_.- -


-- li .. -' -
.. -

.-_ :. Z-

diggings lower down, but no color up this way."
Sam made a mental calculation as to how far
from camp the ducks had been shot, how long the
gold had been in the bird's craw, and he began to
speculate on the nearness of the place where the
golden ore had been picked up.
He thought the strangers would never go, they
lounged about the fire so long after supper. But,
- .1'-.:.. i up their blankets, they went off to their




..1! ';II ,iHL


own camp, and left the Dotterels to themselves.
Sam got up, followed them stealthily until sure
they were out of sight and hearing, came back
softly, and, putting his hand into his pocket, took
out the little wad of sand and gravel, and said:
" Boys, we've struck it! "
Gold everybody exclaimed. Yes, there it
was, shining in the fire-light, about the size and
shape of a good-sized bean. Gold at last and
Sam was the hero.
He told his story, and before they went to sleep
-only to sink into uneasy golden dreams-they
resolved to strike over to the south fork of the
north fork of the Feather River next morning.
Bright and early they were up and away. Cross-
ing a sharp ridge, they descended into a narrow
valley filled with enormous trees and tangled with
undergrowth. A charming stream, foaming and
fretting, ran down in the midst; and as they
scrambled over the mossy rocks, a flock of black
ducks whirred away from a pool where the dimpling
water softly flowed round and round.
"The very spot!" shouted Persimmons. They
divided, Sol Taggart and Persimmons going up
the spring, and Murch and Sam going down.
These latter took the "prospecting pan" for
washing out the dirt for gold, while Persimmons
and Murch took the "cradle," a rude but useful
contrivance for the same purpose. For hours they
"panned out" the dirt, but without finding any-
We're too far up, I say. Those chaps allowed
gold was never found up here away," said Taggart,
who was nearly discouraged after all. "Besides,"

he added, "my back aches powerful," and he
straightened himself up as he spoke.
Just then Persimmons dropped his pick, leaped
into the air like a wild man, and yelled: "Struck
it! struck it struck it! "
Sol stooped down and saw, just in the edge of
the'stream, a yellow mass which Persimmons was
too excited to do more than look at. He picked it
up. It was a lump of gold as big as a hickory-nut,
with a small bit of straw-colored quartz sticking to it.
Persimmons moderated his raptures and sud-
denly said: "Shall we keep it to ourselves ?" Sol
Taggart put his two hands by his mouth, trumpet-
fashion, and bawled, "Ho Dotterels! until the
forest rang again, and a flock of ducks passing
over sharply turned their course from east to south,
as if alarmed by the din. In answer to the call,
Buckskin Sam and Murch came hurrying up the
stream, crashing.through the brushwood like mad.
"There she is, boys !" said Persimmons, with
great dignity, for he had, by this time, laid bare
quite a streak of ore and pay-dirt."
That was a lucky duck for us, boys," said Sam
excitedly, and much relieved to find that his mates
had been fair with him.
There they camped, built a cabin, and mined all
summer. How much they dug I never knew.
They all went back with money, in a few years.
Buckskin Sam lives in Pike County, in a big house
full of children. On the top of his cupola is a large
gilt-duck that serves for a weather-vane. Sam
regards it every day with great pride and affection,
" for that there bird," he says, brought luck to
the Dotterels."



SOME crushed shells lie, neathh the tree, in the grass-
And there's so much room in a rifled nest!
And ah for the poor little, brown little mother,
With no eggs under her lonely breast !

Oh, there's too much room in a rifled nest!
Just to think how hard, in the still, black night,
When in dreams she cuddles them closer and closer,
To wake and to find they are all gone quite!

The poor little drooping, limp-winged mother!
She counted those blue speckled eggs too soon!
Now nothing is left but some broken shells,
That gleam on the grass, in the light of the moon !





WE will make a leap over more than half a century
of history, to come to the next incident in the long
story of our great Castle, which I think will interest
you. During that half century a great many
stirring events took place; and if you are as fond
of Shakespeare's historical plays as I used to be
at your age, you will remember how, with more
power and vividness than any historian, our great
poet brings before us the gay and thoughtless
Richard II., beginning with so much light-hearted
folly and vanity, and ending in such sad and utter
downfall; and how Bolingbroke, his cousin, took
the crown from him, and became Henry IV. ; to
be followed in due time by Henry V., one of those
bold, generous, open-hearted men whom the Eng-
lish people are fond of taking as types of the race.
All this, however, you will find in your Shakespeare
and in your histories; in which latter you will also
read that the young Prince of Scotland, who was
afterward James I. of Scotland, was taken a prisoner
by the English during the reign of Henry IV. of
England, and kept in confinement for many years
-some of which, and the most important, were
spent in Windsor. I must tell you first, however,
who Prince James of Scotland was, and how he
got there into the hands of the hereditary enemies
of his family and kingdom.
You have all heard of the Stuarts, one of the fated
races of kings who have done more mischief and

suffered more misery in their day than ever falls to
the lot of families in a less distinguished position,
There is scarcely one of them who is not more or
less interesting-brave, beautiful, accomplished,
wicked, wrong-headed, unhappy people !
King Robert III. of Scotland was one of the mild-
est and weakest of the race; and he had, like his
contemporary, Henry IV. of England, a mad-cap
son, the Duke of Rothesay, as wild and wayward
as Prince Hal himself, but without the strength
of mind to reform and amend-or perhaps only
it was the time this poor young fellow wanted;
for he did not live long enough, even if he had
possessed the higher impulse, to turn into a great
soldier, and noble, honest, chivalrous king, as
Henry V. did, who began as foolishly.
King Robert's brother, the Duke of Albany,
was the able man of the family, and, unfortu-
nately, he was bad as well as clever, and took ad-
vantage of the foolish young Rothesay, and was
believed to have murdered him in the cruelest way
by starvation. When the poor, sickly Scotch king
heard that his heir had been killed, he hurriedly
sent away his younger son, James, a boy of eleven
or twelve, to France, to be educated there, and
kept in safety out of the reach of cruel uncles and
all the dangers of the time. But alas King Rob-
ert had not reckoned on the dangers of the way.
Before the rude little ship in which the Prince was





had got beyond the rugged coast of Northumber-
land, an English vessel coming up with it, though
there was peace between the two countries, took
the boy prisoner, with his attendants. He was the
only remaining hope of his father, who, helpless,
heart-broken, and aged, had taken a little comfort
from the thought that his child was safe. When
he heard of this new calamity, poor old King
Robert bowed his head and died of it; for though
those times were so different and so distant, love
and grief were the same then as they are now.
King Robert died, and little James in his English
prison became King of Scotland, though it was
but an empty title, for nineteen weary years.
This young prisoner grew up to be not only a
brave and able man, but a poet; which is the rea-
son why we know a great deal more of him than
we do of most kings; for writers, though they are
often not very highly esteemed in their life-time,
are much more easy to remember than the great
people who have no power of expressing them-
selves. The King of England, perhaps, was not
very kind to the boy, but he had a sense of what
was due to his rank, and gave him a good educa-
tion, so far as was attainable in that age. But the
early days of James's captivity seem to have been
dreary enough. He has left a poem called "The
King's Quhair," which many writers think might
almost have been written by Chaucer himself, who
was still living when the little Scottish prince came
to England. In this poem he tells us how his
days were passed "in strait ward and in strong
prison," and how he would often question with
himself and with his imprisoned companions what
he had done to be thus deprived of everything that
made life sweet to others.
"The bird, the beast, the fish eke in the sea,
They live in freedom, each one in his kind.
And I a man, and lacketh liberty!
What shall I say-what reason shall I find
Why fortune should do so--?"
This question the young prisoner would argue
with his "folk." the little band who had been
taken along with him, and who now, no doubt, in
the lingering days of captivity, made many a beau-'
tiful picture for him of the fresh breezes and
healthy hill-sides of their own country. They
must have had hard work sometimes to answer the
lad, who was shut up now in the gloomy Tower of
London, where so many prisoners have languished,
now in other strong castles, at the age when nature
most longs for movement and freedom. He writes
as if he had been shut out from the natural pleas-
ures of his early age; and if you will think of it,
what a dreary time it must have been for him, and
what a dismal thing to grow, up in a prison!-
worse than being merely imprisoned in mature

years,-though even that is bad enough. How
sorry you are, you vigorous boys, for the invalid
who cannot go out with you-cannot know any-
thing of your games and your delights! Young
King James, though he was well and strong, must
have been like an invalid. No breezy rush across
country on foot or on horseback for him-no wan-
derings by river-bank or sea-shore. The paved
court-yards and strong battlements of the Tower,
the dark and stony rooms, already with inscrip-
tions on the walls made by other prisoners-and
all the while the old father dying broken-hearted,
and poor Scotland, which we Scots love next to
our mothers, pining under the bloody hands of the
cruel uncle who was supreme, and longing for her
young monarch! And the boy must have been a
patriot-boy, as he was a patriot-man. So his lot
was a hard one, as you will perceive.
However, after awhile, brighter days dawned for
James Stuart. Old King Henry IV. died, and a
new King Henry came to the throne, whom no one
understood as yet,-whom some people were afraid
of, and many people doubted, but who turned
out to be the king whom we know as Henry V.,-
one of the bravest, most popular, and most gener-
ous of monarchs. The first thought of the young
King was of the Scottish prince in the Tower of
London, whose boyhood had been so melancholy.
Eight long years had he languished there in
prison, getting to be a man. He was somewhere
about twenty at the time of the other young man's
accession, and you may fancy that Henry had been
sorry for him many a day, when he himself was
playing his pranks in London or at Windsor-his
cousin, as kings call each other, a pale, sad pris-
oner, while he, young Henry, was making all that
So one of the first things that the new king did
was to send for the prisoner, to change his con-
finement in the Tower for at least a much lighter
confinement in one of the towers of Windsor look-
ing out upon the fresh, green woods, and the
silvery windings of the river. His life, too, was
changed, as well .as his locality. What was then a
princely allowance, seven hundred pounds a year,
was set apart for his expenses; and such pleas-
ures and splendors as were going on at Windsor,
you may be sure young James had now his share
of. Henry took him with him to France even
when he invaded it. The historians say this was
because the King of France had many Scots in his
army, and Henry believed these brave soldiers
would not fight against the invader when once
they were aware that the King of Scots was with
him, although as a prisoner. ,We may hope,
however, that bold King Henry, who was not of
the calculating kind, had less cunning and more




kindness in his meaning; and that he wished the
pale prisoner to know something of the larger
excitements and commotions of life, the manage-
ment of fighting men, and of war itself, and to get
accustomed to the clang of arms and battle, which

NCnrl G;E-WAY.

in those days were so much more frequently en-
countered, and more necessary, than now.
How the captive acquitted himself, or if he was
allowed to fight, we have no information; but
are only told that he accompanied Henry through
at least one of his brilliant campaigns. And he
was present at the coronation of Henry's queen,
Katherine of France, and had a place of honor at
her left hand at the feast afterward. So that he
had his share both in the battles and .banquets,
and was allowed to enter into the life of the
gay, triumphant young court, full of success and
merry-making and prosperity. For Henry, you
remember, had carried everything before him in
France and was, as foolish people supposed, to be
the king of that conquered country, and his chil-
dren after him, for ever and ever; and all wars
between France and England were henceforward
to cease.
It does not seem, however, that young King
James was quite happy, notwithstanding all the
pleasures around him. You can fancy that to be
kept out of your rights and away from your home,
and obliged to spend your time doing nothing,
when in your own place there are a great many
things that ought to be done, is too great a mis-
fortune to be made up for by feasts and merry-
makings; and when James was in his turret-prison

at Windsor, though he was better off than before,
his heart was very heavy still. He knew that poor
Scotland was suffering sadly: the common people
oppressed, the great people spending.their time
in feuds and quarrels among themselves, and the
whole country bleeding and torn asunder, with no
government to speak of, no just laws, nor firm
authority. Did you ever see some one else doing,
very badly what you could do well, but were not
allowed to do? This is a thing which is always
very hard to bear. James felt that he had it in
him to be a good king, and his heart bled for his
people, who were being crushed and ruined by
rulers who were not good, and who never thought
of the people, -but only of themselves. When he
went to his window, as prisoners are always fond
of doing, he could see nothing but the flat, rich
English plain, waving with green woods and golden
corn, happy and rich and peaceful; and, no doubt,
his heart ached for the blue hills which appeared
more beautiful to him in recollection than any land-
scape ever is in reality-" a woeful wretch that to
no wight may speed" (i. e. that could come to
no strength or heroic use), he calls himself. But
while he "bewailed his fortune in this wise," some-
thing happened to him of which I am going to tell
you now.
There is a tower close by the foot of the great
Round Tower of Windsor, which you have already
been told about, overlooking the steep slope of
turf and the old garden which occupies what might
once have been the moat around the donjon. This
tower forms part of what is called the Norman
gate, and 1 think this Norman tower is the very
place where James Stuart was languishing when
the event, of which you shall now hear, happened.
The lady who at present lives in the house adjoin-
ing-one of the ladies of Queen Victoria's court-
has lately cleared out the ancient rooms, and pene-
trated, through partitions and false roofs and layers
of old paper-hangings, to the real walls of the old
prison, and its vaulted roof and curious windows;
one of which, reached by a high step from the
floor, was covered up altogether, and its very exist-
ence unknown. The small window with two lights
in the front of the Norman tower, given in the
accompanying picture, answers exactly to the de-
scription which King James gives of his prison. It
looks down upon the old garden, deep below the
level of the road, narrow and rich and warm be-
tween the old gray walls on one side, and the steep
sunny mound of the Round Tower on the other,
which is still a wilderness of sweets in summer-
If you were there now, and were wakened by
the sweet sunshine on a May morning, no doubt
you would do as James did, and rush, if not so




early as he, to the deep recess raised from the floor
in which this little window shines-from which you
would see, low at your feet, the greenness and the
sweetness of the garden, all fragrant with old-
fashioned flowers, nestling under gray walls so
thickly covered with green net-work of jessamine
and flush of early roses that you scarcely can see the
stone; and beyond, a great soft plain losing itself
in haze of distance, the Thames windifig through
it, the trees waving, the red roofs of Windsor town
burning in the sunshine.
Thus the royal prisoner, James Stuart, one
summer morning, got up to look out,-" as early
as day," he says, to see the world and folk that
went forby,"-trying to forget his dreary thoughts
a little. He Lad been "despairing of all joy and
remedy "-with nothing to cheer him, yet feeling
that "to look, it did me good," for he was not
churlish, poor captive prince but glad, if he could,
to be distracted from his heavy thoughts and made
for a little to forget his trouble. The description
of the garden which he gives in his poem is too
long to be quoted, and you might find it difficult
to understand the old English in its quaint spelling.

consecrat of luvis use ; that the walls rang with
the "sweet harmony." When he saw nature so
joyful, and all the birds singing and flitting about
among the branches, the heart of the prisoner grew
full. "Ah what have I done," he cried, that I
am thrall, and the birds so free?" But lo sud-
denly, while he was thinking these melancholy
thoughts, a beautiful vision appeared to him. Com-
ing through the shady alleys toward his prison, he
saw walking under the tower a lady--" the fairest
or the freshest young flower" that he had ever
In my head I drew right hastily,
And oftsoons I leaned it out again,
And saw her walk that very womanly,
With no wight more, but only women twain.
Then 'gan I study in myself and sayne:
Oh, sweet! are ye a worldly creature,
Or heavenly thing in likeness of nature?"

What a thing it is to be a poet, greater than to
be a king Cannot you see the young man at his
window drawing in his head in his surprise at this
sudden apparition, yet quickly looking but again,
dazzled and eager to see all he can of her in her
fresh beauty, wondering if she can be "a worldly


He tells us that it was fast by the tower's wall,"
closed round with hawthorn hedges, with green
bowers, and thick boughs and leaves which "be-
shaded all the alleys that there were; "'and how
on the branches sat the littel swete nyghtingale
and song so loud and clere the ympnis (hymns)

creature" or some dream-lady out of heaven?
Then he tells us how she looked, and how she was
dressed, and how lightly she passed, walking "so
womanly," underneath the green shadows, while
he stood holding his breath, in the early quiet .of
the morning. Her hair was like gold; "there was




no token in her sweet face" of pride or haughtiness.
Her dress made of "white tissue" was rich with
pearls, twisted "fretwise" over it, and adorned
with other jewels, one great balas (ruby?) lowing
like the fire," fastened the feather, let us suppose,
in her velvet cap; another ruby, in the form of a
heart, hung by a little gold chain "burning upon
her white throat" like a spark of lowe or flame.
This wonderful dress, so rich and splendid, was
"halflyng loose for haste," held but by one clasp
this early morning, too early for any one to see her.
Is not this a beautiful picture ? When young ladies
walk out in the morning nowadays they do not wear
such magnificent robes. You might see our young
Princess Beatrice, the only royal maiden left to
England, from King James's window often enough
if you were fortunate, but never brushing the dew
from the grass in such a royal gown. The fret-work
of pearls and the great balas rubies, red like flame,
never meet the sunshine now except on very splen-
did occasions indeed. Fashions change, but nature
*does not change, and what so natural as that the
young prisoner should forget all his troubles as he
gazed breathless at this beautiful creature ?

"On whom to rest mine eye, so much good
It did my woful heart. I you assure
That it was to me joy without measure."

The young lady in her flowing white robes, upon
whom the imprisoned King looked down from his
window, was of royal blood like himself, and a very
fit partner for him. She was not called Princess,
but only the Lady Jane, niece of the late King,
cousin-german to Henry, the very woman of all the
world whom James Stuart ought to have married.
So you perceive it was very unusual good fortune
on his part that it was she and not any one else
who happened to be in the garden on that fresh
May's morrow," and thus decided the happiness
of his life.
Those of you who may have got so far on in
literature as to read Chaucer, will find a story
very like this of King James and the Lady Jane in
the Knight's Tale, where Palemon in prison sees
Emily walking in the garden and forgets all his
.troubles in so sweet a sight. Chaucer had been
clerk of the works at Windsor Castle not so many
years before the true romance happened, and per-
haps the very same, narrow prison window and
low-lying dewy garden were in the greater poet's
thoughts. And if you came there this very year,
on a fresh May's morrow," with the lilies-of-the-
valley like a white sweet carpet in all the angles of
the old walls, and every spring flower bursting out
of the husk, and the hawthorns white upon the
slope, and perhaps in the early morning here and
there a belated nightingale forgetting in the fullness

of her song that the day had broken, you would
find the old prison window as fit a place as ever for
a romantic lover, and the old garden as beautiful a
setting for the lady of his dreams.
This gentle pair were married in the year 1424,
when James was freed from his long captivity, after
nineteen years of prison and exile. He was then
just over thirty, having spent the whole of his youth
in England. But sorrowful things had happened
before this conclusion came to the love-story.
Henry V. had died in France, and poor little Henry
VI. had been born in Windsor-a helpless, wailing
little king in his cradle. Poor child of woe! I
will try to tell you something in the next number
about the baby-king.
.In the meantime, you will like to hear that our
present King James, after his long trials, turned
out the best king that Scotland had known since
Robert Bruce recovered her independence. It
was he who set in order the confused system of
Scotch law, reformed the ancient parliament, im-
proved arms and modes of war, and took ener-
getic measures to check the private strife of feud
and family quarrel which kept the country in
But he was too patriotic for his age, and after a
reign of twelve years, on a cold February night,
when he lingered unarmed over the fire with his
wife and her ladies, a mad party of infuriated rebels
poured in and killed the royal poet and patriot.
To keep them back for a moment, when they were
heard approaching, Catharine Douglas, one of the
Queen's ladies, thrust her arm through the staples
of the great door, from which traitorous hands had
removed the bolt. You may fancy that delicate
bar did not keep off the murderers for more than a
minute or two, but long enough to win for this
brave girl a place of honor in the history of her
country. And I am sure many an American girl
when she reads this, will feel with a swelling heart,
as many an English and Scotch girl has felt, that
she, too, would have done the same.
So you see that the first James Stuart, notwith-
:I .i'lI; the beautiful romance that crowned his
youth, had but a tragic life, accompanied from
beginning to end with sorrow. Nineteen years a
captive, twelve years a king, and then death,
bloody and violent-his body pierced with many
stabs; his heart, no doubt, with one sharp sword of
anguish, to think of the work he left incomplete,
with only an infant heir to take it up after a long
interval. He was the first remarkable Stuart, and
almost the only entirely noble one-blameless,
brave, and true, but beginning with a tradition of
misfortune, which was never broken, the story of
his race.
This ending, however, of King James's life has




nothing to do with our Windsor, where he saw
that beautiful vision at his window. "Thanked
be thee, fair castle wall, where as I whilom looked
forth," he says, and so goes on thanking the
green branches, and the sweet nightingale, and
the goddess of love,-

J_ ,, -;
... .....i .
-' '*i ll;l A

*- ^f'^c

"That has me given wholly mine asking,
Which has my heart forever set above
In perfect joy that never may remove."

Thus he had great and perfect happiness given
him by God, to make up for the tedious, sad be-
ginning, and the tragical end of his life.



THERE was once a little boy who had no brother
or sister; but he did have a white pullet, and the
white pullet had a top-knot,-after awhile. She
had been given to the little boy, Clough, when she
was in pinafores; that is to say, she would have
been in them if chickens wore pinafores. But they
don't, you see. They are so neat that they don't
need bibs and napkins at all.
Clough had proposed, immediately on the pul-
let's arrival, to call it Toppy.
Toppy's such a pretty name for a little chicken
what 's going to have a top-knot he said.
" Mamma, when do you think the top-knot '11 be
along ? "
"By and by," said mamma, in an absent-minded
way. She was trying to write out a muffin-recipe
for Mrs. Podhammer.
"When will by 'n' by be, mamma?" Clough

asked, with a puzzled look in his face. When will
by 'n' by be, mamma ?" repeated Clough, when his
mother did not answer. To-morrow, mamma?
Will it be this week? When will the top-knot get
growed, mamma ? "
When you have beaten it fifteen minutes,"
said mamma, intent on getting Mrs. Podhammer's
recipe just right, and unconscious, except in the
vaguest, dreamiest way, that Clough was speaking
to her.
You must know that Mrs. Podhammer was very
particular about her recipes.
"Be sure," she had said to Clough's mother,
" that you tell me exactly how you make muffins,
-just how long you beat the eggs and the batter;
how long you bake; what kind of an oven, and all
about it. And please don't leave anything to the
judgment; I never cook by judgment; I go by




mathematics; figures can't lie, you know. I do
hate a recipe with 'a pinch of salt;' a sprinkle
of pepper;' a handful of flour;' a stick of cin-
namon;' as if all sticks were exactly the same size.
A handful of flour I dare say there 'd be a dif-
ference of the eighth of a pound between my
handful and Mrs. Pollock's. What tremendous
hands she has Her pinch of salt I could n't lift
between my five fingers. Such recipes are the
cause of the poor cooking, and the dyspepsia, and
the heart-burn, and the liver complaints that are
depopulating the country. A woman who cares
anything for the interests of humanity will never
send out one of these hit-or-miss recipes."
So, with the fear of Mrs. Podhammer before her
eyes, Mrs. Spitts was writing the muffin-recipe.
She had written "beat well," and then beat till
light," and had successively drawn her pencil
through both, sure that Mrs. Podhammer would
object to either as indefinite, and come flying over
to demand the exact time in minutes and sec-
onds. And Mrs. Podhammer made such endless
talks and stays when she flew over, especially if
she claimed to be in a great hurry, as she seemed
generally to be.
Oh, mamma! said Clough, sorely bewil-
dered and distressed, must I beat it fifteen min-
utes? I can't; I love Toppy too much. Wont it
grow till I beat it, mamma? "
Clough fairly shouted these last words, with a
desperate determination to get his mother's atten-
Beat what? asked his mother, with a look in
her face as though she had just got back from
somewhere. What are you talking about? "
"Oh, mamma! said Clough, with an accent
of despair, did n't you hear? Have I got to tell
it all over again? It's so far back to the begin-
ning! "
You poor little Clough! said mamma, laugh-
ing, when she at last comprehended the situation,
"I 'm such an absent-minded body that I'm not
fit for a mother."
But Clough declared that she was fitter for a
mother than anybody that ever was. Mamma
laid down her portfolio. Clough climbed on her
knee, and soon everything between them was ex-
One would have thought that the only chicken
of an only child, as in the case of Toppy and
Clough, was destined to be, handled, petted,
spoiled; and cook was certain sure" that Toppy
would become a nuisance-"all round the house,
under everybody's heels." She just knew it would
be getting at her shelled peas, and that not a dish
or a pan could ever be left uncovered on the
kitchen dresser. Papa said it would spoil the gar-

den : mamma feared it would scratch up the flower-
beds for its dust-baths; Clough was sure it would
be good.
But Toppy disappointed all prophecies. The
very first afternoon, she escaped from the coop
to the vineyard. Day after day, Clough's fat legs
ran up and down between the latticed rows of
grape-vines, trying to overtake the runaway. But
Toppy made a good fight for her liberty. She
ran; she spluttered and fluttered with her stubbed
tail and unfinished wings; she darted in and out
among the vines, hid in the weeds, and altogether
wearied Clough out, body and spirit. Finally, he
tried coaxing. He went to the vineyard, his
pocket filled with corn. He threw this at Toppy
exactly as he would have thrown stones at her if he
had meant to kill her. Perhaps Toppy thought he
did mean to, for she ran away as fast as her two
legs could carry her, which was very fast, indeed,
considering their size. Clough pursued her bravely,
shouting "Chickey! chickey! -chickey! in a des-
perate way, all the while dashing the corn at her.
This he thought was coaxing.
Soon the corn was exhausted. Then he went
to the barn and climbed into a corn-bin. He
found a basket there, which he filled with loose
corn that had fallen from the cobs. The basket
was too heavy for one arm, so he took both hands
to it. If you ever carried a heavy basket within two
hands, you know it's an awkward thing to do. I
don't suppose the boy expected Toppy to eat all
that grain, but before he got through with his race
Clough had sown that vineyard with corn. There
was forage enough there for one little pullet for
weeks. Toppy doubtless decided that her quarters
could not be bettered, for she did not leave the
vineyard that summer. In the mean time, Clough
might have been often seen, walking up and down
between the grape-rows, peering through the vines
with eager, expectant eyes, trying to be cautious,
but making a great deal of noise. And very occa-
sionally he would catch sight of a white pullet with
a top-knot, that would stretch up her graceful neck,
and turn her neat tufted head to one side in a list-
ening attitude, and then with a frightened cackle
would start off on a wild run, like some bird of
the woods, and not at all like a civilized chicken, as
she was supposed to be.
In the fall, anybody who listened at the right
seasons might have heard from the vineyard as
exultant "kut-a-kut-dah-kuts" as the boldest, sau-
ciest hen ever uttered. There is never a lady-
chicken so youthful, or so shy, that she can for-
bear telling it to the world when she has laid an
Poor Clough! He was as proud of Toppy's
achievements as Toppy herself. Every time he




heard that "kut-a-kut-dah-kut," he'd rush to the
vineyard, ,:.ill.; out, "Toppy's laid an egg!"
You would have thought, from his eagerness, that
he was going to bring back a golden egg; but he
never brought back any. Toppy's nest could n't
be found.
After awhile, Toppy's kut-a-kut-dah-kuts ceased
to ring out on the air, and for days Clough did not
get sight of her top-knot. He thought she must
be dead; but his mother suggested that she was
probably setting. One day, Toppy showed her-
self about the kitchen door-steps, the crossest-
looking bird that Clough ever saw, or hoped to see.
She clucked as though she was quarreling with the
whole world. She seemed to be frowning all over.
Her tail was spread out, and turned back toward
her head, and so was every other feather on her
body. She looked as though somebody had been
rubbing her backward, and she appeared ready to
fly in the face of the whole world. If she had pos-
sessed the gift of speech instead of simply the gift
of cluck, she would have probably said:
I 'm no longer a giddy, harum-scarum pullet.
I 'm a matron,-a hen, with life's responsibilities
on me. I have rights,-a great many of them,-
and I '11 scratch anybody's eyes out who dares
meddle with them."
Clough seemed to read this threat in her new
aspect. He was mortally afraid of her, in her
changed character, though proud of his property,
and very glad to see her. Through a crack in the
kitchen door, he threw out crumbs and pop-corn
to her. Cook went out and set a basin of water
for her refreshment. Toppy ate and drank in, a
fretful, ungrateful manner, and then went away,
warning everybody, by her scolding cluck, not to
follow her.
You are doubtless expecting to hear that shortly
after this, Toppy appeared, the proud head of a
magnificent brood of chickens. Can't you see
them in your mind's eye?-red, white, black,
speckled, gray. Now listen:
One morning there was heard about the kitchen
door an important, defiant cluck! cluck! accom-
panied by the appealing peep peep of a baby
chicken. Cook looked out. There was Toppy,
striding and strutting over the earth, and running
after her, with twinkling little feet, was a solitary
chick,-a downy-white little thing, that seemed
draggled and cold. How lonely it looked! Cook
called Clough to come and see, saying: "Here's
your white pullet come ag'in, and it's got the home-
sickest-looking chick at its heels that ever I set
eyes on." But Clough thought it was a beauty,
and acted as proud over it as though it had been
his grand-baby, cook said.
Mamma suggested that Toppy, in her vanity

and inexperience, had left her nest with the first
chicken that showed its head, abandoning all the
unhatched young to perish; that if this favored
chick could be taken from the foolish mother, she
might return to her nest and save the rest of the
brood. So Clough undertook to abduct Toppy's
baby. My patience! you ought to have seen the
outraged mother fly at him. Clough thought he
was murdered. He ran trembling and crying to
his mother, "Toppy's the hatefulest top-knot
chicken I ever saw !" he declared, with tears in his
astonished eyes. I wish I did not have her "
Mamma and cook and Clough went out to the
vineyard, and found Toppy's nest in a basket that
somebody had left hanging on a grape-post. The
eggs were cold; the little chickens in them prob-
ably dead. But they concluded to make an effort
to save the dozen lives, if possible. Toppy's chicken
was taken from her, and she was put back on her
nest, over which a piece of mosquito-netting had
been stretched. But Toppy would not cover the
eggs. She paced back and forth in the vacant
part of the basket, clucking and looking askance
at the eggs. All the folks went away, hoping that
Toppy's nervousness would be sooner allayed if
she were unwatched. An hour later, the net
showed a most ghastly sight. Every egg except
two had been picked and torn open by the ruth-
less young mother. She was released from her
prison; the two unbroken eggs were taken to the
kitchen and kept warm. In the evening, one of
them began to peep. Clough was wild with delight
when he heard the little voice shut up in the egg,
as he said. Cook carefully pecked a little hole in
the shell, and Clough saw that the chick had a red
He was so interested that they could n't get him
off to bed, and after awhile he had the satisfaction
of seeing a little blotched chicken staggering about,
and cheeping as though it was lost in a great
strange world. As it was without its mother's brood-
ing wing, it was put with the white chicken in a
basket lined with light, fleecy wool. Some more
fleece covered them; a cloth was spread over the
whole basket, and it set behind the kitchen stove,
which never got cold. Papa said the two chickens
were as much trouble as a pair of twin babies.
The next morning the little things seemed well
and bright, and were put with their mother. But,
shocking to relate, Toppy pecked both of the inno-
cents to death. Clough cried, and said he knew
Toppy was crazy; she'd always acted like "a
raving-go-stracted idiot."
Mamma thought she was wanting in the mater-
nal instincts; that she 'd never make a good mother,
yet she'd be forever attempting the part of mother,
and so would be a perpetual aggravation.





"We'd better make a Thanksgiving chicken pie
of her," papa suggested.
"'No," said Clough, stoutly; "she belongs to
me, and I must have the good of her."
There is n't any good of her; she's bad from
her top-knot to her toe-nails. Clear case of total
depravity," said papa, who was a funny man.
"Besides, you may eat all the chicken pie at
I can't eat a whole chicken pie to onct," said


Clough, pouting slightly. "'Sides, I could n't eat
any of Toppy. I love her so."
"After all her wicket :.- ?" said papa,
imitating black Judy's pronunciation.
Mamma loves me when I 'm naughty as well
as when I 'm good; but she does n't love my
naughty ways," Clough argued. "That's the way
I feel about Toppy."
Sell her for a spring chicken," said papa, snap-
ping his brown eyes at the happy suggestion.

Clough was delighted with the solution of the
difficulty. He'd thus get the good of her, and
he 'd get rid of the bother of her, and yet do no
violence to his feeling. He wanted to start right
off to market with her, but papa said she was so
worn by her family cares that she needed to be fat-
So Clough rushed to the bread-box and crumbed
up three biscuits, a rusk, and two ginger-snaps for
Toppy's dinner. For the next few weeks he was


very industrious in throwing shelled corn at Toppy,
and in scattering it under her nose, if she had one.
Mamma said more was wasted on the pullet than
it was worth, but papa suggested, "For every
grain Toppy gets, she gives a peck." I don't
think this was original with papa, but it pleased
Clough very much when it was explained to him.
At length Toppy was pronounced in good con-
dition, and the impatient Clough had permission
to put her on the market. The Spitts family lived





in a village where a weekly paper was published.
Clough wanted to advertise a splendid fat top-knot
pullet for sale; but this, he was shown, would
delay matters. Then he proposed posters with a
life-size likeness of Toppy. That would be irre-
sistible. But he finally decided that it would be
jolly to go from door to door among the villagers
until he should find a purchaser. As most of the
villagers kept chickens, Clough had a weary tramp
before he found even a bid. One came at length,
from old Mr. Merryman, whose character did not
harmonize with his name. He was an old bachelor
who lived all alone in a shanty of two rooms, and
did his own work. He was rich,-had thousands
of dollars in bank, and might have lived in comfort
if he had n't loved his money too well to part with
it. When he examined Toppy, he found she was
very fat, and would make him many nice gravies.
She's awful fat," said Clough. I most know
she's et a hundred bushels of corn in two or
three weeks, 'sides biscuits, cakes, and things."
"Don't tell lies, boy," said Mr. Merryman, se-
verely. How much do you want for your
chicken ? "
Thirty-five cents," said Clough, remembering
what his mother had told him to ask for Toppy.
Too much !" grunted the miser. I'll give
you twenty-five cents for it; and that's enough,
because I'll have to dress it myself."
By this time Tony Simpson had come up. He
was a big boy who liked Clough, and who did not
like Mr. Merryman. The old man had beaten
Tony's dog Trip, one day. Indeed, none of the
boys liked Mr. Merryman. He was hard on them,
as well as on the village dogs and cats.
No," said Clough, "I charge thirty-five cents
for Toppy. Mamma said I must."
"And she's worth it," said Tony Simpson, de-
termined to stand by Clough.
"I wont give thirty-five cents if I never eat
another bite of chicken in my life," the miser de-
clared. Take a quarter, and be done with it"-
and he opened his purse.
Don't you do it," said Tony.
Just then a gold dollar from Mr. Merryman's
purse fell into Toppy's basket. I have no doubt
but that Toppy thought the coin was a grain of
yellow corn, such as Clough had been in the habit

of throwing to her so lavishly. At all events, she
snapped it up instantly, and swallowed it.
She 's swallowed my dollar cried the miser,
excitedly. I'll wring her neck. I'll have my
dollar "-and he roughly seized poor Toppy.
"No you don't, though," said Tony Simpson,
with.determination. You dar' n't harm a feather
of her body till you pay for her. I'll call the
judge, and the constable, and every lawyer in
town "-and Tony forthwith began to shout to one
and another passer-by to bring this and that officer
of the law, till quite a crowd was assembled, when
there was much laughing and chuckling at Mr.
Merryman's expense.
"Of course he 's got to pay for the chicken to
get his dollar," said one.
He 's no right to the chicken's life till he pays
for it," another remarked.
The chicken's worth a dollar and thirty-five
cents now. Make him pay a dollar for it," Pete
Martin advised.
"Go for him!" cried Mr. Walters, who owed
the miser a grudge.
In the mean time, Mr. Merryman was raving
and whining by turns. The spectators were a
pack of thieves who meant to rob him, a poor lone
man. They wanted to bring him, their neighbor
and fellow-citizen, to the poor-house; they'd like
to see his gray hairs in a pauper's grave; he'd
never harmed a living thing.
"'Cept dogs, and cats, and boys,"'put in a lad
of twelve.
The crowd laughed and hooted at the miser's
remarks, while some continued to urge Clough to
demand a dollar for the pullet. Young as he was,
the child saw that he had the advantage of the old
man. But he also saw, in a vague way, that it
would n't be noble to make use of his advantage.
Besides, he meant to "mind his mamma." She
had told him to ask thirty-five cents for Toppy.
So he said resolutely, he did n't want a dollar; he
wanted thirty-five cents. He got it, 'mid the
cheers of the crowd. Then he started home,
escorted by a squad of boys, such as always follow
a small boy who has money of his own, as flies
follow a honey-jug. At the first candy-shop Clough
stopped and treated. He got home with a one-
cent piece and two peppermint-drops.



- ---------- 2- _




1, ~



HIs eyes are green and his nose is brown,
His feet go up and his head goes down,
And so he goes galloping through the town,
The King of the Hobbledygoblins !
His heels stick out and his toes stick in,
He wears a calabash on his chin,
And he glares about with a horrible grin,
The King of the l-i.:..i. ..- i .I..i .. !

Now, Johnny and Tommy, you'd better look out!
All day you've done nothing but quarrel and pout,
And nobody knows what it's all about,
But it gives me a great deal of pain, dears.
So, Johnny and Tommy, be good, I pray!
Or the king will come after you some fine day,
And off to his castle he '11 whisk you away,
And we never shall see you again, dears !



// -S
S, .0-








A GOOD many of you girls who read ST. NICHO-
LAS will go to Europe some day or other. Just
now, perhaps, you don't think or care much about
it; but by and by, when you are older, and hear
people who have been there talk of their doings
and seeing, the desire to go will strengthen, and
you will wish it very much indeed. There are
some persons who will tell you that this desire is
foolish and wrong; that going to Europe is just
now the fashion, and silly folks who like to follow
the fashions go for that reason. But I think this a
mistake. To travel anywhere, intelligently, has a
great deal of education in it, and for an American
to go to Europe, where is so much we cannot as
yet have in our own country, is education of the
very best sort.
I want, therefore, to talk about this journey which
some of you are to take, and the way in which to
get the greatest good and pleasure out of it. This
is not to make any one discontented who cannot
go. That would be a pity, indeed. But nobody
knows beforehand what their chances are going to
be; and as business, or sickness, or unforeseen
changes of various kinds may bring the opportu-
nity to any of you when it is least looked for, it
will not be lost time to get ready to take advantage
of it should it come. Then, if it never comes, you
will at least have had the improvement of getting
ready, which in itself is a very good thing.
First, then, let us decide what it is that makes it
worth while to go at all. To be amused, to buy
pretty things, and have what you girls call a good
time," is not enough. Good times and shopping
and amusement are to be had in America; it would
scarcely pay to cross the Atlantic in search of them,
though they are nice things to catch at by the
way. A great many do go with no other wish or
idea in their minds; but something higher there
must be, or the wise would not follow their ex-
To begin with, then: there are better chances for
study in certain branches than we can have at
home. The most famous masters for music and
painting live in Europe, and languages can be
acquired there more readily and perfectly than
with us. To pick up French or German by the
ear as a little child does, is indeed learning made
easy. It is thus that children on the Continent
are taught. It is nothing uncommon to find a girl
of eighteen who speaks and thinks equally well in
four or five tongues. She has had a French nurse,
VOL. III.-30.

and a German and an Italian; or has gone to school
in the different countries; and as people about her
are using the languages continually, her chance
for practice is perpetual, and a good accent comes
without trouble. Each little Russian boy, when
admitted to the Government schools, is required to
speak French and German; and Russian parents
often carry their families to spend a year or two in
France and Germany, so that they may absorb lan-
guages, as it were, without knowing that there is
any difficulty in the matter.
But apart from actual study,-for some of you
will not have time for that,-there is great and
constant instruction to be gained by what you see.
We read in books about wonderful things, such as
cathedrals, temples, Alpine scenery, Raphael's
Madonnas; but, however hard we try, we cannot
distinctly picture them until we see. One hour
spent in a real cathedral teaches more of the true
meaning and glory of architecture than weeks spent
over books. One glance at a snow-peak sets an
image in our brain which never could have been
there without that glance. I once heard a lady say
that she was sure she knew just how Mont Blanc
must look, because it was just twice and a half as
high as Mount Washington, and she could easily
imagine two and a half Mount Washingtons piled
on top of one another, and covered with snow!
But when she came to see the actual Mont Blanc,
she found that none of her imaginary pilings-up
had in the least prepared her for the look of the
real thing.
Then, it is not only certain great objects which
are made real to us by seeing them, but also every-
thing, however small, which we have learned about
or been told of. We read Hume and Gibbon, and
that this or that happened in such a year or
such a reign, but it is all dim and fabulous; and
must be, so long as it is merely a statement on a
printed page. One visit to the Tower or the Forum
makes a sudden change. The fabulous becomes
distinct. It is like sunlight flashing into a dusky
corner. And the best of all is, that the sunlight
stays; and facts never go off again into the vague
distance where they were before, but remain near
and clear forever to your mind.
I want to warn you of one disagreeable thing
sure to happen, which is, that the minute you visit
any of these celebrated places, a sharp and morti-
fying sense of ignorance will take possession of
you. Dear me, who was Guy, Earl of War-




wick?" you will ask yourself. "And Lady Jane
Grey's father,-I can't recollect his name at all,-
and why was it that they cut off her head ?" Then
the guide will lead the way into a dark cell, and
tell you it was Sir Walter Raleigh's bed-chamber
during his long imprisonment, and you will con-
jure up a vague recollection of the great Sir Walter,
as a young man flinging his cloak down before the
Queen, and will long to know more, except that
the party is moving on, and you are ashamed to
ask. Or, if it is in Rome that you happen to be
sight-seeing, you will trip down the long steps
which lead into the great Forum, and look at the
beautiful groups of columns and the broken arches,
and all at once it will come to you with a shock
that you know nothing at all about the Forum;
that up to this time it has only been a name in
your memory. In a general way, you have gath-
ered that it was the place where the Roman Sena-
tors and people met to discuss public matters, but
it does n't look in the least as you had expected it
would; and besides, you hear of other Forums,
many others, in different parts of the city, and
instead of enjoying intelligently, you stand bewil-
dered and confused, and listen helplessly while some
one reads a few bald pages of Murray's guide-book;
and the guide explains what he does n't know, in
Italian which you don't understand. You long to
go straight home, hunt up the proper books, study
the subject well, and then come back and see the
Forum again. But, alas! the books are in the
home book-case in America, and the Roman Cir-
culating Library seems to have nothing in it but
novels; and even if it had, what time could you
find to read where there is so much to be seen and
done? All that is left is for you to put the matter
aside, with a dull, unsatisfied feeling, and resolve
to find out about it when you can; but before that
time comes, the full, fresh interest will have worn
off. And, oh! what a pity it was that you could
not have been prepared before you went there !
Every traveler feels this want at times, even the
best-educated ones, for no education is so complete
as to prepare its owner on all points and against
all surprises. What the ill-educated ones lose can-
not be calculated! It is like voyaging with one
eye blinded and the other half shut. You see,
hear, feel only a little piece of things, impressions
enter your brain only part way, and what with the
puzzle and vexation at your own ignorance and
the sting of a missed opportunity, you go about
with so much annoyance in your mind that you
but half enjoy the delightful chance which perhaps
will never be yours to enjoy again.
So, dear girls, take my advice, and while you
have libraries and leisure, and people ready to
explain things, and a mind free to receive the

explanations, get yourselves ready to profit by
what may come. You will be very glad afterward.
Every subject carefully looked into, every bit of
history tucked away into its proper place in your
memory, every little interesting fact, every cell
made ready for the reception of mental honey, will
prove, when the right moment comes, a thing to
be thankful for. Each scrap of French, or Italian,
or German will find its place; each hard word
which seems so dry now, will be useful then; every
fragment of scientific knowledge-nothing will be
lost or valueless, and the most casual and unlikely
thing may turn out to be a friend at need and a
friend indeed.
If you go in Rome to see the mosaic works
belonging to the Government, you will find that
the great pictures which you have admired on the
walls of St. Peter's are made up of an immense
number of small bits of stone and marble, chosen
for their color, and fitted, each into exactly its pre-
pared place. The mosaic workers who make the
pictures would never think of beginning till the
bits of marble were all ready, polished and sorted
out. It would be awkward indeed to stop in the
middle of the work, because there was no blue left
with which to finish the Madonna's eye, or to
leave a hole in the Saint's robe for the lack of half
a dozen little red stones.
I want you to imitate their carefulness, and get
ready these precious small bits of knowledge before
the time comes to work them into the beautiful
whole. Then, when the great chance arrives, your
material will be ready, and fitting one with another,
a valuable thing will grow of them, which will be
yours for life. But don't let the pattern be spoiled
for lack of a tiny scrap of this or that which you
have not had the forethought to prepare in time.
And just one thing more. Let your minds grow
as fast as they will, but let your souls grow too.
Don't go about regarding the nations of the earth
in general as "queer foreigners," who must be
undervalued and scorned because their ways are
not like our own. To us our own ways seem best,
but there is good everywhere, and things are not
necessarily ridiculous because they differ from those
which we are accustomed to. And then, though
you must n't think I want to preach, God has made
all men of one family, and, in spite of varieties
of complexion, tastes and habits, all have the
same needs, the same human nature, the same
death to die, the same Everlasting Father, and so
all, in a sense, are brothers and sisters to each
other. This thought going along with you, char-
ity, patience, and kindliness will go too, blessed
fellow-travelers these, and good helpers on the road.
Your mind will widen, your sympathies grow big,
and all the world become wonderful and delightful,





as it must always be to people whose hearts are
large enough to take it in. After a journey made
in this spirit, you will come back, as American
girls should come, not merely with Paris bonnets
and Genoese filigree, but sweeter and stronger than
when you went away; wiser, too, and better fitted

to see the meanings of things at home, and take
your place as dwellers in a free land. For, beauti-
ful, and instructive, and full of charm as Europe is,
to be an American in the true sense of the word is
better yet; and I hope you will all continue to feel
that, however many times you go abroad.



"WAUGH how I hate hog-meat! exclaimed
Barnard, looking into his plate of fried bacon, with
an expression of extreme disgust.
"And no game since week before last," added
Arthur, dolefully.
When you can't get butter, you must make
salt pork do, my old grandmother used to say,"
was Mont Morse's wise comment on this outbreak
of discontent. We enlisted for the campaign
with hog-meat, boys, and you wont back out now,
will you ? "
But we did reckon on more game, you know,"
argued Barney; "and we have had precious little
since we got out of the antelope country."
You disremember the dogs and frogs," said
Hi, with a grimace.
Both the Stevens boys laughed. When they
were in the prairie-dog region, they had killed and
eaten all of those animals they could get at. But
Hi had steadfastly refused to eat dog," as he ex-
pressed it, and his brother Tom had thought it
necessary to follow his example. It was in vain
that'Mont had urged that "prairie-dogs" were not
dogs at all, but a species of marmot; that they fed
on roots and vegetables, and that their meat was as
sweet and wholesome as that of rabbits.
"You need n't tell me," was Hi's constant reply.
"They set up on end, and bark jtst like dogs.
They live with rattlesnakes and owls, and they're
not fit for a white man to eat. General Fremont
may eat dogs, but I wont, until I'm starving."
His refusal to partake of this strange food, as he
considered it, gave the others a larger share. The
prairie-dogs, numerous though they were, were
never plenty in the camp. They sat up cunningly
on their haunches and barked at the hunters, very the squeaky fashion' of toy-dogs; but,

when shot at, they tumbled into their holes and
were seldom recovered, even though severely
wounded. They posted themselves by the open-
ing of their dens, each one a sentinel to warn of
danger. When they fell over, their comrades be-
low dragged them into the burrow, where the
young hunters could hear them whining and cry-
ing, in a half-human fashion, over their wounds.
They were good to eat, but tender-hearted Arthur,
much as he desired a change from their diet of
"side-meat," never could take pleasure in killing
the pretty little creatures.
As for frogs, when the party occasionally reached
a pond of melted snow-water, warmed by the sum-
mer sun and musical with frogs, Mont rolled up his
trousers, and, armed with a thick stick, waded in
and slew them, right and left.
But Boston folks consider them a great luxury,"
he remonstrated, when Hi and Tom expressed their
profound disgust at such proceedings. "Take off
the hind-legs, skin them and fry them-what can
you want better ? "
Hog-meat," replied Hi, sententiously.
But it must be confessed that Hi looked on with
interest while Mont and Barnard daintily nibbled at
the delicate bones of the frogs' legs, nicely browned
and having all the appearance of fried chicken.
Stands to reason," muttered Hi, with his mouth
watering, that frogs is vermin, and vermin aint
fit to eat."
Frogs is toads, and toads is insex," sneered
Tom. "Dad told me so. Think yer know more'n
dad, do yer ?"
They were drawing near Salt Lake City now,
and even the small game which Hi and Tom
despised was no longer to be had. Occasionally,
they shot a hare,-one of the long-eared, long-
legged kind known as the jackass-rabbit. Sage-
hens, too, had been plentiful in some localities,
and, though the flesh of these was dark and bitter




with the wild sage on which they fed, the addition
of a brace of them to their daily fare was a great
event. Now, however, they were reduced to their
staple of smoked hog-meat" once more.
They had been lying by for a few days, hoping
that they might find some game while they rested
their stock. John Rose and Mont had scoured
the country with their rifles, but they brought
back nothing to show for their long tramps. Flour
biscuit, fried salt meat, and coffee without milk,
formed their regular bill of fare now. The cows
in the drove had ceased to give milk, and the boys
were reduced to the short commons" which they
had been taught to expect.
Nevertheless, they were better provided than
many emigrants whom they met on the way. A
company of Germans, with whom they traveled,
had nothing in their stores but smoked sausages,
flour and coffee.
No sugar?" asked Arty, in amazement.
Nein," civilly replied the genial German.
No baking-powders ? no salt ? "
"Nein. No kraut," responded the traveler, with
gloom in his face.
Nevertheless, the light-hearted Germans had a
merry camp. And, when they marched on by
day, they locked arms over each other's shoulders,
and kept step to the music of their own songs,
chanting as they went.
Queer chaps, those singing Dutchmen," mused
Hi, as he watched them, day by day striding along
and singing the marching songs of their native
land. The boys heard one of their favorite pieces
so often that Mont caught the words and wrote
them down. So one day, to the astonishment of
the rest of the party, Mont and Arty locked arms
and marched down the trail, singing thus:

Wohlauf in Gottes schbne Welt!
Adel ade! ade!
Die Luft ist blau, und grim das Feld--
Ade! ade! ade!
Die Berge gliih'n wie Edelstein;
Ich wandre mit dem Sonnenschein
In's weite Land hinein.
Ade! ade!
Du traute Stadt am Bergeshang,
Ade! ade! ade!
Du hoher Thurm, du Glockenklang,
Ade! ade! ade!
Ihr Hiuser alle, wohl bekannt,
Noch einmal wink' ich mit der Hand,
Und nun seitab gewandt!
Ade! ade!
An meinem Wege fliesst der Bach-
Ade! ade! ade!
Der ruft den letzten Gruss mir nach-
Ade! ade! ade
Ach, Gott! da wird so eigen mir,
So milde weh'n die Liifte hier,
Als war's ein Gruss von dir-
Ade! ade!

Ein Gruss von dir, du schlankes Kind-
Ade! ade! ade!
Doch nun den Berg hinab geschwind-
Ade! ade! ade!
Wer wandern will, der darf nicht steh'n,
Der darf niemals zuricke seh'n,
Musz immer, welter geh'n.
Ade! ade!

But that's Dutch exclaimed Hi. Give us
the English of it "
No; it's German," said Arty, laughing at his
success as a Singing Dutchliman."
"What's the odds?" replied Hi. It's as
Dutch as Dutch kin be. I don't see no difference
between Dutch and German."
"' Well," said Mont, we will give you the Eng-
lish of it some day." And when, not long after,
Mont read his translation of the verses by the night
camp-fire, the whole party were loud in their praises
of their marching-song.
It's a great thing to be a scholar," sighed Hi,
with a glance of envy at the rude verses of the
young Boston feller." And he murmured, with
a thrill of honest admiration : And that thar
feller kin set a wagon-tire with any man on the
plains. It do beat all how some folks is gifted "
They overtook the "Singing Dutchmen," one
bright day soon after this, and great was the delight
of those sturdy trampers to see our boys marching
by, sedately singing as they went Mont's free trans-
lation of their own song, something like this:

Forward in God's beautiful world!
Farewell! farewell' farewell!
The sky is blue, and green the fields-
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
The mountains gleam like jewels bright;
I wander in the warm sunlight,
Far into distant lands.
Farewell! farewell!

Dear village by the mountain-side,
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
Thou lofty tower, ye chiming bells,
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
Ye happy homes, well-known to me,
Toward you once more I wave my hand,
But turn away mine eyes!
Farewell! farewell!

Beside my pathway flows the brook-
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
Which calls to me a last farewell-
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
Ah, Heaven above, so sad am I!
The zephyrs float so softly by,
As if they brought from thee a sigh-
Farewell farewell!

From thee a sigh, thou fairest maid!
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
But down the hill-side now I speed-
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
For he who wanders must not pause,
Nor once behind him cast his glance,
But forward, forward march.
Farewell! farewell!




"Ach it is better as never was," cried the
honest Germans.
Where get you so much good song, mine
friend ? asked one of the party, his eyes sparkling
with pleasure.
"We borrowed it from you," said Mont, mod-
estly. "I hope you don't think us rude."
Rudt? It is a what you call a gompliment,
and we to you are much obliged," was the hearty
He did it, all by himself," said Hi, proudly.
"He turned it into English from Dutch, and he
sings it both ways like a regular medder-lark-so
he does."
Yaw," answered the German emigrant, as if
in doubt.whether he understood Hi's explanations.
Barnard, not to be outdone, drilled Arthur and
Tom in a marching song of his own, and one day
produced this novelty.
"When we lived in Vermont," said Barney,
"there was a military company in our village.
There were not men enough to make two com-
panies, the place was so small. So the same men
appeared as an infantry company one month, and
as an artillery company the next. They had a
snare drum and a bass drum when they turned out
as infantry; but when they paraded as artillery,
with one cannon, they had a, so they
used to carry two bass drums and the snare drum.

S- '

This is the way the, infantry band went." And
Barney got up and marched around the camp-fire,
Arty and Tom following with-
"Boomer lacker! boomer lacker!
Boom! boom! boom!
Boomer lacker! boomer lacker!
Boom! boom! boom!"
Everybody laughed uproariously at the whimsical
sight of the lads, who were half-undressed for the
night, as they paraded about and about, chanting
the odd melody of the village drum-corps. Then,
with solemn step and slow, they changed their

marching tune to the statelier music of the artil-
lery band.
Here go the two bass drums and the tenor,"
cried Arty."
"Boom dum dardy! Boom dum dardy!
How's your marm?
Boom dum dardy! Boom dum dardy!
How's your marm?
Oh, she's boozy, boozy, boozy, boozy i
Boom dum dardy! Boom dum dardy!"
&c., &c.
"Ho ho what nonsense roared Hi. "But
it's just like a couple of bass drums. I think I
hear 'em now"-and, lying back on his pile of
blankets, Hi laughed again, Mont and the rest
joining in the chorus.
The boys practiced this marching song as they
had the others, and their fellow-travelers were often
thereafter edified with the rough music which the
party made as they stepped out with alacrity, chant-
"Boomer lacker! boomer lacker!
Boom! boom! boom!"
Or they assumed a more funereal gait as they
walked, and sung-
Boom dum dardy! Boom dum dardy!
How's your marm?"

Their laughter was hushed when Nance, whose
family had come up with them lately, marched up
to their tent one night with the
solemn announcement of The
baby's dead "
"What baby?" they asked,
with a startled air.
-" Just like stoopid men-folks,
S. you air! replied the girl. But
--- .-L ~-li- she added, with a softened tone:
"Why, it's the Messer folkses
-baby. Them that was upsot in
Dry Creek and had a lovely
a-"I- bonnit along."
-' "It was the sick baby that we
tended down there just this side
of Papeses, yer know, Arty,"
said Tom, with solemnity.
Old Mrs. Rose, Captain John's mother, who sat
near by, said : I knowed she'd never raise that,
there child. It allus was a weakly thing. It's a
marcy it's took away now"-and the good old
woman knocked the ashes out of her pipe, and
Death in the camp," thought Barney to him-
self, and he looked around and wondered how it
would seem if death was in their camp as it was in
their neighbor's. His eyes rested lovingly on his
brother's golden head, and he asked: Can we be
of any service, do you think, Nance ?"



I reckon. The baby's to be buried at sun-up
to-morrow; and dad said if one of you fellers would
go down to the mouth of the cation with him
to-night, he'd help dig a little grave." And the
girl turned away to hide her tears as she uttered
the word so full of sadness to all ears.
The boys eagerly volunteered to assist in every-
thing that was to be done; and by the edge of a
dry ravine, under a lone tree, they hollowed a little
cell before they slept.
Next day, before the camps were broken up, all
of the emigrants on the ground gathered about the

-: -i- 1 -- _

b- -


wagon of the Messers, where a little white bundle
was lying on a square pile of yokes, covered smooth-
ly with a blanket. On this white shape was laid a
poor little knot of stunted cactus-flowers, the only
blooming thing which the arid plains produced.
Near by sat the mother, crouched on the ground
and moaning to herself, "Such a little thing!-
such a little thing "
It's powerful rough to have to bury the baby
out yer in the wilderness-like," complained the
father. I wished I had n't a-come."
"Don't take on so, ole man," said his wife.
"He's better on 't-he's better on't."
The youngest boys raised the burden at a signal
from Captain Rose. They bore it to the open
grave, all the company following with uncovered
heads. Then the little white bundle was lowered
tenderly into the earth. The tearful mother picked
up the yellow cactus-flowers, which had fallen to
the ground, kissed them and cast them in. Then
stout branches of sage-brush were laid over the
figure beneath, forming a shelter from the soil.
Now a white-haired old man, the patriarch of
one of the companies, lifted up his hands and
prayed by the open grave. There was a stifled
sigh here and there in the little assemblage when
he spoke of the loved ones left behind," and of
others "who had gone on before." Then he said
a few pleasant and cheery words to the mourning
parents, who were leaving their only child here
alone in the heart of the continent.

"And yet," he said, "not here, but up yonder,"
and he pointed upward, where Nance, whose won-
dering eye involuntarily followed the speaker's, saw
a little bird cheerily winging its solitary way across
the rosy sky. She plucked her mother's sleeve and
whispered: I'm so glad I picked them posies! "
The grave was filled up, the simple ceremony
was over, and each party betook itself to preparing
for another day's journey.
Poor little thing said Mont. His journey
is done early; and he rests just as well here as
I'm glad they buried it in the morning," added
Arthur. It is not nearly so sorrowful as it is in the
evening, when the shadows creep and creep, just
as if they would never stop creeping. Seems to
me it's a good thing to bury children at sunrise.
I don't know why, though."
Neither do I, Arty," said Hi; but a buryin'
is a solemn thing, for all that. I allow it's the
solemnest thing agoin'. I was a-thinkin' just now,
when we was takin' down the tent, of a hymn my
sister Pamely Ann used to sing. By gum, now !
I've forgot the words, but they're powerful nice,"
added Hi, looking rather foolish. Something
about pitching your tent, anyhow."
"Oh, yes! I remember," said Arty, brightly;
"it is this:
SHere in the body pent,
Absent from thee I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.'"

That's it that's it Good boy, Arty said
Hi, with shining eyes. Now, d' yer know, I often
have them thar words a-buzzin' through my head
when we set up the tent, nights, all along this yere
trail ? "
So do I, Hi," answered Mont. "And so I do
when we take it down next day, because, somehow,
the place where we have spent even one night
seems like home when we leave it out of doors, as
it were, and go on, knowing we shall never see it
"Well, we're getting really sentimental, Mont,"
said Barnard, "and all along of that little funeral."
I allow that a funeral, big or little, is the sol-
emnest thing out. Whoa haw! Star! whar in
thunder are yer goin' ter?" And Hi drove on in
the train that moved out of camp.
Nance trudged along in the dust behind the
Missourians' wagon, holding on by one hand to the
tail-board, by way of speechless sympathy. The
poor mother sat looking out from the wagon-cover
as the team moved slowly away. She saw the de-
serted camping-ground, where a few dying fires
were smoldering in ashes. She even marked the
lame and worn-out steer that some emigrant had




left behind, ard which now stood looking wistfully
after the departing train. But most she noted the
little mound, fresh with yellow earth, and decently
fenced about with broken wagon-tires, by the lone
tree. The morning sun gilded the small heap of
disturbed soil and deluged all the plain with un-
supportable brightness. She shaded her eyes with
her hand and moaned: Such a little thing !-
such a little thing "
Nance's brown hand closed tenderly on the
woman's gown, and a few gracious tears dropped
in the dust as she walked.

THE way now grew more and more crowded. It
seemed as if the teams sprang out of the earth,
they were so numerous, and they collected on the
trail so suddenly, day by day. Desperate charac-
ters, too, became more frequent as the tide of
emigration drew near the city of the Great Salt
1 k.. There was much talk about hostile Indians.
The boys had heard this before, when passing
through the Rocky Mountains. Once or twice,
they knew of Indian attacks before or behind them;
and one day they had overtaken a party of emi-
grants who had lost three of their party during one
of these attacks. They saw, with their own eyes,
the bullet-holes in the wagons of this company,
and they had helped to bury the men left dead on
the ground, after the firing was over and the cow-
ardly Indians were gone.
During that exciting and alarming time, they
had mounted guard every night with the full con-
sciousness that they might be fired upon before
morning. The cattle were kept near the camp,
and the wagons were placed close together, so that,
in case of an attack, they could be arranged in the
form of a circle, like a fort. In those days, while
in a hostile country, they had plenty of company
for mutual assistance, however, and they almost
lost the pleasant little privacy of their own camp.
They traveled with a crowd; they camped with
a crowd. Nance's father, Philo Dobbs, and her
mother, and Nance herself, formed one small party;
and they were glad to keep along with the Roses
and our boys, for the sake of better security from
Now there were rumors of the Goshoots being
about, and as the Goshoots were a marauding tribe
of Indians, though not so warlike as the Cheyennes,
then very unfriendly, the emigrants were uneasy.
Between Fort Bridger and Salt Lake City, was a
very bad section of road. The country was sandy
and dry. Here and there were poisonous springs
of water, and the undulating surface of the ground

was dotted with clumps of grease-weed and sage-
brush; there was nothing for the animals to feed
on, and no water fit to drink. To get through this
desolate region, the emigrants traveled night and
day, or, rather, one day and one night.
The moon was nearly at the full, and the night
was pleasant and cool. As they drove on through
the shadowy hollows and over the ghostly ridges,
in the moonlight, utterly in the wilderness, even
the cattle seemed to think something unusual was
going forward. Tige turned his head, every now
and then, and looked at Arthur, as much as to say,
"Queer doings these, my boy." And Pete, who
never barked except on great occasions, stalked
along by the side of the team, growling with sup-
pressed excitement. Everybody felt nervous and
" scary," as Bush expressed it, but very little was
said, and the company swept on, wagon after
wagon, bands of cattle, men on foot and men on
horseback, silently pressing on in the night, in the
midst of a wild, strange country, with danger lurk-
ing near and an unknown and untrodden space
before them.
About midnight, when the men were beginning
to feel drowsy, when the women had climbed into
the wagons to sleep, and the oxen showed their
fatigue by lagging; a sudden panic seized the whole
line. Instantly, and as if all agreed to scatter, the
droves of loose cattle darted off in all directions, to
the right and left of the road, scampering among
the bushes, with their tails in the air. The yoked
cattle followed them, jolting and bouncing the
wagons over the hillocks and rough ground, and
shaking the women and children, who fell out
screaming and terrified. All along the line was

confusion and dismay. The men yelled at their
cattle, but in vain. -The animals ran like mad
buffaloes, and careered through the sage-brush
pursued by their drivers, who could neither stop
nor turn them.




The ground was speedily strewn with camp-stuff,
loose garments, and mining "traps." Here and
there, a wagon was overturned, and the frantic
oxen dragged it a little way and then stopped
in sullen despair. Tige and Molly joined in the
general stampede, and Arthur and Hi breathlessly
pursued, Barnard having tumbled out of the rear
end of the wagon, where he had been taking a nap.
As Arty caught up with the team, and ran around
their heads to turn them back, he suddenly saw a
dusky figure rise up from behind a wild-sage bush,

was now broken and scattered in 'all directions.
Some of the loose cattle had disappeared in the
night, and not a few wagons lay overturned and
half-wrecked among the bushes. People went wan-
dering around seeking for their comrades or gather-
ing up their goods and animals. But the panic was
It was only a stampede, after all, Arty," said
Hi, cheerily.
Well, if that's a stampede, I allow I don't want
any more of 'em," said Tom, with his teeth still


within a few feet of him. He felt his hair rising on
his head, and he instinctively reached behind him
for his revolver. It was gone !
Just then, the figure stumbled and fell, rose
again, and said:
I just allow this yer is the ornerest, toughest
piece of ground I ever traveled."
It was Messer, whose team had disappeared in
the struggling mass which had now gathered at the
foot of a rise of ground. Arty breathed freer, and,
with Mont's help, he and Hi quieted their oxen,
stopped them, and began to look about.
The long procession, which had been moving
along so quietly and steadily a few minutes before,

chattering. "I own up that I was orful scared.
Wha'-wha's that?" he exclaimed, starting back
as he spoke.
Nothin', nothing ; ye're scart of yer own shad-
der," replied Hi, who looked in the direction of
Tom's fears, but with a little shake in his voice.
It was only Johnny, who was hunting about in
the brush for Arty's pistol.
Come out of that thar brush, you young one,"
remonstrated Hi, with some asperity, as he began
to straighten out the team before driving back to
the road. "'Spos'n' yer 'd be sketched by the
Goshoots, who'd hev yer share of the outfit, I'd
like to know? Haw there, you Tige "



1876.1 THE BOY I

"D' yer 'spose there's Injuns about, Hi?" said
Could n't say-could n't say, Tom. Mont here
allows that Injuns hev a way of stampedin' a train
like that, and then firing into the crowd and pickin'
off the heft of'em."
"Yes," exclaimed Mont, "they say that the
Indians will sometimes scare cattle and make them
stampede in that way, and then fall on the dis-
ordered train and destroy the people and capture
the property. But we have seen no Indians.
They had a chance to attack us just now, if they
wanted to."
"Well, then, why did the cattle all run like
that ?" demanded Arthur. "They must have been
scared by something."
I just allow it was shadders. The cattle were
skittish and scary-like," said Hi. "And I must
say I was sorter panicky myself, before the stam-
pede began. Shadders creeping along side of the
road, shadders stealing along behind in the moon-
light. Ouch what's that ? "
Everybody started, and then everybody laughed.
It was Pete who.came bounding in from the sage-
brush with Barney's cap, which he had picked up
somewhere. Barney had not missed his cap, he
had been so taken by surprise when he was shaken
out of the wagon. Arty picked up his pistol near
where the stampede began, and, after recovering
the other things scattered along the path of their
sudden flight, they went back to the road. Many
hands make light work; the overturned wagons
were righted, the cattle were gathered in, and the
train moved on once more. As usual, however,
the panic-stricken oxen did not easily recover their
peace of mind. Once again in the course of the
night, terrified by the weird shadows, perhaps, they
bolted from the track; but they were soon recov-
ered, and they plodded on until daybreak.
In a short time after this great scare, the young
emigrants passed into Echo Cation, then a famous
resting-place for the gold-seekers. High walls of
red, yellow, and cream-colored rock rose on either
side. These walls were topped out with pinnacles,
towers, and steeples. It was like a fairy scene.
Below were charming groves, overshadowing a
winding stream. Above were fantastic rocky shapes
resembling castles, donjon-keeps, cathedral spires,
battlements, and massive walls. Trailing vines
grew in the high crevices of the precipices and
swung in the breeze. The cation was rich with
grass and wild berries, and here the boys camped
for several days, trying curious experiments in
cooking the fruit which grew so abundantly about
them. Sass," as Hi called it, was the easiest to
manage. They. made a few pies, too; but the
pastry was made with bacon-fat and lard, and Bar-



nard turned up his nose at it, with the remark that
"it was hog-meat in another shape."
They attempted a berry pudding, and Nance
lent them a cloth to boil it in. Arty would not
permit the cover of the camp-kettle to be taken off,
as that would make the pudding heavy." Nance
had said so. When the hungry company gathered
about the kettle, at dinner-time, to see that famous
pudding taken out, Arthur poked around in a thin
purple broth with a long stick, only to fish out an
unpleasant-looking cloth. The bag had been tied
too tight. The pudding had burst, and was now
a porridge of flour, water, and "sarvice-berries."
"I allow the proof of that pudd'n' aint in the
eatin' of it," solemnly remarked Hi.
But Nance consoled Arty by informing him that
this was an accident which happened to the very
smartest folks, sometimes.
It aint nigh so bad as scaldin' yer bread, Arty,"
said the girl, with a sly laugh.
When they reached the mouth of Emigrant
Caton, a few days later, one fine August morning,
they gazed with admiration upon the city in the
wilderness-Great Salt Lake City. The caion
opened to the west, high up among the mountains.
Below stretched the broad valley, north and south.
Above their heads rose snowy peaks ; beneath, was
a vast plain, belted -.:i;h I. ir;ir.; streams, and green
and gold with grass, orchards, and grain-fields. In
the midst of this lovely panorama shone the City
of the Saints. It was like a fairy city, or like a
dream. Nearly three months had passed since
they had seen a town, and here was a great,
well-built, and beautiful city. The houses were
gray-tinted or white-washed, the roofs were red,
and innumerable trees embowered the whole. The
plain, in the midst of which the city was set like a
jewel, rolled far to the westward, where it was
bounded by the shining waters of Great Salt Lake.
Beyond this towered a range of purple mountains,
their sharp peaks flecked with silvery snow.
This is a view from the Delectable Mountains !"
murmured Mont, as he sat down.
Putty as a picter," said honest Hi, leaning on
his whip-stock, and gazing at the wonderful pano-
rama. But it minds me of the hymn-
'Where every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile.'

They do say them Mormons will steal like all pos-
It was a difficult and a zigzag road down the
mountain-side. Many a wrecked emigrant-wagon
lay by the side of the descent, now continually
crowded with the trains of the gold-seekers. At
one place, looking over a low natural parapet, they
saw a wagon and four oxen, lying in a heap of ruin,

---- -~



just where they had fallen from the dizzy height
above. So, with much trembling and anxiety, they
crept down by rocky slopes, beetling precipices,
and foamy mountain-torrents, and reached the
grassy plain at last. Here was comfort-an easy
road, plenty of feed and water for the cattle, and
fruit and vegetables growing in the neat farms by
which they passed. It was like paradise.
Driving into the city, which was only a huge
village, with orchards and grain-fields all about,
they were directed to an open square where emi-
grants were allowed to camp. Fresh meat, vege-
tables, and new flour were to be had here, and in
these unaccustomed luxuries the boys reveled with
great delight. It seemed as if they were near their
journey's end. The mishaps, discomforts, and
perils through which they had passed, were far
away now. Here were flower-gardens, people liv-
ing in houses, and here were families abiding, not
camping out for a night. Their tent, which had
become their home, almost beloved as such, ap-
peared frail and shadowy by the side of these sub-
stantial and comfortable houses, in which people
actually lived.
We must get up and dust out of this. I 'm
homesick," was Hi's plaintive remark.
"Lor!" said Nance, whose family was on the
spot when they drove into town. Lor! the wim-
men is orful ornery. So old-fashioned, you can't
think! Nothin' but sun-bunnits and caliker gownds.
I aint seen a sunshade since I've bin here. Ugh !
such a place, I want to git."
The boys thought that they never could git,"
when they woke up one fine morning and found
their cattle gone. They had been chained to the
wheels of the wagon when they "turned in" to
sleep the night before. Mont had waked in the
night and heard Star, who was a restless creature,
chafing with his chain. Now they were gone!
They looked in blank amazement, wondering
how the thieves could have taken them away with-
out disturbing anybody. It was useless to look for
tracks. The turf was trodden by numerous hoofs,
coming and going.
Where's that rascal Pete that he did n't bark ?
If there had been a chipmunk about the camp,
he'd have wakened up everybody," stormed Bar-
nard, with great anger.
"Sure enough, where's Pete?" asked Arthur.
He was not to be seen. The boy whistled for his
old friend, but had no response. Pete had dis-
This was a great calamity, and, leaving the
younger ones to get breakfast and watch the camp,
Mont, Hi, and Barnard went out to look for the
stolen cattle. They came back, late in the morn-
ing, one after another, without tidings. Everybody

had told them that the Mormons would steal the
tires off the wagon-wheels; that it was more dan-
gerous here than in the Indian country; and then,
there were dreadful rumors of emigrants-" Gen-
tiles," the Mormons called them-disappearing
suddenly and never being heard of again. If
strangers made trouble about being robbed, they
were quietly put out of the way," nobody knew
The boys looked at the useless yokes, left piled
on each other by the wagon, thought of their stolen
cattle, and sat down to a very gloomy breakfast.
Sympathizing friends and acquaintances from neigh-
boring camps came in with offers of help, but they
could not give up all hope of finding their own
again. Arty confessed to himself that he rather
enjoyed the celebrity which the affair gave his
party, though he was not pleased when some rough
stranger laughed at the youngsters who had their
cattle stolen from under their blankets while they
slept." But next day, after they had spent one
whole day in hunting for their stock, they heard
that another party, on the west side of the city,
had been robbed of a horse and three yoke of
Mont went to a Mormon justice of the peace and
stated his case. He was received with great grim-
ness, and a constable was sent down to the camp.
This official looked at the wagon, tent, and camp-
stove, asked if they had any tea to sell, and went
away. They never saw him again.
On the third day, Mont, Hi, and Arthur were
prowling about on the outskirts of the city, where
the denser settlement melted away into small farms.
The boy had strayed away from his companions,
and was attracted by a neat little cottage built of
adobe, or sun-dried brick. The roof was of thatch,
and in the trim door-yard bloomed marigolds, holly-
hocks, larkspur, and other old-fashioned flowers.
A cat purred in the sun, and a flock of white-haired
children played on the low door-step.
This seems like home," murmured the poor,
dispirited and lonesome boy.
A sad-looking, sallow-faced woman, coming to
the door, said: Would you like to come in among
the posies, my lad ?"
No, I thank you, ma'am," civilly replied Arthur.
But I should like a sprig of that lavender, if you
can spare it."
As the boy spoke, a short, sharp bark, strangely
like Pete's, sounded from the house. He heard a
man's voice, then a whine, and, as the woman
gave him the spray of lavender, a low-browed,
dark-faced man put his head out of the window,
and said:
What are you tolling these tramps about the
place for ? Get out of that! "




Two more sad-looking and sallow-faced women
now appeared in the door-way, and Arthur walked
away, half-angry, but muttering to himself:
That man's a Mormon! Those are his wives !"
This discovery aroused the boy from his gloomy
thoughts, and his curiosity was stirred to find out
how a man with at least three wives could live.
Loitering down a lane by the side of the cottage,
he passed by a neat hedge which inclosed a pad-
dock behind the house. He stooped in an aimless
way and peered through an opening in the bottom
of the hedge. The inclosure was about fifty feet
long and twenty-five wide. The upper end was
bounded by a paling which separated the Mormon's
garden from the paddock. The lower end opened,
by a pair of bars, covered with cut boughs, on a
common uninclosed space. In the middle of this
cattle-yard, quietly chewing their cuds, were eight
or ten cattle. Among them, to his amazement,
Arthur recognized Tige, Molly, Star, and his mate.
Scarcely believing his eyes, Arty looked once
more, and then dashed away across the fields
and over the ditches, to find Hi and Mont. They
were sitting disconsolately by some wild raspberry
bushes, making a poor pretense of picking the
fruit, when Arty rushed up, his eyes sparkling, his
face all in a glow, and his breath coming and going
"What luck?" exclaimed Mont, whose quick
eye saw that something had happened.
"Found 'em!-found 'em!" panted the boy.
" The whole lot are together in that corral with
the hedge around it! "
"Gosh all Friday said Hi.
The three boys now walked rapidly back in the
direction of the adobe house, which was about a
mile off, but in plain sight. Arriving at the open-
ing in the rear of the paddock, they reconnoitered
through the brush which was ingeniously twisted
into the bars, so that the hedge, from the outside,
seemed unbroken.
"There's Tige, and Molly, and all hands,"
whispered Hi, with glistening eyes.
"We've two pistols among us. Let's march
boldly in and drive them out," said Mont.
Without a word, Hi tore out the screen of boughs,
let down the bars, and strode in. Just then, the
back-door of the house opened and the dark-faced
man appeared.
Get out of that corral, or I '11 shoot you he
cried, and he raised a fowling-piece to his shoulder
as he spoke.
Don't be afeard, boys; it aint loaded called
one of the sad-looking women, who suddenly came
around the corner of the house. The man mut-
tered an oath, and pursued her as she disappeared
among the hollyhocks.

The boys hastily separated their cattle from the
rest, and drove them down the paddock. Just
then, the man, who had run around the hedge,
appeared at the opening and began to put up the
Leave those cattle alone," said he, savagely.
"They're our cattle, and we are goin' to take
'em," was Hi's dogged reply.
The man went on putting up the bars. Then
Mont drew his pistol,-a wicked-looking little ma-
chine,-and, pointing it directly at the fellow's
head, said:
Put down those bars, or I'll shoot you Now
then: One !-two !--three "
The man turned and fled.
Arty ran down, dropped the bars, and the cattle
passed out. The opening was closed behind them,
and the little party, triumphant, but not without
fears, took their way back to town. They were
received at the camp with great acclamations, Bar-
nard having returned in the worst possible spirits.
The neighboring emigrants gathered in to con-
gratulate them on their good luck, as well as their
But suppose that chap takes it into his head
to come down on us with legal documents, con-
stables and things said Barnard.
Captain John Rose took up his favorite rifle,
which was lying in the sun, and remarked:
If thar's Mormons enough in this yer city to
capture the gang of Gentiles lyin' around loose in
this yer squar', let 'em come on. No better fun
than that fur me "
As a matter of precaution, however, it was thought
best to get out of town as soon as possible. The
few necessary purchases had been made. Letters
were written home; and, yoking up their recovered
team, they hastily departed out of the city.
The affair had been noised about, and several
Mormons came around them as they drove away,
threatening dreadful things. The dark-faced man
did not appear. "If he wants his property, let
him come and take it," said Hi. Strange to say,
he did not come. The emigrants were numerous,
lawless, and angry.
The boys drove out to the north-west, their
road leading them by a cluster of boiling hot-
springs, across the Weber, and so on to Box Elder.
The first part of their way was through-broad fields
thick with grass and yellow with wild flowers.
Across these they saw behind them the City of the
Saints, now no longer attractive, as they drove away.
Something came bounding toward them across the
grassy plain, now lost in the tall growth, and now
springing into the streams which laced the plain.
It seemed an animal, and yet it appeared like a
man running on all fours with marvelous swiftness.




It came from the direction of an adobe house, on
the edge of the city, in the midst of the fields. As
it leaped nearer and nearer, it gave a joyful bark.
"It's Pete! it's Pete!" cried Arthur, and his
tears must needs flow. In another instant, Pete,
with a ragged rope about his neck, was in Arty's
arms, on Hi's back, on Barnard's neck, and
knocking little Johnny over in his paroxysm of
"Whar hev yer b'en, old feller?" asked Hi.
"What a powerful shame it is that yer can't talk !"

I just believe that the man who stole the cattle
took Pete away," said Arthur. I was sure I heard
him in that house. He heard me outside talking
with the woman, and he barked."
But how could he get Pete away without poison-
ing him ? demanded Mont.
Drugged him," suggested Hi.
There's that knowing old Tige," said Arthur,
playfully. He looks around as if he could tell all
about it."
But he never did.

'To be conttnuea.)









SAID Mr. Sparrow to his wife,
One morning in the early spring:
" Dear Mrs. S-- upon my life,
I've come across the grandest thing-

"A brand-new house, with floors to let,
A mansard roof, and all complete!
We '11 take a floor to-day, my pet,
And you must keep it nice and neat.

" The situation is tip-top-
None better wheresoe'r you hop,
And quite within the reach of all
The windows where the crumbs do fall."

So off they flew in haste, to see
The brand-new house; and, deary me !
Did n't they flutter in and out,
Scarce knowing what they were about!

Good Mrs. S., with straw in mouth,
Picked out a room that faced the south;
For, very prudently, thought she:
" The sun will warm both eggs and me."

But Mr. Sparrow did declare
The sun would surely scorch her there;
And as the room was very high,
Their little ones would fall and die.

At last they settled with each other
The first floor front to be the best;
And how they did help one another
To build a cozy little nest!

They both flew up, they both flew down,
With threads, and rags, and bits of straw;
They were the busiest birds in town,
And each day busier than before.

At last, the nest is all complete,
And Mrs. Sparrow stays inside,
And keeps the house so nice and neat,
That Mr. S. looks on with pride.

And when the little birds appear,
Wont Mr. Sparrow hop and sing,
And say to Mrs. S.: "My dear,
Our brand-new house is just the thing !"



CROCUS peeped out of the earth, in the chill
April weather. The sky was gray, and not a spear
of grass was to be seen, nor a single green leaf;
a few old ones clung to the vines and trees, with-
ered and brown.
But Crocus, brave and sweet, lifted its cup of
gold out of the earth, close beside a patch of
snow, and looked shyly about, contented and glad,
though so'quite-quite alone, and so cold.
"Forward thing said a voice. Crocus started
and shuddered-it was not alone.
"Forward thing!" repeated the voice, dis-
mally. It would be more becoming were you to
wait until your betters had come-not flaunt out
your prettiness uninvited."
Now, poor Crocus knew that the Pine-tree was

near, and had rebuked it; and the Pine was tall,
and old and great.
Just then Robin came hopping blithely along.
"How do you do, little Crocus? Well met
again! said he. Hey-dey What is the mat-
ter? Why so sorrowful, dear ?" he gently added.
But Crocus was so very cast-down, it could
scarcely reply. At last it told Robin how it came
out of the dark earth so early, because the world
was so very lonesome; and that by and by, when
the fast company of grand and lovely flowers ap-
peared, so simple a flower as itself would not be
And when one means to do right, it is very
bad to be thought wrong by those who are great
and wise," added Crocus, sadly.


1876. ]


And Robin answered, he felt so sorry he hardly
knew what to do:
Those who are cruel are never great, though
they reach to the very skies! But never mind,
little Crocus. Let me tell you. Whenever I plume

North, to tell them the spring is coming-for fear
they will all be discouraged.
"And is it not something to make people glad,
even if we must be chided ?"
Just then Claribel came down the path, and saw


myself ready to flit away from the sunny South,
every one says to me:
Foolish bird! Foolish bird! 'T is chilly and
drear up there. Wait a little. You will find no
leaves to hide away your nest.' But the more they
say the merrier I sing; and away I fly to the chilly

the Robin and Crocus together. She sang out:
"Oh! the first Robin! I shall have my wish!"
Then she paused with lifted hand, thinking which
of all the delightful things in the world she now
most wanted.
"It shall be a hat with blue ribbons, and a







flower like Crocus in the blue, for me to wear at saying: "Dearest blossom of all the year, you are
Easter." like a drop from the sun, after the winter days. I
So Robin, when he heard this, soared-away well will put you very near my heart." So she fastened
pleased. And Claribel tenderly picked the flower, the flower on her dress, and Crocus was comforted.



As the traveler enters Italy from the north, he
finds himself in the midst of-a rich and fruitful val-
ley, where olives, mulberries, and grapes abound,
and the peasantry seem industrious, and most of
them free from want. But as he passes along,
although he finds large cities, in which the people
seem as full of life as in ours, he notices continually
evidences of great antiquity in their churches,
public buildings, bridges, and monuments, and
naturally wishes to know something of their his-
tory. But no doubt he is surprised, as you will be,
to learn that the cities of Northern Italy are many
of them older than Rome, some being so ancient
that nothing is known of their foundation. Among
them, Cremona is the most important, it having
been taken by the Tuscans in the fifth century,
who found it a great and powerful city. Then it
was overrun and destroyed by the Gauls, after
which it lay a ruin for two hundred years. Later,
there came down from about the Danube a horde
of Teutonic people, called Longobardi (or Long-
beards), who swept over and took possession of
Northern Italy, their king making Pavia his capital
and giving their name to the country, which they
held one hundred and fifty-seven years. Then,
when Lindprand, their greatest king, tried to
extend his territory too near Rome, the Pope,
Gregory II., called upon the French to aid him,
and, crossing the Alps twice, they conquered Lind-
prand, and placed his kingdom under control of
the Pope, who ruled by exarchs (or governors).
The cathedral, of which we have a view, was
begun in 1107, just after a sharp struggle with a
neighboring city; but soon after, the Normans,
under Hastings, crossed the Alps, and the Hunga-
rians came over from the east, so that between
their conflicts the Cremonese only finished the
nave and aisles ninety-seven years later, when it
was consecrated. Then came the German emperor
Frederick Barbarossa, or "Redbeard," claiming
these cities as his; and as some of them joined

him, and others adhered to the Pope, a new war
broke out, which lasted until he had destroyed so
many cities that the people formed a league against
him while he was gone to Rome, and on his return
he was stopped by a new fortified city-which,
although he called it a town of straw, was strong-
enough to keep him in check-and an army before
the gates of Milan sufficient to entirely defeat him.
The Lombard League" was formed in 1167, but
it was eighty years before there was a lasting peace,
which the tower beside the church was built to
commemorate. Being the highest in any city of
Northern Italy, it was called the Great Tower, and
all the cities joined in paying for it. The Cremo-
nese are so proud of it, that an old Latin rhyme is
repeated by them to this day, which says:

Rome has the St. Peter's,
Cremona the tower."

It is three hundred and ninety-six feet high, and
in two years was carried up to where the square
portion terminates, while the top was not added
until 1518, when it was needed to cover the great
bells; and the enormous clock was placed in the
third story in 1594. It is of brick, and has a stair-
way of four hundred and ninety-eight steps leading
to the highest cupola; and the old watchman who
lives away up in some of the dark nooks, is always
ready to point out the beauties of the landscape to
any visitor who has the courage to mount to- his
A story is told that, in 1414, the Emperor Sigis-
mund and the Pope came to Cremona to consult
with its ruler-a cruel, treacherous man, but wise
and crafty, who, after gaining all he desired, invited
his guests to mount to the top of the tower, to see
the magnificent prospect. He went up alone with
them, and they all came down in safety. But a few
years later, when brought to the scaffold at Milan,
he said the one thing he regretted most of all in his
life was, that he had not had courage enough to


push the Pope and Emperor over the battlements
of the tower at Cremona, which he had then
planned to do, and make himself emperor.
But to go back to the church. After the tower
was raised, and an arched loggia connected it with
the cathedral, the front, as you see it here, was

time; and the pillars in the arched door-way are
supported on the backs of lions and griffins, while
all about on the sides are sculptured strange figures,
all of which were peculiar to the Lombards, and
belong especially to their churches. But the
glory of gilding and painting in the interior makes


commenced, but was not finished for three hundred
and thirty years; and although all of marble, is,
of course, of many different styles, according to the
tastes of those who carried it forward. The great
rose window is surrounded by a rich molding, with
delicately carved vine, executed in 1274 by Porata
of Como, one of the most famous workmen of that

up for all the dimness and want of beautiful exte-
rior. To perfect it cost one hundred and thirty-
five years of labor, and it has long been con-
sidered a rival of the Sistine Chapel at Rome in
magnificence, being very lofty and almost covered
with frescoes by great artists, most of them repre-
senting Bible scenes.




The dome of the choir is especially beautiful,
illustrating the life of Christ from the manger to
the cross; and the south transept fairly glows
with pictures from the Old Testament, painted by
Giorgio Caselli in 1383. The beautiful wood-work
in the choir, too, which all visitors admire, was
executed nearly three hundred years ago; and all
about are fine pieces of ancient sculpture.
The baptistery is very interesting also, having
been built about 800. It is octagonal, and has
high small windows, like those of a Norman castle.
The great font in the center is a curiosity, being
formed of a single block of marble.
Besides these, there are all about the city inter-
esting buildings, affording perfect specimens of
middle-age architecture, and highly ornamented
with terra cotta statues, vases, and plant-. The
municipal palace, begun in 1206, is supported on
lofty arches, has two fire-towers, and is even now
occupied by the government. The market, as you
see, is held in the great square in front of the
cathedral, and although it seems rather a strange

place for it, we find the same custom in most of
the cities of Europe. And if one rises early enough
to see the peasants as they come in from the coun-
try, I assure you he is fully repaid by novel sights.
Their carts, of the rudest pattern, are drawn by
-what shall I say?-sometimes a pair of oxen,
sometimes one ox, then by a cow and donkey, and
again by a cow or donkey and a woman; in such
cases, one is fastened between the shafts and the
other pulls at the side. Dogs, too, are used, but
not so much as in the north of Europe; and it is
not uncommon to see a man or woman hauling
into town a very large load. There are no booths,
but the produce is arranged on tables or in baskets,
and large umbrellas keep off either the sun or rain.
The articles for sale are wonderfully like those in
our markets, excepting silkworms, figs, olives, and
flax ; and the climate is so warm that our summer
vegetables abound there in winter.
Thus there is at Cremona, as everywhere in Italy,
a mingling of ancient and modern things, and
every spot is full of interest for old and young.



YACOB was the name of an Arab boy in the
Oriental city of Cairo. He was poor, and, like
most of the poor boys of that city, his chief am-
bition was to own a donkey and hire him out to the
travelers to go to the pyramids and other places of
interest in the neighborhood of Cairo. As it was;
he was only the driver of another man's donkey;
that is, when the animal was mounted by the
traveler, he ran behind, poking the quadruped
with a sharp stick to keep him in a brisk trot.
One day, while Yacob was .standing in fiont of
Shepherd's Hotel in Cairo, wishing he had a
donkey of his own, an English traveler on the
veranda beckoned to him and asked him why he
looked so wistful, and Yacob answered that he was
unhappy because he had no donkey.
And when the Englishman heard his story, he
called his servant and told him to bring up Mafish,
which was an old sleepy donkey. Then he said to
Would you be happy if you owned that donkey,
my lad ? "
Oh, master, I would be happy with any don-
key said Yacob.
VOL. III.-31.

Then," said the Englishman, he is yours-I
make him a present to you."
When he said this, the other travelers gathered
around, with smiles on their faces, for it appeared
that the Englishman was a man much given to
making fun. He told Yacob to get on the donkey
and ride him up and down in front of the hotel a
few times, to show his gait. Yacob got astride of
him, and found that he was stiff in the legs and
moved slowly, notwithstanding the sharp pokes he
gave him with his stick.
I shall give the donkey a name that will draw
custom for you," said the Englishman as the lad
rode up to the veranda.
Yacob was much pleased that his benefactor
should give the donkey a name, for he had seen
some of his companions who hired their donkeys
more easily than others, on account of fortunate
names given to them by travelers.
I shall be much glad to call him what my
master pleases," said Yacob.
"Then his name shall be Lightning," said the
Englishman, and the other travelers laughed.
Yacob did not know what Lightning meant, and




he continued to call his donkey by that name after
the Englishman went away. He did not have
much difficulty in hiring his donkey ; but when the
travelers started on their journey, they told Yacob
he was a humbug, and that he had imposed on
them with his animal. So that they only kept
Lightning for a few minutes, and the same people
never hired him twice.
One day, as he led his old donkey toward the
hotel veranda, after being called a little humbug
by an angry traveler, who refused to pay him for
hire of half an hour, he was spoken to by a fat
man in a long black coat, who told him he ought
to call his donkey Slow-coach.
After that, Yacob called him Slow-coach, not
knowing any more about that name than he did
about Lightning. But this change of name, in-
stead of mending matters, made them worse. In
short, no one would hire his donkey any more on
any condition, and Yacob and Slow-coach were a
rueful pair, as they stood idly before the hotel.
One day, as he stood thus, the Prince of Wales
came out from the veranda (the Prince was then
on his way to the East Indies), mounted Slow-

coach, and rode him two or three yards, and then
got off and took another donkey. Thereupon
Yacob bemoaned his bad luck in hearing of an
American sitting on a tilted chair on the veranda.
"Yacob," said the American, "your donkey
shall be hired as much as any other, but hereafter
his name must be the Prince of Wales."
The American had a certificate drawn up and
sworn to before the American Consul in Cairo, to
show that the Prince of Wales had, without any
doubt, mounted Yacob's donkey; and when the
lad wanted to hire the animal to any man, woman
or child from England, all he had to do was to
show this certificate, and they straightway engaged
him, notwithstanding his moping gait and stiff
legs. They engaged him for whole days, fondled
him, and begged Yacob not to poke him up too
sharp from behind. They fed him with whatever
he would eat, and the only drawback to the don-
key's pleasant life was that his tail was plucked a
good deal for mementos.
Yacob said, and says still, that the luckiest day
of his life was when he was spoken to by the
American gentleman on a tilted chair.


BY M. M. D.

WHENEVER a snow-flake eaves the sky,
It turns and turns to say "Good-bye!
Good-bye, dear cloud, so cool and gray!"
Then lightly travels on its way.

And when a snow-flake finds a tree,
Good-day !" it says-" Good-day to thee !
Thou art so bare and lonely, dear,
I '11 rest and call my comrades here."

But when a snow-flake, brave and meek,
Lights on a rosy maiden's cheek,
It starts-" How warm and soft the day!
'T is summer! "-and it melts away.




(For Home Representation.)


William Tell ........ ARTR. I Tells San............ TOMMY.
The Tyrant........ ... NED. ...........GEORGE.
Girls oftet May Party....CAROLINE, Lucy, ANNA, POLLY, KATE.
(Girls are dressed in white, with bright sashes, and have little flags.
George has a larger flag.)
Room in residence of Ned, Polly, and Tommy. Lunch-baskets, &c.,
on chairs. Polly sits, holding her hat, shawl, and sack. Tommy
is seated on the floor, playing with marbles. Ned, a much larger
boy, leans over a chair back.
Ned [dolefully]. We shall have to give it up,
Polly. No May-party to-day [Goes to window.
Polly [earnestly]. Oh, don't you think the clouds
will blow over? ?
Ned. The whole sky will have to blow over. It's
all lead color !
Polly [sighing]. 0 dear, dear, dear!
[Voices heard outside. Enter, with a rush, Caroline, Lucy, Anna,
Kate, George, and Arthur, with baskets, tin pails, &c. The
boys' hats are trimmed with evergreen, the girls' with wreaths
and posies. The girls have baskets of flowers. Tomm leaves
off playing with his marbles, to watch the new-comers.
George [throwing down a long coil of evergreen].
Here we come !
Lucy [almost out of breath, and speaking fast].
Yes, here we come, pell-mell! It's going to pour!
Caroline [speaking before Lucyfinishes]. Oh, how
we have hurried! I felt a great drop fall on my
Anna [speaking before Caroline finishes And
think of our dresses! Spand-clean, white dresses?
Kate [speaking before Anna finishes]. No pro-
cession to-day No dancing around the May-pole !
[Arthur throws up his hat and catches it. George
does the same.
Lucy. They got all that evergreen to trim the
Maypole and George brought his flag I
George. If it had only been pleasant to-day, I'd
have let it rain a week afterward !
George [stepping to the window]. There! It
pours It's lucky we hurried.
Polly. Now all of you stay here and keep May-
day with us [clapping hands]. Do! Do !
Caroline. Will your mother like it?
Polly. I '11 go ask her [runs out.
Ned [:;. *. .*., to the window]. Anyway, you
can't go till it holds up. [Girls go to the window.
Arthur. That may not be for a week. [Enter
Polly, in haste.
Polly. She says we may do anything but make
'lasses candy!

Ned. The last time we made it, father said he
found some in his slipper-toes.
[Girls take off hats and shawls, which, with baskets, etc, are
placed in a corner. Some take seats, with some confusion,
others remain standing.]
Arthur. Now what shall we do with ourselves?
Ned. Let's get up an entertainment. Tickets,
ten cents; grown folks, double price.
Kate. So Isay. And call ourselves a "troupe,"
or a family," or something.
George. Something that has a foreign sound.
Arthur. How would ''Yotopski" do?
Caroline, Lucy and Anna. Splendid !
Anna. Let's call ourselves "The Yotopski Fam-
Lucy. But what shall we have for our entertain-
Polly. I think tableaux are perfectly splendid !
Anna. Oh, I '11 tell you! Have the kind that
winds up !'
George. Why, all entertainments wind up when
they are done !
Anna. I mean, have each one wound up with a
key, and then they move.
Arthur. She means Mrs. Jarley's Waxworks.
Ned. All right. We '11 have the winding kind !
Caroline. What Waxworks shall we have?
Ned. We might have William Tell shooting the
apple, for one.
Tommy. I've seen that! 'T will take three to do
that! Mr. Tell, and his son, and the cross tyrant.
George. And the apple makes four.
Anna. Who'll be Mr. Tell? You, Ned?
Ned. No. I'd rather be the cross tyrant; I feel
just right for that. Arthur 'l1 be Mr. Tell.
Arthur. Oh, yes, I'll be Mr. Tell; and Tommy
can be the boy. [Tommy moves toward the door.]
Where you going, Tommy?
Tommy [going out]. After my bow 'n' arrow !
Lucy [bringing an applefrom her basket]. Here's
the apple.
Caroline. What shall we do for a feather ? Mr.
Tell's hat must have a feather.
Kate. Twist up a. piece of newspaper. [Turns
Arthur's hat up at one side and fastens it with a
twist of paper, left open at the top.] There you
have it. And Polly's sack, turned wrong side out,
will do for a tunic.
[Arthur puts on hat and sack. Sack is lined with a bright
color; or with different colors.]



Polly. He ought to have a wide sash.
Lucy [taking off hers]. Here, take mine!
Polly, Annia, Not that kind of a sash !
and Caoline. Oh, that won't do !
r Funny sash for a man !
Ned [tying sash, at the side, around Arthur's
waist]. Oh, never mind. We're only rehearsing.
Lucy. How must the cross tyrant be dressed?
Who knows?
Anna. The tyrant I saw had a cape hung on one
shoulder. A shawl will do for that. *' .: shawl,
which Ned hangs over his left shoulder.] Now
what must he wear on his head?
Lucy. I should think a tyrant ought to wear a
tall hat.
Polly [going]. I'll get father's.
Anna [to Polly]. And something bright to put
on it. I remember that part, plainly.
George [calling after Polly]. And something
long, for a sword [Exit Polly.
Caroline. If the boys do that, can't we girls make
ourselves into wax-works?
Anna. Let's be a May-day wax-work, singing
and dancing round a May-pole.
George. I'l1 be the pole.
Caroline. But you're not long enough.
George [mounting a chair]. Now I am !
Girls [laughing and claf2ping]. Oh, yes 1 Oh,
yes! He'lldo! Trim him up! Trim him up!
Ned [to George]. Yes. Come down and be
trimmed up !
[George steps down, stands erect, arms close to his body. Girls
hand garlands. Ned winds them around George.]
Kate. Shall we hoist the flag ?
Ned. Oh, yes! bring the flag! And here's a
string [taking ball of string out of pocket] to fasten
it on with. [Ned fastens the flag-stick to George's
head by winding the string around, then helps him
mount the chair.] Three cheers for the flag! Now,
one, two, three! [All cheer and clap.
[Enter Polly with an old hat and a fpafer.
Polly. Won't this hat do ? Mother can't have
father's good one banged about.
George. Oh that's good enough. We 're only
rehearsing. Did you get something bright?
[Ned puts on hat]
Polly [taking out yellow bandanna handkerchief]
Mother said this was quite bright.
Anna. Why, I meant something shiny, like a
clasp, or a buckle.
Kate. No matter, we're only rehearsing.
[Ned ties handkerchief round the lhat so that the covers hang
down. ]
Polly [hands the poker]. Here's your sword.
That's the longest thing I could find.
[All laugh. Ned seizes poker and strikes a military attitude.
Enter Tommy, with bow and arrow.]

Tommy. Where shall I stand up ?
Arthur. Come this way [leads Tommy to one
side the stage; Nedfollows]. Ned, you must scowl
and look fierce. Tommy, fold your arms and stand
still as a post.
[Puts apple on Tommy's head, and takes aim with bow and
arrow. I
Tommy. Oh, I'm afraid! Look out for my
eyes The arrow might go off!
Arthur. Turn your back, then.
[Tommy turns around with apple on his head; Arthur aims at
apple: Ned stands by with drawn sword; then all three
resume their former positions.]
Kate. Now, we girls, must stand around the May-
pole [they gather around the ole]. Who '11 wind ?
The girls. You! You! You!
Polly. What a little circle I wish we had more
girls 1
Kate. So do I! [To Anna] How shall I wind
up the waxworks ?
Anna. The ones I saw all stood on a string, and
the string led to a box, and when the box was
wound up, the waxworks began to act their parts.
A door-key will do to wind with.
Kate. We '11 manage in the same way.
[Lays a long string on the floor, passes it under the feet of the
waxworks, and drops the end of it in a work-box upon the
Arthur. Don't you think you girls ought to be
holding your posies, and your flags, and your flow-
er-baskets, and wearing your wreaths ? They'll
make your waxwork look handsomer.
Caroline. So they will.
[Girls get their posies, little flags and baskets, take wreaths
from hats and put them on their heads.]
Anna. You must take a key and pretend to wind
up the machinery. What song shall we sing ?
Lucy. The merry month of May is perfectly
splendid !
Caroline. I wonder if we know the words ? Let's
try. [ They sing a May song.
Kate. That's a good song. Now then! All
ready Stand in your places [gets the door-key].
Arms folded, Tommy! When I've done winding
up, Arthur will begin to take aim, Ned will begin
to scowl and to hold up his sword, and you girls
will begin to sing and dance around. Can't you
hold your hands high, so the flowers and flags will
show? [Girls raise their hands.] That's prettier.
Now all stand just as still as real waxworks, till the
machinery is wound up, then begin. We'll play
that when I throw up my handkerchief, the curtain
falls. Now!
[Kate winds the machinery, the actors remaining quiet. When
the winding stops they begin to perform their parts When
the dancers have danced twice around the circle Kate
throws up her handkerchief.]
[If desirable, more singing and dancing can be introduced under
pretense of practicing.]






I SHALL in each recipe set down, first, the ingre-
dients to be used, that the little housekeeper may
get all together before beginning work.
The white of a fresh egg; six heaping table-
spoonfuls of powdered sugar; one tea-spoonful of
lemon-juice, strained through muslin.
Break the egg carefully into a cup, keeping out
the yolk. There is a "baby" Dover egg-beater--
a little love," made just for beating one egg.
Put a table-spoonful of sugar upon the white of the
egg, and begin to whip it, either with a fork or
with an egg-beater. In three minutes add another
spoonful; presently another, until the sugar is used
up. Then put in the lemon-juice. Whip steadily
until the froth stands up stiff and can be cut with a
knife. If your cake is flat on top, pour the frost-
ing upon it, and let it settle. If it has slanting
sides, put it on by the spoonful until the cake is
covered. In fine weather, dry the frosting in the
sun; on damp or windy or dusty days, set it in a
slow oven until there is a shell on top. Do not
scorch it. Put aside until quite firm.
ONE egg, one table-spoonful (heaped) of butter,
two table-spoonfuls of cream, six table-spoonfuls of
powdered sugar, twelve table-spoonfuls (heaped) of
prepared flour (sifted before it is measured), a piece
of nutmeg grated. Work butter and sugar to-
gether in a bowl with a spoon until they look like
soft putty. Beat your egg, till it is thick and smooth,
in another bowl. Stir the egg, butter, and sugar
together; then add the cream, and beat hard. Then
the nutmeg; lastly, the flour, and stir this in lightly
with a wooden spoon. Butter your pans, and
divide the mixture equally between them. Small


I ',,:,
Ti ,


for jelly-cake. Do not have too hot an oven for
cake. Should it brown too fast on top, cover with
white paper. Do not take it out of the oven until
a clean straw, thrust into the thickest part, comes
out perfectly dry and clean. Move it while baking
as little as possible. Leave it in the pan until
nearly cold. Do not ice it while warm.


X876. ]


:, 1'I IN 'T1 L '
,,i'' r' Ii -. 1,


ANOTHER month here? Well, well; they use
themselves up so fast, these months, that, if they
don't take care, they'll not last the year out. A
pretty piece of business that would be-and a cen-
tennial year, too!
Hurrah for Deacon Green I hear he is coming
out handsomely this month in behalf of centennials,
and youngsters, and so on. I knew he would,
sooner or later. You can't do better, my chicks,
than to stand by the Deacon.

THERE is great sport in making mud pies, I'm
informed. Well, let me tell you that Jack has heard
of a city-St. Petersburg it is called-where the
principal ingredient of that sort of pastry is regu-
larly prepared in great piles in the public parks,
and all the children of the city are invited to
come, with pails and shovels, and dig and play
and make mud pies all day. At night, the clean
sand is carefully swept up again into high, smooth
piles, ready for another day's sport.
Sensible city fathers those-eh ?

I SUPPOSE the children of the red school-house
will be bringing May baskets to the little school-
ma'am and to each other this year as they did last
season. It's a pretty custom, but the birds tell me
it is notso common as it should be. A May basket
is the sweetest and freshest thing I know of, always
excepting the little schoolma'am. Sometimes it is
hardly more than a tiny white paper box with rib-
bon handles, filled with violets, but it is always
lovely, with its white or blue ribbon streamers, and
its moss and early wild flowers. I hope all little
lame children, who can't go out and play, and
children in hospitals, will have May baskets sent

them this year. May baskets are such simple lit-
tle things, they can be made and filled in any way
one pleases-and, what is more, they grow like a
flower, right out of loving hearts !

HAVE you heard the shocking story that Mr.
Darwin and Mrs. Treat have been telling about
certain plant-relatives of mine-the sundew and
others-that they actually catch and eat insects ?
Between ourselves, your Jack is very much con-
cerned about this, and I intend to ask the rice-birds
-who are well acquainted in North Carolina, where
that naughty plant lives-what they know about it.
The proofs are very complete, to be sure; but
we'll see what the birds say.

"YES, sirs," said the Deacon to the little boys,
"I 've seen them often-crying trees: that is, trees
that shed tears. The tears are not salt like yours,
but they are very respectable tears, and the poor
tree weeps from morning till night, and from night
till morning. It's called the miningo-tree, and
you can find.out all about it if you look into your
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Did you ever hear of a quail living
for three days and nights without food or drink? A few days ago,
my father, who is in the produce commission business in this city,
received a box of quails (supposed to be dead, of course) from Whites-
burg, Tenn. The time taken in transporting them was about seventy-
two hours. When the porter opened the box, you may imagine his
surprise when one of the quails jumped out and made a weak attempt
to escape. The bird was taken and put into a basket and supplied
with rye and water. These quails had been trapped, and their necks
then wrung; but, in some way, this little fellow had escaped injury,
for he was in perfect condition, and soon revived.
Yours truly, JNO. C. W., New York city.

IF ever any of you should have a toothache, my
poor children, and it's very likely that you will,
just look into the brook, or any other mirror, with
your tear-dimmed eyes, and notice how small is the
little white tormentor that is causing so much pain.
Then, by way of comfort, I want you to reflect how
much worse it would be if this tiny white thing
were an elephant's great tusk, with toothache all
through it.
Perhaps you will say that elephants can't have
toothache ? Then listen to the sad story of Chunee,
the elephant of Exeter Change.
At Exeter Change, in the great city of London,
there was, many years ago, a menagerie in the
second story of a building. Here the elephant,
Chunee by name,-a very quiet, well-trained beast,
-was confined in a cage, under which the floor
had been strengthened to support his weight. Chu-
nee never came out, but seemed very happy, for
all that. Suddenly he became raving mad, and
screamed and trumpeted, and endeavored vigor-
ously to tear away the iron bars of his cage.
Now, if le had succeeded in getting out upon
the floor, Mr. Chunee would have immediately




dropped -hI.., into an apothecary shop below.
If he had fallen into the scales, his exact weight
might have been ascertained, after a fashion; but,
in other respects, a mad elephant in a drug-store
would have been far worse than a bull in a china-
shop. If he had been sane, he might have had a
nice time, eating the liquorice and cough-lozenges
and sugar-coated pills and candy; but as he was n't
sane, the accident was not to be desired.
Well, Chunee grew more and more wild and
dangerous, until, at last, the "Beef-eaters," who
are the keepers of the Tower of London, were
called upon to destroy the poor beast. They dis-
charged many balls from their old-fashioned musk-
ets into his body, but loss of blood seemed to
increase his fury, and not lessen his strength.
There were no rifle teams in those days, to reach
his brain with a single shot, so a piece of artillery
was actually brought up, and poor Chunee, obey-
ing his keeper's voice, even in his rage, kneeled
down, and was shot to death with a cannon-ball.
Then the surgeons discovered that the elephant
had been suffering from the greatest toothache ever
known. His tusk, preserved in the warehouse of
the East India Company, shows this.
Now just think of what an awful thing six feet of
toothache must have been, and pity poor Chunee!

THAT'S shocking, is n't it? But, then, they
have more of them than we do, for it is in Jamaica
that they make scrubbing brushes of oranges, and
you may be sure it's true, because Mr. Gosse saw
them do it. The floor was of hard, polished wood,
and, before the family were out of bed, two or
three colored servants scrubbed over the whole of
it with sour oranges, cut in halves. When the
juice was rubbed out of one piece, they would take
another, and so they used up a big trayful of them.
A polish was put on by rubbing with cocoanut
husk, and the floor looked as if it had been waxed.

THE murre is a queer bird. It is of about the
size of a small duck, and it sits on only one egg at
a time. If her nest is robbed, the mother murre
lays another egg and sits again. The strangest

part of the story is that the eggs are not alike; in
fact, it would be almost impossible, among thou-
sands of them, to find a single pair that matched
in color. They are brown, green, white, blue, or
gray, as the case may be, with streaks oi spots of
blue, black, green, olive, or brown. But all these
fancy styles are only shell deep. The little murres
that come out of the eggs are all after the same
pattern, and in time they take after their parents
in a way that is beautiful to behold.
'If you want to see them, go to the Farallone
Islands, in the Pacific Ocean, Climb the first cliff
you come to, and turn to the right.


WELL, now! Here's news for the birds and
beasts and insects! I wish ,they all could go to
India to live, though I should be lonely enough
without them. In India there is a religious sect
whose members make it their peculiar business to
care for and nurse wounded and sick animals, from
oxen down to flies. Hospitals have been built in
Bombay, and are full of disabled cattle, dogs, cats,
birds, rats, and sparrows sent there for treatment.
It must be an odd sight to see cows with their eyes
bandaged, and fowls strutting around with one
wooden leg, and men feeding and waiting on them.
But it is much pleasanter than to see boys teasing
a cat, or throwing stones at a bird. I wish a few
dozen of those pious Jains would come to America
-don't you ?


AT Mumford, in Napa County, California, there
is an unfinished church, I'm told, which is built of
petrified wood (all of you who do not know what
petrified means, may have five minutes' recess for
hunting up the word in your dictionaries). Already
it has become famous, and strangers from various
parts flock to see it. I am told that in the stone of
its walls and tower various objects may be clearly
traced. Besides different kinds of wood showing
the grain perfectly, there are leaves, ferns, twigs,
tendrils, berries, and mosses, all perfect and beauti-
ful in form, and grouped together in wonderful


YOUNG READERS OF ST. NICHOLAS The dear little schoolma'am
has had the pleasure of giving you good work to do and of awarding
prizes for the same, and now ST. N. .- I may take my turn.
Therefore be it understood that I, .1I ... :.-., iereby request all boy
and girl readers of ST. NIC, .r ..,, 3 ..... l ..nd
me cleanly written copies II .. : the
United States of America, ,. i... l, --1 .pr ,,, .;-.. J ,. '..... to
be the work of their own hands), with the names and States of all
ihe signers. To the best five copies sent in by children from ten to
thirteen years of age, I shall award and deliver five beautiful ink-
stands modeled after the Old Liberty Bell, crack and all. Also, to
the five best copies sent in by young folk from fourteen to twenty
years of age, five beautiful inkstands as above described. These ink-
stands will be fine historic mementos of this centennial year, suitable
for any library or parlor, and I wish I could afford to offer a hundred
of them. Besides these, I hereby offer second prizes of five Swiss
villages in miniature (card-board models of Swiss architecture), to the

next best five by children from ten to thirteen years of age, and five
prize books to the next best five to those from fourteen to twenty years
of age. Besides this there will be a Roll of Honor, which is a capital
place of satisfaction outside of the prize list.
Y. .. .... i.1-,- rhese are the conditions which are required
of ;. .-.'" '*' 1i D'eclarations" to be sent in by June ist.
They must be neatly and plainly written, word for word (no illegible
copy will be examined), and the full name, age, and Post-office ad-
dress of the writer must be given both on the "Declaration and on
a separate slip of paper. Direct your letters and "Declarations to
Deacon Green, care of ST. NICHOLAS, 743 Broadway, N. Y. Be
r-rflT m.- friends, to make no mistake in copying: Accuracy, cor-
:--. .._.0... neatness, penmanship and promptness all shall be taken
1i' ... .. .' i -., ,.. --, the prizes, which are to be decided by a com-
i ,I .i .i : lh ljl r., -
Your friend and well-wisher to command,






.?. HERE's a nice brown ginger-bread man,
I. 'Freshly baked in the baker's pan,
,.., Spiced and sugared, and spick and span;
Sl.'"l Cloves for his eyes and paste for his tie-
Oh, what a nice sweet man to buy I

Here are Felix and Mary Ann
Looking in at the ginger-bread man
I (Spiced and sugared, and spick and span,
Cloves for his eyes and paste for his tie),
SWondering whether the price is high.

Here are Felix and Mary Ann
SGoing home with the ginger-bread man
I k, That was baked in the baker's pan.
S" Far too nice to be eaten," they said;
"Keep the man for a dolly, instead."

Here behold the ginger-bread man,
i That was baked in the baker's pan,
"'i l In the doll-house of Mary Ann.
See him stand, with his round, fat face,
J- ,. Among the dolls' in silk and lace!

-L ., Here are Felix and Mary Ann
Sleeping sound as ever they can,
-i Dreaming about the ginger-bread man
S Left in the doll-house, set away,
S:- Till they wake in the morn to play.

See this rat; since the night began
'- He has prowled to get what he can.
Ah, he smells the ginger-bread man !
There's the doll-house under the shelf,
Just where the rat can climb himself!




Every rat will get what he can.
S- Ah, the poor, sweet ginger-bread man!
!" Wake, O Felix and Mary Ann!
-:_-. There's a patter, a jump, a squeak-
-- Ah, if the ginger-bread man could speak !

See the rat, as quick as he can,
Climbing up for the ginger-bread man
In the doll-house of Mary Ann!
Ah, if the ginger-bread man could run !
''- Oh, to see what the rat has done!

I -Here are Felix and Mary Ann
S Come to play with the ginger-bread man,
Spiced and sugared, and spick and span.
S Ah, behold, where he stood before,
Only crumbs on the doll-house floor!

'3 fisf






l l



AGAIN the children have come out superbly in behalf of ST. NicH-
OLAS work! This time only girls and boys of thirteen years of age
or younger have competed for the prizes, and yet two thousand and
nine of these, from all parts of our continent and from England, have
sent corrected copies of this Short Tale" (published in February
number of ST. NICHOLAS, page 260).
So very many sent in absolutely correct renderings, that we must
have a very long Roll of Honor to do them justice. Not one whose
version contained a single mistake in spelling is admitted upon this
list; therefore, those who did not win prizes may be well content to
find their names on the Roll of Honor.
As for the prizes, it was so impossible, taking all the conditions into
account, to pick out the best twelve correct versions without doing
injustice to two or three, that finally we, the committee, were con-
strained to award fifteen prizes, as follows:
Fanny Binswanger, Philadelphia, Pa.
Mary Sloan, St. Paul, Minn.
Wmin. Proctor Gould Harding, Tuskaloosa, Ala.
Henry S. Redfield, Hartford, Conn.
Charlotte Ethel Brown, Yarmouth, N. S.
Glenn R. Gardner, New Oxford, Pa.
Robert B. Adam, Buffalo, N. Y.
Lizzie Shepherd Pitman, Fair Haven, Ct.
Nellie Collins, Dallas, Oregon.
Fred. M. Pease, Rockland, Maine.
Alice Maud Thackray, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Maggie Cady, Nichols, N. Y.
Katharine Gibbs, Gillwell Park, Sewardstone,
Essex, England.
Frank D. Kemp, South Hadley. Mass.
Carrie W. Mitchell, Daytona, Florida.
Our hearty congratulations to you, young friends! The prizes
already are on their way, and we shall be glad to hear of their safe
arrival. Two large envelopes containing, in all, sixteen colored
pictures with sixteen stories by Aunt Fanny, author of "Night-cap
Stories," go to each prize-winner. These stories were written ex-
pressly for Scribner & Co., and have never been published in any
other form.
One day last week, I set forth to roam o'er the plains and
through the vales. The sky was fair and blue, and the low sun
threw his pale rays o'er the scene. Deer, ewes, and hares were gam-
boling on one side, while on my right rose long, straight rows of maize,
eight feet high or so, and as fresh as rains and dews could make them.
"Oh," said I, raising one of the sweet kernels to my nose, "surely
this plant has no peer among the cereals See the rich hue of its
waving leaf-its flower like a lock of silken hair-its golden seed in
rows ofkernels, which, made into flour and then into dough or bread,
charm our palates. It feeds not man alone, but the fowl of the air
and fish of the seas."
I might have continued in this style an hour, but I saw the sun had
set and the night was coming fast, and it began to rain. My way
lay through a lone wood of firs, yews, and beeches. The clouds rose
higher, the lightning shone, and the thunder pealed aloud, till my
whole soul was faint with fear. I flew on my course, though my feet
hardly could bear my weight, till my toe was caught by a decayed
limb and I was thrown down, striking my heel on a rock, which was
the cause of a great pain. I had no sense left. I hebi. ...
in my head like the ringing of a knell, or like the thrill ii.. i, .
a bell is tolled. It took some time to climb back to the road, but
then the rain was done, and the stars shone forth. I knew the way, -
and soon reached home. My aunt was at the gate, waiting, and she
hied to meet me. She led me in, took off my wet wraps, gave me
hot teas and a supper of fried soles, with new rye bread, so sweet
that it needed no praise. I soon retired to my pallet, glad to lie down
in peace and rest.

Before giving the Roll of Honor, let me say a few words to all who
sent in corrected versions of this Short Tale."
In the first place, my boys and girls, every single answer, whether
correct or not, has been read with interest, and its points carefully
noted. Some of you have worked under disadvantages which would

have discouraged many older heads, and all of you have shown a zeal
and intelligence which make me the proudest and happiest little
schoolma'am in the world Whole schools have sent in answers, and
budgets have been forwarded by families of brothers and sisters, from
the big boy of thirteen years, who can write like a book-keeper, to
the little tot who can only print. Some who have tried very, very
hard to be correct, have made one or two mistakes, which, though
excluding them from the prizes and Roll of Honor, need not by any
means discourage them from future effort. I am not sure that I do
not at heart think most of the dear little folks who have tried and
failed. The successful ones, you see, can take care of themselves.
Now I shall point out the most common errors, so that you all may
avoid them in future. Many have written the plural of nouns with
an apostrophe, as though they were meant to be in the possessive
singular, as dew's, tea's; others have divided words of one syllable,
such asfai-nt, thit-l, cli-mb, placing part on one line and part on
the next; others, in copying, have accidentally left out words and
phrases, and many have tripped on the following words: waving,
ligzteniong (for lightning), gambling (for gamboling), cerials and
serials (for cereals), strait (for straight), o're (for o'er), waive (for
wave). Spelling according to either Worcester or Webster was, of
course, allowed; but when the wrong word was used, as strait for
straight, we could not let it pass. As a great many gave the inter-
jection "O when they should have written "Oh I I call.attention
to the proper distinction between these exclamations as given in
Worcester's Unabridged
In conclusion, with a full heart I thank you, one and all, parents
and children, for your good letters and the hearty love you show for
dear ST. NICHOLAS. And now for the grand

Jeanie J. Sprunt Kittie H. Hoyte Minnie H. Bridgman
Jessie M. Meeker Sarah W. Learned Annie Grace Allyn
Augustus P. Murdoch Cally Comstock Mamie A. Morse
Howard G. Tuthill Silas H. Elliot Mary Lillie Keyes
Glover E. Sanford Lillie H. Vandegrift Philo P. Safford
Nellie Divelbiss Mabel Wilder Baldwin Alma Bertram
Annie May Christian May P. Elden Alice Bartow Moore
Julia C. Perry Hattie T. Remington E. W. Grabill
Max Ulrich Wm. H. Hollister Harvey B. Dale
Alfred E. Forstall Jack S. Sturtevant Winnie Louise Bryant
Daisy Hunt Maude Merriam Sophie C. Johnson
Lulu Thorburn Mina Adams May T. Worcester
Helen Baldwin Charles D. Rhodes Gertrude Frances Van
Alice Steger Alida Mitchell Duzen
Ethel Merington Amos Russel Wells Fanny Eliz. Cushing
Annie Laurie Adams Katharine Nash Noble Laurie T. Sanders
Willie T. Jenney Clara L. Monroe Bessie Beebe
Wm. P. Illensworth Jennie F. Draper Eugenia B. Knight
Sadie E. Prescott Annie C. Ray Louise Rankin Albee
Julia Bradbury Birdie Lodge Bessie Israel
Mary Alice Reiff Susie H. Cooper Nellie A. Merrill
Emma Howard Annie Louise Wright Grace Ellery Channing
Nellie P. Harris Tommy W. Fry Eddie H. Eckel
Lilian Graves Martha S. Davis Haldane Williams
Maggie C. Elmer Anna P. Coffin Clara Louisa Thayer
AnnieDeWasleHanks Geitrude H. Abbey Helen Ristan
Ethel Carmalt Lucile Gex Freeman Grace M. Newhall
Albin P. Ingram Louise Vreeland Edward H. Tower
Sanford Norris Knapp Josie W. Myers Jessie Baldwin
Hattie Frazier Walter G. Hanks Lucy F. Soule
Thornton M. Ware Helen W. Clarkson Allen Hastings
Susan Eliz. Murray, Frank and Chas. Alex- Grace L. Furness
England ander Bessie R. Vroom
George F. D. Trask Annie May Keith Morton L. Barker
Edward S. Anderson Jas. E. Whitney, Jr. Willard G. Lake
Gertie B. Adams Lucy E. Maxwell Mary Bowditch Whit-
Cora M. Lundy Ida E. Decker ney
Florence Graham Mary B. Sands Maribell Woolman
Jennie B. Priestley Lucy Amelia Barbour Allie Anthony
Ethel A. Reynolds Mary Chase Louie MlcMynn




Mattie Esther Cobb Maggie Lyons Violet Crane
Lilian May Heath Lucy Hoyt Julia B. Ashley
Nettle Cobb Jenny Amidon Seaman Freddie S. Goodrich
Frank D. Russell Fanny T. Bachman Nellie C. Beckwith
George G. Bradford Willie Henry Friter Florence Stockstill
Helen H. Morris James N. Ballantine Idas D. Schermerhorn
E. A. Law Mark W. Collet Hubbard K. Hall
Dorsey Ash Lunette E. Humphrey Ernest J. Messmore
Nellie H. Suplee Jenny Spence Roland Leonard
May Royer Julia Etta Frisbie Fred Kerr
Jennie M. Ackley Virginia Bagby Lulu and ArchieWood-
Arthur Edwin Smith Hattie C. Fernald ruff
Eugene L. Lockwood Henry J. Warren Mary Albert
J. Aug. Gaylord Nellie L. Green Henriette Vallet
Edward A. George Miriam Kellogg Nelson C. Haskell
Minnie E. Tibbals Helen W. Rice Bessie M. Rutherford
Louis H. Watt Alice Brown Minnie H. Huntley
Carrie J. Graves Mary B. Stebbins Carrie Broadus
Cora Nafies Willie V. A. Catron Mary L. Featherston
Mattie 0. M. Carer Nettie M. Stevens Fred L. Blodgett
Frederick H. Wolcott Lillie B. Todd Bessie Head
Lizzie S. Wills Montie Horton Louise F. March
Willie Lighton Anna Holmes Mary O. Hammond
Clara B Prcsbry S. Lizzie Dole Agnes Vail
Lucie Gardner Lulu E. Danforth Fred A. Very
Lucy M. Speakman Walter S. Burdett Lottie Overacker
Eva Cox James Suydam Strang Mary H. Swords
Mary C. Creswell Maria M. Parker Jacob S. Robeson
Philip Havens Sarah Gray Marshall Perlee R. Bennett
Kate Tranchot Adelma S. Ward Harry C. Powers
Herbert Sweetzer Addie W Proctor Maggie Hays
Charlie C. Johnson Marian E. Griswold Ellen F. Whitelsy
Hattie A. Thomas Emma M. Sawyer Hattie L. Hamilton
Ruthie B. Franklin Agnes May Lewis Mamie Fariss
Agnes Kennedy Fanny Rose Calhoun Minnie Eliz. Clinton
Frank A. Hutchins Ida E. Bay Milton R. Hall
Edith Emily Edwards Mary F. Knox Belle Ross Andrews
Nellie T. Seymour Ethel Todd Kittle H. Blair
Margaret Miller Evelyn M. Gill Mamie Newell
Edwin R. Furness Wm. Bates Greenough Albert E. Putnam
Belle Hyde Mary S. Corsee Anna Kate Barkley
Hattie D. Hoppin Walter Cheney Tracey L. Newton
Mary Virginia Miller Louisa S. Patterson George L. Richardson
Nellie F. Jenkins Fannie Edith Blake Abbie E. Bemis
Mary S. Kennedy Alice P. Doughty Carrie E. Olds
Fannie Bell Peck Bertha H. Vaughan Bertha L. Kirby
Philip S. Taylor Harry C. Wood Martha C. Rockwell
Lilian E, Baldwin Frederic Eastman Nellie T. Kitchell
Nelly Chase Gertie L Huntington Wm. L. Ireland
Mary L. Flint Jeannie S. McCreery Nellie Goodhue
Charlie C. Gibson Emma L. Knowlton Lizzie S. Warren
Leila M. Crandon Willard Placide Reid Flavius M. Crocker
Anna Ward Beirne Lay Belle C. French
Grace M'N. Stilwell Isabella McIntosh Mamie E. Koons
Bailey Brown Emily N. Titus Mary Galbraith
Florence M. Easton Mary Eliz. Banning Marion Peers
Grace S. Dewey Celia Frederica Hill Charlie C. Smith
Mary Alice Littlefield Isaac W. Van Buskirk Maggie B. Boardman
Harry L. Ford Minnie W. Garfield Willie C. De Witt
Robt. H. Birdsall Charlotte M. Wayland Edith Wight
Charles Lewis Griffin Alice McClure Platt Florence G. Yeomans
Ned Jones Charles Lawrence Clara Ellen Holloway
Louie and Allie Smith Mary Emerson Norman W. Dederick
Laura B. Trysinger Cora Clare Enos Willie E. Dederick
Albert T. Bixby Carl R. Hinkle Harriet Eames
Frederic Davis Lizzie K. Shelby Louie M. Wilson
Thomas W. Ross Ernest AndrewThearle Carrie Bryant
Louie E. Brown Florence V. Hughes Rosie B. Granger
Warren H. Frantz Annie Pryor Alice P. Baker
Hattie R. Rockwell Clara Louisa Shattuck Harry W. Hogue
Sallie Wilson Harry Chapman Annie R. Still
Mary Shaw Grinnell Anne J. Thomas Sarah F. Worthington
Willard R. Douglass Georgie Bates Bella B. Tuthill
Launcelot M. Berkeley Nellie Kellogg Alice Maud White
Rachel E. Hutchins Lilian M. Chambers Fannie Eaton
Annie Dean Stratton Mamie Grasselli Emma J. Smith
Edward K. Butler, Jr. Fanny Ellenwood Rollin N. Larrabee

J. Willie Hart Alice Austin Eager Gracie H. Greene
Mary H. Wilson Lucia D. Lane Arthur Mitchell
Lizzie Aikens Stone Annie Isabella Earic Bertie Seager
Ernest F. Tabor Addle S. Ketchum Fannie F. Buck
Geo. Waller, Jr. Walter Lyon Jenks Libbie Thomas
Mariquita Serrano Alice E. Clark Clara Woodbury
Arthur Boswell Martin F. Bartlett Hattie C. Allen
Mina Snow Lucy Sherman Mamie E. Gibson
Stella T. Pabodie Austin E. Buckminster Eliz. B. Leggett
Chas. G. Macarda Rebekah G. Henshaw N. F. Pierce
Millie J. Heroy Abbie H. Fairfield Mary Farrar
Edward A. Page Edward G. Keen Eddie E. Slosson
E. May Stedman Anna S. Catlin Josie Sloan
Bessie Hampson Sarah Ashley Harry C. Howland
Grace B. Stearns Geo. Ernest West Hannie and Jimmie
Frank Mabel Webber Alice Maud King Humphrey
Fanny R. Fearon Ella M. Stanger Nellie J. French
Marion Taylor Ralph Blaisdell Esther Hazard Clift
Jamie S. Safford Fred Wilson Mary E. Hale
Fannie H. Smith Edgar Stiles Eldridge Julia C. Cutler
Mary Fitzgerald Lizzie Neuhaus Geo. M'Cauley Reese
Daisy L. White Annie S. C. Bean Lulu D. Greene
Lefferts Knox Aurelius E. Mestro Gertrude D. Savage
Harriet L. Lagowitz Harriet B. Townsend Theodore H. Bartlett
Fanny Chilcott Rufus Story Paret Nellie Fairbairn
Elsie Louise Shaw Susy Dunton Rice Willie W. Earnest
Annie C. Stearns Alden H. Alvord Bertha Colt
Harry H. Bennett Keyes Becker Lilian Hyde
Katie T. Hughes Mary O. Gliddon Lucy W. Spaulding
Wm. Russell Fearon Edith Carpenter Lillie Sherman
Norman Hascall Lemuel C. Willard Edith N. Spear
Ethel A. Littlefield Arnold G. Cameron Georgina Curtis
Emily Ray Gregory Edward F. Weld Lottie M. Sharpe
Marshall R. Pugh Carrie W. Bailey Elmer G. Furbush
Florence E. Benedict Ida Weaver John W. Potter
Mary J. Wellington Frank D. Leffingwell Hannah J. Powell
Cora Mabel Wesley Virgie Castleman Charlie G. Gawthrop
Grace Lee Williams Nannie F. Richardson Gertrude Ross
Fanny Eliza Conner Alfred Mitchell Klyda Richards
Florence Wicklin Charles E. Smith Lucy Huntin
Alma L. Dunlap David C. Gilmore Clarence A. Kemp
Lizzie Meredith E. Gertrude Moore Lunette E. Lamprey
Mary G. Blanchard Thos. H. Curtis Howard G. Thompson
E. B. Hart, Jr. John H. Curtis Willie W. Young
Francis Dana Hattie F. Ford Hattie Bryant
Charles P. Topping Addie B. Smith Arthur H. Brawn
Josie M. Taft Fannie B. Johnston Clarence A. Fowler
Lilian W. Lewis Kate Friend Amy Dexter Sharpe
Gertrude Howe Grace Williamson Alice Pepoon
Kittie L. Campbell John P. Jarvis Helen P. Clark
Mamie H. Smith Sarah Gallett Agnes E. Deane
Edith Wise J. Couch Flanders Jennie B. Cumming
Walter D. Spaulding Emily Isabel Wade Francis A. Gould
Marion F. Manchester Morrison Swanwick Lizzie M. Cone
Anna Ford T. J. Spencer Harry W. Weeks
"Allie" Oliver Field Bertha L. Deane
Lucia D. Leffingwell Lydia Buckingham Mary A. Brush
Ida Diserens Charles F. Bradbury Lucia Lee Bates
Edith S. Warner Margie A. Brewer E. K. Ballard
Howard Vanderbilt Carrie Thompson Harry H. Bemis
Willie-S. Brazelton Willa Hays Etta Beekman
Nellie G. Du Puy Geo. Arthur Allen Mamie N. Parsley
Martha G. Barr S. 1 Smith Marion W. Woodrow
Gertrude E. Tyler Minnie E. Blass Annie H. Escott
Charles Losee Charles C. Rice Winnifred Mitchell
George Webster Emma C. Tryon Ned C. Fellowes
May Brown Katharine L. Green Titan"
H. Rebecca Ashburn Wm. Allen Chapin James Alexander, Jr.
Dollie W. Kirk Jerusha M. Coult Julia C. Walsh
Gracie A. Tripp Maggie Belville Mabel Shippie
A. Bradford Wallace Mamie L. Rowland Frances Julia Parker
Aggie H. Smith Robt. S. La Motte, Jr. Alice P. Winchester
Edward E. Rushmore Percy S. King Edith Frances Foster
Emma Rhodes Oliver Clark Kingsley Robt. H. Laird
Evelyn Matz Grace E. Young Ethel Willits
Lulu B. Monroe Mary Deering Davis Mina Hayes Goddard
Elsie Maud McLaurin Minnie May Curtis Laura G. Jones




Susie S. Brayton Johnnie P. Montross
Clara A. Sawyer Minnie J. Conrad
Walter D. Loring James H. Skinner
Annie C. Lufburrow Alice Robinson
Ida M. Chase Chas. H. Green
Ida Lee Hill > Harold B. Wood
Clara L Welles Lucy Kittredge
Georgia M. Neal Mynna Thurston
H. Rebecca Ashburne Edward H. Lee
Maggie L. Hunt Claire Beach
May L. Hersey Willie W. Jones
Julia Locke Dennett Frankie Maxwell
Isabel H. Bend Ellie Stilwell
Kittie R. Beach Ed. H. Smith
Kate I. Arnout Fred Faville
Anna C. Felton Minnie C. Adams
Fannie Waterhouse Fred M. Jones
Helen H. Galloupe Grace D. Baldwin
Bessie M'Elhinny Alice W. Bailey
Newcomb G. Halsey Ella Lawrence
Laura E. Benjamin Ellen Sabina Howie
May Finley Jennie A. Smith
Annie Gibbons Olive B. Morrison
Carrie W. Fellowes Katie A. Howe
Emily Getty Herbert W. Shute
May H. Rogers Virginia Lee Benson
Sallie Fox Alice L. Hull
Lester A. Boyce Naomi Carter
Arthur L. Giblin Annie R. Paul
Herbert A. Howland John B. Townsend
Charles D. Pickard Cora A. Lock
Arthur Remington Helen Marshall

Willie L. Macauley
Minnie Warner
Mary R. Boardman
Carrie E. Bartlett
Philip S. Rust
Willie F. Bailey
Nellie Eichholtz
Wm. A. Henry
John C. Chandler
Percy Chase
Minnie Mosher
Fred B. Murphy
Mamie L. Lane
Willie A. Brown
David H. Shipman
Charlotte C. B. Hatch
Annie F. Popham
Katie Haynes
Marion G. Lee
Louisa Anderson
Hattie F. Roberts
Louise D. Ferriss
Howard F. Boardman
Mary K. Metcalf
Hannah B. Rollins
G. Eustis Potts
Josie Hartman
Marion L. Works
Kittie L. Brainerd
Edith L Robinson
Alice T. Learned
Fred H. Day

John W. Wells
Eleazar B. Homer
Hattie Winfield
Amy H. Franklin
Bertha Lee
Mary Grenville
Alice Victoria Blake
Mary A. Manley
Mary C. Smith
Mary Shattuck
Edmund D. Howe
Louise H. Norton
Katie E. Gilligan
Susan E. Sutherland
Lizzie A. Milligan
Fred R Kimball
Abbe Bailey James
Bettle Chancellor
Frank H. Wells
Harry P. King
Willie Alrich
Anna C. West
Anna M. Reed
Mabel S. Fay
Louisa B. Yeomans
Fred Erburn Keay
A. Blanche Nichols
J. Florence Holden
Emily D. Garretson
Lulu Clinton
James D. Davis
Alice.C. Vose

Hattie T. Bush Carrie Chancellor
Nannie Day Meech Sadie W. Alvord
Clara deRussyNichols Belle B Roberts
Hiram B. Morse James Laubri
Kate L. Dana Alice M. Getchell
Nannie G. Coulter Virginia Macmurphy
Arthur Stockin Grayson G. Knapp
Nellie Washburne Minnie Howard
Freddie Buell May C. Burtsell
Marion De Forest Arthur P. Hosmer
Thomas Neal Pace Helen H Carter
Emmeline A. Mac- Laura Lyon
Knight Herbert F. Rising
Evie C. Richardson Herbert R. Palmer
Harry H. Newcomb Helen A. Greeley
Tazie Tupper May Denman
Emma Hanford Wm. L. Clark
Lulu M. French Claudine G. Rowan
Arthur E. Gazeley Mary Morgan Smith
Leila Beare Fred H. Adams
Mary C. Deane Emma Elliott
L. D. Gaston William B. & Courte-
Kittie G. Brewster nay H. Fenn
John Scott Sayre Constance Furman
Mattie Wayne Sidney M. Powell
Willie Carter Leslie L. Ashley
Clara Morehouse Anna J. Conkling
Madge Reynolds Amie Chubb
Abba L. Briggs Arthur F. Stone
Henry Dakin Clara Louisa Beesley,
Constance Hallett England
Wm. O. Hand Carrie Drey


OUR frontispiece this month will, we think, be sure to interest you.
All of these queer head-dresses are worn at the present day. When
you travel about among the old cities and towns of Europe, you will
find just such as these in the market-places, where the old women,
who still cling to old fashions, assemble on market-days from all parts
of the country with their vegetables and poultry. Or, when you step
into some grand cathedral you may see praying in dark comers peas-
ants with strange, high caps, such as that in the middle of the page.
This woman was at prayer in the Cathedral of Coutance, little
dreaming that our artist was taking her coiffure. Then, on the Cor-
nice road, you will see hats like that at the top of the picture worn by
all the brown, dark-eyed girls. The four or five queerest of all (ex-
cept the one that looks like an inverted flower-basket, which is seen
in Magon) are to be met in Brittany in those little towns near the
sea. There the fashions never change, and the same high, starched
cap may be worn by many generations.
Do you see the two German women on the right hand side of our
page? These country women have on their holiday clothes, and
are from the depths of the Black Forest. How different they look
from the smiling Spanish lady at the bottom of the page! She needs
no hat. The graceful black mantilla fastened to her comb, and the
red rose coquettishly placed in her black hair, are quite enough for her.

St. Helena, Cal.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I will send you some violets from my gar-
den. This is a new home, and much pleasanter than my old home in
Massachusetts, but I miss my little friends very much. We have
many pretty flowers in our garden; the wild flowers here are begin-
nin to bloom, too. I wish all the ministers preached as interesting
sermons as Jack-in-the-Pulpit does.-Your loving valentine,

Chelsea, London, Great Britain.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: Will you allow a little English girl,
eleven yearn of na.e to try for one of your prizes offered in the
February Ij :,: Papa takes the magazine in for Amy and me,

and baby is very fond of looking at the pictures. Papa says it is the
best book for little girls in the world. Amy is nine years old, and
goes with me to Whitelands College School, where there are over 200
scholars, all girls. Papa : .: -.. city every day. In summer he
goes by steamer down -i-..: r I.-, .:, and in winter he goes by the
Underground Railway. He comes home very late at night now,
because he goes to the House of Commons and writes down the
speeches of members of Parliament. But papa writes books as
well, and he gives us children a copy of every book of his pub-
lished. The last was called "Dick Whittington;" it was such a
thick book, with plenty of pictures We live not far from the great
Thomas Carlyle, and I often see him. One day I was wheeling
baby in the perambulator, and Amy was with me, and we met Car-
lyle. He stopped us, patted baby on her cheeks, and said, 'Well,
Tommy, how are you?" So we call her "Tommy" now, although
she is a little girl, named Lena. Mr. Carlyle looks such an old
man I he stoops as he walks, and his hair is nearly white.-I remain,
dear ST. NICHOLAS, your loving child, LILY VERNON MARSH.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I want to put a question through you to
the Bird-defenders. It is this. Would you see the army of Bird-
defenders thinned in numbers and yet stand by without raising a
finger to help it? P-. T-. acted basely and treacherously in
this matter, and I think ST. NICHOLAS did quite right in not giving
him an answer. Long live the Bird-defenders, and down with those
who oppose them --Yours truly, J. B. THOMPSON.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I send you a copy (written with my "type-
writer") of some Home Rules," which I saw in a western paper.
I am trying to follow these rules myself, and I have not violated one
of them as yet. I intend to keep them as long as I can, and I think
that if the readers of ST. NICHOLAS were to do the same, everybody
would regard them as very well-behaved children.-Yours respect-
fully, CHARLES A. R. (aged 12).
I. Shut every door after you, and without slamming it.
2. Never call to persons upstairs, or in the next room; if you wish
to speak to them, go quietly to them.




3. Always speak kindly and politely to the servants, if you would
have them do the same to you.
4. Tell of your own faults and misdoings, not those of your broth-
ers and sisters.
5. Carefully clean the mud or snow off your boots before entering
the house.
6. Be prompt at every meal hour.
7. Never sit down at the table, or in the parlor, with dirty hands
or tumbled hair.
8. Never interrupt any conversation, but wait your turn to speak.
9. Never reserve your good manners for company, but be equally
polite at home and abroad.
to. Let yourfirst, last, and best confidant be your mother.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your description of the Fighting Fleet
you had your deck above the guns; how can you reach the guns to
fire them off? A. W.
It is not necessary to reach the guns on the ship, as they are merely
little sticks, and cannot be fired. Each stick represents two cannon,
when passed through the vessel from port-hole to port-hole, and it
would not do to have them above the deck, where they would be
seen. The firing is done by the guns described in the first part of
the article.

Washington, D. C.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you a Latin sentence for the boys
and girls to translate: SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA ROTAS." As
you can see, it spells backward and forward the same; and, besides,
the first letters of each word spell the first word, the second letters
the second, and so on.-Yours respectfully,

Eastford, Ct.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Tell the Little Schoolma'am I wish she was
my truly schoolma'am. We take the ST. NICHOLAS, and I like it very
much. I was seven years old the 8th of last January. My name is
Lizzie Kingsley Jones. I go to school in the warm weather. I can
print some, but my mamma has to write for me. I can spell all the
words in that funny Short Tale," and mamma has written it from
my printing, and I send it to you. I live in a white house, on
a hill, and we have a great, big elm-tree in our yard. I have one
brother and two sisters. My papa is a minister, and he reads the ST.
NICHOLAS, too. I can't think of anything more to say-so, good by.

A PRACTICAL reader thus rebukes Dr. Eggleston's fancy touches in
the Hoosier Fairy story in our January number:
Portland, Maine.
EDITORS OF ST. NICHOLAS: In reading in your January number
"Bobby and the Key-hole," by Edward Eggleston, I should like to
'-r--t -, ci't-i e I find the common names given by him
Sj: ......r.; :"..;. belong to different birds. Samuels' "Birds
. .1 f..-'i ... i .:., p. 405, Botaurts lentiginosus, the bittern-
stake-driver. He also gives, on page 406, Buztorides virescets, the
green heron-fly-u.Af-te-creek. I have in my collection mounted
specimens of each. The green heron measures I. c by x.32 inches;
the bittern measures 1.51 by 2.xo inches. R. R. LONGFELLOW.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I like your book, and I like Eight Cousins"
ever so much. "The Boy Emigrants" is splendid; I don't like Tom
a bit, but I like all the rest.-Your affectionate reader,

WE are sure that all our readers, young ot old, will welcome with
delight our new serial, translated by Mr. T. B. Aldrich, and its fas-
cinating illustrations by Mr. Hopkins. The latter, indeed, are such
gems in their way, and show so clearly to what wonderful expressive-
ness the art of silhouette drawing may be brought, that a word or
two about the history and meaning of the term will probably interest
The word silhouette is really a proper name. Etienne de Silhouette
was the French Minister of Finance in r759. He managed affairs
with the strictest economy, and, as the people followed his example,
all the fashions became plain and simple. All adornments and trim-
mings that could possibly be spared were given up, and to dress
cheaply was the approved "style." As the system of economy pro-
gressed, it soon included portraits, drawn in outline, and filled up
with India ink, instead of being painted in detail. And as fashions
must have names, these new ones were called a la Silhouette, in
honor of the economic minister. But the term has narrowed, as the

fashions have changed, since that time, and is not now applied to any-
thing but the little black pictures with which we are familiar, and of
which Mr. Hopkins has given us excellent and beautiful specimens.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an "old boy," but, for all that, very
fond of you and of little folks; and, as I have often interested myself
in their questions addressed to you, I want now to ask those same
little folks to help me.
The other day a friend came to me and asked where he could find
the line-" Consistency, thou art a jewel! "
I told him, in Shakespeare, but he said he could n't find it there;
so then I looked myself, and finally consulted Clark's Concordance,
resulting in my being convinced that Shakespeare never wrote the
sentence. Then I referred to Allibone's Dictionary, and to Familiar
Quotations, and to ever so many other books, and I can't find what
I want! Everybody that I ask about it says at once, "Shake-
speare." and passes on, with contempt for my ignorance; but it
i n't there, nor in Pope, nor Byron, nor-nor-anywhere, I begin to
think; and yet I hear it used as a quotation so often, that it seems
as if there must be authority for it somewhere.
There is my trouble; and if some of your bright little friends will
help me out, I shall thank them very much. H. E. H.

A. L. R's drawings are very good indeed for a girl of twelve, but
the young artist must practice for some time yet before she can draw
well enough to have her pictures engraved. But if she studies and
practices, she will be surprised to see how she will improve, as she
grows older.

Agency City, Wapello Co., Iowa.
EDITOR OF ST. NICHOLAS: Will not "Jack" or somebody answer
the following queries?
,1 How was the ceremony of wedding the Adriatic to Venice per-
formed by the Pope ?
2. Was the same ring used on each occasion ?
3. Did the Pope furnish the ring?
"Fast Friends," "The Young Surveyor," and "The Story of
Seven" have been read in my school to eager listeners.-Respect-
fully yours, G. G. SAMPSON

London, Eng., 27 Ovington Square, Brompton, S. IW.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I enclose you "a short tale" corrected,
and hope that you will find that it is really correct. It has been an
amusement to me tl.;: .i, :-, i,.l roggy afternoon. It is what the
English people call' I:.: r'I '%.: tried to go out this morning, but
found we could hardly see our hands before our faces, and the smoke
nearly strangled us. You could not see people until they were close
upon you, and every passer by had on a respirator, or was holding
a handkerchief to his mouth. Men had to get out of their cabs and
wagons and lead their horses, shouting all the time to let each other
know where they where. This evening the house is full of the smoke
and fog. I assure you that I shall be glad to get back to the blue
skies of my native land.-I remain, yours truly,

OUR readers will excuse the absence of the Young Contributors'
Department" this month when they learn that it was omitted to make
room for Mrs. Diaz's lively parlor-play, May-Day Indoors."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We had a hen once with a brood of young
chickens; and one day a hawk got hold of one of the chickens, and
the hen got on his back before he could fly away, and pecked him
so hard that he had to let the chicken go. ARTHUR S. HODGES.

Fort Ripley, Minn.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have just straightened your misspelled
story. Mamma excused me from my other lessons to give me time
to write it. She says it has been an excellent spelling and writing
lesson for me. You have come to our house every month since you
were born, and we like you better as you grow older.
My papa is an officer in the regular army, and so we live in a fort,
and seldom see any citizens. I do not think that many of your read-
ers would like it, as there is no school to attend. It is very cold here
in the winter, but in the summer the woods and prairies abound in
beautiful flowers and the lakes, which are numerous, are filled with
fish.' Papa keeps a hunting dog of whom I am very fond; his name
is Dash; he is just splendid to point prairie chickens, which are very
nice to eat.
When we go out to any place from the fort, we ride after four mules
in a b;i rhumn canvas-covered wagon,
I ,Ii .ril r. more at present, but perhaps will tell you more about
the soldiers another time if you would like to hear it.




New Orleans.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you or sent you any
answers to your pleasant riddles, although I have found out a good
many of them; so I thought 1 would send you answers to some of
those in the February number. I think our ST. NICHOLAS is splen-
did, and I am not the only one who thinks so. I read all the stories,
and I like Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and Miss Alcott's stories best of all.
Long life and success to dear old ST. NICHOLAs.-Your loving reader,

Bloomfield, Iowa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like the ST. NICHOLAS so much I can
scarcely wait till it comes. I have a parrot my uncle brought me
from South America. She talks Portuguese.-I am seven years old.

30 W. 58th Street, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to write and thank you for the
pleasant entertainment you afford me every month. I think it would
interest some of the girls and boys if I told them about the jewel-box
of Catharine de Medicis, which is now in the Hotel de Cluny in Paris,
. iq.... ..1 ....- :.r .lal. It is a large, square, steel box, about
-.... : .I-, ....... .1.i the sides are beautifully carved, but the
carving on the lid is the most wonderful, representing a bed of roses,
each leaf and petal being distinct. In the middle of this bed, under
a tiny rose leaf, is a hidden spring: when this leaf is pressed it slowly
moves aside, disclosing a lock which has to be opened with two curi-
ously carved keys. All the old plates which Pallissy made, with
curious figures on them, are to be seen .in this same Hotel de '_i,.
also the golden rose which the Pope presented to Catharine r;: i.!.. -1.
cis (when a French King was crowned the Pope almost always sent
a golden rose), and a great many other interesting things.

Jolon, Monterey Co.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a girl fourteen years old; I weigh
only seventy-one pounds, so you can see by that I am very small for
one of my age. I live one mile from the Post-office. Mypapa has a
ranch of eight hundred acres; he has a thousand head of sheep. I
like very much to go in the evening with mamma and watch the little
lambs play. I do not go to school; it is three miles to the school-
house. I do not like to live in the country; I like best to live in the
city. I have two brothers, but no sister.-From your friend,

Sandwich, Ill.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: A few evenings ago, at the tea-table, my
papa told me that he would continue to take ST. NICHOLAS for me
only on one condition, and that is that I should write a letter which
the editor of ST. NICHOLAS will think good enough to print in the
"Letter-Box." The idea of losing ST. NICHOLAS almost took my
breath away, and quite took my appetite, although I was so hungry
a minute before. I have taken ST. NICHOLAS from the very first.
The first piece I ever spoke at a Sabbath-school concert was selected
from ST. NICHOLAS, called "A Cloud Picture."
My papa says he will do anything in his power that will improve
my mind, he is so anxious to have me educated. I have Rhymes
and Jingles," by the dear editor of ST. NICHOLAS. I am studying
Latin, and hope soon to be able to translate the interesting Latin
stories in ST. NICHOLAS.
Now I anxiously await your decision whether I shall keep ST.

Sacramento, Cal.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : In a late number I find a communica-
tion from E. S. and A. M. F., asking how to keep cats away from
birds. I have a canary. One day my pet cat was found trying to
get on the table where the bird was. My mother caught the cat be-
fore it could get away, and rubbed its nose against the bars of the
cage. Since then it has kept away from the cages. It will even run
if you take the cage and go toward it. I have taken the ST. NICHO-
LAs since it began and think it is splendid. I take it of a book-store.
-Yours truly, WILLIE L. BROOKS.

Waupun, Wisconsin.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Magic and I take the ST. NICHOLAS, and
like it very much. We have just received our March number. We
live in a different place from most little girls. My father is the
Warden of the Wisconsin State Prison, which is in the town of
Waupun, 68 miles from Milwaukee, the largest city in Wisconsin.
We have our private rooms, which are very rlc^ ot I would like
to describe the prison better, but I cannot f 'r- is one thing
which is very pleasant for the prisoners. Papa has two or three
times had concerts, or something of that kind, for them. The
people of Waupun have given them two or three concerts. So the
prisoners have organized a concert club for singing. There are some
very fine singers here; two or three play the violin very nicely, and
one plays the flute, and two the organ. They sing some very pretty
songs. One of their solos is "Homeless and Motherless." Itis an
old song, but it is sung so sweetly; and a great many of their other

songs are very nice. There is one man here who is a splendid
singer; his voice seems loud enough to fill two or three halls of that
size, but it does not sound harsh. He can sing Negro songs nicely,
and then sings beautifully when he sings a sad song. Is n't that
queer for prisoners? They have a chapel for the prsoners, and a
chaplain officiates every Sunday, and that is where they practice.
Some other time I will try and describe the prison as well as a girl
of twelve can.
Please publish this in the Letter-Box, and tell me whether girls can
be Bird-defenders. LAURA G. SMITu.

Yes, indeed, girls can be Bird-defenders. There are many hun-
dreds of them in our ranks already.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: There are two things I would like to tell
you about. One is beef-tea. I read your recipe in the March num-
er of the ST. NICHOLAS, and, as my mamma makes beef-tea in a
different way, I thought, perhaps, the girls would like to have her
recipe too. We have a very dear r. 1 r ..I ;,.. : us, who has
been very sick, and has needed a g: ., i. .1 1.- ,'.:, and this is
the way we make it for her: We cut the meat in small pieces, put it
in an earthen bowl, cover with water, and let it stand two hours and
a half Then set it on the stove, and let it boil gently until the
meat looks like rags. Then remove it, and let it cool; when cool,
strain through a fine strainer. Salt to taste. We warm it as the patient
needs it. A very pleasant change can be made by putting in a little
celery or parsley, while the tea is boiling. My mamma says it is
very important to use an earthen vessel. Our friend, who has tasted
beef-tea made in both ways, says she prefers ours, as she does not
tire of it so quickly.-Yours truly, M. G. YOUNG.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : A dear friend of ours has two birds, and I
think they are the prettiest canaries I ever saw. One of them (Dot
by name) is a cross between a goldfinch and a canary, and he sings
beautifully; besides which, he is the cleanest little fellow imaginable.
He loves his bath, and splashes the water about at a great rate, much
to the disgust of little Goldie, who is a pure yellow canary, and
whose cage stands just below Dot's. It is about Goldie I wish espe-
cially to ask your help.
We cannot make him take a bath. Once, in a ...: l.:. 1... ti
stand on the edge of his tub, shut his eyes, dip his u,'l : ..
and make a tremendous fluttering; but not a drop of water gets on
him, except on the tip end of his beak. The consequence is, that his
feet are all clogged and look i.or:bly, and his nails are so long that
he often tumbles off his perch, and gets his feet caught in the wires
of his cage; and, too, his feathers, instead of looking smooth and
bright, like Dot's, are rough-looking. We consulted a book on
canaries, which said we must "catch the bird and hold him in tepid
water; but, when we tried to catch him, the poor little fellow nearly
died of fright, and it was pitiful to see his terror and to hear him cry;
and Dot was so afraid we were going to hurt his little companion,
that he got terribly excited too.
Now, will you please ask if any of the Bird-defenders, or other
readers of the ST NICHOLAS, can tell us what to do for our little
pet? We have not the heart to terrify him again by trying to catch
him, and we don't like to see him looking so queer. He is a sweet
singer, but we are afraid he is getting some disease.
We would be very much obliged for any suggestions on the sub-
ject, and, also, to our dear ST. NICHOLAS, for obtaining them for us.
-Your sincere admirer, and devoted reader,

Amboy, III
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have taken you ever since you have been
published, and I think I love you better than almost anything else.
And my father and mother are just as interested in you as I am.
I heard mother say to a lady that she "could utilize every word
in the magazine." I looked in the dictionary to see what utilize
meant; and I guess she can, for she always says the reading mat-
ter isfirst-class; not only instructive to young folks, but to old folks
too; and the illustrations are also veryfine." I was thirteen years old
last Monday. I like J. T. Trowbridge's stories best, but I am par-
ticularlyinterested in "The Young Emigrants," as I live in Lee
County, Illinois, and only three miles from Lee Center. My mother
said "there was no sugar grove near there," but I went to one of
the old settlers and found out that there was. I have tried to correct
the "Short Tail," and send it with this letter, and hope to be one of
the lucky ones. Our family are all Biri.-d"f-?J-r-. also cat and dog
defenders. My mother picks up and : i .11 the stray cats in
the neighborhood, so our house is quite an asylum for cats. If this
is worth printing, I hope you wi I put it in "The Letter-Box."-Ever
your admirer, V. CARTER.

The promised account of "A Frog and his Neighbors was un-
avoidably crowded out of this number, but will appear next month.





THE initials form the name of an American general, and the finals
that of an English general, of the Revolutionary war. i. A low,
dwarf tree. 2. A cap, or other head-covering. 3. A domestic animal.
4. A lake in the Eastern States. 5. An Oriental city. 6. A beautiful
flower. 7. A flag or banner. 8. A kind ofgun. IsoLA.

WHOLE, I am an animal. Change my head, and I am what we
often step on in entering a house. Change again, I am what boys
often use Change once more, and I am the past tense of a verb.
; : to a nickname. Change again'to an article of apparel.
..:..--,.. to a plump condition. And, finally, change my head
and make a light, quick blow. NIMBLE DICK.

(Fill the first blank with a certain word, and the second with the same
word, beheaded.)
OH, what pretty little -
Every one about Lhiee -
Every one rich music -
With a throat full of sweet -
Song. J. p. B.
EACH sentence refers to a word of two syllables. Find the first
word, drop the first syllable and add one to the second, to form the
second word. Then drop the first syllable of the word thus made,
and add another, to form the third word, and so keep on until you
have all the required words.
r. To enrage A kingdom of Europe. 3. A place of sale. 4. A
volcanic mountain. 5. Relating to ships. 6. A vale. 7. A city of
the Netherlands. 8. Relating to the teeth. 9. A claw. io. An
assault. Ix. A kind of seat. CYRIL DEANE.

(Good advice.)

i./f --

lIi I

.'/'It '' "",

A BOY put the o, i, 12, 13 of the fruit 14, 6 his i, 2, 3, 4, so
he would not 8, 5, 05 it against a stone, as he wanted to show it to
that wise little fellow, I, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, g, 09, so, 2, 3,I '4, 05.

I. BEHEAD a mocker, and leave a money-chest; again, and leave
to present. a. Behead an act of making ready, and leave atonement.
3. Behead a word meaning to weary or vex, and leave a mineral. 4.
Behead a boy's name, and leave part of the body. c. D.


r. SYNCOPATE a bird, and leave a domestic animal. 2. Syncopate
an article of food, and leave an article of furniture. 3. Syncopate a
vehicle, and leave a domestic animal. 4. Syncopate a coin, and leave
a stamp. 5. Syncopate distress, and leave a household utensil. 6.
Syncopate a water-craft, and leave a small animal. 7, Syncopate
a burden, and leave a boy. 8. Syncopate an article of food, and leave
an ornament. 9. Syncopate a machine for measuring time, and leave
a fowl. o1. Syncopate an article of clothing, and leave a dwelling.
1. IN time, not in day;
2. In earn, not in pay;
3. In leg, not in arm;
4. In kill, not in harm;
5. In Ada, not in Sue;
6. In Nancy, not in Lou;
7. In Druid, not in Jew.
These, two countries bring to view.
c, D.
i. IT was real armor I saw. 2. It is so long to wait for a letter. 3.
Otto led Oliver through the woods. 4. Did you crave Nora's par-
don ? 5. I hope rash feelings will not occur. 6. Meet me in the lane
at nine o'clock. 7. Come, gather the fruit at once. 8. This apple is
from a rare tree. 9. I miss Jane very much. Io. It is a poor oar, I
imagine. Concealed in the above sentences are words having the
following significations: i. To frighten. 2. A song by one person.
3. A place famous for sword-blades. 4. A bird. 5. Musical dramas.
6. Clean. 7. The last. 8. To injure. 9. A girl's name. to. A
loud noise. These words, written down in order, will form a double
acrostic, the initials of which name a person who looks aloft." The
finals form an appropriate anagram of the same. CYRIL DEANE.

MY first may be filled with good cheer or great woe;
My second's pressed oft by "light, fantastic toe; "
My whole is a favorite haunt of the mouse,
And a very convenient place in a house. L. w. H.








THE central words of the two puzzles, read together, make one
First diamond: i. In bread and butter. a. Wicked. 3. A kind
of staff or truncheon. 4. An animal. 5. In morning and evening.
Second diamond: I. In fairies and spirits. 2. Always on foot. 3.
A word meaning red. 4. An edible. 5. In pies and cakes.
Connected: A town in Louisiana CYRIL DEANE.

i. A SINGING bird. 2. A tropical plant. 3. A beautiful flower.
4. Part of a ship. ISOLA.

I. A CONSONANT A covering for the head. 3. A country. 4.
A useful article. 5. A consonant, c. G. B.


INITIALS and finals form the names of two of Scotland's most famous
men. I. A periodical issued by Dr. Johnson. 2. The name of sev-
eral German kings. 3. A strait in Asia. 4. One of England's noted
advocates. 5. A famous Dutch admiral. 6. One of the early govern-
ors of Connecticut. 7. A hollow iron ball. 8. The man who pur-
chased Maine for Massachusetts. 9. A French cardinal. o1. Initial
letters of one of the United States. sI. A humorous American poet.
L. W. H.


A- L -E
P-L 0 V E R-S
S- T E A -L
A- R -T
BEHEADED RHYMES.- Clover, lover, over. Glowing, lowing,
owing. Spinning, pinning, inning. Flashes, lashes, ashes. Women,
omen, men. Smother, mother, other.
REBUs.- "Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait."
MusIcaL ANECDOTE.-IL Note. 2. Crotchet. 3. Staff. 4. Sharp.
5. Turn. 6. Bar. 7. Measure. 8. Chord (cord). 9. Brace. io. Hold.
Ii. Flat. 12. Time. 13. Sharp. 14. Scale. 15. Run. 16. Natural.

17. Tie. 18. Slur. 19. Bass (base). o2. Bar. 2x. Hold. 22. Shake.
23. Rest. 24. Close. 25. Signature.
B -ea- M
E --l-- A
H -ill- S
E --le- T
M -ari- 0
O -d- D
H -ele- N
PICTURE PUZZLE.-If in excellency you excel,
And any envy you,
B1e easy, and essay to be
Benign and honest, too.
Oh, essay to extenuate,
SOh, essay to excuse,
Oh, pause before you deviate,
Oh, naught save kindness use !
EASY ENIGMA. -Miser-able. Miserable.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN A~ARCH NUMBsR were received, previous to MARCH i8, from Silas H. Elliott, Eugene Lockwood, Lillie M.
Ieath, Charlie James, W. H. P., Edgar G. Miller, Jr., John Has2ltine, William Henry Rowe, Ray Marsh, Louie E. Hill, Brainerd P
Emery, "Cadiz," R. H. Downman, Jr., Daisy Hillard, Howard '..1.. rancis H. Williams, Arthur Stuart Walcott, Marion Abbot,
Mlaudie Paddon, Henry L. Bailey, Sargent P. Maslin, Golden i. ,:.e .1. Graham, Prentiss Maslin, Willie Dibblee, Arthur Hodges,
Agnes Hodges, Cora Hodges, Harry Dike, Mary S. Henry, Tom Collins," Mary C. Goodwin, L. D. Schaeffer, Emma Elliott, John Hink-
ley, Henry 0. Fetter, Florence Dow, C. W. Hornor, Jr., "Roderick," Edward Roome, G. Brady, Robert S. Parsons, "Lulie," John C.
Robertson, Eleanor N. Hughes.