• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Introduction
 The woodman and the sandal-tre...
 Blue coat boys
 Tommy Hopper's choice
 Little jingles
 An old-fashioned hat
 The zebra
 By the sea
 Oh, no!
 What the worm could and did do
 Passenger pigeons
 Grandmother
 In the tree-top
 The enchanted prince
 The Farallone islanders
 Hermann, the defender of Germa...
 What might have been expected
 Anna's doll
 An Indian mother
 Ya-Sek
 Willy by the brook
 For little folks
 A common mistake
 Which is caught?
 A visit to a bee-hive
 Under the light-house
 A law that could not be broken
 German story
 Who wrote the "Arabian nights?...
 The story of Tom Gip
 Books for boys and girls
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The riddle box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas.
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00002
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: November 1873
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature
Literature for Children
 Notes
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00002
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

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Introduction
        Page 1
    The woodman and the sandal-tree
        Page 2
    Blue coat boys
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Tommy Hopper's choice
        Page 4
        Page 5
    Little jingles
        Page 6
    An old-fashioned hat
        Page 7
        Page 8
    The zebra
        Page 9
    By the sea
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Oh, no!
        Page 13
    What the worm could and did do
        Page 13
        Page 14
    Passenger pigeons
        Page 15
    Grandmother
        Page 16
    In the tree-top
        Page 17
    The enchanted prince
        Page 18
        Page 19
    The Farallone islanders
        Page 20
        Page 21
    Hermann, the defender of Germany
        Page 22
        Page 23
    What might have been expected
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    Anna's doll
        Page 28
    An Indian mother
        Page 29
    Ya-Sek
        Page 30
    Willy by the brook
        Page 31
        Page 32
    For little folks
        Page 33
    A common mistake
        Page 34
    Which is caught?
        Page 34
    A visit to a bee-hive
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
    Under the light-house
        Page 37
        Page 38
    A law that could not be broken
        Page 39
        Page 40
    German story
        Page 41
    Who wrote the "Arabian nights?"
        Page 42
        Page 43
    The story of Tom Gip
        Page 44
    Books for boys and girls
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 46
    The riddle box
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text
















I


No .



IV
tb




mj













ST. NICHOLAS.



VoL. I. NOVEMBER, 1873. No. i.


DEAR GIRL AND BOY-No, there are more! Here they come! There they
come! Near by, far off, everywhere, we can see them,-coming by dozens, hundreds,
thousands, troops upon troops, and all pressing closer and closer.
Why, this is delightful. And how fresh, eager, and hearty you look! Glad to
see us? Thank you. The same to you, and many happy returns. Well, well, we might
have known it; we did know it, but we hardly thought it would be like this. Hurrah
for dear St. Nicholas! He has made us friends in a moment.
And no wonder. Is he not the boys' and girls' own Saint, the especial friend of
young Americans? That he is. And isn't he the acknowledged patron Saint of New
York-one of America's great cities-dear to old hearts as well as young? Didn't his
image stand at the prow of the first emigrant ship that ever sailed into New York Bay,
and wasn't the very first church the New Yorkers built named after him? Didn't he
come over with the Dutch, ever so long ago, and take up his abode here? Certainly.
And, what is more, isn't he the kindest, best, and jolliest old dear that ever was known ?
Certainly, again.
Another thing you know: He is fair and square. He comes when he says he
will. At the very outset he decided to visit our boys and girls every Christmas; and
doesn't he do it? Yes;'and that makes it all the harder when trouble or poverty shuts
him out at that time from any of the children.
Dear old St. Nicholas, with his pet names-Santa Claus, Kriss Kringle, St.
Nick, and we don't know how many others. What a host of wonderful stories are told
about him-you may hear them all some day-and what loving, cheering thoughts
follow in his train! He has attended so many heart-warmings in his long, long day
that he glows without knowing it, and, coming as he does, at a holy time, casts a light
upon the children's faces that lasts from year to year.
Never to dim this light, young friends, by word or token, to make it even
brighter, when we can, in good, pleasant, helpful ways, and to clear away clouds that
sometimes shut it out, is our aim and prayer.







THIE \VOODMAN AND THE SANDAL-TREE.


THE WOODMAN AND THE SANDAL-TREE.
(From the Spanish.)

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Beside a sandal-tree a woodman stood
And swung the axe, and, as the strokes were laid
Upon the fragrant trunk, the generous wood,
With its own sweets, perfumed the cruel blade.
Go, then, and do the like; a soul endued
With.light from heaven, a nature pure and great,
Will place its highest bliss in doing good,
And good for evil give, and love for hate.







BLUE COAT BOYS.

BY VIRGINIA C. PHOEBUS.


THE blue coat boys were not United States sol-
diers in uniform, not any soldiers in uniform, but
boys of all ages between seven and fifteen, and this
was the uniform they wore,-a blue coat or tunic,
bright yellow petticoat, yellow stockings, a red
leather girdle about the waist, a white cravat about
the neck, and on the head a little round, black
woolen cap.
How many of these boys were there? where did
they live? why did they wear so strange a dress?
They lived in London, about one hundred years
ago, dozens upon dozens of them; they were all
members of a school known as Christ's Hospital (a
strange name for a school), and their peculiar dress
was the regular school uniform; they were charity
scholars, brought from poor and respectable homes,
to receive as good advantages as England could
give even to her wealthier sons, and to be fitted
for entrance into the highest universities of the
land. The school still exists in London, and blue
coat boys may be seen there to-day, but those of
whom I am going to tell you belonged to the old
time.
The little seven-year-old boy, fresh from the
home-love and petting, here found himself sur-
rounded by a multitude of strange faces, number-
ing five and six hundred, sometimes as many as
eight hundred. How awkward it must have
seemed to him at first, when even the familiar


garments which mother's hands had made must
be laid aside and the quaint school garb assumed!
I can fancy such a one, going over the great build-
ing for the first time, accompanied by an older
scholar, who would explain to him the wonders of
the place.
He would hear how this old building had once
been the home of the Grey Friars, an order of
monks, whose uniform was of the color indicated
by their name-he would be shown into the boys'
bed-rooms, and told that these were once monks'
cloisters, where they counted their beads and said
their prayers and did their penances. At certain
places he would be stopped to listen to fright-
ful details of the scenes that had been enacted
just there, among these old monks in the ages
gone by.
Then he would be told how, after the monks had
been suppressed, the boy-king, Edward VI (whose
memory all little students of English history learn
to love), had, just a few months before his death,
established in these extensive old buildings, this
school for boys; he would have his attention drawn
to the brass medal-like buckle which fastened his
red leather girdle; and the boy-face on it would
always thereafter be associated in his mind with
Edward VI, whom it was intended to represent.
He would be taught to distinguish the monitors by
their badge. Guess what this monitor's badge was.


[NOVEMBER,







THIE \VOODMAN AND THE SANDAL-TREE.


THE WOODMAN AND THE SANDAL-TREE.
(From the Spanish.)

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Beside a sandal-tree a woodman stood
And swung the axe, and, as the strokes were laid
Upon the fragrant trunk, the generous wood,
With its own sweets, perfumed the cruel blade.
Go, then, and do the like; a soul endued
With.light from heaven, a nature pure and great,
Will place its highest bliss in doing good,
And good for evil give, and love for hate.







BLUE COAT BOYS.

BY VIRGINIA C. PHOEBUS.


THE blue coat boys were not United States sol-
diers in uniform, not any soldiers in uniform, but
boys of all ages between seven and fifteen, and this
was the uniform they wore,-a blue coat or tunic,
bright yellow petticoat, yellow stockings, a red
leather girdle about the waist, a white cravat about
the neck, and on the head a little round, black
woolen cap.
How many of these boys were there? where did
they live? why did they wear so strange a dress?
They lived in London, about one hundred years
ago, dozens upon dozens of them; they were all
members of a school known as Christ's Hospital (a
strange name for a school), and their peculiar dress
was the regular school uniform; they were charity
scholars, brought from poor and respectable homes,
to receive as good advantages as England could
give even to her wealthier sons, and to be fitted
for entrance into the highest universities of the
land. The school still exists in London, and blue
coat boys may be seen there to-day, but those of
whom I am going to tell you belonged to the old
time.
The little seven-year-old boy, fresh from the
home-love and petting, here found himself sur-
rounded by a multitude of strange faces, number-
ing five and six hundred, sometimes as many as
eight hundred. How awkward it must have
seemed to him at first, when even the familiar


garments which mother's hands had made must
be laid aside and the quaint school garb assumed!
I can fancy such a one, going over the great build-
ing for the first time, accompanied by an older
scholar, who would explain to him the wonders of
the place.
He would hear how this old building had once
been the home of the Grey Friars, an order of
monks, whose uniform was of the color indicated
by their name-he would be shown into the boys'
bed-rooms, and told that these were once monks'
cloisters, where they counted their beads and said
their prayers and did their penances. At certain
places he would be stopped to listen to fright-
ful details of the scenes that had been enacted
just there, among these old monks in the ages
gone by.
Then he would be told how, after the monks had
been suppressed, the boy-king, Edward VI (whose
memory all little students of English history learn
to love), had, just a few months before his death,
established in these extensive old buildings, this
school for boys; he would have his attention drawn
to the brass medal-like buckle which fastened his
red leather girdle; and the boy-face on it would
always thereafter be associated in his mind with
Edward VI, whom it was intended to represent.
He would be taught to distinguish the monitors by
their badge. Guess what this monitor's badge was.


[NOVEMBER,







BLUE COAT BOYS.


You never will: so give it up, and I will tell you.
It was and still is, a superior style of shoe-string .
Had these blue coat boys any holidays? Yes;
there was Christmas, when they clubbed their funds
together and bought such refreshments as their
means would allow, when even the penniless ones
came in for a share of the good things, as they sat
around the fire and told stories; then, on Christ-
mas night, when the little ones had retired at their
usual hour, seven o'clock, the monitors and older
boys went through the halls and bed-rooms, sing-
ing their Christmas carols, until, as one of their
number wrote years afterwards, when he was no
longer a boy,-"I seemed to be transported to
Bethlehem, and to hear the voices of the angels as
they sang to the shepherds."
There was Easter, when the whole school marched
in solemn procession through the London streets
and were received by the Lord Mayor in his stately
robes, who dispensed to each child cake, wine, and
a shilling. That was a red-letter day, you may be
sure. Then there were several days preceding
Good Friday, when they "supped in public," and
any persons in the city might come in to witness
their proceedings; not so very stately a performance
one would think, when he is told that they ate from
wooden trenchers and the meal to which the public
was invited as spectators was simply a meal of
bread and cheese.
Lastly, there were the holidays known among
them as whole leave days, when there were no stud-
ies and no dinner. This suited admirably the boys
who were within walking distance of friends and
parents, but those who had no other retreat but the
school may well be excused if they longed for night
and supper. It was bright enough at first; break-
fast over, they wandered away to a famous bathing
place, known as the New River; here they bathed
and dived and swam, getting themselves appetites;
then they came out of the water and watched the cat-
tle feeding in the meadows, the bees gathering their
stores of sweets from the flowers, the birds finding
their supplies of seeds and grubs-all things around
had something to eat-the very sight made them
the hungrier. How long the afternoons were ; they
looked in at the bright shop windows, and then
went to the Tower, where was a famous menagerie,
and where they might watch the lions, for the keeper
of the menagerie understood that blue coat boys
were always to be admitted free of charge, when-
ever they applied for such a favor. I cannot think
those holidays without dinner were red-letter days.
Did they make much progress in their studies ?
Some of the brightest names in English literature
belonged to men, who, in their childhood, were blue
coat boys. It would be an interesting study for


those of you who have leisure and taste for these
things, to hunt up some of these names. Let me
give you a few hints. One of them became a prom-
inent English bishop. The initials of three, who
became famous as poets and prose writers, were,
C. L., S. T. C. and L. H.
What did they read? It was before the days
of children's magazines and children's literature,
but they had Robinson Crusoe and the Arabian
Nights. Do you know any brighter or more enter-
taining books, even now?
They had some laws which were peculiar to them-
selves; these laws or traditions, handed on to each
new-comer, and thus passing from generation to
generation, were rigorously observed by all.
Among these traditions was the abstaining from
all fat meats, and the refusal to eat certain kinds of
sweet cakes. No one could tell how these traditions
originated. The boys were strictly allowanced in
the matter of food, and we are told that this allow-
ance was "cruelly insufficient;" so much meat
placed upon each plate, part lean, part fat; this
fat was known dmong the boys as "gag," and
no matter how hungry he might be, nor how much
his appetite might crave it, no blue coat boy would
willingly be a gag-cater."
There is a touching story told of one who ac-
quired among the other boys the reputation of a
"gag-eater;" it was noticed that he quietly gather-
ed up, after the meal, every bit of fat left on the
plates of those who sat at the same table with him-
self; the hungry boys were not likely to leave a parti-
cle of bread, yet, if they did, the smallest bit of crust
was never overlooked by him; all these scraps were
placed in a blue-checked handkerchief, and the
handkerchief on a bench by the side of his bed; the
boys watched to see him cat it, but they only saw the
scraps accumulating; it was rumored that he ate at
night when others were asleep, but in this he was
never detected.. The gag-eater became odious
to his fellows; he seemed a studious, gentle-hearted
boy, yet they shunned him; no one would play
with him or associate with him; he ate strange
flesh;" at length it was noticed that the blue-check
handkerchief and its contents were regularly carried
away, when he had leave of absence. His footsteps
were traced by some of his school-fellows to the
poorest part of the town, into a wretched garret;
and when the whole matter was revealed, it was
found that the parents of the poor boy had become
so reduced that they were in danger of starvation,
and the weekly supply of scraps in the blue-checked
handkerchief was gladly received and eagerly de-
voured by the two old people. Honor to the brave
"gag-eater !" I am glad to add that the school
authorities came to the relief of his parents.


2e73 J


3







TOMM( Y HOPPER'S CHOICE.


TOMMY HOPPER'S CHOICE.

BY PAUr FORT.


THERE was nothing that pleased Susan Bur-
roughs so much as being generous. She was will-
ing to give away everything she had, and, more
than that, she often wished to give away many
things that she did not have at all. I do not mean
to say there was any dishonesty about Susan. She
simply took pleasure in thinking what she would
give if she only had it.
This was a very amiable trait, and generally a
very agreeable one, but, sometimes, some of the
smaller boys and girls, whom she used to entertain
with accounts of what she would do for them if she
only had this, that, and the other thing, were con-
siderably annoyed in their little minds by the de-
lightful, but impossible pictures she drew for them.
They could not see any reason why Susan did not
have all these good things since she was so anxious
to give them away.
It was a bright winter afternoon, near Christmas
day, when Susan stepped out of the house, warmly
dressed for a walk, and with a twenty-five cent note
snugly tucked away in the bottom of her pocket.
She did not have twenty-five cents every day, and
she felt a little rich. By an instinct natural to most
children about Christmas time, she walked directly
to the largest toy store in the neighborhood; not
that she had any intention of buying anything just
then, but, as you may have noticed, it is always more
pleasant to look at pretty things when you have
money in your pocket than when you have none.
When she reached the store, the first thing she
saw was little Tommy Hopper, standing boldly be-
fore the shop window feasting his eyes on the won-
derful things within. There were balls, and bats,
and tops, and hoops, and kites, and boxes of tools,
rocking-horses, sleds, steamboats with real engines
and propellers, boxes of games, ninepins, battle-
dores and shuttlecocks, steam-cars that moved along
a track just like real ones (only not so fast), babies
that crept on their hands and knees if you wound
them up, little boys riding on velocipedes, great big
humming tops, and jack-straws, and dear knows
what all.
"What are you going to buy, Tommy?" said
Susan, stepping up softly behind him.
Tommy looked around quickly. When he saw
it was Susan, he smiled a curious little smile, and
said:
"I ain't a-going to buy nothing, I'm only a-look-
ing."
"You haven't any money, have you, Tommy?"
said Susan.


"No," said Tommy, in a very commonplace tone
of voice, as if it were nothing extraordinary for him
to have no money.
"Now, I'll tell you what I'll do, Tommy," said
Susan, I'll give you the very prettiest thing in that
window that you can buy for twenty-five cents; so
you can just take your choice."
"Have you got the money?" asked Tommy.
"Yes," said Susan, drawing her twenty-five cents
from her pocket, "here it is."
"It is all your own, is it?" said Tommy.
"Yes; it is all my own," answered Susan.
Tommy was now satisfied. He could go to work
and make his selection with a certainty of being
backed by a capitalist. He did not hesitate long.
In less than half a minute he had chosen a rocking-
horse.
"Oh! you can't buy that for a quarter, Tom-
my!" cried Susan. "'You must choose something
cheaper."
Tommy hesitated a little now. He felt humbled.
And so the next thing he chose was simply a box
of tools.
"Oh! you little goose! cried Susan. "'That box
would cost two or three dollars. Isn't there any
small thing that you like which does not cost more
than a quarter?"
Tommy was now silent for some time; his mind
was a little confused. Susan would have suggested
something, but the truth was she did not know
much about the prices herself, and she did not like
to mention anything that would cost more than she
could pay.
At last Tommy made a hit; One of those creep-
ing babies," said he.
Oh I can't buy that," said Susan, somewhat
impatiently.
"Why, that is ever so little," said Tonmmy,
sturdily.
He had chosen a baby because it was small, and

he was not to be argued out of his position every
time.
But I tell you, you can't buy that for twenty-
five cents," said Susan. "Don't you know it
creeps ?"
It's littler than our baby at home," said Tom-
my, grumly.
Well," said Susan, "you couldn't buy that for
twenty-five cents."
Yes, I could," said Tommy, and then a little
doubtfully, "Which is the most, these creeping
ones, or real ones ? "


4


[NoVEMliER,







TOMMY HOPPER'S CHOICE.


You little simpleton !" said Susan, laughing,
and shaking him by the shoulders. If you don't
choose something quickly, I'll go away."


No, you won't," said Tommy. I haven't
choose anything yet, and you said you'd wait till
I did."


If Susan had not been one of the most good na- to mention to him marbles, and tops, and kites, for
tured of girls, she certainly would have been tired it was winter time, and Tommy did not want
out by Tommy's persistence in selecting the most any toys out of season.
expensive articles in the window. It was of no use At last, tired of following Tommy's eyes about


5


E73-1]








LITTLE JINGLES.


the window, Susan looked around, and, across the
street, she saw her father going home from the
office. One of the greatest delights of her life was
to take a walk with her father- and so she hurriedly
said to the little boy, i erc, Tommy, take the
money and buy something f;o yourself. I am going
home with father."
To nmy was delighted to be free from Susan.
She worried and bothered him in his choice. Now
lie 'elt he could select something he would like with-
out having her "nagging" him all the time, and
telling him that things cost too much.
So he walked boldly into the store with his twenty-
five cents clutched in his chubby fist. After a very
short tour of inspection he stepped up to the man
at the counter.
I want one of them sleds," said he, pointing to
a number of handsomely painted sleighs and sledges
near the door.
Which one wii you have ?" said the man, com-
ing out from behind the counter, and separating
one or two of the sleds from the others, this green
one, or this blue one with, red runners .'
Tommy hesitated. The blue one was very hand-
some, but the green one had a horse painted on the
seat. This latter fact decided him.


I'l take the green one," said he.
That is three dollars and a half," said the man,
looking at Tommy, and, noticing, apparently for
the first time, what a very little boy he was.
"But it'stoo much," said Tommy. "I've only got
a quarter."
The man laughed.
"You ought to have known whether you
had money enough or not, before you asked for
it," said he.
"Are all sleds more'n a quarter?" asked
Tommy.
Yes," said the shopman.
Good-by," said Tommy, and out he marched.
On his way home he passed a peanut stand.
Happy opportunity Tommy stepped up to the
man and demanded twenty-five cents' worth of pea-
nuts. Peanuts were cheap in those days, and when
Tommy's little pockets were all full, and his hat
would scarcely go on his head for nuts, and he had
even stuffed some in the waistband of his trousers,
there were yet ever so many peanuts and no ulac-
to put them.
Bother on twenty-five cents !" said Tommy.
"In some places it's too little, and in some place;
it's too much!"


LITTLE JINGLES.


,I ': 1 ,, :

', -. ,
\ 't
\'-^ I: ,'

S 1





SNOW, snow, everywhere!
Snow on frozen mountain peak,
Snow on Flippit's sunny hair,
Snow flakes.melting on his cheek.
Snow, snow, wherever you go,
Shifting, drifting, driving snow.


)


But Flippit does not care a pin,
It's Winter without and Summer within.
So, tumble the flakes, or rattle the storm,
He breathes on his fingers and keeps them warm.


TINKER, come bring your solder,
And mend this watch for me.
Haymaker, get some fodder,
And give my cat his tea.
Cobbler, my horse is limping;
He'll have to be shod anew;
While the smith brings forge and hammer,
To make amy daughter a shoe.
Bestir yo.ur.elr--. my lazies!
I give you all fair warning:
You must do your work twixtt twelve at night,
And an hour before one in the morning.


How hid they learn that their wayiere small?
Jean and Kitty-
How did they know they were scorned by all?
Jean and Kitty-
Why, they listened one day, at a neighbor's blinds,
And heard the family speak their minds-
What a pity!


6


[NOVEA;ENR,


t
I








AN OLD-FASHIONED HAT.


AN OLD-FASHIONED HAT.

BY OLIVE TI-ORNE.


A LONG time ago, when we old folks were young,
when girls wore big bonnets-and never dreamed of
wearing a hat like a boy's,-there was in fashion a
small fairy-like hat of silver or gold, to wear on the



.t5.4 ,
7 t-K'1 1"'


W. '



I` .!" .,1 J ,- -;.- r
M'2j


... ...... ..
JEAN AND KITTYo
finger. Every girl had one, and was taught to use
it almost as soon as she was out of her cradle;
young ladies wore it nearly all the time, and as for
mothers-why, they scarcely took it off to go to bed.
They were very pretty little things made of gold
or silver, as I said, and though they are somewhat
out of style just now, I think you will like to know
a little about them. The Germans call them fin-
ger-hats, and our English forefathers, who had time
to give long names to everything, called them


thumb-bells; but of late the world has got into such a
hurry that we've shortened that pretty name into
thimble, and now, of course, you think you know
all about them.
S ..- ou may know how one
looks, and what it is for,
though, thanks to sewing-
L machines, you don't have
s ; to wear it much, and the
time is long gone by when
it was necessary to every
A- girl's good name that she
Should embroider a "sam-
r 4' pler" full of letters and
Figures, and have it framed
S' and hung up before she
..; was a dozen years old. But
-t.- I don't believe you know
how it comes to be a dainty
little finger-hat instead of a
S silver spoon, or a gold ring.
I can assure you it has a
History of its own, and it
M4-0t.t i has been through many
trials and wonderful adven-
Sturcs since the time it was
S"'^'' sleeping in its native bed
n' under the ground. It would
be as interesting as a fairy
story if you could have the
_; true story of a thimble,
either of -gold or silver.
,- V bWhy, how many persons
Sdo you suppose it has
.' _Ci-.. taken to bring it from
the state of tiny specks to
i the pretty little thing it
-\. ,'I is? Not to count miners,
S or1 crushers, or refiners, or
any of those people, but
I "V to begin when it enters the
thimble factory, it takes
about twenty workmen, besides lots of machinery, to
make it.
It begins with the rollers-monstrous great rollers
of steel-which think nothing of rolling a bar of silver
out as thin as a sheet of paper if thinness is wanted.
For thimbles, however, it is rolled about a twenti-
eth of an inch thick, and cut into strips two inches
wide. It looks like a beautiful silver ribbon, and
one hates to see it go to a remorseless steel punch,
which champs away all day, taking out bites about


7


1873.]









THE ZEBRA.


ZEBRA AND COLT.


8


[NovEMBER,


.LI


Z-7'








THE ZEBRA.


9


as big as a silver half-dollar (an old-fashioned
American coin you may have heard your grand-
mother mention).
These round silver pieces are the future thimbles,
as you'll see before they get through their tribula-
tions in this house.
The next torturing machine turns up the edge all
around, making the foundation for the future rim.
No one would suspect this round flat thing could
ever get into the shape of a thimble, but the very
next machine does the business. The unfortunate
bit of silver is put into a press, a dreadful great steel
thing comes down with a smash, and, behold! there
is your thimble, perfect in shape, though plain sil-
ver without figures.
The next thing is to turn over the edge and make
it firm, and the thimble is ready for its "dimples,"
as some one calls the little holes made to catch the
needle.
The smooth silver finger-hat is put into a lathe-
a machine that does nothing but turn things around
-a workman sits down in front with a suitable tool,
shaped something like a hammer, and while the
thimble is whirling on the lathe he proceeds to cover
the top with holes. First, he makes the one in the
very middle, then a ring close around that,--look at
one and you'll see,-and so he goes on across the
top, and down the sides as far as it is wanted.
Now, there's a curious thing happens while this
bit of silver is whirling on the lathe. It makes very
sweet musical sounds, higher or lower in tone as it
turns fast or slow. Workmen sometimes get so
expert that they can vary the sounds, by changing
the speed, and fairly make the thimble sing a tune.
That must be the moment of glory for the little
thimble, for it is the first and last sound it ever
makes.
From the lathe the little thumb-bell goes to be
polished, to have its number marked on it, and its
pretty little border of leaves or figures engraved by


sharp steel tools, and by the time it is ready for the
shop, it has only plain silver enough left to put your
name on when you buy it.
Brass and steel thimbles are made in very much
the same way, though many of them, you know,
have no tops, and are destined to the shops of
tailors.
When the finger-hat is of gold, the process is a
little different. It is not cut from a solid piece
like the silver thimble-by no means-in fact the
gold thimble is a humbug and a sham, and goes
through life on false pretenses, for the gold is only
skin deep, and the rest is-common steel.
Pope immortalized a thimble by describing one
adorned with the face of a queen; but sewing-ma-
chines are getting so perfect that perhaps before
Pope is forgotten, there will have to be a note at
the bottom of the page, explaining the use of that
antique tool-the thimble.
Silver and gold, and steel and brass, are not the
only kinds of thimbles. There's the droll little
black one, sometimes ornamented with a vine of
gold leaves. That is made of hard rubber, and is
very good for use, but not so pretty as silver.
Then they have been made of ivory and china, but
these were only to look at, I suspect.
Whom we are to thank for the gift of thimbles we
do not know, except that the inventor was a woman.
Some writers say they came from the industrious
dames of Holland with their quaint name of finger-
hat, while others claim the invention for some small-
footed lady of the Flowery Kingdom.
I think the probabilities are in favor of the Hol-
landers.
It is not quite two hundred years since they were
introduced into England. How do you suppose
ladies did the wonderful embroidery that has come
down to us from those old times, book-covers,
robes, and almost everything else, when they had no
stout little thumb-bell to protect their fingers ?


THE ZEBRA.


IF the zebra were as useful as he is ornamental he
would be one of the most valuable members of the
horse family ; but, unfortunately, about all that can
be done with the zebra is to look at him, and, if he
happens to be out in his native wilds, one seldom
gets a chance to look at him very long, for he is
one of the fleetest and most timid of animals.
The zebra generally lives in mountainous districts.
He bounds up the sides of the hills and over the
rocks as active and sure-footed as a goat.
What a magnificent animal a tamed zebra would


be for mountain travelers Instead of slowly toil-
ing up the steep paths on the back of a donkey or
a horse, one could dash up the mountain sides as
if he were on a level plain, with no fear of tiring
the powerful beast, and there would be no danger of
his slipping, for a zebra that was in the habit of
making missteps could never expect to arrive at ma-
turity. But it is useless to dream of a tame ze-
bra. Some of the most celebrated horse-tamers
have endeavored to break the fiery spirit of this
animal and make him submit to harness and sad-


X873.1








BY THE SEA


die, but they have never entirely succeeded. It is
just possible that a man like the celebrated Mr.
Rarey, who seemed able to tame almost any horse
in the world, might ride a zebra for a short dis-
tance, but it would not do for anybody else to try
it. A man or a boy who should once endeavor to
ride a zebra would probably remember his failure
for the rest of his life.
But although it seems impossible to make much
use of zebras, they are frequently hunted in South
Africa, where they are principally found. The
Hottentots are very glad to kill them, so as to.
have a zebra steak for dinner, for these savages
consider zebra meat quite a delicacy, and are will-


ing to take a great deal of trouble to get it. White
hunters prefer to catch a zebra alive, and send
him to civilized countries for exhibition, for there
are few things more attractive in a menagerie than
one of these beautiful animals, with his white,
cream-colored skin and its rich velvety black bands.
And if a zebra colt has been captured with its mother
there are few boys, and, in fact, few grown-up folks
who can pass their cage without stopping to look
in.
If the zebra had a long wavy tail like the horse,
instead of a jackass' tail with a bushy tuft at the
end, he might be still handsomer than he is. But
then no animal can have everything.


BY THE SEA.

BY NOAH BROOKS.


BOYS who have been born and brought up by
the sea wonder what sort of fun they who live in-
land can possibly have. To be sure, there are the
woods and streams to give them some sorts of sport;




I .. _- -,

.-



A%.


it is true, they have squirrel and rabbit-hunting, the
delights of gunning, the pleasure of goingn g in a-
swimming," where the mill-pond and the pebbly
streamlets sparkle in the sun or glide under the
cool shadows of the willows; but, as a boy, I used
to think that the poor fellows who never knew salt
water, nor saw the furious breakersdash on the


rocky coast of New England, were much to be
pitied. And when once, while I was a little chap.
I was taken on a visit to Bucksport, it seemed as if
I should stifle in the close air of the country town,
which had no water near it
but a contemptible river flo, -
ing past. The sea seemed -
far away that I thought I
S should lose my breath before
I could get back to its salt air
again. But perhaps I was
homesick.
When the gale was high
and the long rollers came
thundering on the beach,
Aunt Rachel used to take
me by the hand and lead
me along the lonely shore.
It was almost terrible to look
over 'the immense waves as
S they came piling over each
other, and to see far out on
the stormy sea, the dancing
fishing-boats, now riding on
top of the sea and now dis-
appearing in the watery trough of the wind-
swept ocean. Sometimes a bit of broken spar
would come tumbling in from the far-off waves
to tell its story of wreck and disaster. Once, while
the gale was howling and the breakers were crash-
ing along the shore, Aunt Rachel snatched from
a foaming wave a piece of a ship's rail, with


10


[NOVEMBER,


...7








BY THE SEA.


I~-~--- -



- -2








---~ ----
V W~bs



A A-


part of a child's night-dress clinging to it. Where
was the little one who had worn this garment?
And in what dismal wreck had some distressed
mother tied it to this floating wood? Nothing ever
came from tec s ea L tell us.
But all was not sad and tragical by the sea. Such
larks as we used to .have by the Back Cove shores!
On Saturday afternoons we tore mussels from the
rocks at low tide, or dug clams from the watery
sand, and roasted them in fires of drift-wood. Or
we built rafts of the loose wood along the beach and
paddled about the broad cove. If the frail craft fell
to pieces and let the half-naked youngsters into salt
water, there were enough swimmers to save those
who could not swim. Then there were the joys
of boat-building and sailing;
and how eagerly we watch-
ed the rude little craft as
their birch bark sails faded
away in the blue waters of the
bay. In the drift, along the
beach, we found all sorts of
curious things; not only bits -__
of wreck, but fragments of
clothing, curious and unknown
shells, foreign nuts; and once
the whole shore was strewn -
with big russet apples, lost .
overboard, perhaps, from some -- -
distressed trading schooner.
Dearer than all this, even, -
were the rude wooden wharves -
that skirted the ancient town.
The smell of tar and oakum,
the odor of salted fish and the
flavor of the brine were in the


S atmosphere of these delight-
ful places. Here were rusty
old anchors, huge and brown,
Over which we climbed, while
we marveled what they had
seen at the bottom of the great
sea. Worn iron chain-cables
were piled up with sun-bleached
rigging and fragments of ship-
houses and cabooses which
should voyage no more. Here
was a battered figure-head of
King Philip, which had been
scorched in the fierce suns of
the Indian Ocean and had lost
its nose in the icy Arctic.
Here, once or twice a year,
lay the two or three ships of
Fairport, discharging salt from
Cadiz and peopled with story-
telling sailors who had sailed all the seas over
and knew the most delightful yarns ever spun;
of these e D Booden was consummate. He
had been a foremast hand "in the time of the
embargo," when the British fleets blockaded the en-
tire coat of XNw England. His tales were blood-
curdling; and many is the night when we boys
staid so late listening to the latest version of the
story of his blowing up the Artehusa, that we were
sent supperless to bed. The Are/Ausa was a British
sloop-of-war blockading Casco Bay. Dave, who,
by the way, always spoke of that period as the time
of dimbargo," was a prisoner of war on board, hav-
ing been captured nfcm a fshlng-pinkcy and kept as
a pilot. By hurrahing for King George and other-


II


-TT-m_7
-








BY THE SEA.


wise pretending to be a good Tory, he gained the
confidence of the crew; and one night, while laying
at anchor off Diamond Head, he fixed a lighted fuse
under the powder magazine, slipped through an
open port-hole to a boat that was towing astern and
so made off, paddling with his shoes for want of
oars.
When that ere ship blowed up," said the truth-
ful Dave, "I was nigh unto ten miles and a-half
away. But she shook the air so, that I wuz blowed
clean out o' that yawl jest straight. My cap went
up three feet higher nor I did,,and I went up about
nine feet inter the air. What air ye sniggerin
at ? Dave would angrily demand of one boy who
never would believe this part of the story. When
I lit agen, I jest sot right in the yawl on the very
same thort that I was a-sittin' on afore; and my cap
was on my head, tew. Fact, boys, and ye may
jest ask yer old gran'ther ef it ain't." Gran'ther
Perkins, who commanded the American volunteers
in the time of the embargo, had been dead ten
years or more. Dave's story-telling had no forti-
fying witnesses.
Once in a while-too often, alas !-news would
come in a round-about way, of a Fairport vessel
lost at sea. Perhaps one of the survivors would,
after many thrilling adventures, reach us, and
become the sad hero of the town. Sometimes a
fishing vessel would sail for the Banks, and never
be heard of more. We boys
would sit under the lee of
the rocks, and fancy that one
of the flitting sails that glid-
ed along the blue line of
the sea and sky, was the
missing vessel; then, as she
melted away, we would fall
to inventing stories of the
woful wreck, and whisper to
each other, how the men,
some of whom we knew,
had starved on the raft as
they floated on the waves,
until they ate each other,
or struggled against their
fate until they perished mis-
erably in the waters. When
night fell, and the full moon
swam up the sky, we used
to see Marm Morey sitting
on Fish Hawk Crag, look-
ing wistfully out to sea.
Sol Morey, as brave a lad
as ever split a cod-fish, be-
calmed on Georges Banks,


had sent word by a passing vessel that the Two
Brothers, in which he sailed, would be in port by
the full of the moon. The moon fulled and waned,
and waxed and waned again, but the Two Broth-
ers never came. Sol's mother watched and waited,
and waited and watched, on Fish Hawk's Crag for
many moons and many years. When the young
moon hung pale in the sunset sky, she said, Sol
will be here soon." When it grew smaller, and
disappeared from the heavens at night, she went
about her work, and said never a word about Sol
or the Two Brothers; but we boys knew when the
moon was full, for we saw Marm Morey on the crag,
hopefully turning her faded face to the sea, watch-
ing for the gleam of the sail that came no more.
Considering what risks are run by boys about the
sea-shore, it seems strange that no more of them
are swallowed by the waves. Perhaps the remorse-
less sea, as poets call it, has a savage pity for the
small children who play about its edges. Certain, a
kind Providence watches over the lives of the little
folk, who snatch a fearful joy from the rush and
tumult of the sea. Many a time we tuhlbled off the
wharves, or upset in sail-boats, or were snatched off
the rocks by the hungry breakers; yet not one of
all my playmates ever met his death thereby.
They were spared to be killed by a flying railroad
train, a falling roof-slate, an Alpine avalanche,
or a stray bullet in the trenches before Peters-
burg. Once a little crowd
of us, caught on a bare reef
of rock by the rising tide,
and cut off from shore, were
driven from point to point,
until huddled on Otter Rock,
which was usually covered at
high water. We sobbed and
screamed in vain for help,
while the mocking waves
crept higher and higher.
We faced death, then, every
one of us. A few inches
of slippery rock stood be-
tween us and the end of the
beautiful world that smiled
around us. The tide crept
on and on, stood still, and
sunk away inch by inch until
we were free! We crawled
along the weedy reef, and
hushed and half-tearful, told
our tale. The tides, at that
season, were not so high as
usual. But to us it seemed
a miracle. Perhaps it was.


12


[NOVEMBER,









WIIAT THE WORM


i i


ti



I ~ ,f


j


OH, NO!


IF blue-birds bloomed like flowers in a row,
And never could make a sound,
How would the daisies and violets know
When to come out of the ground!
The), would wait and wait the seasons round;
Never a flower could on earth be found.


And what would birds and butterflies do
If the flowers had wings to fly?
Why, birds and blossoms, and butterflies too,
Would stay far up in the sky;
And then the people would droop and sigh,
And all the children on earth would cry.


WHAT THE WORM COULD AND DID DO.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.


HE had dark curly hair-very curly-curling al-
most as tight as the tendrils of a grape-vine, and
you all know how tight they curl.
And he had bright grey eyes with long black
lashes, and a funny little mouth that looked as
though it was always asking questions, as, indeed,
between you and me, it always was.
And he was a boy five years and I don't know how
many days old, and he had no sisters, or bro-


others, or cousins, or anything of that kind, or if he
did have a cousin or two they didn't live there, so
what was the use?
He played with the flowers, and stones and grass,
and talked to the bees and the butterflies, and the
dog and the cat, and he sang pretty songs with the
birds, and hisname was And why," because the
funny little mouth said And why ?" so often, but
they called him Andy for short.


13


K

K


1873.]


COULD AND DID DO.









WIIAT THE WORM


i i


ti



I ~ ,f


j


OH, NO!


IF blue-birds bloomed like flowers in a row,
And never could make a sound,
How would the daisies and violets know
When to come out of the ground!
The), would wait and wait the seasons round;
Never a flower could on earth be found.


And what would birds and butterflies do
If the flowers had wings to fly?
Why, birds and blossoms, and butterflies too,
Would stay far up in the sky;
And then the people would droop and sigh,
And all the children on earth would cry.


WHAT THE WORM COULD AND DID DO.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.


HE had dark curly hair-very curly-curling al-
most as tight as the tendrils of a grape-vine, and
you all know how tight they curl.
And he had bright grey eyes with long black
lashes, and a funny little mouth that looked as
though it was always asking questions, as, indeed,
between you and me, it always was.
And he was a boy five years and I don't know how
many days old, and he had no sisters, or bro-


others, or cousins, or anything of that kind, or if he
did have a cousin or two they didn't live there, so
what was the use?
He played with the flowers, and stones and grass,
and talked to the bees and the butterflies, and the
dog and the cat, and he sang pretty songs with the
birds, and hisname was And why," because the
funny little mouth said And why ?" so often, but
they called him Andy for short.


13


K

K


1873.]


COULD AND DID DO.









WIIAT TIE WORM COULD AND D[D DO.


Iie loved to play in the dirt, and he had a tiny
garden for his very own, where one summer he
raised one pea-vine and two radishes.
The reason he didn't raise any more pea-vines
and radishes was because he kept digging up the
seeds he had planted to see if they were growing
yet; but this pea and these two radish seeds having
rolled away and hidden in a corner, escaped being
dug up, and so took root and became, as I said be-
fore, a pea-vine and two round, red, crisp, very nice
radishes.
The two radishes Andy ate (I'm afraid he did not
stop to wash them), and the pea-vine, after putting
forth five sweet pink blossoms that looked like angel
butterflies, died because it was so lonely.
Well, one day Andy was digging in his very own
garden just after a shower, when he spied abigworm.
Worms are not pleasant things. I don't think
that anybody would make a pet of one, and al-
though I've tried very hard, I can notsaythat I really
love them myself; but I'm not afraid of them, and
neither, I am glad to say, was Andy.
He didn't run away as fast as he could, tumbling
over all sorts of things until he reached the house,
nor did he dance up and down screaming "oh! oh!
oh !" when this worm came out of the ground. Not
a bit of it.
He sat quietly down on an overturned flower-pot
and looked at the worm in silence for at least two
minutes, and the worm raised its head a little
(worms can't raise their heads very high) and look-
ed at him.
At last said Andy, "You're not pretty."
"I am not," answered the worm.
"You can't dance," said Andy.
'-I can't," said the worm.
"Nor sing," said Andy.
"Nor sing," repeated the worm.
You don't know your letters, even," said Andy.
"I don't," said the worm.
"Butterflies can fly," said Andy.
"They can," said the worm.
"Bees hum," said Andy.
"They do," said the worm.
You can't do anything," said Andy.
"I CAN," said the worm, so loudly (for a worm)
that Andy tumbled off the flower-pot, he was so
very much astonished.
But quickly picking himself up, he sat down
again, and asked, "What?"


"Something that bees, birds, and even boys
can't do," answered the worm, wriggling a little,
as naughty girls do when they say, So there now,
you think yourself something great."
"Let's see," said Andy.
"Take your little spade and chop me in two,"
said the worm.
"Oh, no," said Andy, "that would be wicked."
"Well, don't you ever do it unless a worm asks
you to," said the worm, "then it's all right. Now
I'm ready, go ahead."
"Are you sure you're in earnest?" asked Andy.
"Quite sure," answered the worm.
"And won't it hurt you ?" asked Andy.
"Don't ask so many questions; do as I tell
you," replied the worm.
"And why?" said Andy; but seeing that the
worm was turning away from him he seized his little
spade and chopped it in two, and lo! and behold i
one-half crept off one way and one-half the other.


_-I-


I'


-i1 i


*' I i

- :- .- -.

i-
3V


-, -

' : "' --

"Well, sure enough," said Andy, "I don't be-
lieve I could do that. Good-bye Mr. Worm-I
mean two Mr. Worms."
"Good-bye said the head, and "good-bye"
said the tail; and they both crept under the ground
and left Andy to ask, "And why?" until this very
day.


14


[NOVEMBER,


::: I.









PASSENGER PIG EONS.



PASSENGER PIGEONS.

BY M. T.


FOR many days the fresh morning air had
resounded with the dull bumming of the prairie
chickens, and an unbroken line of snowy schoon-
ers," as the emigrant wagons are called on the prai-
ries, had slowly moved westward. These wagons
were followed by droves of cattle; and the cattle
were driven by brown, dusty women, bare-footed
and scantily clothed in blue drilling or patched and
faded chintz. I had looked curiously at the labor-
saving churns in which butter was made by the mere
motion of the jolting wagons ; I had questioned
the rough-looking Germans and Norwegians, who
often could not speak a word of English; and I
was never weary of watching for the bright eyes of
the dingy-faced little children, who sometimes
peeped from the wagons. When these weary trav-
elers halted by the wayside, and their gipsy fires
blazed out into the night, what wild sweet singing
was borne across the prairie on the evening breeze !
But one day I forgot my slow-plodding friends,
in the excitement of watching the passage of a
multitude of travelers, who could no more be num-
bered than the sands upon the sea-shore. What a
commotion the shy strangers made that early May.
morning! I was startled from sleep by a voice
crying Mollie The pigeons! and a strange
sound, like the rushing of a strong wind, came to
my ears. The air was full of flying birds, and for
hours I watched the immense flock pass over that
little prairie village in Minnesota.
Most boys and girls who live in the country have
seen wild pigeons, and know what graceful birds
they are. The muscles of their wings are very
large and strong: Audubon says that these
pigeons travel at the rate of a mile in a minute,
and that if one of them were to follow the fashion,
and take a trip to Europe, it could cross the ocean
in less than three days. We can all exclaim with
David, Oh, that I had wings like a dove But
quite as wonderful as their speed, is the great power
of vision these birds possess. As they journey
through space, they can overlook hundreds of acres
at once, and their sharp eyes can discover at a
glance whether the country beneath them is barren,
or supplied with the food they need.
On the day I speak of, the birds flew very low, and
hundreds of them alighted on the trees in passing.
They often alight in such numbers that great
branches are broken off, and sometimes the
pigeons are crushed to death. The fields bordering
the river were covered with them; but they onmy
stopped to rest, apparently, or perhaps to pick up a


little food, and were again on the wing. As these
detachments of the vast army of pigeons rose from
the ground, with a great flapping of wings, others
alighted; meanwhile the main flock was passing
steadily over our heads. The procession seemed
endless, for the day wore on, and still the swift-
winged birds rustled through the air, and still the
coming flocks looked like delicate pencilings on the
distant sky. It was a rare day for sportsmen. In-
stead of roosting in a neighboring forest, as we had
hoped, the pigeons flew over into Wisconsin. But
every day through the summer, stray flocks foraged
among the oak groves about us, and their shadows.
swept over sunny slopes and fields of waving grain,
like flitting clouds.
I didn't suppose there were so many pigeons in
North America! exclaimed a young trapper who
visited this roost not long ago, and who, in his first
surprise at the wonderful scene before him, forgot
all about his game. The piece of woods that the
pigeons selected in which to rear their young,
is three or four miles wide, and ten miles long.
Their nests were in every tree; sometimes more
than fifty nests could be seen in one tree. In each
of these frail nests, carelessly woven of a few twigs,
two white shining eggs were laid. It is said that
the father and mother birds take care of these eggs
in turn. When the pigeons fly through the woods,
the sound of their wings is almost deafening; an
old farmer compared it to the roar of ten thousand
threshing machines !
From their nesting place the birds flew all over
Minnesota, Iowa, and Wisconsin, in quest of food;
but they always returned as the sun went down,
though the roost was hundreds of miles distant.
When the young pigeons or squabs are almost
ready to fly, comes the exciting time known
as robbing the roost. Men arm themselves with
long poles, with which they upset the nests; the
poor squabs fall to the ground, and are easily
caught in large quantities. They can then be
kept in cages, fattened, and killed as they are
wanted.
The passenger pigeon does not migrate from one
part of the country to another to find a warmer
climate, but only in search of food. So many of
these birds are killed every year, for the New York
and other markets, that it seems as if they must
gradually disappear. But they multiply very fast,
and Audubon, the naturalist, thought that nothing
but the destruction of our forests could lessen their
number.


I873.]


5









GRANDMOTHER.


;II


''

I~!~
I''
''

'"I


i,

; I I


I I


'1- -


~~






;il


' I


--
I


i,


F- =:
1




~- -~-I~:I








IN THE TREE-TOP.


GRANDMOTHER.

BY ELSIE G-


FOR a long time I did not understand it at all. I
thought that, because grandmothers often were
feeble and old-fashioned, they could never really
feel as we children do; that they needed no par-
ticular notice or enjoyment, for it was their nature
to sit in rocking-chairs and knit. They seemed
quite different from the rest of the world, and not
to be especially thought about; that is, by girls
who were as full of merry plans as we were.
Grandmother lived with us, as father was her
only son. We had a vague idea that she helped
mother mend the clothes and knitted all father's
winter stockings, beside some pairs for the church-
society. We were supposed to love her, of course,
and were never openly rude, for indeed we had
been taught to be polite to all aged persons. As
for grandmother, she was one of those peaceful
souls who never make any trouble, but just go on
in their own way so quietly that you hardly know
they are in the house. Mother sat with her some-
times, but we girls, in our gay, busy pursuits, rarely
thought of such a thing. She seemed to have no
part in our existence.
It went on so for some time, till one day I hap-
pened at sundown to go into the sitting-room, and
there sat grandmother, alone. She had fallen
asleep in her chair by the window. The sun was
just sinking out of sight, leaving a glory of light as
he went, and in this glory I saw grandmother-
saw her really for the first time in my life !


She had been reading her Bible, and then, as if
there had been no need of reading more, since its
treasure already lay shining in her soul, she had
turned the book over upon her lap and leaned back
to enjoy the evening.
I saw it all in a moment,-her gentleness, her
patience, her holiness. Then, while her love and
beautiful dignity seemed to fold about me like a
bright cloud, the sweet every-day lines in her face
told me a secret, that even then in the wonderful
sunset of life she was, 0, how human So human
that she missed old faces and old scenes; so human
that she needed a share of what God was giving
us,-friends, home interests, little surprises and ex-
pectations, loving offices, and, above all, a recogni-
tion in the details of our fresh young lives.

Girls when grandmother woke up, she found us
all three stealing softly into the room; for God had
helped me, when I went to tell my sisters about it.
Mary only kissed her and asked if she had had a
good nap; Susie picked her ball of yarn off the
carpet, where it had rolled, and began to wind it, all
the while telling her a pleasant bit of news about
one of the school-girls; and I-well, I knelt down
at grandmother's feet and, just as I was going to
cry, I gave her knees a good hard hug, and told
her she was a darling.
That's all, girls. But it's been different ever since
from what it was before.


IN THE TREE-TOP.

BY LUCY LARCOM.


"ROCK-A-BY, baby, up in the tree-top!"
Mother his blanket is spinning;
And a light little rustle that never will stop,
Breezes and bpughs are beginning.
Rock-a-by, baby, swinging so high !
Rock-a-by !

"When the wind blows, then the cradle will rock."
Hush now it stirs in the bushes;
Now with a whisper, a flutter of talk,
Baby and hammock it pushes.
Rock-a-by, baby shut, pretty eye !
Rock-a-by!
VOr. I.-2.


"Rock with the boughs, rock-a-by, baby, dear !"
Leaf-tongues are singing and saying;
Mother she listens, and sister is near,
Under the tree softly playing.
Rock-a-by, baby! mother's close by!
Rock-a-by !

Weave him a beautiful dream, little breeze!
Little leaves, nestle around him !
He will remember the song of the trees,
When age with silver has crowned him.
Rock-a-by, baby wake by-and-by !
Rock-a-by!


17


-873.1








THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.



THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.

BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS.


ONCE upon a time there was a boy whose name
was Leon, whose father was a banished king, living
as a wood-cutter in a hut in a great forest; but a
magician had laid them both under such cruel en-
chantment, that instead of the forest, people only
saw two or three scraggy cherry-trees in a back-yard,
and the king passed for a country doctor, and
Leon went by the name of Bob, and was sent for
cheese and molasses to the grocery, and thrashed
at school, just as though he had not been a prince
at all. It was very fortunate that he himself knew
what he was.
One day he had more trouble than usual. Two
of his milk teeth were pulled and left a gap in his
upper jaw, and giant Blunderbore (who had left
one of his heads at home and was keeping a candy
shop in disguise-though Bob knew him quite well)
accused him of robbing his melon-patch, and in
fact beat him.
The worst of it was, that although the prince lived
altogether on wild honey, and collops and pasties of
the fat stags often shot by himself and Robin Hood,
Bob had a remembrance of plugging a melon that
was not bought at the grocery store. Put him on
his oath and he could not swear he had not stolen it.
As things were in this confused and uncertain
state, he resolved to set out that night to seek his
fortune. Having had this business on his mind for
some time, he was soon ready. Filling a bottle with
clear water from the brook (which some people
supposed only to be a horse-trough), and putting,
with some difficulty, half a loaf of bread in his belt,
he mounted his steed and set out by the light of
the moon.
Now this prince's village was enchanted in such
a manner that it appeared to be a noisy, dirty mill-
town; but it was surrounded by sandy hills, and
immediately on the other side of these hills lay the
dark and bloody ground of Cornwall, whose princi-
pal productions are scarlet runner beans and giants,
and whose history was, how they were slain by Jack;
only now Jack was dead, and a new crop of giants
had sprung up, with several heads apiece. Outside
of the hills, too, lay the wilderness through which
Christian traveled, and the prince naturally wanted
to know if Greatheart was still escorting pilgrims
through its pits of fire, and whether the lions yet
guarded the House Beautiful, and especially he
wished to get some of the green apples which gave
'Matthew such horrible gripes in the stomach.
Back of the hills, too, was the ocean with Cru-
soe's island, and Bagdad, and the Spanish main.


About the time when the tallow candle was
lighted for Bob, and he was sent from his father's
shop up to bed, dark nights were beginning out
yonder, full of meteors, and double suns, and
armies marching in the sky overhead. Be-
low, great genii burst like thunder-clouds out
of crocks, and glittering fairies danced in rings
through the moss, by moonlight, and the Ca-
liph, Haroun al Raschid, with black Mesrour at
his elbow, listened to stories from one-eyed calen-
dars of women turned into mares; and Robert Kyd
sailed and sailed through the pitchy darkness past
the Spice islands to the beach where his dead bo'sen
stood guard over the treasure, or boarded ships with
his black flag and skull and cross-bones flying
apeak, and gave no quarter.
When the prince arrived at the hills, he met
Desiderio. She was the fair maiden for whom he
was going out to fight; all princes go out to fight
for a fair maiden. He had never seen Desiderio
before, but he took her up on his saddle all the same,
and fully intended, after he had killed a dragon or
giant or something, to bring her back to the castle
in triumph and marry her. Sometimes she wore a
robe of white samite, embroidered with gold, and
sometimes was in rags like Cinderella. She was
not fat and solid, like Josie Wilkinson, the carpen-
ter's daughter, although she had Josie's red head
and pug nose, but she was quite light and trans-
parent, like a bubble-girl.
As they journeyed through the wilderness, Desi-
derio said, I am hungry, break me a piece of thy
manchet;" and then Bob was quite convinced she
was a real princess from the correctness of her lan-
guage.
I shall not break, but cut it with my sword,"
he said. Which he did after some sawing and
hacking, putting a small chunk of crust in his
pocket, for his own supper. It will go well with
jam," he thought to himself.
What will be thy first adventure ?" quoth Desi-
derio, when she had eaten the bread.
"I shall go in search of the head of the Nile.
I've intended to do that ever since I got to 'Egypt,'
in Mitchell's Primary."
And after that ?"
After that, about tea time, we will come back
in triumph to be crowned and married."
But Desiderio laughed, and said nothing.
So he held her with his right hand, for she was
as lumpy and heavy as unrisen dough, although
she seemed so light, and took his sword in his left.


IS


NOVEMBERR,








THE ENCHANTED PRINCE.


Before he discovered the source of the Nile, he
passed through an entire swamp, full of serpents,
besides running the gauntlet between double rows
of griffins. Two or three stray giants also met
them as they were taking a short cut through a
whirlpool, but the prince settled them with a whisk
or two of his sword. Nobody, who is not aboy and
a prince, knows how easily such adventures are
achieved. It was just six o'clock when they set
out, and at quarter to eight precisely, they reached
the end of their journey, and discovered that the river
was spouted up (as Bob had long suspected) by
an enchanted gigantic monster, something like a
whale (the same who had a dispute with Solomon,
and was sentenced to be buried in the sand up to
his nose, for two thousand years).
So that's settled," said Bob. I always knew
how it would turn out. A pretty to-do there will be
when the enchantment's taken off him." He filled
a flask with water out of the whale's nostrils to prove
his discovery. Now we'll go home and be mar-
ried," said he.
But the princess laughed and looked more like a
fair brilliant bubble than before. You must
achieve another adventure before you can win
me."
"I have always intended to dig down into the
middle of the world and see what is there," said Bob,
after thinking awhile. Indeed I began in the bot-
tom of the potato-patch, but mother put pumpkin
seeds in the hole, supposing I dug it for planting."
"That will do very well. Begin to dig," said
Desiderio, promptly seating herself on his shoulders.
Bob had only a crooked stick to dig with, but like
all heroes, he got on very well, and was soon down
some fifty miles or so. But Desiderio began to be
very heavy. She was also very hungry and so was
Bob.
"Break me another piece of thy manchet," she
said. And taking out his crust he found it covered
inch deep with jam of the best raspberries, also a
thick layer of icing on top.
He had never been so hungry in his life. He
looked at Desiderio and he looked at the jam.
Then he gave it to her with a dreadful sigh, put-
ting one small bite in his pocket for himself.
"That will keep me alive until we reach home.
Perhaps they'll have muffins for supper," he
thought.
When they reached the middle of the world, at
about eleven o'clock, they discovered the shell of
a roc's egg-a very large roc's egg.
"The whole world has evidently been hatched
out of this," said Bob, "and sent clucking off among
the clouds to grow. Well, now, we'll go home and
be married, and I'll warrant you we'll have some-
thing to eat."


"Very well," said Desiderio. "But you must
carry me home for the love you bear me."
Now, they had had to pass through a lake of
fire on their way down, and another packed full
of blocks of ice, which I forgot to mention; and
the princess, though she looked like a breath of
vapor, weighed weight, and not a few pounds either.
"For the love I bear you," thought he, and he
hoisted her bravely upon his shoulders, smiling on
her courteously, as the Seven Champions of Chris-
tendom always did on distressed damsels. But the
calves of his legs ached tremendously.
On the way back (after the lake of fire and the
ice-pack, miles deep) he met and slew sixteen
dragons of distinct species; he also put to death a
wild boar and led a small cohort of Roman soldiers
against forty-three thousand savage cannibals and
was victorious in every engagement, and was
crowned with bay leaves and followed wherever he
went with multitudes of people, especially Turkish
slaves bearing golden salvers full of jewels, who
hailed him with cries of "Io TriaumfLhe! Hail,
Thane of Cawdor!"
"I really think we shall soon be married and
have supper," he observed to the princess. But
she laughed again scornfully.
"There is the desert yet to pass before you can
win me," she said.
Now, the desert was a vast plain extending far
beyond the world's edge, and quite covered with
snow, unmelted since time began, and all the winds
of heaven beat upon it. When the prince began
to cross it, his strength left him and he was feeble
as an old man, and felt his way slowly with groping
hands. Desiderio left his shoulder and fluttered
before him. It seemed to him that she was thin-
ner and more like the air than before. He put out
his hands but could not reach her.
"When thou canst touch me thou shalt indeed be
Hero and King," she cried. But her voice was far-
off like the echo which distant bells leave on the
air.
There were neither dragons nor griffins nor Ro-
man cohorts here. It was just to toil along the
wind-beaten plain, hungry unto death. At last he
remembered the bit of bread and flask of water,
and took them out to keep him alive.
Now the bread had turned into plum cake, fuller
of raisins than any you ever saw, and the water was
cold and sparkled in the sun.
"Give them to me," cried the princess, "for the
love you bear me."
Whereupon he handed them to her, and a sud-
den darkness fell upon them. But she ate the last
crumb and drank the last drop. Then she faded
farther and farther, as fair and faint as the rainbow
colors that sometimes shine through tears on our


Z873.]


19







THE FARALLONE ISLANDERS.


lashes, and he could only hear her voice as though
it came from the under-world.
Just then the giant who had put this prince and
his father under enchantment long ago, seized him
and wrapped him up in his arms. They were cold
and flabby as the clammy touch of the cuttle-
fish; and they carried him out of the desert back
to his trundle-bed, and when he awoke, his tallow
candle had burned out in the tin candlestick, and
he was only Bob. Never Leon again.
So he went on and on, to school and to college,
just like any other Bob, and he married Josie Wil-
kinson; and now he is about as old and fat as your
papa, and combs his hair up over his bald head in
a friz, to hide the baldness. And he sells sugar
and coffee by the barrel, and always has his meals
at regular hours, and never calls a piece of bread a
manchct, or wishes for jam or icing.
But he keeps his secret about all that he has
done. When he hears of Speke, and Grant, and
Sir Samuel Baker, hunting through Africa for the


source of the Nile, he says to himself, "What non-
sense! "
Because he knows that he round it long ago.
Or when he reads of geologists exploring the depth
of the earth below the solid granite, he remembers
the shell of the roc's egg. But he says nothing,
Nor when he looks at his wife does he tell her of the
princess who faded, long ago, into thin air; but at
Christmas time, when all men who are men, turn
into boys again, he knows that these things were
real, and that he was a prince in disguise, and that
his store and fat wife and solid babies will vanish
some day like a dream, and the real things return,
Strangers, looking into his face, ask sometimes,
what wonderful history he has had, or whether he
is not a hero in some sort of way, which the people
around him, of course deny, and tell them that
he is only a grocer.
But he knows. Andhe is kiner to Josie and his
babies, and he loves them all the better for the sake
of Desiderio, whom he lost, long ago, in the desert.


THE FARALLONE ISLANDERS.

BY JOHN LEWEES.


i2J



Odad









N 0
-I
I!~ q- -- ." = : - -: -:. -.



-'. '_' .-:- -- '




IT_
SHi.ALS ENJOYING THEIMSE1LVLS.


IN the Pacific Ocean, off the coast of California, ago, by the Spaniards, the Farallones de los Fray-
is a group of three small rocky islands, named, long les," or the Friars' Islands. They are often of great


20


[NOVEMBER;,








THE FARALLONE ISLANDERS.


advantage as landmarks for -
sailors; for they are quite con-
spicuous, and lie about thirty
miles west of the Golden
Gate," that beautiful entrance
to the Bay of San Francisco. .
These islands are inhabited
-indeed, their population is
quite large. The principal '
inhabitants may be divided
into three classes: seals, shags
and sea-gulls. Human be- :
ings are there sometimes, but t .
only as visitors.
The seals, some of which .
are so large that they are
called sea-lions, are the most i
permanent residents, for the
shags (which are small cor- r,- -
morants) and the sea-gulls .
will fly away sometimes. -t ,
But one can nearly always i'
see the seals playing on the
rocks. And seals are ob- '
jects of great interest to the '
San Francisco people. Near
the city, and only a short '
distance from a hotel on the .i::
shore, is a rock called Seal I7'' .
Rock, which is generally cov- '
ered with seals, which sport '.
there for their own amuse-
ment and that of the '
spectators on the shore..
They are not afraid to show
themselves, for no one is allowed to molest them,
.and they may have found out that they are under
protection of some kind. There are few animals
more easily tamed than seals. Out on the Far-
allones there are a great many more seals than
are to be seen on the Seal Rock. But fewer peo-
ple see them, for it is necessary to go in a vessel
to reach these islands. Here the seals seem to
.spend a curious existence. They climb up out
of the water and they slip down into it again.
They sleep in the sun, and they wake up and
bark and slip into the sea, and then they climb
out again and bark, and bark, and bark. Most
persons have heard seals bark in a menagerie,
and they can imagine the effect of hundreds of
these creatures barking all at once. If one of
them can get on a high peak of rock he gen-
erally barks the loudest. And then they slip,
and slide, and climb, and sleep and bark all their
.lives long.
But the sea-gulls and shags which you see on


SHAGS AND SEA-GULLS.
the high rocks in the above picture have a more
lively time, for they can fly. They are very grace-
ful birds on the wing; and although they are very
patient while sitting on the eggs in their nests,
which they build on the highest rocks in the
islands, they must be delighted when the hatching
season is over and they can fly over the ocean and
over the land, sweeping and circling, and diving
and rising all day, as free and almost as swift as
the wind.
But these poor shags and gulls have their
troubles. Men come to the islands and carry
away their eggs to take to the San Francisco
market; and as for the very young gulls, they
are killed and salted down like herrings. They
are considered good eating, but the old gulls
take so much exercise that their flesh is very
tough.
In the air, in the water, or on shore these
inhabitants of the Farallone Islands are certainly
interesting creatures.


5873.1


21







HERMANN, THE DEFENDER OF GERMANY.



HERMANN, THE DEFENDER OF GERMANY.

BY E. A. BRADIN.


OF course, many of my young readers have heard
of Julius Cresar and his conquests, and they re-
member that, at the time of our Saviour's birth,
almost all the known world belonged to the Roman
Emperor. Before this, many kingdoms had, one
by one, become great and powerful, but each, in
its turn, was subdued, and now only the Roman
Empire possessed either power or influence. Even
Greece, the land of Achilles and Miltiades, Leon-
idas and Alexander, was now a province of Rome.
But there were some nations further north that
the great Roman Empire had not been able to
entirely subdue. Britain, Gaul (or France) and
Germany all had been invaded. The first two
were conquered, although the Romans never had
much influence in Britain; but the brave and war-
like Germans were still independent. Germany
was not then what it is now. Instead of beautiful
castles on the tops of the hills, with sunny fields
and vineyards, stretching down to pleasant valleys,
the country was wild and uncultivated; the hills
were covered with dark forests, between whose
leaves the bright, warm sunshine seldom fell.
The Germans were tall, strong men, with blue
eyes and yellow hair, brave and powerful, generous
and faithful. They loved their fatherland then
as fondly as now; and the Romans had to fight
many and many a battle before they conquered
enough of the country to place garrisons even on
its borders.
In the time of the Emperor Augustus, who
reigned from B. C. 27 to A. D. 14, Hermann, or
Arminius, a young German prince, was taken cap-
tive and carried to Rome, where he was brought
up. He was made, by the Emperor, a Knight and
a Roman citizen. The citizenship was considered a
great honor, as it brought with it certain privileges
which, those who were not citizens, even though
they had been born in the Roman Empire, could
not enjoy. Hermann was better educated than
most of the other Germans,- who still were ignor-
ant and uncivilized ; and, what was more import-
ant for him, he understood just how the Romans
managed their armies and fought their battles.
He loved his country so dearly, that even in the
midst of the comfort and luxury around him, he
often sadly thought that Roman soldiers guarded
its borders, and that though it was not yet con-
quered, it was not perfectly free. As he grew
older, he determined to save his dear fatherland.
He married Thusuelda, the daughter of Segestes, a
German chief, who was a traitor to his country and


the Romans' friend. He did not wish his daughter
to marry Hermann, but the chief carried her off,
and she made him a loving and devoted wife.
In revenge, Segestes accused Hermann, before the
Roman Governor, of intending to attack the Ro-
mans. This treachery so roused the noble German,
that he determined to lead his oppressed country-
men to a general revolt.
His plans .had to be very carefully laid, as the
Romans were well armed, and were the best sol-
diers in the world; while the Germans had only
simple weapons, no forts, or walled towns, and
not enough provisions to last them, in case of a
long siege.
It would not do to attempt to attack the Romans
in a pitched battle, that is, a regular fight in an
open field, so Hermann determined to succeed by
strategy. Varus, the Roman general, had only
lately come into Germany. He was an unkind.
ruler, and oppressed the people in many ways,
which, of course, made them all the more anxious.
to become again independent.
Many severe rains had fallen, which swelled the
streams, and made the muddy roads worse still for
the Roman troops, whose dress and arms were
heavier than those of the Germans. Suddenly, the
tribes near the Visurgis and Amisia rivers, now,
the Weser and the Ems, in the north of Germany,
rose against the Romans. The chiefs near Varus
made him believe that it was necessary for him to
go instantly to the spot and try to subdue them;
but they did not tell him that many other tribes.
were only waiting for a signal from Hermann toc
revolt also.
Varus began his march, and, at last, while they
were toiling on, Varus heard that the Germans.
had attacked the rear of his army. He pressed-
eagerly forward, but a shower of arrows and other
weapons from the woods, on each side, showed him
that the enemy were surrounding him. He, how-
ever, arranged his camp for the night in the best
place he could find, and the next day began again
to march. He expected to find the greater part of
the German army ready to fight; but Hermann let.
him go on for some time without disturbance, ex-
cept from occasional showers of darts. At length
the head of the army reached a thickly-wooded hill,
and here the baggage-wagons had to be stopped,
as Hermann had placed the trunks of trees across
to delay the enemy. Then Hermann made his
great attack. The Romans fought bravely, but
they were not fighting for their homes and father-


22


[NOVEMBER.







HERMANN, THE DEFENDER OF GERMANY.


land, for their wives and children, like the Ger-
mans; they were struggling to conquer a free and
noble nation, and they were defeated. The Ger-
mans aimed often at the horses, who being wound-
ed, threw their riders and then rushed wildly here
and there, among the soldiers. At length, see-
ing that all was lost, Varus threw himself upon his
sword, and died. A band of Romans placed them-
selves in a ring on a little mound and fought
there till evening, but the next day they too were
captured. In a little while the Roman garri-
sons were destroyed, and this battle made Ger-
many once more free. When the emperor received
the news at Rome he was filled with grief. Beat-
ing his head against the wall, he would cry
out: "Varus, Varus, give me back my Roman
legions."
Some years after this, Segestes again quarreled
with Hermann, and traitorously called upon the
Romans to assist him. He gave himself up to
Germanicus, the Roman general, and also betrayed
his daughter, the dear wife of Hermann, into his
hands. This roused Hermann to the fiercest rage.
He called upon his countrymen to rise and chase
their enemies from the land. Germanicus went
first to the place where Varus was defeated, buried
the bones of his countrymen, and raised a funeral
pile to their memory. He fought with Hermann
not far from here, and, the Romans say, gained a
victory; but that is doubtful, as he immediately
afterwards returned to the Rhine. Some of his
troops went home by sea, but a part he sent with
Caecina through the German country, ordering
them to pass as soon as possible over the "long
bridge," which stretched between two marshes.
The Germans knew the road, and hastened to reach
the woods on either side, before Caecina.
When the Romans arrived, they found that the
bridges needed repairing, and while they were at
work Hermann attacked them. The Romans suf-
fered terribly; their armor was so heavy that the
men sunk in the marshes, and so did their wagons;
while the Germans, accustomed to this sort of fight-
ing, used their long lances with perfect ease.
At night, while the Romans slept, the Germans
turned the courses of the mountain streams, and
flooded the camp. Probably all would have been
killed, as in the battle with Varus, if the Germans,
in spite of all Hermann could do, had not seized
upon the baggage, thus giving the Romans time


to move off to a hill where they could form a camp.
The next day, contrary to the advice of Hermann,
the Germans attacked their enemies and were de-
feated.
There were no more battles after this for a year,,
in which time the Germans had destroyed the
monument erected to Varus. Germanicus entered
Germany again, and encamped on the banks of
the Weser, where a strange scene took place. Fla-
vius, the brother of Hermann, had also been
brought up at Rome, and he remained a Roman
in heart instead of taking up arms for his native
country. Hermann approached as near as possible
to the banks of the stream, and called aloud to
ask if his brother were in the Roman ranks.
Flavius came to the borders of the river, and an-
swered to his call. Then an exciting scene took
place. Hermann reproached Flavius bitterly for
his treason to the fatherland, calling upon him in
the name of the great German gods, of the dear
German land, and above all, of their beloved
mother, who still was true to her country, to give
up the honors which the Romans had heaped upon
him, and return. Flavius grew greatly excited,
and so did Hermann; and, if those around had not
interfered, they probably would have rushed across
the stream and fought with each other.
On the next day a battle took place between the
Germans and part of the Romans, in which Her-
mann was victorious; but on the ..i .11. .. day the
rest of the Romans forded the stream, and defeated
Hermann, who was severely wounded. Germani-
cus raised a magnificent triumphal pile with a
boastful inscription; but he soon retreated towards
the Rhine, which shows that his victory was not as
great as he made it appear.
Not long after this, the noble Hermann was mur-
dered by some of his own people. Tacitus, a Latin
historian, says that he tried to make himself king;
but when we think of his self-sacrificing, disinter-
ested life, we cannot believe this. Other historians
say that he wanted to extend his power over some
other tribes, not to become king.
His countrymen raised to his memory a pillar with
his statue upon it; and this was considered a sacred
guardian of their land until the 9th century, when
Charlemagne, King of the Franks, defeated the
Germans, and carried away both the pillar and the
statue of their beloved Hermann, the deliverer of
his country.


1873.]


23
a-,







WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED.



WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTtON.


CHAPTER I.
HARRY LOUDON MAKES UP HIS MIND.
ON a wooden bench under a great catalpa tree,
in the front yard of a comfortable country-house in
Virginia, sat Harry and Kate Loudon worrying
their minds. It was all about old Aunt Matilda.
Aunt Matilda was no relation of these children.
She was an old colored woman, who lived in a cabin
about a quarter of a mile from their house, but
they considered her one of their best friends. Her
old log cabin was their favorite resort, and many a
fine time they had there. When they caught some
fish, or Harry shot a bird or two, or when they
could get some sweet potatoes or apples to roast,
and some corn-meal for ash-cakes, they would take
their provisions to Aunt Matilda and she would cook
them. Sometimes an ash-cake would be baked
rather harder than it was convenient to bite, and it
had happened that a fish or two had been cooked en-
tirely away, but such mishaps were not common.
Aunt Matilda was indeed a most wonderful cook-
and a cook, too, who liked to have a boy and a girl
by her while she was at work and who would tell them
stories-as queer old stories as ever were told-
while the things were cooking. The stories were
really the cause of the ash-cakes and fish some-
times being forgotten.
And it is no wonder that these children were now
troubled in their minds. They had just heard that
Aunt Matilda was to go to the Almshouse.
Harry and Kate sat silent. They had mourned
over the news and Kate had cried. There was
nothing more to be done about it, so far as she
could see.
But all of a sudden Harry jumped up. I tell
you what it is, Kate," he exclaimed, I've made up
my mind! Aunt Matilda is not going to the Alms-
house. I will support her myself! "
"Oh, that will be splendid! cried Kate, "but
you never can do it!"
"Yes, I can," said Harry. "There are ever so
many ways in which I can make money."
What are you going to do ? said Kate; will
you let me help?"
"Yes," said her brother, "you may help if you
can, but I don't think you will be of much use. As
for me, I shall do plenty of things; I shall go out
with my gun-"
"But there is nothing to shoot, now in the
Summer-time," said Kate.
"No, there is n't much yet, to be sure," said her


brother, "but before very long there will be part-
ridges and hares; plenty of them; and father and
Captain Caseby will buy all I shoot. And then you
see until it is time for game I'm going to gather
sumac."
Oh I can help you in that," cried Kate.
"Yes, I believe you can," said her brother.
"And now, suppose we go down and see Aunt
Matilda, and have a talk with her about it."
"Just wait until I get my bonnet," said Kate.
And she dashed into the house, and then, with a
pink calico sunbonnet on her head, she came down
the steps in two jumps, and the brother and sister,
together, hurried through the woods to Aunt Ma-
tilda's cabin.
Harry and Kate Loudon were well-educated
children, and, in many respects, knew more than
most girls and boys who were older than they.
Harry had been taught by his father to ride and to
swim and to shoot as carefully as his school-teacher
had taught him to spell and to parse. And he
was not only taught to be skillful in these out-door
pursuits, but to be prudent, and kind-hearted.
When he went gunning, he shot birds and game
that were fit for the table, and when he rode, he
remembered that his horse had feelings as well as
himself. Being a boy of good natural impulses, he
might have found out these things for himself; but,
for fear that he might be too long about it, his
father carefully taught him that it was possible to
shoot and to hunt and to ride without being either
careless or cruel. It must not be supposed that
Harry was so extremely particular that there was
no fun in him, for he had discovered that there is
just as much fun in doing things right as in doing
them wrong; and as there was not a boy in all the
country round about who could ride, or swim, or
shoot so well as Harry, so there was none who had
a more generally jolly time than he.
His sister Kate was a sharp, bright, intelligent
girl, rather inclined to be wild when opportunity
offered; but very affectionate, and always as ready
for out-door sports as any boy. She could not shoot
-at least, she never tried-and she did not ride
much on horseback, but she enjoyed fishing, and
rambles through the woods were to her a constant
delight. When anything was to be done, espe-
cially if it was anything novel, Kate was always
ready to help. If anybody had a plan on hand, it
was very hard to keep her finger out of it; and if
there were calculations to be made, it was all the
better. Kate had a fine head for mathematics,


24


[NOVEMBER,







WHAT MIGIIT HAVE ,EEN EXPECTED.


and, on the whole, she rather preferred a slate and
pencil to needles and spool-cotton.
As to Aunt Matilda, there could be no doubt
about her case being a pretty hard one. She was
quite old and decrepit when the war set her free,
.and, at the time of our story, she was still older and
stiffer. Her former master had gone to the North
to live, and as she had no family to support her,
the poor old woman was compelled to depend upon
the charity of her neighbors. For a time she man-
aged to get along tolerably well, but it was soon found
that she would suffer if she depended upon occa-
sional charity, especially after she became unable
to go after food or help. Mr. and Mrs. Loudon


CHAPTER II.
THE ADOPTION.
WHEN the children reached Aunt Matilda's cab-
in, they found the old woman seated by a very
small fire, which was burning in one corner of the
hearth.
"Are you cold, Aunt Matilda?" asked Kate.
"Lor' bless you, no, honey! But you see there
wasn't hardly any coals left, and I was trying' to
keep the fire alive till somebody would come along
and gather me up some wood."
"Then you were going to cook your breakfast, I
suppose," said Harry.


--- :
.- :. -.2 ..=....... .... . .



II -
I ..,. -. -


AUNT MATILDA AND HER GUARDIANS.


were very willing to give her what they could, but
they had several poor people entirely dependent
upon them, and they found it impossible to add to
the number of their pensioners. So it was finally
determined among the neighbors that Aunt Ma-
tilda would have to go to the Almshouse, which
place was provided for just such poor persons as
she. Neither Harry nor Kate knew much about the
Almshouse, but they thought it must be some sort
of a horrible place; and, at any rate, it was too
hard that Aunt Matilda should have to leave her
old home where she had spent so many, many years.
And they did not intend she should do it.


"Yes, child, if somebody 'ud come along and
fetch me something to eat."
"Haven't you anything at all in the house?"
asked Kate.
"Not a pinch o' meal, nor nothing' else," said the
old woman; "but I 'spected somebody 'ud be
along."
"Did you know, Aunt Matilda," said Harry,
"that they are going to send you to the Alms-
house?"
"Yes; I heerd 'em talk about it," said Aunt
Matilda, shaking her head; "but the Almshouse
ain't no place for me."


25


873.1


':I








WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED.


"That's so!" said Kate, quickly. "And you're
not going there, either! "
"No," said Harry;" "Kate and I intend to take
care of you for the rest of your life."
"Lor', children, you can't do it!" said the old
woman, looking in astonishment from one to the other
of these youngsters who proposed to adopt her.
"Yes; but we can," said Harry. "Just you wait
and see."
"It 'll take a good deal o' money," said the old
woman, who did not seem to be altogether satisfied
with the prospects held out before her. "M\ore'n
you all will ever be able to git."
"How much money would be enough for you
to live on, Aunt Matilda?" asked Harry.
"Dun no. Takes a heap o' money to keep a
person."
"Well, now," said Kate, "let's see exactly how
much it will take. Have you a pencil, Harry? I
have a piece of paper in my pocket, I think. Yes;
here it is. Now, let's set down everything, and see
what it comes to."
So saying, she sat down on a low stool with her
paper on her knees, and her pencil in her hand.
"What shall we begin with?" said she.
"We'll begin with corn-meal," said Harry.
"How much corn-meal do you eat in a week,
Aunt Matilda?"
"Dun no," said she, "spect about a couple o'
pecks."
"Oh, Aunt Matilda!" cried Kate, "our whole
family wouldn't eat two pecks in a week."
"Well, then, a half-peck," said she-"'pends a
good deal on how many is living in a house."
Yes; but we only mean this for you, Aunt Ma-
tilda. We don't mean it for anybody else."
"Well, then, I reckon a quarter of a peck would
do, for jest me."
"We will allow you a peck," said Harry, "and
that will be twenty-five cents a week. Set that
down, Kate."
"All right," said Kate. And she set down at
the top of the paper, "Meal, 25 cents."
The children proceeded in this way to calculate
how much bacon, molasses, coffee and sugar, would
suffice for Aunt Matilda's support; and they found
that the cost, per week, at the rates of the country
stores, with which they were both familiar, would
be seventy-seven and three-quarter cents.
"Is there anything else, Aunt Matilda?" asked
Kate.
"Nuffin I can think on," said Aunt Matilda,
"'cept milk."
"Oh, I can get that for nothing," said Kate. "I
will bring it to you from home, and I will bring
you some butter too, when I can get it."
"And I'll pick up wood for you," said Harry. "I


can gather enough in the woods in a couple of
hours to last you for a week."
"Lor' bless you, chil'len," said Aunt Matilda,
"I hope you'll be able to do all dat."
Harry stood quiet a few minutes, reflecting.
"How much would seventy-seven and three-
quarter cents a week amount to in a year, Kate,"
said he.
Kate rapidly worked out the problem, and an-
swered: "Forty dollars and forty-three cents."
"Lor'! but that's a heap o' money! said Aunt
Matilda. "That's more'n I spect to have all the
rest of my life."
"How old are you, Aunt Matilda?" said Harry.
"I spect about fifty," said the old woman.
"Oh, Aunt Matilda!" cried Harry, "you're
certainly more than fifty. When I was a very little
fellow, I remember that you were very old-at
least, sixty or seventy."
"Well, then, I aspects I 'se about ninety," said
Aunt Matilda.
But you can't be ninety!" said Kate. "The
Bible says that seventy years is the common length
of a person's life."
"Them was Jews," said Aunt Matilda. "It
did n't mean no cull'd people. Cull'd people live
longer than that. But p'raps a cull'd Jew would n't
live very long."
"Well," said Harry, "it makes no difference how
old you are. We 're going to take care of you for
the rest of your life."
Kate was again busy with her paper.
"In five years, Harry," she said, it will be two
hundred and two dollars and fifteen cents."
Lor' cried Aunt Matilda, you chill'en will
nebber git dat."
"But we don't have to get it all at once, Aunt
Matilda," said Harry, laughing, "and you need n't
be afraid that we can't do it. Come, Kate, it's time
for us to be off."
And then the conference broke up. The ques-
tion of Aunt Matilda's future support was settled.
They had forgotten clothes, to be sure, but it is
very difficult to remember everything.

CHAPTER III.
COlMMENCING BUSINESS.
WHEN they reached home Harry and Kate put
together what little money they had, and found
that they could buy food enough to last Aunt Ma-
tilda for several days. This Harry procured and
carried down to the old woman that day. He also
gathered and piled up inside of her cabin, a good
supply of wood. Fortunately, there was a spring
very near her door, so that she could get water
without much trouble.


26


[NOVEMBER,







WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED.


1873.]


Harry and Kate determined that they would
commence business in earnest the next morning,
and, as this was not the season for game, they de-
termined to go to work to gather sumac leaves.
Most of us are familiar with the sumac bush,
which grows nearly all over the United States. Of
course we do not mean the poisonous swamp-sumac,
but that which grows along the fences and on the
edges of the woods. Of late years the leaves of this
bush have been greatly in demand for tanning pur-
poses, and, in some states, especially in Virginia,
sumac gathering has become a very important
branch of industry, particularly with the negroes;
many of whom, during the sumac season, prefer
gathering these leaves to doing any other kind of
work. The sumac bush is quite low, and the leaves
are easily stripped off. They are then carefully
dried, and packed in bags, and carried to the near-
est place of sale, generally a country store.
The next morning, Harry and Kate made pre-
parations for a regular expedition. They were to
take their dinner, and stay all day. Kate was en-
raptured-even more so, perhaps, than Harry.
Each of them had a large bag, and Harry carried
his gun, for who could tell what they might meet
with? A mink, perhaps, or a fox, or even a beaver!
They had a long walk, but it was through the
woods, and there was always something to see in
the woods. In a couple of hours, for they stopped
very often, they reached a little valley, through which
ran Crooked Creek. And on the banks of Crooked
Creek were plenty of sumac bushes. This place
was at some distance from any settlement, and
apparently had not been visited by sumac gath-
erers.
"Hurra! cried Kate, "here is enough to fill a
thousand bags!"
Harry leaned his gun against a tree, and hung
up his shot and powder flasks, and they both went
to work gathering sumac. There was plenty of it,
but Kate soon found that what they saw would not
fill a thousand bags. There were a good many
bushes, but they were small; and, when all the
leaves were stripped off one, and squeezed into a
bag, they did not make a very great show. How-
ever, they did very well, and, for an hour or so,
they worked on merrily. Then they had dinner.
Harry built a fire. He easily found dry branches,
and he had brought matches and paper with him.
At a little distance under a great pine tree, Kate
selected a level place, and cleared away the dead
leaves, and the twigs, leaving a smooth table of dry
and fragrant pine needles. On this she spread the
cloth, which was a napkin. Then she took from
the little basket she had brought with her a cake of
corn-meal, several thick and well buttered slices of
wheat bread, some hard boiled eggs, a little paper


of pepper and salt, a piece of cheese, and some
fried chicken. When this was spread out (and it
would not all go on the cloth) Harry came, and
looked at the repast.
"What is there to cook?" said he.
Kate glanced over her table, with a perplexed
look upon her countenance, and said: "I don't be-
lieve there is anything to cook."
"But we ought to cook something," said Harry.
"Here is a splendid fire. What's the good of
camping out if you don't cook things?"
"But everything is cooked," said Kate.
"So it seems," said Harry, in a somewhat dis-
couraged tone. Had he built that beautiful fire for
nothing? "We ought to have brought along some-
thing raw," said he. It is ridiculous eating a cold
dinner with a splendid fire like that."
"We might catch some fish," said Kate; "we
should have to cook them."
'Yes," said Harry, "but I brought no lines."
So, as there was nothing else to be done, they
ate their dinner cold, and when they had finished,
Kate cleared off the table by giving the napkin a
flirt, and they were ready for work again. But first
they went to look for a spring, where they could get
a drink. In about half an hour they found a spring,
and some wild plums, and some blackberries, and
a grape vine (which would surely be full of grapes
in the Fall, and was therefore a vine to be remem-
bered), and a stone, which Kate was quite certain
was an Indian arrow-head, and some tracks in the
white sand, which must have been made by some
animal or other, although neither of them was
able to determine exactly what animal.
When they returned to the pine tree Kate took
up her bag. Harry followed her example, but
somewhat slowly, as if he were thinking of some-
thing else.
"I tell you, Harry," said Kate, "suppose you
take your gun and go along the creek and see what
that was that made the tracks. If it was anything
with fur on it, it would come to more than the
sumac; I will stay here, and go on filling my
bag."
"Well," said Harry, after a moment's hesitation,
I might go a little way up the creek. I need n't be
gone long. I would certainly like to find that
creature, if I can."
"All right," said Kate, "I think you '11 find it."
So Harry loaded his gun, and hurried off to find
the tracks of the mysterious, and probably fur-
covered animal.
Kate worked away cheerfully, singing a little
song, and filling her bag with the sumac leaves. It
was now much warmer, and she began to find that
sumac picking, all alone, was not very interesting,
and she hoped that Harry would soon find his ani-


27







ANNA'S DOLL.


mal, whatever it was. Then, after picking a little
longer, she thought she would sit down, and rest
awhile. So she dragged her bag to the pine tree,
and sat down, leaning her back against the tall
trunk. She took her bag of sumac in her arms,
and lifted it up, trying to estimate its weight.
"There must be ten pounds here!" she said.
"No-it don't feel very heavy, but then there are
so many of the leaves. It ought to weigh fifteen
pounds. And they willbe a cent a pound, if we take
pay in trade, and three-quarters of a cent if we want
cash. But, of course, we will take things in trade."
And then she put down the bag, and began to
calculate.
"Fifteen pounds, fifteen cents, and at seventy-
seven and three-quarter cents per week that would
support Aunt Matilda nearly a day and a half; and
then, if Harry has as much more, that will keep
her almost three days; and if we pick for two hours
longer, when Harry comes back, we may get ten
pounds more, apiece, which will make it pretty
heavy; but then we won't have to come again for
nearly five days; and if Harry shoots an otter, I
reckon he can get a dollar for the skin,-or a pair
of gloves of it-kid gloves, and my pink dress-and
we 'll go in the carriage-two horses-four horses-
a prince with a feather-some butterflies-" and
Kate was asleep.
When Kate awoke, she saw by the sun that she
had been asleep for several hours. She sprang to
her feet. "Where is Harry?" she cried. But no-


body answered. Then she was frightened, for he
might be lost. But soon she reflected that that
was very ridiculous, for neither of them could be
lost in that neighborhood, which they knew so well.
Then she sat down and waited, quite anxiously, it
must be admitted. But Harry did not come, and
the sun sank lower. Presently she rose with an air
of determination.
I can't wait any longer," she said, "or it will be
dark before I get home. Harry has followed that
thing up the creek ever so far, and there is no
knowing when he will get back, and it won't do for me
tostayhere. I'll go home, and leave a note forhim."
She put her hand in her pocket, and there was
Harry's pencil, which she had borrowed in the
morning, and forgot to return, and also the piece
of paper, on which she had made her calculation
of the cost of Aunt Matilda's board. The back of
this would do very well for a note. So she wrote on it:
I am going home, for it is getting late. I shall
go back by the same road we came. Your sumac
bag is in the bushes between the tree and the creek.
Bring this piece of afper with you, as it has Aunt
Matilda's expenses on the outside.
Kate.
This note she pinned up against the pine tree,
where Harry could not fail to see it. Then she
hid her brother's sumac bag in the bushes, and,
shouldering her own bag, which, by-the-way, did
not weigh so many pounds as she thought it did,
set out for home.
(To be Continued.)


ANNA'S DOLL.

BY LUCRETIA P. HALE.


ANNA'S doll was thought a very remarkable one
by all of the family. It had now reached its third
head, which could be washed in front, and could
be curled behind, and, happily, was very strong.
For Anna, though she was very fond of her
doll, whose name was Elsie, did often forget to take
care of her. I am sorry to say she sometimes
left her under the rockers of the chair, which is not
a safe thing for a doll, or on the sofa in the parlor.
And the way her first head was broken was, that
somebody stepped on it, because Anna had dropped
it in the front entry, one day, when she was hurry-
ing off for school.
Anna had two older sisters and two very kind
aunts, and that is the way her doll came to have so
many nice things. Whenever they went away, they
always brought home something pretty for Elsie.
She was wearing now a pretty new hat, and a


little parasol with fringe, that one of the aunts
brought home from Paris.
Anna had a brother Jim, and it was hard to tell
whether he was more of a help to her, or a plague,
about her doll. On rainy days, when he had noth-
ing better to do, he would make doll's chairs and
tables for Anna's baby house. The legs were not
very strong, and had a way of wobbling, but Anna
was very grateful for them, and they made her for-
get that it was owing to Jim that Elsie had lost her
second head.
This was a waxen head, and it was a very lovely
one-there were light, golden curls, and you could
move the head one way or another. But one
winter's day Jim came in, and said he knew Elsie
must be very cold, and advised Anna to put her in
front of the crackling wood fire, to sit in her easy-
chair and warm her feet. This might have done


28


(NOVEMBER,








AN INDIAN MOTHER.


for a little while, but Anna left her there too long,
and when she came back, all Elsie's sweet expres-
sion had melted away !
Jim was really very sorry, and he offered some
of his next month's allowance to buy a new head
for the doll, but one of the aunts had just come
home with a new head, which she had bought,
thinking Elsie might be in need of one, and this
was number three. Anna began to think it was
the most beautiful of all, though she loved her
dear Elsie so much, she said she would not care if
she had no head.
Jim then said he would write a book for the doll,
a book that should teach her never to sit too near
the fire, or to run into danger. The idea pleased
Anna very much. This is the book:
ABOUT DOLLS.
BV J. J.
Some dolls' heads are made of wood; these are
called wooden dolls. Wood comes from trees, which
are found in the country. Trees have leaves also ;
they grow up, but dolls do not grow. Some trees are
pine, some apple, some pine-apple, and some mur-
hoggany, a hard wordto spell. These heads are very
hard, and you can pound them without hurting.
Some dolls' heads are made of wax, and are called


wax-dolls. The wax comes from little animal called
the bee, that has wings. Sometimes it is called
the busy bee, because it buzzes. The bee does not
make the dolls, but the wax. It goes in a straight
line to a flower, and pokes the honey out with its
sting. Then you feel glad you are not the flower,
because the sting hurts-it does-that is the way it
makes the wax. But it is not good to put these
dolls in the sun or over a furnace.
Some dolls are made all over of India rubber, and
you can fling them about anyhow. They grow on
a tree, the India rubber does, in India, where they
make India rubber boots. It is a good kind to have,
because you can throw it about like a ball. But then
the face is painted, and may rub off-some noses do.
Then there's China dolls, made of what tea sets
are; but they don't come from the China where
they make the -fire-works, though they do make
the tea. These might smash, if pounded with a
hammer. There's another kind I don't know
about, that Elsie's made of. It don't matter, any
way. My aunt helped me about the spelling, ex-
cept murhoggany-that I knew. I shall write
another volume, telling more about trees and bees,
and why dolls should take care of themselves.
This is enough for once.


AN INDIAN MOTHER.


THERE is not much to be said about the beauty
of Indians-generally speaking. Occasionally we


hear of a pretty Indian girl but we seldom see her
or her portrait. Fancy-pictures of Indians are
common enough, but we have had engraved a por-
trait of a real Indian mother-a Piute squaw-and
her two children. The baby or papoose is wrapped
up tight in a sort of portable cradle, made of cloth
or bark stretched over a frame made of saplings,
with a board back to it. In this cradle or case the
baby is hung up on a branch to sleep, or swung
about, or tossed over its mother's shoulder, or stood
up in a corner.
The Piute Indians are rather poor creatures.
They hang around the Pacific Railroad stations
and beg for money, or clothes, or any thing, except
soap, that they think they can get. They are always
dirty and have a sullen look. They live in wigwams
covered with sail-cloth, or bark, or calico, whichever
happens to be the most convenient. But these In-
dian children may grow up to be respectable and
industrious citizens, for although many of the Indian
tribes of the West are lazy and thriftless, and some
hostile and treacherous, there, are Indians upon
whom white missionaries have exerted such a good
influence that they are industrious and thrifty, cul-
tivating the soil, supporting schools, and even pub-
lishing newspapers.


1873.1I


29







YA-SEK.


BY MARY G. WVINGATE.


THIS story is about a little Chinese boy, and his
name you see written at the head of it; only, there
it is put in characters large enough for a great
Mandarin, quite too large for a little orphan boy in
an unknown family, who, according to Chinese
ideas, ought humbly to write his name in very
small letters, so: "SPi-. But at the time four story,
little Ya-Sek, for in the district where he lives, the
name is so pronounced, was only two years old,
and was not called ti if, indeed, he had any name
at all. He probably was known as Number Two, for
he had a brother older than himself, and among
poor people in China, numbers are very commonly
used for names, both for girls and boys.
Number Two's father and mother lived up in the
country, at a distance from the sea-side, near which
lived his grandmother, the mother's mother, and
her two sons, his uncles, A-Muc and A-Seng.
The grandmother was the funniest looking old
lady that could possibly be. She had very little
flesh, and it seemed as if there could hardly be
anything so substantial as bones about her; for she
looked as though she might be carried away by the
first puff of wind. Then, what made her seem
stranger yet, was a great pair of spectacles which
she wore, with glasses in them as round, and al-
most as large, as watch crystals. She and her
younger son, A-Muc, were in the "pig business,"
that is, they bought pigs, and, after fattening them,
sold them.
Besides A-Muc, a little girl lived with her, a
sweet-tempered little girl, with a face as brown as
the sun could burn it. Though I think she could
not have been more than twelve years old, she used
to work very hard indeed. She would carry, for a
long distance, two very large buckets filled with
rice-water and other food for pigs; these she would
hang on the ends of a pole put over her shoulder.
And the reason for her doing all this was, that she
was engaged to be married to A-Muc, though ac-
cording to Chinese custom, A-Muc never looked at
her nor spoke to her. Their fathers and mothers
had managed it all when the little girl was still


younger and smaller, and now she lived part of the
time with her own mother, and part of the time
with A-Muc's mother.
A-Seng lived in another house. He was servant
in a foreigner's kitchen. He had been taught from
the Bible by one of the missionaries, and seemed to
be truly a very good man. He ate at a table with
his wife, which was an almost unheard-of thing.
A-Seng's only child, a little girl, had died when
she was a month old. She was lame in her feet.
Her parents were going to throw her little body in-
to the river, but, after the missionary had talked
with them about it, they concluded to make her a
grave on the hillside. All the other Chinese
laughed at the idea of having a coffin for a baby a
month old. They did not suppose that it could
have any soul. Only a month old, and a girl! If
it had been a boy, a year old, that would have
been very different!
A-Seng had no son, and no man in China is
really happy without a son; if he has none of his
own, sometimes one of his friends will give him one;
if not, he can try to buy one!
One day, sorrowful news came down from the
country. Little Number Two's father and mother
were dead, and he was to be sold.
A-Seng started, at once, in a boat, to go and in-
quire into the matter. Alas, it was all too true!
Number Two's parents were both dead, and his
grandfather had said, "There is not now rice
enough for so many mouths; the little boy Number
One, must grow up into his father's place, but we
must part with Number Two."
A-Seng did not like to have Number Two go out
of the family; so he asked the relations, "For how
much will you sell him to me, to be my own son?"
and they said, "Fifteen dollars."
Now, fifteen dollars was a large sum to A-Seng,
who had his wife to support, and all his own food
and clothes to buy out of six dollars a month; but it
was for his sister's little boy; so he raised the money
and took a written paper from the father's family,
saying that they gave up all claim to the child.


30


[NOVEMBER,









WILLIY 1;Y THE BROOK.


Then A-Seng came home in the boat, joyfully
bringing Number Two with him.
"I mean to give him a Bible name," said A-Seng.
"Then you ought to call him Joseph," said
one of his friends, "because he was sold by his
brethren."
This idea pleased A-Seng, and, from that time,
little Number Two has been called Ya-Sek. which,
in his district, is the Chinese for Joseph.
Ya-Sek is now about five years old, and he has a
happy home with his father-uncle.
For a wonder, he is quite clean, and his eyes are
very bright, and, considering they are Chinese eyes,
they are very large and round, and he is as chubby
:as plenty of rice to eat can make him.
In summer, he does not wear many clothes, but
you should see him in winter, when he is dressed in
his best. Then his plump, little feet are encased


in shoes which look very tidy, though thev cost
little more than a dime, and he wears a blue jacket
and trousers, and a little cloth cap, wrought with
gay silks. This cap has two embroidered cloth
butterflies, looking, for all the world, like pen-
wipers, sewed on in front, and at the back of his
head, hanging down from under the cap. is the
little queue of hair, about a quarter of a yard long.
with a bunch of scarlet silk braided in the end
of it.
If he were told to speak to you, he would clasp
his hands together in the Chinese style, and, mak-
ing you a bow, would repeat the salutation of the
Christians, Peace !"
And this is the story of the little Chinese boy,
Ya-Sek, who is too young yet to write his name;
but I doubt if many of you are old enough to
want to write it often.


WILLY BY THE BROOK.
[SEE FRONTISPIECE.
WILLY lay by the dimpling brook
Where the sun had lain before;
And, strange to say, when its place he took
The spot just brightened the more.
The birds were singing in the blue
A song that was like a hymn;
While the baby ducklings, two by two,
Strayed into the water to swim.
"Heigho !" sighed Willy, "I cannot fly,
Nor even so much as float;
And as for singing like robins, why
I never could raise a note.
"But I can play on my pipe," said he;
And soon the music came-
So clear and sweet, so blithesome free
That it put the birds to shame.
The baby ducklings softly splashed,
The robins yet harder tried,
The sprinkled grass in sunlight flashed
As it nodded by Willy's side.
And, before he knew, he was floating free
On a sparkling river of thought;
While the birds in the air came down to see
What wonder the pipe had wrought.
And still the music softly rose,
Still Willy was floating free-
And the little ducks with their funny toes,
Were happy as happy could be.


aS73.1


3I







32 M MAJOR. [\OvIATBER.








i'III

-. .... ,


7---





L .



Ff
.ii, ', ..
SITJ,
W.,s -,'. ; , .i ,._


MAJOR.





FOR LITTLE F 1,LKS.


33


FOR LITTLE FOLKS.

I am Major. Come smooth my head and pull
my ears. I won't bite. But don't step on my tail
or strike my black nose. If you do, I shall bark.
Once a boy got on my back. Then he held
fast by my ears, and said "Get up!" and away we
went. It was such fun that he said Ha! ha!
ha!" and I said "Bow, wow-wow!"


You can't guess
what I have in my bas-
ket," said Fred. "Oh,
do tell us," cried Fan,
"and I will show you
my nice ball."
Fred took the ball,
and May gave him a
hug, which made his
hat fall off. Then they
you think the) saw?
mice, with pink ears.


Dear Jesus
Please to
Little Elsie


keep


In her sleep.
Bless Papa,
Mamma and Sue,
VOL. I.--.


,4-


took a peep, and what do
Why, two little white


Bless my doll
And Kitty too.
If we're good
As we can be,
We shall live
In Heaven with Thee,,


1 .
,* iI~ i ,

I ,;,


is73.i


i,

!1:








A VISIT TO A BEE-HIVE.


A COMMON
MISTAKE.


Si -- TIrE wisest thing
For any man,
Is to get from others
All he can.
S---- The meanest thing
S A man can do,
-' Is to get his gains
From me or you.
--Y, ,- .- I '




"-. WHICH IS CAUGHT?

W'H "ICH is caught? Mousie
or Pussie! Ha! Ha! Not
Mousie; for Puss cannot move
S' -- without setting him free. It
S-- is good to know that the little
-- -- fellow is more frightened than
-_ hurt: for cats' rocking-chairs
are very light. Keep up your
S-' courage, Mousie, there's a
chance for you yet!
\ -HICh 1S CALGH1 f




A VISIT TO A BEE-HIVE,

DESCRIBED BY THE FAIRY FLYAWAY.


'*1i


: How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey day by1 day,
From every opening flower?"

"How doth she, indeed?" I said to myself, as
I awoke one bright morning.
The thought was suggested by a noisy bee, who
waked me by trying to enter my lily-bell, and
I resolved that I would look into the matter. So I
flew out of my lily, and to the nearest hive, to
make inquiries.
Bees are high-spirited and quick-tempered per-
sons, I know, but a fairy can make her way any-
where.
The hive was a neat building, pleasantly situated
in an orchard. On one side a clover-field, full of
perfume; and on the other a gay flower-garden.


At the door of the hive I was met by a number
of sentinels, one of whom addressed me rather
sharply, with Who goes there ?"
"A friend," I replied, "who wishes to learn
something of the ways of bees, and how they make
honey."
"Your passport," said she.
"I never thought of such a thing," said I.
"Do you intend to go into the honey business
yourself?" askld she.
"By no means," I replied; "I am the fairy Fly-
away, and only want information and amusement."
I will send a messenger to our Oueen," said the
sentinel.
The messenger soon returned with the Oueen's
permission to go entirely through the hive,-
escorted by one of her own body-guard,-except-
ing into the royal apartments.


34


i'-
jW


[NOVEM FIBER,


i
I ,








A VISIT TO A BEE-HIVE.


A COMMON
MISTAKE.


Si -- TIrE wisest thing
For any man,
Is to get from others
All he can.
S---- The meanest thing
S A man can do,
-' Is to get his gains
From me or you.
--Y, ,- .- I '




"-. WHICH IS CAUGHT?

W'H "ICH is caught? Mousie
or Pussie! Ha! Ha! Not
Mousie; for Puss cannot move
S' -- without setting him free. It
S-- is good to know that the little
-- -- fellow is more frightened than
-_ hurt: for cats' rocking-chairs
are very light. Keep up your
S-' courage, Mousie, there's a
chance for you yet!
\ -HICh 1S CALGH1 f




A VISIT TO A BEE-HIVE,

DESCRIBED BY THE FAIRY FLYAWAY.


'*1i


: How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey day by1 day,
From every opening flower?"

"How doth she, indeed?" I said to myself, as
I awoke one bright morning.
The thought was suggested by a noisy bee, who
waked me by trying to enter my lily-bell, and
I resolved that I would look into the matter. So I
flew out of my lily, and to the nearest hive, to
make inquiries.
Bees are high-spirited and quick-tempered per-
sons, I know, but a fairy can make her way any-
where.
The hive was a neat building, pleasantly situated
in an orchard. On one side a clover-field, full of
perfume; and on the other a gay flower-garden.


At the door of the hive I was met by a number
of sentinels, one of whom addressed me rather
sharply, with Who goes there ?"
"A friend," I replied, "who wishes to learn
something of the ways of bees, and how they make
honey."
"Your passport," said she.
"I never thought of such a thing," said I.
"Do you intend to go into the honey business
yourself?" askld she.
"By no means," I replied; "I am the fairy Fly-
away, and only want information and amusement."
I will send a messenger to our Oueen," said the
sentinel.
The messenger soon returned with the Oueen's
permission to go entirely through the hive,-
escorted by one of her own body-guard,-except-
ing into the royal apartments.


34


i'-
jW


[NOVEM FIBER,


i
I ,








A VISIT TO A BEE-HIVE.


A COMMON
MISTAKE.


Si -- TIrE wisest thing
For any man,
Is to get from others
All he can.
S---- The meanest thing
S A man can do,
-' Is to get his gains
From me or you.
--Y, ,- .- I '




"-. WHICH IS CAUGHT?

W'H "ICH is caught? Mousie
or Pussie! Ha! Ha! Not
Mousie; for Puss cannot move
S' -- without setting him free. It
S-- is good to know that the little
-- -- fellow is more frightened than
-_ hurt: for cats' rocking-chairs
are very light. Keep up your
S-' courage, Mousie, there's a
chance for you yet!
\ -HICh 1S CALGH1 f




A VISIT TO A BEE-HIVE,

DESCRIBED BY THE FAIRY FLYAWAY.


'*1i


: How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey day by1 day,
From every opening flower?"

"How doth she, indeed?" I said to myself, as
I awoke one bright morning.
The thought was suggested by a noisy bee, who
waked me by trying to enter my lily-bell, and
I resolved that I would look into the matter. So I
flew out of my lily, and to the nearest hive, to
make inquiries.
Bees are high-spirited and quick-tempered per-
sons, I know, but a fairy can make her way any-
where.
The hive was a neat building, pleasantly situated
in an orchard. On one side a clover-field, full of
perfume; and on the other a gay flower-garden.


At the door of the hive I was met by a number
of sentinels, one of whom addressed me rather
sharply, with Who goes there ?"
"A friend," I replied, "who wishes to learn
something of the ways of bees, and how they make
honey."
"Your passport," said she.
"I never thought of such a thing," said I.
"Do you intend to go into the honey business
yourself?" askld she.
"By no means," I replied; "I am the fairy Fly-
away, and only want information and amusement."
I will send a messenger to our Oueen," said the
sentinel.
The messenger soon returned with the Oueen's
permission to go entirely through the hive,-
escorted by one of her own body-guard,-except-
ing into the royal apartments.


34


i'-
jW


[NOVEM FIBER,


i
I ,









A VISIT T() A -EE-HIVE


I then entered the doorway, where I was greeted
hb my guide, who gave me her name,--Deborah,-
and ushered me, with a grand flourish of her wings,
into a wide gallery or passage.
In the middle of the hive I saw a long string of
bees, reaching from the roof to the floor, each
bee clinging to her neighbor, and remaining mo-
tionless, while other bees ran up and down, as
though upon a ladder.
"What is that?" I asked my guide.
"A bee-rope," she replied, "a short cut from
the top to the bottom of the hive."
I remarked that I had thought it might be some
kind of dance.
"No," said she. "In the winter when there is
no work to be done, we sometimes dance in the
sunshine before the hive, but never at any other
time. We are too busy."
This seemed to me rather sad, but I did not
say so.
In the gallery we saw bees hurrying about in all
directions, too busy to notice us, and never disturb-
ing or interfering with each other, in the least.
"These are our Workers," said Deborah.
"About how many of them are there?" I in-
quired.
: There are twenty-thousand of us, all told," she
replied, one Queen, or Mother-bee, blessings on
her Majesty some hundreds of Drones, and the
rest AWorkers."
"They must be tired enough if they always work
as fast as these do," I said.
"No," replied Deborah, "they like it. A true
Worker-bee is never content to be idle. Would
you like to see the Nurseries ? continued she.
"Anything you please to show me," I replied.
W\e then turned through a side-gallery into a
quiet corner of the hive, where we found curious
cradles or cells, of different sizes, made of the purest
white wax.
"Here the eggs are laid by our Queen," said
Deborah, '"generally about two hundred a day,
but often many l more."
"Then your Oueen must be busy, as well as the
rest of you," I said.
"No one works harder," replied my guide.
I thought of our beautiful Queen, with her delicate
wings, and felt that a bee-hive was not much like
Fairy-land.
"And will these eggs ever turn into real bees?"
1 asked.
'"0 yes," said my guide, "in three or four days
they hatch into worms."
"Something like caterpillars and butterflies?"
I asked.
"As little," she replied, "'but in this case the
young worms are worth taking care of, as bees are


valuable and industrious persons, while butteriics
are idle and useless."
"You are mistaken there," I said, "they are ulc-
ful to us fairies. In our long flights we could not
do without them."
"Ah," said she, I never heard of it before."
"When the eggs turn into grubs or \wormns."
continued she, "the W\orkers find plenty to do to
take care of them. Each little worm must be care-
fully fed for four or five days, with water, and bread
and honey."
"What kind of bread? I asked.
"0, bee-bread," she replied, nothingi else
would suit them. The cells are then sealed up,
that is, a nice lid or cover is put upon each one,
and the little worms must take cae of themselves
for a while. Every worm is expected to line its cell
neatly, with a silken webbing, and then roll itself up
in a cocoon. And they always do it. I never knew
one fail. This takes a day or two and then they
must stay in the cocoon for a time. Ah! we are
just in time to see the cells closed."
And, to be sure, there were the attendants seal-
ing up the cells, a small, white worm in each.
I must confess it made me shudder to look at
them, for I never did like worms! It is so dreadful
to meet one in the folds of a rose.
But I fancied the little worms seemed uneasy at
the idea of being shut up, and so I told my friend.
"Ah well! said she, "It is the only w ay. AWe
all go through with it. Before many days they
will come out perfect bees. Wings and legs all
right."
'"And must they go to work as soon as they are
out," I asked, ;"and not dance once?"
'No," replied Deborah. ":They are not strong
e:iough to flyt until they have been fed one or two
days. Then they begin to work in good.earnest."
I observed that the cells were of different sizes,
and inquired the reason.
"The largest and handsomest cells," replied
Deborah, "are for the young Queen-bees or Prin-
cesses. The next in size for the Drones, and the
smallest for the Workers."
"Can the cells be used more than once," I asked,
"or are they done with, like last-year's birds'-
nests? "
"The royal cells are all destroyed when they
have been once used," she answered, "but the
others are cleansed and the silken webbing is left to
strengthen them, and they are then better than
ever."
"How long does it take to turn froma eggs into
bees?" I inquired.
"Sixteen days for the Oueen-bee to become a
perfect insect. Twenty-four days for the Drones,
and twenty-one for the Workers," she replied.


ST73.J


c35








A VISIT TO A BEE-HIVE.


"And have these attendants nothing to do but
to feed the little ones?" I asked.
"O yes," said Deborah, "they attend the Queen,
do the fighting, prepare the wax, make the combs
or cells, collect the honey by day, and store it by
night, and keep the hive in order. The Drones
lead an idle life. They will die, rather than work.
They will not even feed themselves if they can find
any one else to do it. And, to tell the truth, like
all idlers in a busy community, they are such a
bother, that about once a year we have to kill them
off." .
"My dear Deborah!" I exclaimed, in horror,
you can't mean it! "
"Yes. It is the custom. They don't seem to
mind it. But let us look now at the store-rooms,"
said she, hastily changing the subject, as well she
might.
In the store-rooms we saw rows upon rows of
cells, fitted one upon another, and every one filled
with clear honey, and securely sealed.
This is our winter store," said my guide; "pure
honey, made from the white clover, and put up
in the combs by the Workers."
"How do they make the honey?" I asked.
"They gather it," she replied. "We send out
thousands of bees every morning, to all the gardens
and fields around. Mignonette makes good honey,
and so do apple-blossoms. We usually make from
two to six pounds in a day. The bees often fly as
far as two miles from the hive, and they come back
loaded with honey and pollen. Each Worker has
a tongue or proboscis with which she licks or
brushes up the honey, and puts it into her honey-
bag.
"Stop a moment," said she to a Worker who
was hurrying by. "You will observe, my dear,
that the hinder legs have something like baskets,
on the side, in which the pollen or bee-bread is
carried."
"I see it," said I, "I have often watched the
bees coming out of flowers, covered with yellow
dust."
I then took the opportunity to mention to her
that I lived in a lily-bell, that I sometimes danced
the greater part of the night, and that the bees
were very much in the habit of waking me at an
unreasonable hour in the morning. She said she
would attend to it.
"And how do the bees make wax? I asked.
"By a process best known to themselves," replied
Deborah. "It is not in my line just now, and I
am quite sure that I could not describe it to
you. The bees say they cannot tell how they
do it, but they wish to keep the secret among
themselves. The sides of these cells are the one-
hundred and eightieth part of an inch in thick-


ness. So you see we must use an immense quantity
of wax."
"You must, indeed," I replied. ':And are the
cells always made in this same shape ? "
"Yes," said she. "They are six-sided. The
early bees fixed upon that as the best for strength
and economy of space, and no change has been
made since. However, the Buimble-bees," she
added, with a slight expression of scorn, as though
she had said, "the Beggars," "have a way which
they prefer. They put it up in bags, and store it
under-ground."
This was no news to me. Such a thing has been
done in Fairy-land as to "borrow" a little honey
from the Bumble-bee, in time of scarcity. But I
said nothing.
"And you tell me the Workers do the fighting.
Is there much fighting to do ? I asked.
"A great deal," replied Deborah. "We have
many enemies, bother on them! Mice, cater-
pillars, moths, snails, wasps, robber-bees, and
other evil-minded creatures! As she said this,
she buzzed fiercely and unsheathed her sting.
Look here a moment," said she, and you will
see one of them."
And there in a corner, guarded by a squad of
bees, lay a wretched snail, prisoner in his own
shell. The edge of the shell was covered with
strong cement, which held it firmly to the floor.
I think we have him now, the villain! said
my guide. His shell is fastened with propolis."
"What is propolis? I asked.
It is bee-glue," she replied; resin from the
buds of trees."
At this moment we heard a low murmur of
"The Queen the Queen and turning, we saw
passing through the principal gallery, a magnifi-
cent bee, larger and more stately than any of her
subjects, though her wings were much smaller than
theirs. The under part of her body was golden,
the upper part dark.
She was surrounded by her body-guard, and as
she passed, her subjects politely backed out of her
way, to give her room, and some offered her re-
freshment in the form of honey.
"What would become of us, if anything should
happen to our beloved queen exclaimed Deborah.
How long has she reigned? I inquired.
More than two months," she replied.
"And how much longer may she reign?" I
asked.
She may outlive us all," she replied. Queens
live four years, and workers only from six to nine
months. Our old Queen went away with a swarm
to another hive. But now," she continued, if
you will come back to the gallery, I will offer you
some of our best honey."


36


I[NovE ELm ,







IS73 ]


UNDER THE 1 IG 11T-I11USE.


This was tempting, even to a fairy, and we are And what is that ? I asked.
considered dainty; that is, the crickets and grass- Don't ask !" she replied. It is the greatest
hoppers call us so. I tasted some honey, and secret of all. Off goes my head, if 1 tell you "
found it delicious. And by the way," said she, perhaps it w ill be
'This is not like the honey one finds in the better to say nothing about that Drone business."
flowers." I said. Perhaps it will," I replied, for I have known
"We have our own way of purifying and pre- our fairy-queen to imprison one of her subjects in
serving it," said Deborah. a pea-pod a whole hour, for only pinching a gnat."
And bee-bread. Can you tell me exactly how 'Ah!l yes,"said she, "not our idea of discipline."
to make it ? I asked. _----- -, ---- She then escorted me
That is not allowed," to the door of the hive. I
she replied, "though it -- ..--, .- thanked her, recommend-
would do no harm, as no '" ed less work and more
one but a bec could ever dancing, invited her to
make it. It is made of .. call on me in my lily-bell,
the pollen of flowers, and and took my leave, feeling
honey and water; and hat I had really learned
it wants a great deal of .: something of the ways of
kneading. But it is only t "little busy bec." if
fit for the food of young not how she makes honey.
bees. We older ones nev- The next day I sent to my
er eat it." r. i'' fiend Deborah, by a but-
And do the young 'ii-_- t's 'erflv. the finest four-
princesses cat it too?" I leaved clover I ever saw,
asked. knowing that to be the
Not at all," she re- best return I could possi-
plied. They are fed '. bly make for her kind-
upon royal jelly." ness.


UNDER THE LIGHT-HOUSE.

BY CELIA THAXTER.

BENEATH the tall, white light-house strayed the children,
In the May-morning sweet;
About the steep and rough grey rocks they wandered
With hesitating feet;
For scattered far and wide the birds were lying,
Quiet, and cold, and dead,
That met, while they were swiftly winging northward,
The fierce light overhead,
And as the frail moths in the summer evenings
Fly to the candle's blaze,
Rushed wildly at the splendor, finding only
Death in those blinding rays.
And here were bobolink, and wren, and sparrow,
Veery, and oriole,
And purple finch, and rosy grosbeak, swallows,
And king-birds quaint and droll;
Gay soldier blackbirds, wearing on their shoulders
Red, gold-edged epaulets,
"4nd many a homely, brown, red-breasted robin,
Whose voice no child forgets.


37







UNDER TIE LIGHT-IIOUSE.


And yellow-birds-what shapes of perfect beauty!
What silence after song!
And mingled with them, unfamiliar warblers
That to far woods belong.
Clothing the grey rocks with a mournful beauty
By scores the dead forms lay,
That, dashed against the tall tower's cruel windows,
Dropped like the spent sea-spray.
How many an old and sun-steeped barn, far inland,
Should miss about its eaves
The twitter and the gleam of these swift swallows !
And, swinging 'mid the leaves,
The oriole's nest, all empty in the elm-tree,
Would cold and silent be,
And never more these robins make the meadows
Ring with their ecstasy.
Would not the gay swamp-border miss the black-birds,
Whistling so loud and clear ?
Would not the bobolinks' delicious music
Lose something of its cheer?
"Yet," thought the wistful children, gazing landward,
"The birds will not be missed;
Others will take their place in field and forest,
Others will keep their tryst;
And we, we only, know how death has met them,
We wonder and we mourn
That from their innocent and bright existence
Thus roughly they are torn."
And so they laid the sweet, dead shapes together,
Smoothing each ruffled wing,
Perplexed and sorrowful, and pondering deeply
The meaning of this thing.
(Too hard to fathom for the wisest nature
Crowned with the snows of age!)
And all the beauty of the fair May morning
Seemed like a blotted page.
They bore them down from the rough cliffs of granite
To where the grass grew green,
And laid them neathh the soft turf, all together,
With many a flower between;
And, looking up with wet eyes, saw how brightly
Upon the summer sea
Lay the clear sunlight, how white sails were shining,
And small waves laughed in glee:
And somehow, comfort grew to check their grieving,
A sense of brooding care,
As if, in spite of death, a loving presence
Filled all the viewless air.
"What should we fear?" whispered the little children,
"There is no thing so small
But God will care for it in earth or heaven;
He sees the sparrows fall !"


[NOVEMr1ER,








A LAW THAT COULD NUT BE BtRKEN.


A LAW THAT COULD NOT BE BROKEN

BY j. S. STACY.


ONE day, as I sat reading a book called Arnott's
Physics or Natural Philosophy, I suddenly laughed
aloud.
Now, Arnott's Physics is by no means a funny
book. I am quite sure there is not a joke in it,
from cover to cover. So, when I laughed, my wife
looked up in great surprise, for I may as well con-
fess I had been reading aloud to the dear little lady
and it had put her in anything but a lively mood.
"What is it, Joe?" she asked, smiling in spite
of herself when she met my broad grin.
"This part here, about the centre of gravity and
its always taking the lowest place," answered I,
tapping the page with my fingers, made me
think of something."
"Did it ?" she said with solemn surprise.
As the precious girl (please don't mind my
speaking in this way of my wife, for, the fact is, we
have been married only a year, and she is just
eighteen to my twenty-two), as the precious girl
evidently did not expect an answer to her question,
I took up the book again and read:
By attending to the centre of gravity of the bodies
around us on the earth, we are enabled to explain why,
from the influence of gravity, some of them are stable,
or firmly fixed, others tottering, others falling. *
The line of a plummet hanging from the centre of
gravity is called the line of direction of the centre, or
that in which it tends naturally to decend to the earth.
You remember, Lily," said I, interrupting my-
self, the law we read in Gale yesterday:"
"While the line of direction falls zit/lin the base upon
which the body stands, the body cannot upset; but if
the line fall beyond the base the body will tumble."
Then, taking a pencil and note-book from my
pocket, I made a picture of a coach tilted by a
great stone in such a way that a perpendicular line
drawn from its centre of gravity fell beyond /the base
of the coach, that is, outside of the point where its
wheels touched the ground on the tilted side, and
she saw at a glance that the coach must upset.
"Oh, yes, I understand it now, perfectly," she ex-
claimed, quite pleased.
So I read on, as Dr. Arnott proceeded to tell us
how to find the centre of gravity of any object, and
to explain in a very clear and delightful way the
principle shown in rolling balls, leaning towers, un-
safe chimneys, in the graceful positions of skaters,
in tumbling dolls and the movements of various
toys, when my wife said quickly:
"Joe!"


"No, dear," said i, listening a moment and think-
ing that she had thought she heard the babv cry.
Joe !" she exclaimed again, what were you
laughing about ?"
"When ?" said I.
Why, a moment ago."
O," I laughed, "didn't I ever tell you, my
dear ? It was such a capital illustration of the laws
we have just been studying, though I didn't know
it at the time."
"Well?" said she.
She drew her chair close to mine, with a comical
look of curiosity on her face, and I began in a dra-
matic fashion:
'Tis now eleven years since a small boy, full of
mischief by nature, but very cautious by education,
found himself alone in the upper part of a fine city
mansion. His mother was out. The servants
were in the kitchen, and this small boy felt that,
perhaps, never again would he have such a grand
chance to be up to something, he hardly knew
what."
Was it you, Joe?"
It was," said I. Well, as the boys say, I cast
about for some time, not able to settle on a plan.
Many delightful projects entered my head, but they
were all more or less connected with danger. There
was the roof, as steep and as slanting as heart
of boy could wish; but I had been made so thor-
oughly to understand that to tumble from it would
be to break every bone in my body, to say noth-
ing of being 'killed stone dead,' that I gave up my
half-formed plan at once. Then there was the
window. It would be fun to let myself down from
it by tying a stout rope to the bed-post, and so
sliding to the ground. But the rope might break,
or I might not be able to hold on--and the wild
thought was abandoned in a flash. Suddenly an
idea came to me:
"There was a beautiful porcelain vase on the
top of father's book-case, high out of reach. What
fun it would be if I only could manage to knock it
down without breaking it !"
"You little goose !-t/he-, not now," added Mrs.
Joseph, hastily.
"Goose or not, I tried it," said I. It was
nearly time for mother to return. There was not
a moment to be lost, and I had to make great
preparations.
"The bed was made up in fine style. with its
great ruffled pillow fixings and its silken spread
all tucked in as if it were never to come out again.


S873.1


3Q








A LAW TIAT COULD NOT BE BROKEN.


But I hauled off the covers, and with many a tug ner of the boy and flag in "Excelsior" and hastily
and pull brought the feather bed to the floor, adjusting the ladder, I mounted to the top, and-"
Then I dragged it to the book-case. The next O, Joe!" cried Mrs. Joseph, laughing. "I
thing was to fetch a ladder from the garret-no remember it! Yes, just as well as if it were ves-
easy job for a ten-year-old. This done, it was evi- terday. Your mother had been to our house, and
dent I should need some sort of a stick for poking my mother had let me go home with her. We


Ili i l II I ,I


'I-"N%' rA


-- *;- --__ --_'- .
fc r: ". ,.-'.t .2.. : 1
IIA.T. 4'
H ''IIII,


I.:


* -


the vase with. Father's umbrella with its crooked went right up stairs, and just as we opened the
handle was just the thing. door we heard such a crash, and there were you
"'Good !' said I to myself. 'Won't it be larks and the ladder on the floor No, the ladder was
to knock down the vase and never hurt it a bit on the feather-bed and you were on the floor. You
Good for you, too, Old Mr. Feather-Bed! All must have pitched over backward, Joe, just as the
you've got to do is to catch it.' ladder slipped from under you."
With this, seizing the umbrella after the man- "Very likely," said I.


40


[NOVEMBER.








GERMAN STORY.


41


"Well, I declare. That was a caper! What
a funny little wisp of a boy you were And to
think of our actually being married eleven years
afterward But what about the vase ?"
"Oh, that was safe enough, you may be sure,
for the umbrella hadn't time to touch it."
"Joe," said Mrs. Joseph, "if you had opened
that ladder a little wider, or taken a plummet up



GERMAN


with you and been careful to have the line of direc-
tion from the centre of gravity fall within the base
of the ladder all would have been well, wouldn't
it, my-"
Just then little Josic was heard in the next
room screaming like a good fellow. Off ran Mrs.
Joseph. I was left alone to ponder over the laws
of gravitation.




STORY.


Sell falfdjcl ieg jelyclb.

on 6m .ara Pance.

[Here is a little story written by MRs. HANCE for the benefit of girls and bovs who are learning to read in German.
Next month we shall print a translation of it, so that all the children may know the meaning of Mr. STEPHENS' spirited picture. We
intend to give, every month, a short story in French or German, so that our readers who are studying those languages may have a
chance to do a little translating out of school. Next month we shall have a French story.]


,Tlciln icd)ft blatte bie iible ~lngetobnttiit nic sr rid)
gu feti() ; fic blidte cntincber credit otbr linti. T-a fnt
Ce ciliunlt, beI fi e mit eineit groeli ttiltf Itud)cn in hber
ixuanb finantd eatf cinlin fof liic, mo cinige iaiurer cine
ritualie marihten, bic fie bci efic)tigtcer lit aelf 1u filflea.
Sictmen ratutte friblit)i unflter, ie e3arnungen ibrcr iout-
ter biatte fie Idngft tcrgcffei t; f atiierbcn loar c 3 it aud) giar
gt lultig, ben groiscl .unb 1t feibcn, treldcr fie ulmfrciltc
tilb Ilac) bent tiitudcn id)ndapte. hfbcr, o ttcf), Cte fie ed
ficd) erfai) ficl lie tC( iiler in bie rule. 3Sfr Gcfd)rci


i'raciitc lie trbciter berbei unb fie ioltcn ciligll bal arine
Rillt ant buc .(ioiifidclt ad. ied)tieilt mIn te 1it11 la nge
Scit im Sette blcibcn iltb acrge sti'mcr nt biulben, trarcint
brauoin anbre .inbcr nuinttr fietcpicl. ea itainti fie ca
fici Sor, nie luieter ciltnr (cg glt getict unlb lto atnbcr.
hin lt blicte!t. &'itt e friteiir baria gcbaiit, to ti'rbe
fie iercr guteci 9)hitter leinc Serge ilb fid) nidst GCsicrgcnl
btrcitct f)aritb. L0o abcr giang c ier, Itic bcm Zrolcr
aus it crrn etepince' SiIb. Scibe adltctcn ltid)t iatu
ben Qeg unb man fictkt wa3 baran cl ntifhlt.


-873.]







WIIO WROTE TIE ARABIAN NIGHTS?


WHO WROTE THE "ARABIAN NIGHTS?"

BY DONALD G. MITCHELL.


\VHO knows? Not Captain Mayne Reid; though
if he had been born a Persian, and lived long
time enough ago, and been a Caliph with a long
beard and a scimitar, instead of a captain in the
Mexican war, with a Colt's revolver and a goatee,
and had seen the cloud of dust which Ali-Baba
saw, I think he could have made out the band of
forty robbers under it, and the cave, and all the
rest.
But Mayne Reid didn't see the cloud of dust
which covered those robbers (and which is very
apt to cover all gangs of public robbers) and there-
fore didn't write the Arabian Nights." Nor did
Mrs. Hannah More, for the book is not in her
style; nor did the author of "Little Women;"
ani the genius in her work," though very decided,
isn't at all like the Genius that comes in smoke
and flame into the wonderful story of Aladdin and
the Lamp.
You could never guess who wrote the Arabian
Nights;-for nobody knows when those stories were
first written. It seems very odd that a book should
be made, and no one able to tell when it was made.
The publishers don't allow such things to happen
now-a-days. Yet it is even so with the book we
are talking of. Of course, it is possible to fix
the date of the many translations of the Arabian
Nights which have been made into the languages
of Europe from the old Arabic manuscripts. Thus,
it was in the year 1704 that a certain Antoine Gal-
land, a distinguished oriental scholar of Paris, who
had traveled in the East and who had collected
many curious manuscripts and medals, published a
French translation of what was called the "Thou-
sand and One Nights." This was in the time of
the gay court of Louis the Fourteenth; and the
fine ladies of the court-those of them who could
read--all devoured the book. And the school-boys
throughout France (though there were not many
school-boys in those days outside of the great
cities) all came to know the wonderful stories of
Aladdin and of Ali-Baba. Remember that this
was about the time when the great Duke of Marl-
boro was winning his famous victories on the Conti-
nent-specially that of Blenheim, about which an
English poet, Dr. Southey, has written a quaint
little poem, which you should read. It was in the
lifetime, too, of Daniel De Foe,-who wrote that
ever charming story of Robinson Crusoe some
twelve or fourteen years later; and the first news-
paper in America-called the Boston NVews Lette-
was printed in the same year in which Antoine


Galland published this translation of the Thousand
and One Nights. If you should go to Paris and be
curious to see it, you can find in the Imperial
Library or the National Library (or whatever those
changeable French people may call it now) the very
manuscript of Antoine Galland.
Some years afterward there was a new and fuller
translation by another oriental scholar, who had suc-
ceeded M. Galland as Professor of Arabic in the
Royal College. Then there followed in the early
part of this century translations into English, and
I suppose that American boys in the days of Presi-
dent Monroe took their first taste of those gorgeous
Arabian tales.
But the completest of all the collections was made
by a German scholar, Mr. Von Hammer, in the
year 1824-not so far back but that your fathers and
Smothers may remember little stray paragraphs in
the papers, which made mention of how a German
scholar had traced these old Arabian tales back to
a very dim antiquity in India; and how he believed
they had thence gone into Persia, where the great
men of the stories all became Caliphs, and how they
floated thence, by hearsay, into Arabia (which was
a country of scribes and scholars in the days of
Haroun al Raschid); and how theythere took form in
the old Arabic manuscripts which Antoine Galland
had found and translated. But during the century
that had passed since M. Galland's death, other and
fuller Arabic copies had been found, with new tales
added, and with other versions of the tales first told.
But what we call the machinery of the stories was
always much the same; and the same Genii flashed
out in smoke and flame, and the same scimitars went
blazing and dealing death through all the copies of
The Thousand and One Nights."
But how came that title of the Thousand and
One Nights, which belonged, and still belongs, to
all the European collections of these old Arabian
stories? I will tell you why; and in telling you
why, I shall give you the whole background on
which all these various Arabian stories, wherever
found, are arrayed. And the background is itself
a story, and this is the way it runs:-
Once there li.-ed a wicked Sultan of Persia, whose
name was Schahriar; and he had many wives-like
the Persian Shah who went journeying into Eng-
land this summer past; and he thought of his wives
as stock-owners think of their cattle-and I fear the
present Persian Shah thinks no otherwise.
Well, when this old Schahriar found that his
wives were faithless and deceitful-as all wives will


42


NOVEMBERE,






\W11 WR V TR THE AIRA\iAN NIGilTS:


be who are esteemed no more than cattle-he
vowed that he would cut off all chance of their sin-
ning, by making an end of them ; so it happened
that whatever new wife he espoused one day. he
killed upon the next.
You will think the brides were foolish to marry
him; but many women keep on making as foolish
matches all the world over; and she who marries a
sot, or the man who promises .to be a sot, is killed
slowly, instead of being killed quickly with a bow-
string,-as the Schahriar did his work.
Besides, all women of the East were slaves, as
they are mostly now, and subject to whatever orders
the Sultan might make.
Now, it happened that this old Schahriar had a
vizier, or chief officer under him (who executed all
his murderous orders), and who was horrified by
the cruelties he had to commit. And this same
vizier had a beautiful and accomplished daughter,
who was even more horrified than her father; and
she plotted how she might stay the bloody actions
of the Schahriar.
She could gain no access to him, and could hope
to win no influence over him, except by becoming
his bride; but if she became his bride, she would
have but one day to live. So, at least, thought her
sisters and her father. She, of course, found it very
hard to win the consent of her father, the vizier to
her plan; but at last she succeeded, and so arranged
matters that the Schahriar should command her to
be his bride.
The fatal marriage-day came, and the vizier was
in an agony of grief and alarm. The morning after
the espousals, he waited,-in an ecstasy of fear,-the
usual order for the slaughter of the innocent bride;
but to his amazement and present relief, the order
was postponed to the following day.
This bride, whose name was Scheherazade-
known now to school-boys and school-girls all over
the world-was most beguiling of speech, and a
most charming story-teller. And on the day of her
espousals she had commenced the narration of a
most engrossing story to her husband the Schahriar,
and had so artfully timed it, and measured out its
length, that when the hour came for the sultan to
set about his cares of office, she should be at its
most interesting stage. The sultan had been so be-
guiled by the witchery of her narrative, and so
eager to learn the issue, that he put off the execu-
tion of his murderous design, in order to hear the
termination of the story on the following night.
And so rich was the narration and so great was
the art of the Princess Scheherazade, that she kept
alive the curiosity and wonder of her husband, the
sultan, day after day, and week after week, and
month after month, until her fascinating stories
had lasted for a thousand and one nights.


If you count up these yoiu will find they make a
period of two years and nine months-during which
she had beguiled the sultan and stayed the order for
her execution. In the interval, children had been
born to her, and she had so won upon her husband.
that he abolished his cruel edict forever. on condi-
tion that from time to time she should tell ov
again those enchanting stories. And the siories
she told on those thousand and one nights. and
which have been recited since in every language of
Europe, thousands and thousands of times, aire the
Arabian Nights talcs.
If this account is not true in all particulars, it is
at least as true as the stories are.
A good woman sacrificed herself to work a deed
of benevolence. 77Tat story at any rate is true.
and is being repeated over and over in lives all
around us.
But, after all, the question is not answered as to
who wrote the Arabian Nights." I doubt if it
ever will be answered truly. Wtho cares, indeed ?
I dare say that youngsters in these days of investi-
Sgation committees are growing up more curious
and inquiring than they used to be; but I know
well I cared or l, .,, _1,i nothing about the author-
ship in those old school days when I caught
my first reading of Aladdin and the VWonderful
Lamp.
What a night it was What a feast I think I
could have kissed the hand that wrote it.
A little red morocco-bound book it was, with gilt
edges to the leaves, that I had borrowed from Tom
Spooner, and Tom Spooner's aunt had loaned it to
him, and she thought all the world of it, and had
covered it in brown paper, and I mustn't soil it, or
dog's-ear it. And I sat down with it-how well I
remember-at a little square-legged red table in
the north recitation-room at E-- school; and
there was a black hole in the top of the table-
where Dick Linsey, who was a military character,
and freckled, had set off a squib of gunpowder
(and got trounced for it); and the smell of the burnt
powder lingered there, and came up gratefully into
my nostrils, as I read about the sulphurous clouds
rolling up round the wonderful lamp, and the Genius
coming forth in smoke and flames !
What delight! If I could only fall in with an old
peddler with a rusty lamp,-such as Aladdin's,
-wouldn't I rub it !
And with my elbows fast on the little red table,
and my knees fast against the square legs, and the
smell of the old squib regaling me, I thought what I
would order the Genius to do, if I ever had a chance.
-A week's holiday to begin with; and the' Genius
should be requested to set the school principal"
down, green spectacles and all, in the thickest of
the woods somewhere on the "mountain." Sat-


43









44 THE STORY OF TOM GIP. [NoVEMBER


urday afternoons should come twice a week-at the
very least;-turkey, with stuffing, every day except
oyster day. I would have a case of pocket-knives
" Rogers' superfine cutlery"-(though Kingsbury
always insisted that "Wostenholm's were better)
brought into my closet, and would give them out,
cautiously, to the clever boys. I would have a sled,
brought by the Genius, that would beat Ben Brace's
" Reindeer," he bragged so much about,-by two
rods, at least. I would have a cork jacket, with
which I could swim across Snipsic Lake, where it
was widest-twice over-and think nothing of it.
I would have a cavern, like the salt mines in Cra-
cow, Poland (as pictured in Parley's Geography);
only instead of salt, it should all be rock-candy; and


I would let in clever fellows and pretty girls, and
the homely ones, too-wvell, as often as every
Wednesday.
Ah, well-a-day we never come to the ownership
of such caverns We never find a peddler with the
sort of lamp that will bring any sort of riches-
with wishing.
But, my youngsters, there is a Genius that will
come to any boy's command, and will work out
amazing things for you all through boyhood, and
all through life; and his name is-Industry.
And now, if your lessons are all done, and if you
will keep in mind what I have said about the Ara-
bian Nights," and their history, we will sit down
to a reading of Ali-Baba and the Forty Thieves.


TIE STORY OF TOM GIP.


ONCE upon a time,
there lived a fat boy,
whose name was Tom
Gip. Tom liked lunch
better than lessons, so
he never forgot his .lunch
and never remembered
his lessons. Every morn-
ing, he carried to school,
in a big box on wheels,
three hard-boiled eggs,
three sticky gingerbread
cakes, three sausages,


'- --_ ,. .,
,




-- -


"--- -- -


\
" ,--


"4- ;


three baked apples, three
pickles, three turn-over
pies, and three puddings,
called huckleberry bols-
ters. He would shut him-
self up in such a hurry
at intermission, that he
always pinched his nose
in the door; and he ate
so fast that he regularly
choked himself.
The boys used to write
his last name backwards.


BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.


WE heard a school-girl say of a girl-graduate," kindly. "But I'm not sure about the wisdom of
the other day: 0 she has grand times, now that the lady who reads all the new books. It seems
she has left the Academy. And she doesn't spend to me that she often must spend her time very fool-
her time foolishly, either. She reads all the new ishly-very foolishly indeed, my dear."
books !" The old gentleman was right. It would be better
I don't know about that," said an old gentle- to read no new books at all than to read too many
man. of them. A man might live to be as old as Methu-
SO it's true, sir :" said the school-girl, flushing; selah, and read a good book through every week-
"that is, I mean she reads as many of them as she yes, at the end of a few centuries become really a
possibly can." well-read man without once looking into a new bok.
"Just so, my dear," said the old gentleman, Ever since the days of a grand old poet named


44


THE STORY OF TOM GIP.


[NOVEMBER,,









44 THE STORY OF TOM GIP. [NoVEMBER


urday afternoons should come twice a week-at the
very least;-turkey, with stuffing, every day except
oyster day. I would have a case of pocket-knives
" Rogers' superfine cutlery"-(though Kingsbury
always insisted that "Wostenholm's were better)
brought into my closet, and would give them out,
cautiously, to the clever boys. I would have a sled,
brought by the Genius, that would beat Ben Brace's
" Reindeer," he bragged so much about,-by two
rods, at least. I would have a cork jacket, with
which I could swim across Snipsic Lake, where it
was widest-twice over-and think nothing of it.
I would have a cavern, like the salt mines in Cra-
cow, Poland (as pictured in Parley's Geography);
only instead of salt, it should all be rock-candy; and


I would let in clever fellows and pretty girls, and
the homely ones, too-wvell, as often as every
Wednesday.
Ah, well-a-day we never come to the ownership
of such caverns We never find a peddler with the
sort of lamp that will bring any sort of riches-
with wishing.
But, my youngsters, there is a Genius that will
come to any boy's command, and will work out
amazing things for you all through boyhood, and
all through life; and his name is-Industry.
And now, if your lessons are all done, and if you
will keep in mind what I have said about the Ara-
bian Nights," and their history, we will sit down
to a reading of Ali-Baba and the Forty Thieves.


TIE STORY OF TOM GIP.


ONCE upon a time,
there lived a fat boy,
whose name was Tom
Gip. Tom liked lunch
better than lessons, so
he never forgot his .lunch
and never remembered
his lessons. Every morn-
ing, he carried to school,
in a big box on wheels,
three hard-boiled eggs,
three sticky gingerbread
cakes, three sausages,


'- --_ ,. .,
,




-- -


"--- -- -


\
" ,--


"4- ;


three baked apples, three
pickles, three turn-over
pies, and three puddings,
called huckleberry bols-
ters. He would shut him-
self up in such a hurry
at intermission, that he
always pinched his nose
in the door; and he ate
so fast that he regularly
choked himself.
The boys used to write
his last name backwards.


BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.


WE heard a school-girl say of a girl-graduate," kindly. "But I'm not sure about the wisdom of
the other day: 0 she has grand times, now that the lady who reads all the new books. It seems
she has left the Academy. And she doesn't spend to me that she often must spend her time very fool-
her time foolishly, either. She reads all the new ishly-very foolishly indeed, my dear."
books !" The old gentleman was right. It would be better
I don't know about that," said an old gentle- to read no new books at all than to read too many
man. of them. A man might live to be as old as Methu-
SO it's true, sir :" said the school-girl, flushing; selah, and read a good book through every week-
"that is, I mean she reads as many of them as she yes, at the end of a few centuries become really a
possibly can." well-read man without once looking into a new bok.
"Just so, my dear," said the old gentleman, Ever since the days of a grand old poet named


44


THE STORY OF TOM GIP.


[NOVEMBER,,








BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.


45


Chaucer, books have been coming and going.
Fortunately, that careless old saying, The good
die young," cannot be applied to books. Those
that are worthy to live do live; and it would be quite
a safe thing for our Methuselah to look only at
twenty-year old works.
Ah, but he would be so far behind the age !"
True, my dears, and very knowing of you to say
it. So, to save you from such a fate, we shall try
now and then to point out as they appear, the new
books that are worthy of a boy's or girl's attention.
But, first of all, here is a word of advice. Do not
read only the new authors: For hundreds of
years great and good souls have been saying beau-
tiful things to us all-those who come early and
those who come late--and their words are as
precious now as ever they were. It is a good rule
for young persons not to read any two new books
in succession. Always put a good, standard work
between them; something that has stood the test
of time and that lives, which your new book may
not. There is such a long list of these that you
must ask your parents and friends to help you
make a suitable choice, according to your age and
tastes. Mr. Donald G. Mitchell, who tells you
about the "Arabian Nights," in this number of
ST. NICHOLAS, will, we hope, point out and help
you to enjoy many a fine and delightful old book,
as the months go on. Meantime, we shall see
what the publishers are doing for you. Our space
allows us to mention only a few books this month,
but we hope to do better next time.
Roberts Bros., of Boston, send out many good
books for girls and boys. Of these, we have lately
read Shawl Straps," the second of Aunt Joe's
Scrap-Bag series, by Miss Alcott Miss Woolsey's
"New Year's Bargain," and a little volume by
Miss Laura Ledyard, called "Very Young Ameri-
cans." These all are good, though not among
the latest, and we recommend them heartily.
The last twq are illustrated by Addie Ledyard,
who drew the picture "Oh, No!" in this number
of ST. NICHOLAS.
Httrd and Ho-ghtluon, of New York, have just
printed a new edition of a capital book, by Arthur
Gilmans, "First Steps in English Literature." It
is not meant for the young readers, but all young
folks from eleven to ninety-nine years of age will
find it very useful indeed. It is just the book for
any boy or girl who wishes to know what English


literature means, where it comes from, what it is
good for, and how it is to be enjoyed. And, also,
it is just the thing for persons who know\ these
things, and who like to hear all about it again,
in a few words. It is a very long book or a
very short one, just as you choose to make it. You
may read it through in a day, or you may study
and study it for months,-a good and safe com-
panion always.
Sc;ribncr, Armstrong i-& Co., of New York, have
just printed an entertaining book, entitled, a Jour-
ney to the Centre of the Earth." It is translated
from the French of Jules Verne, and is among the
best of that author's works. It is not written for
children, but as you young persons are sure to be
attracted by it, we must tell you not to forget that
many passages in the book will puzzle you, because
they are intended for older heads than yours. You
will find a great deal of information in its pages,
and a great deal of-stuff; and you'll be sure to
like its fifty-two wonderful pictures. A.......
we do not object to our boys and girls going to the
centre of the earth, for a little while, with Jules
Verne.
Robert Carter ( BPros., of New York, offer you
"The Little Camp on Eagle Hill," by the author
ot the "Wide, Wide World." This is a story by
Miss Warner, well worth reading, as indeed all of
her stories are.
Porter &S Coates, of Philadelphia, among many
new works, have "Adventures by Sea and Land."
This is such a beautiful book to look at and to
handle, and its pictures are so very interesting, that
it will no doubt be given at Christmas to an)- num-
ber of boys. If good Santa Claus brings it to you.
you will be sure to enjoy it; but you must use your
own wits through it all, and judge for yourselves
whether its astonishing scenes are probable or not.
When you come upon a description, as you will, of
a serpent seventy feet long, and twice as thick as a
man's body, it will be well to inquire into the matter
and see whether these little creatures are known to
naturalists or not. As the hero of one of these ad-
ventures goes off on a dangerous journey, for the
mere love of excitement, and almost to the heart-
break of his young wife, left at home, it strikes us
that there is no need of wasting much sympathy
upon him. But he certainly has a hard time of it,
and so do the 'astonishing number of wild beasts
who come in the way of his knife and his bullet.








JACK-IN- I I-IE PULP I T.


A BIRD that spends much of his time on factory
roofs tells me that folks are beginning to make
.. buttons, combs, door knobs, cups, canes and all
sorts of things out of leather. They chemicalize
', it, he says, chip it up and dissolve it in certain
,t_ i. -fluids till it is a pulp. Then they make it into
S ~- useful articles by pressing it into moulds of the
i>- r required shape. When they take it out of the
S' moulds it is hard and tough. Then they polish its
surface in some way and the articles are ready
S for sale.
S. So, my dears, you may yet comb your hair with
S your skate-straps, button your clothes with your
boots, drink out of old pocket books and use a
-w orn-out harness for your walking stick.
i iACK-IN-THE F-PI. PTT


MY name is Jack. I am a green thing coming
up as a flower, yet I know a great deal. For why?
The birds come and tell me.
It is quite common for me to talk of what I hear
and see, but very few creatures can understand-
only the owls. for they are wise and keep silence,
the fairies, who, alas are rather flighty, and one
or two clear-hearted children who sometimes run
up to me laughing, and say, Good-morning. Mr.
Jack-in-thePIulpit !"
But here. at last, is a chance. A little bird tells
me that through ST. NICHOLtAS the girls and boys
all over the country mav hear what I say. This is
as it should be. \Why. often I stand and talk whole
days without ever a human being coming near
me. How would you like that?
But those times are over now, and I'm as happy
a Jack-in-the-Pulpit as ever waved. Hereafter. my
dears, you'll get my messages by paragraph. The
editors of ST. NICHOLAS have laid the paragraphic
wires. whatever those are, and they say the sooner
I begin the better.
Good I've sent the birds off in every direction
to collect information. Not but that I know a
good deal already, understand, but a city sparrow
tells me that nowadays young folks want every-
thing done up just so. (What in the world "just
so" means I can't understand, but probably the
birds will bring some word about it.)
Meantime I'll tell you a few things that will
astonish you if you are dear, sweet, stupid little
folks, and not little Paragons. I don't like little Par-
agons. They know 1otany and pull flowers to pieces.
Hallo! Mr. Round'c s, an owl friend of mine,
says I must take that back. He insists that. of all
things, a Jack-in-the-Pulpit shouldn't object to
botany. It helps humai n beings to understand us.
he says: s ort of lifts them up to our level. All
right. I apologize.


WHAT would you say if I told you what coal
comes from? It is made of trees, and ferns, and
twigs, and Jack-in-the-Pulpits-fact. Lazy work,
though. It takes thousands of years to do it. In-
quire into this business.

HERE'S a conundrum. A bird heard a man give
it out in Canada:
I went into the woods and I got it. After I got
it I searched for it. But I had it in my hand all
the time, and at last went home because I couldn't
find it.
A nswer-A SPLINTER.

JACK knows where there is a tallow tree.
Is it a make-believe tree, made out of tallow,
like candles?" you ask. Oh, no; the tallow tree
is a real tree that grows from twenty to forty feet
high. Its native place is China, but it has been
transplanted into some of our hot-houses. The
tallow comes from the seeds. They are pounded
and boiled in water, when something like fat rises
on the top. This fat is skimmed off and when cold
it is as white as snow and almost as soft. The Chi-
nese mix this vegetable tallow with l;ax to harden
it, and out of the mixture make candles, which give
a clear, bright light. Now, then, if you want a
candle, and you know any one who has a hot-house
with a tallow tree in it, it would be better for you
to buy a candle in a grocery store; for I do not be-
lieve you could make one without wasting a great
many tallow-plant seeds.

IN parts of Switzerland, when two men have
quarreled with each other, and their friends are
anxious to see them reconciled, they endeavor to
bring them unawares under the same roof. If the
two enemies sit down at the same table they are
pledged to peace. They break a piece of bread
together, and are friends once more. It would be
a good idea if every boy or girl who quarrels with


[ NOVEMBER








THE RIDD


another boy or girl, should make-up," and be-
come reconciled the moment they happened to eat
bread together in the same county; at least, that
is what Jack thinks about it.

HERE is a little news! Some clever children
in New York, known as the Vaux Brothers & Co.,
have printed a book of their grandmother's re-
cipes for cooking, printed it with their own hands
and in the very neatest style. Their grandmother
is the best cook in the country, they say. It is


ISi, I


THE RIDDLE BOX.


CLASSICAL ENIGMA.

I AM composed of 22 letters.
My 10, 5, 3, 4, 12, 6, i6, 21, was name given by the
Greek poets to Italy.
My 18, 22, 21, 15, 16, 7, 8, was a witty clerk employed
by Roman auctioneers, B. C. IIo.
My 13, 1, 19, 9, 21, was the goddess of the hearth.
My 20, 14, 7, 9, 21, was the wife of Agron, king of the
Illyrians.
My I, 2, 22, 21, was a daughter of Cronos.
My 17, II, 6, 14, 16, 3, was a daughter of Pyrrhus I.,
king of Epirus.
My whole is a star.


RIDDLE.

Two heads I have, and when my voice
Is heard afar, like thunder,
The lads and maids arrested stand,
And watch and wait with wonder.

Quite promptly I'm obeyed, and yet
'Tis only fair to say,
My master bangs me, right and left,
And him I must obey.

ELLIPSES.

FILL the blanks with the same words transposed, as
I. Our a blackbird. Anls. Our host shot a
blackbird.
2. I wishl you would amuse the -
3. --, will you find my ?
4. -- has herself very much.
5. IIe was able to -- my opinions in various -
6. I never can -- a cage-full of without a
shudder.
7 The and grew on the edge of the .


ANAGRAMS.


I.
2.
3.
4.
5.


Rise late.
I made time.
Peter so sly.
Act I pray.
Acts abide.


6. Red sables.
7. Just ran oil.
S. Green mantle.
9. I scare Nat.
10. I can trace ironic.


/


,
4'


RF BU S.


LE BOX. 47


evident that they have grand visits at this dear
grandmother's house, and that they are not willing
to keep the secret of her wonderful dinners and
suppers to themselves. They've very sensibly
bound blank sheets in the book for the convenience
of house-keepers, and I'm told the printed recipes
are excellent, telling how to make good soups,
salads, biscuits, and every delicacy down to the
cake called snichadoodles. I object to this last.
It takes three eggs, and that's nothing more nor
less than murder.


i

~$ I


I',.,


.1 y__


- ')J







THE RIDDLE BOX.


THE VISION.

A London Spectacle-maker is-
sues this musical advertisement.
What sort of a vision do you
readers of music find in it ?





DIAMOND WORD.
I. I FLY about, but never play.
2. As I am old, I'm thrown away.
3. My eyes are scarcely ever blue.
4. In Scotland I am listened to.
5. I'm rough and ready, by the way.
6. Iigh up a tree I'm glad to play.
7. I'm in the middle of the sea.
And now what do you think of me ?
Some people in me much rejoice,
And some despise my very voice.


LOGOGRIPH.
FIND a useful domestic article of six letters out of
which you may make thirty-three nouns.


PARAPHRASED PROVERB.
AN anxiety in a smaller degree timepiece hotel to at-
tempt to equal-tes a night-watch emblem of industry
enemy.


GEOGRAPHICAL REBUS.
JN the above picture will be found over fifty geographical names. \Who can give us the most of them ?

(\NSWE.RS TO ALL RIDDLES AND PI'ZZI.S NIEXT MONTHH)


.48


[NOVEMBER,


dbe DiKion.


































IUAN




University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs