Front Cover
 The little music-king
 The blessed day
 Eight cousins
 Elsie's winter walk
 A bird's-eye view of the battle...
 Tommy, the soprano
 The hornbill
 The funny kings
 In the dory
 A visit from St. Nicholas (facsimile...
 "A visit from St. Nicholas"
 The children's crusade
 Santa Claus and his men
 The young surveyor
 The domino bridge
 May's Christmas-tree
 The dwarf's mirror
 By the hearth
 Books for boys and girls
 The mistletoe bough
 The bell-ringers
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


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5/4/2007 1:46:40 PM -

St. Nicholas, vol. 2, no. 3
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00017
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 2, no. 3
Series 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: -c1943.
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
serial   ( sobekcm )
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00017


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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    The little music-king
        Page 129
        Page 130
    The blessed day
        Page 131
    Eight cousins
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
    Elsie's winter walk
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
    A bird's-eye view of the battle of life
        Page 147
        Page 141 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 142
    Tommy, the soprano
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
    The hornbill
        Page 151
        Page 152
    The funny kings
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
    In the dory
        Page 159
    A visit from St. Nicholas (facsimile of original MS)
        Page 160
    "A visit from St. Nicholas"
        Page 161
    The children's crusade
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
    Santa Claus and his men
        Page 168
    The young surveyor
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
    The domino bridge
        Page 178
    May's Christmas-tree
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
    The dwarf's mirror
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    By the hearth
        Page 188
    Books for boys and girls
        Page 189
        Page 190
    The mistletoe bough
        Page 191
    The bell-ringers
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
    The letter-box
        Page 196
        Page 197
    The riddle-box
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

i',.. y~;.






JANUARY, 1875.



IN the year 1761, any one looking into the sitting-
room of the chapel-master of ".J1. 0,,.~1 might
have seen a little figure bent over a table busily
scratching away with pen and ink. The childish
hand hardly knew how to hold the pen, but hurried
along with marks and dots and strange-looking
characters, smeared with ink, and now and then
blackened with a huge blot as the pen dashed from
ink to paper with trembling eagerness. The door
opened, and the chapel-master entered with a
friend, but the little curly head did not stir.
What are you doing, my son ? "
I am composing a concerto for the harpsichord,
papa. I have nearly finished the first part."
Let me see."
"No, please; I have not yet finished."
The father took the paper, however, and showed
it to his friend. They both laughed heartily at the
scrawl; but on looking more attentively, the chapel-
master said:
See, it is really composed by rule; but it is
too difficult; no one could play it."
It must be well studied before it is played,"
said the boy. See, this is the way it begins."
And running to the harpsichord, he succeeded in
playing enough of it to show what his idea was.
It was indeed a musical composition, correctly
composed, but containing such great difficulties
that an able musician would have found it impos-
sible to execute it on the harpsichord.
The chapel-master was Leopold Mozart, and the
little composer, only five years old, was Wolfgang
Amadeus Mozart, afterward so celebrated in the
musical world.
VOL II.-9.

Two years before, he had stood listening at the
fireside while his papa gave a music-lesson to his
sister Anna.
"Thou teaches Nunnerl, papa; teach me too."
"But thou art a. baby, Wolferl; wait, my little
But when the lesson was over, and papa gone,
the little fellow went to the harpsichord, and, stand-
ing on tiptoe, groped among the keys, with his
baby-fingers stretched wide apart, till he found and
played a perfect chord. Papa's music-ear caught
the sound, and he rushed back into the room to
find that his baby had indeed, all alone, found his
way into the beautiful tone-world.
After that, music-lessons were for him too, and
he was never far away when Nunnerl was at the
harpsichord, but, perched on his father's knee, fol-
lowed every movement and tone, and often played
the lesson after her from memory.
The next year the family removed to Munich,
and the two children were presented at the Court,
and played before Francis I., the Emperor, to the
wonder and delight of all who heard them.
His father had only taught him on the harpsi-
chord, but he had a little violin on which he
played to amuse himself. Six trios composed by
Wenzl were once brought to him to try his powers.
Little Wolfgang begged that he might play the
second violin part, and brought out his own instru-
ment to play with the others. His father refused
him, and bade him run away; but Schachtner,
whose part it was, called him back, and said,
" Never mind, little man; wipe away those tears,
and stand by me." He did so, looking over the


No. 3.


musician's shoulder; and soon Schachtner was
surprised to hear a clear, clean-cut tone striking in
with his. Gradually he heard the music distinctly
played, and softening his own tones more and
more, let the little fellow play on. Finally he
ceased playing altogether, and Wolfgang played
on without interruption through that trio and the
next, and until the whole six had been performed.
He had become absorbed in the music, and all un-
consciously threw his whole soul into the perform-
ance, and, with flushed cheek and flashing eye,
played on to the close, radiant with delight, while
the tears rolled down the chapel-master's face as he
listened to the boy.
He had never before heard him play on the
violin, and was overwhelmed with astonishment and
Little music-king thou art, my Wolferl, and
thou shalt reign over us all," he cried, as he clasped
him in his arms.
Before Wolfgang was eight years old, and Anna
twelve, they had performed at the Courts of Vienna,
Paris, Munich and London. At Vienna they saw
and played with the little Marie Antoinette, and
Wolfgang shocked the fine Court ladies by jumping
into the lap of the Empress for a kiss. He could
play the works of Bach, Handel and other masters,
and in England composed six. sonatas, which he
dedicated to the Queen.
Returning to France, they traveled about in that
country and in Holland, and Wolfgang played on
the organs of most of the churches and monas-
One evening, being caught in a thunder-storm,
they took shelter in a monastery. The monks were
at supper, and did not know of their guests' arri-
val. But soon, wonderful music began to steal into
the hall from the chapel, sometimes sweet and sad,
then wild and stormy; now a single voice with
pleading tones, again a great chorus of response;
now the rolling of the thunder and the booming of
the wind, and, as these died away, a soft, clear,
sunny strain, telling that the storm was over. The
Fathers were in great affright; one and another
stole into the dark chapel to listen, and they
counted themselves over and over again to be sure
they were all there. But at last a light was
brought, the strangers were discovered, and Wolf
gang greatly enjoyed their amazement, terror, and
delight. They could not believe it was he whc
had played such music, so far beyond what ever
Brother Ambrose played-their fine musician.
They thought it was a spell-an enchantment-a
holy charm-a miracle. And when at last con-

vinced he was a true mortal boy, they lavished
the kindest hospitality on the Mozarts, and bade
them God-speed on the morrow with many a.
At the consecration of a church belonging to the
Orphans' Home in Vienna, Mozart composed the
music for the occasion, and conducted it, although
only twelve years of age. At thirteen, he went to
Rome with his father, arid there, in the Sistine
Chapel, below the grand painting of "The Last
Judgment," which Michael Angelo had painted
three hundred years before, he heard the wonder-
ful music of The Miserere."
This is only performed in Holy Week by the
Pope's choir, and no one has ever been allowed tot
. have a copy of the music, or even to see it. But
so astonishing was little Mozart's memory, that, on
his return from the chapel, he not only wrote out
the music correctly, but could also sing it perfectly,
-a feat which made him the musical wonder of
the age.
He was received with the greatest enthusiasm in
Italy; made a Knight of the Golden Spur by the,
Pope; elected a member of the Philharmonic
Academy, and had praises and honors heaped
upon him in the very land of song and art.
At fifteen years of age he composed his first
opera. But we must now take leave of the boy.
His works were numerous, and have made his
name immortal. His life was not long; and at
thirty-five he left to the world the rich inheritance
of his musical compositions.
They are full of grace and beauty. Some of
them are sad and mournful; some running over
with fun and frolic; but sonatas, operas, and masses
all speak the genius of the great musician.
His last work was a requiem, which a stranger
came to him and ordered. Mozart began to write
it, and was to have it finished in a month. But
when the stranger returned it was not done.
How much longer do you want ? "
Another month," replied Mozart.
He continued to work on it, but his health,
* already poor, began to fail, and he grew feebler
each day. He often told his wife he was writing
the requiem for himself, and his melancholy in-
creased day by day. He fancied that the unknown
person was a being from another world, and became
I convinced that he was sent to warn him of his own
departure. Painfully he worked on with his failing
strength, and at last the requiem was completed;
but when the stranger called for it Mozart was.
t dead, and the solemn requiem, written for another,
- was his own death-song.




WHAT shall little children bring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day ?
What shall little children bring
( On Christmas Day in the morning?

This shall little children bring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day:
Love and joy for Christ, their king,
On Christmas Day in the morning!

/I What shall little children sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
What shall little children sing
On Christmas Day in the morning?

This grand old carol shall they sing
SOn Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
With all their hearts, their offering bring
On Christmas Day in the morning,-

For Christ was born in Bethlehem
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
For Christ was born in Bethlehem
On Christmas Day in the morning.

"And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the bells on earth shall ring
On Christmas Day in the morning.

" And all the angels in heaven shall sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the angels in heaven shall sing
On Christmas Day in the morning.

"And all the souls on earth shall sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the souls on earth shall sing
On Christmas Day in the morning.

"Then let us all rejoice amain
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
Then let us all rejoice amain
On Christmas Day in the morning."


-. -- OSE sat all alone in the big
best parlor, with her little
handkerchief laid ready
S' .. to catch the first tear, for
she was thinking of her
troubles, and a shower
i was expected. She had
4,1-: retired to this room as a
.- good place in which to
... be miserable; for it was
dark and still, full of
ancient furniture, sombre
curtains, and hung all round with por-
traits of solemn old gentlemen in wigs,
severe-nosed ladies in top-heavy caps,
and staring children in little bob-tailed
coats or short-waisted frocks. It was an
excellent place for woe; and the fitful
spring rain that pattered on the window-pane
seemed to sob, "Cry away: I'm with you."
Rose really did have some cause to be sad; for
she had no mother, and had lately lost her father
also, which left her no home but this with her great
aunts. She had only been with them a week, and
though the dear old ladies had tried their best to
make her happy they had not succeeded very wellW
for she was unlike any child they had ever seen.
and they felt very much as if they had the care of a
low-spirited butterfly. -
They had given her the freedom of the house,
and for a day or two she had amused herself roam-
ing all over it, for it was a capital old mansion, and
was full of all manner of odd nooks, charming
rooms, and mysterious passages. Windows broke
out in unexpected places, little balconies overhung
the garden most romantically, and there was a long
upper hall full of curiosities from all parts of the
world; for the Campbells had been sea-captains
for generations.
Aunt Plenty had even allowed Rose to rummage
in her great china closet,-a spicy retreat, rich in
all the goodies" that children love; but Rose
seemed to care little for these toothsome tempta-
tions; and when that hope failed, Aunt Plenty gave
up in despair.
Gentle Aunt Peace had tried all sorts of pretty
needlework, and planned a doll's wardrobe that
would have won the heart of even an older child.

But Rose took little interest in pink satin hats and
tiny hose, though she sewed dutifully till her aunt
caught her wiping tears away with the train of a
wedding-dress, and that discovery put an end to
the sewing society.
Then both old ladies put their heads together
and picked out the model child of the neighborhood
to come and play with their niece. But Ariadne
Blish was the worst failure of all, for Rose could
not bear the sight of her, and said she was so like
a wax doll she longed to give her a pinch and see
if she would squeak. So prim little Ariadne was
sent home, and the exhausted aunties left Rose to
her own devices for a day or two.
Bad weather and a cold kept her indoors, and
she spent most of her time in the library where her
father's books were stored. Here she read a great
deal, cried a little, and dreamed many of the inno-
cent bright dreams in which imaginative children
find such comfort and delight. This suited her
better than anything else, but it was not good for
her, and she grew pale, heavy-eyed and listless,
though Aunt Plenty gave her iron enough to make
a cooking-stove, and Aunt Peace petted her like a
Seeing this, the poor aunties racked their brains
for a new amusement, and determined to venture a
bold stroke, though not very hopeful of its success.
They said nothing to Rose about their plan for this
Saturday afternoon, but let her alone till the time
came for the grand surprise, little dreaming that
the odd child would find pleasure for herself in a
most unexpected quarter.
Before she had time to squeeze out a single tear
a sound broke the stillness, making her prick up
her ears. It was only the soft twitter of a bird, but
it seemed to be a peculiarly gifted bird, for while
she listened the soft twitter changed to a lively
whistle, then a trill, a coo, a chirp, and ended in a
musical mixture of all the notes as if the bird burst
out laughing. Rose laughed also, and, forgetting
her woes, jumped up saying, eagerly :
It is a mocking-bird. Where is it?"
Running down the long hall she peeped out at
both doors, but saw nothing feathered except a
draggle-tailed chicken under a burdock leaf. She
listened again, and the sound seemed to be in the
house. Away she went, much excited by the chase,
and following the changeful song it led her to the
china-closet door.
In there ? How funny !" she said. But when

Copyrighted 1874, by LOUISA M. ALCOTT.






she entered, not a bird appeared except the ever-
lastingly kissing swallows on the Canton china that
lined the shelves. All of a sudden Rose's face
brightened, and softly opening the slide she peered
into the kitchen. But the music had stopped, and
all she saw was a girl in a blue apron scrubbing the
hearth. Rose stared about her for a minute, and
then asked abruptly :
Did you hear that mocking-bird? "
"I should call it a phebe-bird," answered the
girl, looking up with a twinkle in her black eyes.
"Where did it go?"
"It is here still."
"Where ?"
"' In my throat. Do you want to hear it ?"
"Oh, yes! I'll come in." And Rose crept
through the slide to the wide shelf on the other
side, being too hurried and puzzled to go round by
the door.
The girl wiped her hands, crossed her feet on the
little island of carpet where she was stranded in a
sea of soap-suds, and then, sure enough, out of her
slender throat came the swallow's twitter, the
robin's whistle, the blue-jay's call, the thrush's
song, the wood-dove's coo, and many another
familiar note, all ending as before with the musical
ecstasy of a bobolink singing and swinging among
the meadow grass on a bright June day.
Rose was so astonished that she nearly fell off
her perch, and when the little concert was over
clapped her hands delightedly.
Oh, it was lovely Who taught you ?"
The birds," answered th-e girl, with a smile, as
she fell to work again.
It is very wonderful! I can sing, but nothing
half so fine as that. What is your name, please?"
Phebe Moore."
I 've heard of phebe-birds, but I don't believe
the real ones could do that," laughed Rose, adding,
as she watched with interest the scattering of dabs
of soft soap over the bricks: May I stay and see
you work ? It is very lonely in the parlor."
Yes, indeed, if you want to," answered -Phebe,
wringing out her cloth in a capable sort of way that
impressed Rose very much.
It must be fun to swash the water round and
dig out the soap. I 'd love to do it, only aunt
would n't like it, I suppose," said Rose, quite taken
with the new employment.
"You'd soon get tired, so you'd better keep
tidy and look on."
"I suppose you help your mother a good deal."
I have n't got any folks."
"Why, where do you live, then ?"
"I 'm going to live here, I hope. Debby wants
some one to help round, and I've come to try for a

I hope you will stay, for it is very dull," said
Rose, who had taken a sudden fancy to this girl,
who sung like a bird and worked like a woman.
Hope I shall; for I'm fifteen now, and old
enough to earn my own living. You have come to
stay a spell, have n't you ? asked Phebe, looking
up at her guest and wondering how life could be
dull to a girl who wore a silk frock, a daintily frilled
apron, a pretty locket, and had her hair tied up
with a velvet snood.
Yes, I shall stay till my uncle comes. He is
my guardian now, and I don't know what he will
do with me. Have you a guardian ?"
"My sakes, no! I was left on the poor-house
steps a little mite of a baby, and Miss Rogers took
a liking to me, so I 've been there ever since. But
she is dead now, and I take care of myself."
"How interesting! It is like Arabella Mont-
gomery in the Gypsy's Child.' Did you ever read
that sweet story? asked Rose, who was fond of
tales of foundlings, and had read many.
I don't have any books to read, and all the
spare time I get I run off into the woods; that
rests me better .than stories," answered Phebe, as
she finished one job and began on another.
Rose watched her as she got.out a great pan of
beans to look over, and wondered how it would
seem to have life all work and no play. Presently
Phebe seemed to think it was her turn to ask ques-
tions, and said, wistfully:
\" You've had lots of schooling, I suppose ?"
Oh, dear me, yes I've been at boarding-
school nearly a year, and I 'm almost dead with
lessons. The more I got, the more Miss Power
gave me, and I was so miserable I 'most cried my
eyes out. Papa never gave me hard things to do,
and he always taught me so pleasantly I loved to
study. Oh, we were so happy and so fond of one
another! But now he is gone, and I am left all
The tear that would not come when Rose sat
waiting for it came now of its own accord,-two of
them in fact,-and rolled down her cheeks, telling
the tale of love and sorrow better than any words
could do it.
For a minute there was no sound in the kitchen
but the little daughter's sobbing and the sympa-
thetic patter of the, rain. Phebe stopped rattling her
beans from one pan to the other, and her eyes were
full of pity as they rested on the curly head bent
down on Rose's knee, for she saw that the heart
under the pretty locket ached with its loss, and the
dainty apron was used to dry sadder tears than any
she had ever shed.
Somehow, she felt more contented with her
brown calico gown and blue-checked pinafore;
envy changed to compassion; and if she had daied


she would have gone and hugged her afflicted real good time. I'm sure I should think I was in
guest. clover if I had folks and money and nothing to do
Fearing that might not be considered proper, but enjoy myself," began Phebe, but got no further,
she said, in her cheery voice: for a sudden rush and' nimble outside made them
"I 'm sure you aint all alone with such a lot of both jump.
folks belonging to you, and all so rich and clever. It's thunder," said Phebe.
You '11 be petted to pieces, Debby says, because It's a circus cried Rose, who, from her ele-
you are the only girl in the family." vated perch had caught glimpses of a gay cart of
Phebe's last words made Rose smile in spite of some sort and several ponies with flying manes and
hei- tears, and she looked out from behind her tails.
apron with an April face, saying in a tone of The sound died away, and the girls were about
comic distress: to continue their confidences when old Debby ap-
"That's one of my troubles I've got six aunts, peared, looking rather cross and sleepy after her
and they all want me, and I don't know any of nap.
them very well. Papa named this place the Aunt- You are wanted in the parlor, Miss Rose."
hill, and now I see why." Has anybody come? "
Phebe laughed with her as she said encourag- "Little girls should n't ask questions, but do as
ingly : they are bid," was all Debby would answer.
'Every one calls it so, and it's a real good I do hope it is n't Aunt Myra; she always
name, for all the Mrs. Campbells live handy by, scares me out of my wits asking how my cough is,
and keep coming up to see the old ladies." and groaning over me as if I was going to die,"
I could stand the aunts, but there are dozens said Rose, preparing to retire the way she came,
of cousins, dreadful boys all of them, and I detest for the slide, being cut for the admission of bounc-
boys! Some of them came to see me last Wed- ing Christmas turkeys and puddings, was plenty
nesday, but I was lying down, and when Auntie large enough for a slender girl.
came to call me I went under the quilt and pre- Guess you '11 wish it was Aunt Myra when you
tended to be asleep. I shall have to see them see who has come. Don't never let me catch you
sometime, but I do dread it so." And Rose gave coming into my kitchen that way again or I 'll
a shudder, for, having lived alone with her invalid shut you up in the big biler," growled Debby, who
father, she knew nothing of boys, and considered thought it her duty to snub children on all occa-
them a species of wild animal. sions.
Oh, I guess you 'll like 'em. I've seen 'em
flying round when they come over from the Point, CHAPTER II,
sometimes in their boats and sometimes on horse- THE CLAN.
back. If you like boats and horses you 'll enjoy
yourself first rate." ROSE scrambled into the china-closet as rapidly
But I don't I 'm afraid of horses, and boats as possible, and there refreshed herself by making
make me ill, and I hate boys And poor Rose faces at Debby, while she settled her plumage and
wrung her hands at the awful prospect before her. screwed up her courage. Then she crept softly
One of these horrors alone she could have borne, down the hall and peeped into the parlor. No one
but all together were too much for her, and she appeared, and all was so still she felt sure the com-
began to think of a speedy return to the detested pany was up stairs. So she skipped boldly through
school. the half-open folding-doors, to behold on the other
Phebe laughed at her woe till the beans danced side a sight that nearly took her breath away.
in the pan, but tried to comfort her by suggesting Seven boys stood in a row-all ages, all sizes, all
a means of relief, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, all in full Scotch cos-
Perhaps your uncle will take you away where tume, and all smiling, nodding, and saying as with
there aint any boys. Debby says he is a real kind one voice: How are you, cousin?"
man, and always brings heaps of nice things when Rose gave a little gasp and looked wildly about
he comes." her as if ready to fly, for fear magnified the seven
"Yes, but you see that is another trouble, for I and the room seemed full of boys. Before she
don't know Uncle Alec at all. He hardly ever could run, however, the tallest had stepped out of
came to see us, though he sent me pretty things the line, saying pleasantly:
very often. Now I belong to him, and shall have Don't be frightened. This is the clan come to
to mind him till I am eighteen. I may not like welcome you; and I'm the chief, Archie Junior, at
him a bit, and I fret about it all the time." your service."
"Well, I wouldn't borrow trouble, but have a He held out his hand as he spoke, and Rose



timidly put her own into a brown paw, which closed
over the white morsel and held it as the chief con-
tinued his introductions.
We came in full rig, for we always turn out in
-style on grand occasions. Hope you like it. Now
I '11 tell you who these chaps are, and then we shall
be all right. This big one is Prince Charlie, Aunt
Clara's boy. She has but one, so he is an extra

At this command, to Rose's great dismay, six
more hands were offered, and it was evident that
she was expected to shake them all. It was a try-
ing moment to the bashful child; but, remembering
that they were her kinsmen come to welcome her,
she tried her best to return the greeting cordially.
This impressive ceremony being over, the clan
broke ranks, and both rooms instantly appeared to


good one. This old fellow is Mac, the book-worm,
called Worm for short. This sweet creature is
Steve the Dandy. Look at his gloves and top-
knot, if you please. They are Aunt Jane's lads,
and a precious pair you 'd better believe. These
brats are my brothers, Geordie and Will, or Castor
and Pollux, for they stick together like burrs ; and
Jamie the Baby. Now, my men, step out and
show your manners."

be pervaded with boys. Rose hastily retired to the
shelter of a big chair and sat there watching the in-
vaders and wondering when her aunt would come
and rescue her.
As if bound to do their duty manfully, yet rather
oppressed by it, each lad paused beside her chair
in his wanderings, made a brief remark, received a
still briefer answer, and then sheered off with a re-
lieved expression.


Archie came first, and, leaning over the chair
back, observed in a paternal tone :
I 'm glad you've come, cousin, and I hope
you '11 find the Aunt-hill pretty jolly."
I think I shall."
Mac shook his hair out of his eyes, stumbled over
a stool, and asked abruptly :
Did you bring any books with you ? "
Four boxes full. They are in the library."
Mac vanished from the room, and Steve, striking
an attitude which displayed his costume effectively,
said with an affable smile :
We were sorry-not to see you last Wednesday.
I hope your cold is better."
"Yes, thank you." And a smile began to
dimple about Rose's mouth as she remembered her
retreat under the bed-cover.
Feeling that he had been received with distin-
guished marks of attention, Steve strolled away
with his top-knot higher than ever, and Prince
Charlie pranced across the room, saying in a free
and easy tone :
Mamma sent her love and hopes you will be
well enough to come over for a day next week. It
must be desperately dull here for a little thing like
I 'm thirteen and a-half, though I do look
small," cried Rose, forgetting her shyness in indig-
nation at this insult to her newly acquired teens.
"Beg pardon, ma'am; never should have guessed
it." And Charlie went off with a laugh, glad to
have struck a spark out of his meek cousin.
Geordie and Will came together, two sturdy
eleven and twelve year olders, and, fixing their
round blue eyes on Rose, fired off a question apiece
as if it was a shooting match and she the target.
Did you bring your monkey ?"
No; he is dead."
Are you going to have a boat ?"
I hope not."
Here the two, with a right-about-face movement,
abruptly marched away, and little Jamie demanded
with childish frankness:
Did you bring me anything nice ?"
Yes, lots of candy," answered Rose, whereupon
Jamie ascended into her lap with a sounding kiss
and the announcement that he liked her very much.
This proceeding rather startled Rose, for the
other lads looked and laughed, and in her confusion
she said hastily to the young usurper:
Did you see the circus go by ?"
When ? Where ? cried all the boys in great
excitement at once.
"Just before you came. At least I thought it
was a circus, for I saw a red and black sort of cart
and ever so many little ponies, and "
She got no farther, for a general shout made her

pause suddenly, as Archie explained the joke by
saying in the middle of his laugh:
"It was our new dog-cart and the Shetland
ponies, You '11 never hear the last of your circus,
But there were so many, and they went so fast,
and the cart was so very red," began Rose, trying
to explain her mistake.
"Come and see them all!" cried the Prince.
And before she knew what was happening she was
borne away to the barn and tumultuously intro-
duced to three shaggy ponies and the gay new dog-
She had never visited these regions before, and
had her doubts as to the propriety of her being
there now, but when she suggested that "Auntie
might not like it," there was a general cry of:
She told us to amuse you, and we can dp it
ever so much better out here than poking round in
the house."
I 'm afraid I shall get cold without my sacque,"
began Rose, who wanted to stay, but felt rather out
of her element.
No you wont! We '11 fix you," cried the lads,
as one clapped his cap on her head, another tied a
rough jacket round her neck by the sleeves, a third
nearly smothered her in a carriage blanket, and a
fourth threw open the door of the old barouche
that stood there, saying with a flourish :
Step in, ma'am, and make yourself comfortable
while we show you some fun."
So Rose sat in state enjoying herself very much,
for the lads proceeded to dance a Highland fling
.with a spirit and skill that made her clap her hands
and laugh as she had not done for weeks.
"How is that, my lassie ?" asked the Prince,
coming up all flushed and breathless when the bal-
let was over.
It was splendid I never went to the theater
but once, and the dancing was not half so pretty as
this. What clever boys you must be," said Rose,
smiling upon her kinsmen like a little queen upon
her subjects.
Ah, we 're a fine lot, and that is only the be-
ginning of our larks. We have n't got the pipes
here or we 'd sing for you-we 'd play for you-a
dulcy melody," answered Charlie, looking much
elated at her praise.
"I did not know we were Scotch; papa. never
said anything about it or seemed to care about Scot-
land, except to have me sing the old ballads," said
Rose, beginning to feel as if she had left America
behind her somewhere.
Neither did we till lately. We 've been read-
ing Scott's novels, and all of a sudden we remem-
bered that our grandfather was a Scotchman. So
we hunted up the old stories, got some pipes, put



on our plaids, and went in, heart and soul, for the
glory of the clan. We 've been at it some time
now, and it's great fun. Our people like it, and I
think we are a pretty canny set."
Archie said this from the other coach-step, where
he had perched, while the rest climbed up before
and behind to join in the chat as they rested.
I 'inm Fitzjames and he 's Roderick Dhu, and
we '11 give you the broadsword combat some day.
It 's a great thing, you 'd better believe," added the
Yes, and you should hear Steve play the pipes.
He makes 'em skirl like a good one," cried Will
from the box, eager to air the accomplishments of
his race.
Mac's the fellow to hunt up the old stories and
tell us how to dress right, and pick out rousing
bits for us to speak and sing," put in Geordie, say-
ing a good word for the absent Worm.
"And what do you and Will do ?" asked Rose of
Jamie, who sat beside her as if bound to keep her in
sight till the promised gift had been handed over.
"Oh, I'm the little foot-page, and do errands,
and Will and Geordie are the troops when we
march, and the stags when we hunt, and the
traitors when we want to cut any heads off."
They are very obliging, I'm sure," said Rose,'
whereat the utility men beamed with modest
pride, and resolved to enact Wallace and Montrose
as soon as possible for their cousin's special benefit.
"Let's have a game of tag," cried the Prince,
swinging himself up to a beam with a sounding
slap on Stevie's shoulder.
Regardless of his gloves, Dandy tore after him,
and the rest swarmed in every direction as if bent
on breaking their necks and dislocating their joints
as rapidly as possible.
It was a new and astonishing spectacle to Rose,
fresh from a prim boarding-school, and she watched
the active lads with breathless interest, thinking
their antics far superior to those of Mops, the dear
departed monkey.
Will had just covered himself with glory by,
pitching off of a high loft head first and coming up
all right, when Phebe appeared with a cloak, hood
and rubbers, also a message from Aunt Plenty
that Miss Rose was to come in directly."
All right; we 'll bring her answered Archie,
issuing some mysterious order, which was so
promptly obeyed that, before Rose could get out
of the carriage, the boys had caught hold of the
pole and rattled her out of the barn, round the oval
and up to the front door with a cheer that brought
two caps to an upper window, and caused Debby
to cry aloud from the back porch :
Them harum-scarum boys will certainly be the
death of that delicate little creter "

But the delicate little creter" seemed all the
better for her trip, and ran up the steps looking
rosy, gay and disheveled, to be received with
lamentation by Aunt Plenty, who begged her to
go and lie down at once.
Oh, please don't! We have come to tea with
our cousin and we'll be as good as gold if you '11
let us stay, Auntie," clamored the boys, who not
only approved of "our cousin," but had no mind
to lose their tea, for Aunt Plenty's name but feebly
expressed her bountiful nature.
Well, dears, you can; only be quiet and let
Rose go and take her iron and be made tidy, arid
then we will see what we can find for supper," said
the old lady as she trotted away, followed by a vol-
ley of directions for the approaching feast.
Marmalade for me, Auntie."
Plenty of plum-cake, please."
"Tell Debby to trot out the baked pears."
"I 'm your man for lemon-pie, ma'am."
Do have fritters; Rose will like 'em."
She'd rather have tarts, know."
When Rose came down fifteen minutes later with
every curl smoothed and her most beruffled apron
on, she found the boys loafing about the long hall,
and paused on the half-way landing to take an ob-
servation, for till now she had not really examined
her new-found cousins.
There was a strong family resemblance among
them, though some of the yellow heads were darker
than others, some of the cheeks brown instead of
rosy, and the ages varied all the way from sixteen-
year-old Archie to Jamie, who was ten years
younger. None of them were especially comely
but the Prince, yet all were hearty, happy-looking
lads, and Rose decided that boys were not as dread-
ful as she had expected to find them.
They were all so characteristically employed that
she could not help smiling as she looked. Archie
and Charlie, evidently great cronies, were pacing
up and down, shoulder to shoulder, whistling
"Bonnie Dundee." Mac was reading in a corner,
with his book close to his near-sighted eyes.
Dandy was arranging his hair before the oval glass
in the hat-stand. Geordie and Will investigating
the internal economy of the moon-faced clock, and
Jamie lay kicking up his heels on themat at the
foot of the stairs, bent on demanding his sweeties
the instant Rose appeared.
She guessed his intention and forestalled his de-
mand by dropping a handful of sugar-plums down
upon him.
At his cry of rapture the other lads looked up
and smiled involuntarily, for the little kinswoman
standing there above was a winsome sight with her
shy, soft eyes, bright hair and laughing face. The
black frock reminded them of her loss, and filled


the boyish hearts with a kindly desire to be good
to our cousin," who had no longer any home but
There she is, as fine as you please," cried Steve,
kissing his hand to her.
"Come on, Missy; tea is ready," added the
Prince encouragingly.
"I shall take her in." And Archie offered his
arm with great dignity, an honor that made Rose
turn as red as a cherry and long to run up stairs
It was a merry supper, and the two elder boys
added much to the fun by tormenting the rest with
dark hints of some interesting event which was
about to occur. Something uncommonly fine they
declared it was, but enveloped in the deepest mys-
tery for the present.
Did I ever see it? asked Jamie.
No, but Mac and Steve have, and liked it im-
mensely," answered Archie, thereby causing the
two mentioned to neglect Debby's delectable fritters
for several minutes, while they cudgeled their
"Who will have it first? asked Will, with his
mouth full of marmalade.
"Aunt Plenty, I guess."
When will she have it?" demanded Geordie,
bouncing in his seat with impatience.
Some time on Monday."
"Heart alive! what is the boy talking about?"
cried the old lady from behind the tall urn, which
left little to be seen but the topmost bow of her
"Does n't Auntie know?" asked a chorus of
"No ; and that's the best of the joke, for she is
desperately fond of it."
What color is it ?" asked Rose, joining in the
Blue and brown."
Is it good to eat ? asked Jamie.

Some people think so, but I should n't like to
try it," answered Charlie, laughing so he spilt his
Who does it belong to? put in Steve.
Archie and the Prince stared at one another
rather blankly for a minute, then Archie answered
with a twinkle of the eye that made Charlie explode
"To Grandfather Campbell."
This was a poser, and they gave up the puzzle,
though Jamie confided to Rose that he did not
think he could live till Monday without knowing
what this remarkable thing was.
Soon after tea, the clan departed, singing "All
the blue bonnets are over the border," at the tops
of their voices.
"Well, dear, how do you like your cousins?"
asked Aunt Plenty, as the last pony frisked round
the corner and the din died away.
Pretty well, ma'am; but I like Phebe better."
An answer which caused Aunt Plenty to hold up
her hands in despair and trot away to tell sister
Peace that she never should understand that child,
and it was a mercy Alec was coming soon to take
the responsibility off their hands.
Fatigued by the unusual exertions of the after-
noon, Rose curled herself up in the sofa corner to
rest and think about the great mystery, little guess-
ing that she was to know it first of all.
Right in the middle of her meditations, she fell
asleep and dreamed she was at home again in her
own little bed. She seemed to wake and see her
father bending over her; to hear him say, "My
little Rose; to answer, "Yes, papa; and then
to feel him take her in his arms and kiss her ten-
derly. So sweet, so real Was the dream, that she
started up with a cry of joy to find herself in the
arms of a brown, bearded man, who held her close
and whispered, in a voice so like her father's that
she clung to him involuntarily :
This is my little girl, and I am Uncle Alec."

(To be continued.)

MERRY Christmas, dear Papa!
Merry Christmas, good Mamma!
Don't you hear me knocking?
Don't you know the morning 's here ?
Wake up, Papa! Mamma dear !
Oh oh see my stocking!







THE spring before, Elsie
4@ f had had a present of a
.. vase. It was made of
clouded glass, and shaped
like a basket. From that
day there were always fresh
flowers or leaves or grasses
f on the little corner table in
K the parlor; for there was
where the vase stood, and it was never empty.
So many beautiful things it had held; hepaticas
and violets and apple-blossoms, and then the roses
and wild honeysuckles of June, and then, as her,
own little garden grew to blossoming, sweet peas
and geraniums and mignonnette. At last there
were asters and golden-rod and brown ferns, and
the fringed gentians from down by the brook un-
der the hill-the dear good-by flowers that staid
so late.
She used to get up early all the Summer morn-
ings and have it freshly filled before breakfast.
But now the mornings were short and dreary,
the last of the tender ferns had dried away out of
sight, and the little flower-bed was filled only with
bare earth and patches of snow. The basket was
empty at last, and looked lonely and forlorn. Elsie
said this was too dreary; it would never do in the
. But Fred said, a little teasingly, Well, El,
what are you going to do about it, I should like to
know? "
Going to walk; and you 'll see if I don't find


G. W.

something," said Elsie, with a sud
den determination.
But it's all snow," said Edgar.
What's the use ?"
Oh, we'll see. The sun shines;
and I don't believe every thing's
dead. Who '11 go with me ? "
Not I," said Fred. "Better fun
for me-going to get my skates
newly strapped, ready for the pond. Who cares
for green things Besides, they 're all gone, I
Edgar had some important whittling to keep him
at home. But Ralph wanted to go, and was run-
ning off for his coat and cap, poor little fellow, with
a hole in his boots. But Elsie could not take him,
and so she consoled him with a big piece of paper
and a pencil, and started off alone.
She went out through the north gate upon the
road, and then close along by the fence down the
hill. The snow was pretty thick and hard, but
around every fence-post was a little green island.
The sun was clear, and the air would have been
almost warm if it could have blown over grass
instead of snow. How pleasant it was, after all !
And there, in one of the small green islands, was a
clover-leaf, and, stooping to get it, she found an-
other and another; real Spring clover-leaves, with
little white marks in them, and fresh and sweet
when they came to be lifted out of their cold bed
and carried in her hand.
Her eyes were wide open now, and soon caught


a glimpse of something green and brown and
glossy. It was a bunch of blackberry leaves, and,
feeling for the stem and pulling hard, up came a
long vine, delicate and fresh, and every leaf per-
fect. Then she found more, and the farther they
had trailed off under the snow, the greener and
more perfect they always were. Could it be true
that the cold snow has been keeping them warm?"
Elsie said to herself, and her heart quite warmed
up to the snow as she gathered the long, graceful
vines and thought of the little basket waiting at
Then there was a wild rose-bush all bare of
leaves; but what pretty yellow and red stems,-she
had never noticed before,-and on the end of many
of them a bright red berry. How bright they
were in among the blackberry leaves !
Not many fence-posts farther on, a little brown
and yellow bunch of yarrow leaves lay leaning over
each other in a sleepy sort of way, but quite fresh,
and those deepest down as green as Summer. So
the feathery little things also went on in Elsie's
hand. Wild strawberry leaves, green and brown
and red, lay at almost every step; delicate grasses,
bleached white, waved above the snow, making a
faint fluttering sound; and soon she came upon
something really wonderful. It seemed to be' a
bunch of white daisies, but, on looking closely,
they proved to be the dry calyxes of some summer
flowers, quite white and shining. Elsie laughed
out for joy.
On she went, crossing the bridge at the foot of
the hill, and then creeping through the bars into
the winter-green lot. There she found treasures,
indeed; great beds of partridge-berry vines under
the snow, all bright with berries, and tufts of hardy
ferns, and the glossy winter-green leaves. How
could anybody want more ? How little Fred knew
about it all He should go with her next time,
and not pretend any longer that he did n't care for
such things; for she knew it was only pretense.
Her left hand ached, it was so full of beautiful
things. Next time she would bring a big basket,
and it should be next time very soon, for she had
found out now what a dear secret the snow had
been keeping from her. Thanks to that little
empty vase of hers at home.
Just then such a soft bed of moss gleamed up be-
fore her out of the dazzling snow. She had to stop
short. At first she thought she would not touch
it,-it would be too bad to tear away the least bit,
-but she wanted it so much she soon decided it

would be right, after all. So she laid down her
treasures and began to dig with both hands, but,
finding a whole family of bugs and worms packed
away for the winter under its shelter, she laid it
carefully back and tucked down the edges to keep
them warm. What a nice bed," she said, only
I 'd rather have it under me than on top of me, I
Then she came to a stump, all covered with lich-
ens and cup-moss and small clumps of scarlet-
headed gray moss and, running all over the big
roots, more of the partridge-berry vine, a little
greener and finer and more abundant than what
she had found before. Everything that grows in
the woods seems to love old trees so. What a
splendid tree that must have been, and when it
had to be cut down, how lovely of all the little red
and gray and green things to come and cover
up the poor stump so as to make things less lone-
some !
Elsie knew it was time to go home, but it was
hard to get away. She liked to think of all the
hepaticas and anemones asleep down just a little
way in the ground under her feet, for here was
where she always found the first Spring flowers.
And down there, in the alders, how soon the birds
would be building their nests again !
Fred was just passing by on his way back from
the store as'Elsie turned to go home. He stooped
down out of sight to see how she would get through
the fence with her load,-a great bunch of leaves
in one hand, a handkerchief full of moss in the
other, and long vines hanging over her left shoulder
and down her back. A little mean of Fred not to
try to help her; but he did so like to tease 1
The first she knew of his presence she heard a
voice behind her, as she trudged along, call out,
"Stop thief!" When he caught up with her he
said, very meekly, Will you allow me the pleasure
of carrying the winter-green lot for you, Miss ? "
But she could n't trust him with anything but the
So the little basket' was full again; blackberry
and partridge vines hanging off and running over
the handle, and yarrow and ferns leaning out, and
bright berries peeping up between, and the queer
little snow-daisies, as Elsie called the calyxes, in a
bunch on one side. And there was so much left
that the pictures o6f the mantel were trimmed, and
a flat dish was filled with moss for the big table,
and everybody said it was about as good as Sum-
mer, after all. /



(A Old-fashioned Fairy Tale.)


ONCE upon a time there lived a miller by the
name of Jok, and his wife's name was Ko, and his
mare's name was Rik, and his dog's name was Ree,
and his cat's name was Rorum. When his first
child was born, and he found it was a girl, he called
her Jokkorik; and when his second child was born,
as it was a son, he called it Jokkoree. His wife
complained very much of these names, saying that
they were not fit to be given to children; but the
miller, who was as whimsical as he was tyrannical,
bade the good woman to hold her tongue, and de-
clared if another child were born, be it boy or girl,
he would name it Jokkororum.
The boy and the girl grew up, the girl being very
beautiful and the boy very ugly. Jokkorik was tall
and slender, with eyes of a violet blue, a pure red
and white complexion, and long, golden hair. Jok-
koree, on the contrary, was short, stout and mus-
cular, with large feet and hands, steel-gray eyes,
reddish-brown hair that was bushy and stiff, and
a manner that was awkward and constrained. But
if he was ungainly he was also active and fearless.
There was not a horse, however wild, that he could
not ride, nor a wild beast, however fierce, that he
feared to meet; indeed, his father complained
that he was fonder of riding and hunting than of
attending to the mill. But Jokkoree did not neglect
his duty. He rose early and toiled late, and when-
ever the great mill-wheel was turning he was busy.
And he was as kind-hearted and frank and indiffer-
ent to praise or censure, as his sister was cruel and
deceitful and vain. Yet, because Jokkoree was so
very ugly and had a wide mouth and a big nose, his
mother disliked and neglected him, and lavished
all her love upon his sister; while his father only
looked upon him as one who was strong enough
to help him in the mill-work, and was easy to
Out in the forest near the mill,-a forest,which
belonged to the Grand Duke of Kleinerberg, and
where his Serene Highness and the nobles of the
Court often came to hunt, there lived an old hermit
with a beard as white as snow, and a body so thin
that its owner looked like a living skeleton in a
serge gown. To this hermit Jokkoree had always
been kind when the old man came to the mill to
beg a little flour, and in return the hermit taught
him not only to read and write, but to do a great
many other things. He showed him how to use a
sword and handle a lance, for the hermit had been

a learned man as well as a knight of renown in his
time. He grew kinder and kinder to the boy every
day, and at length, finding death about to overtake
him, gave him three things which he said might
prove of use as he grew older: the Sword of
Potency, the Staff of Extension, and the Shoes of
Endurance. The sword would cut through any-
thing, no matter how hard it might be; the staff,
at the will of the wearer, would enlarge or diminish,
or change itself into any article ever fashioned out
of wood; and the shoes had this quality, that he
who wore them was never tired, no matter how
long he walked or how fast he might run, nor was
he bent down no matter how heavy the burthen he
might bear. Having explained all this, the hermit
died, and Jokkoree buried him in his cave, in a
spot which the hermit had hollowed out long before
for this very purpose.
When Jokkorik was about ten years old, there
was born a little sister, and the miller, according to
his promise, named her Jokkororum. And the
little girl grew up to be the most beautiful girl that
was ever seen, and to be as amiable in disposition
as she was lovely in person. But before she was
quite sixteen years old, the father and mother both
died within a month of each other, leaving their
estate to Jokkorik and Jokkoree, and commending
Jokkororum to the joint care of her brother and
sister; and Jokkoree, a week after the death of his
mother, leaving his share of the property for the
support of his younger sister, took with him the
sword and staff and shoes of the hermit, and
mounting the best horse in the stable, went forth
to seek his fortune.
So soon as he was gone, Jokkorik, who hated her
younger sister because every one preferred her, in-
sisted that Jokkororum should go into the kitchen,
and become a scullion there, and Jokkororum had
to submit. But, one day, the son of the Grand
Duke, the Prince Prettyboi, fatigued with his hunt-
ing, stopped with his attendants at the mill, and
asked for a glass of water. Jokkorik curtsied and
blushed, and ordered Jokkororum to fetch it, which
she did. Though the young girl was meanly clad,
and marked with the tokens of her menial service,
she was so beautiful and graceful, that when she
had retired the Prince asked who she was.
Only my scullion," answered Jokkorik.
Every day afterward the Prince came to hunt, in
the forest, and every day stopped to crave a drink


,of water. Jokkorik thought that she had fascinated
him by her own charms; but one day, when Jok-
Ikororum happened to be absent, the Prince in-
quired after her so very anxiously that the elder
-sister at once saw her error. After the Prince had
gone, when Jokkororum returned, her sister met
her with reproaches and abuse, and, after beating
her, drove her from the house, and told her never

quired of the peasant with whom he had lodged
what building that was.
That," said his host, "is the castle of the giant
Steelbody, the great enchanter. He is the terror
of all Dunderland, and the King would share his
kingdom with the man who would destroy him."
Why has he not been killed before this, by
some stout knight of the kingdom ?"

/ N

/ V
/ 4


to come back again. And when the Prince re-
'turned next day, and learned of this, he caused
inquiries to be made, and found that the young
girl, after being traced into the country of Dunder-
land, had entirely disappeared.
Wishing to fathom this mystery, and anxious
again to see Jokkororum, whose true condition he
now discovered, he left Court and set out all alone
upon his travels.
Meanwhile, Jokkoree had gone from one coun-
try to another without meeting any remarkable
adventures, and, finding his purse was getting
lighter, had returned by a different way. When he
was about two days' journey from Kleinerberg, he
stopped for the night on the edge of a huge forest,
at the cottage of a woodman. In the morning, as
he was preparing to go, he looked'upward and saw
in the distance a high rock, on which stood a huge
castle, with three slender towers in front, which
glittered in the rays of the morning sun. He in-

"It is easy to see, young sir, that you are a
stranger," replied the peasant. Not only is the
castle impregnable, and built on an inaccessible
rock, but whoever ventures into the valley around
it falls within the power of his sorcery, and is
obliged to do his will. He pretends to treat them
fairly too. It is said that he sets them three tasks,
and if they do these, he will give them all his pos-
sessions ; but if they fail, then he changes them to
statues of brass, to adorn his great hall. Only the
other day, a beautiful young girl, though she was
meanly dressed, wandered there, and was changed
to a statue; and when I described her to a young
cavalier who stopped here, he went madly in pur-
suit of her, and perished too, doubtless, as nothing
was seen of him afterward. The King's daughter
once ventured there, or strayed there by some acci-
dent, but never returned."
And did not the King send his soldiers to the
castle to rescue her ? "



It would be useless, even if he came out to The giant noticed his surprise, but mistook the
meet them. He has made his body, by magic, as cause. "Ah! I see you notice one vacant pedestal.
hard as steel,-whence his name,-and swords and It lacks one statue to complete the collection, but I
lances only shiver when they strike him." expect to have that in three days."
I will seek this giant, and' destroy him," said He then led Jokkoree to the great banqueting-
Jokkoree. room, where they found a collation ready, which
The peasant endeavored to dissuade him, but in was served by numerous servants richly attired.
vain. The young man mounted his horse, and When this was over, there was a concert of music;
spurred on toward the castle, staff in hand, while after which, Jokkoree was shown to a chamber of
his sword jingled at his side in the scabbard, as equal richness with the other apartments, and here,
though it were calling him to the enterprise, without any fear of harm, he went to sleep.
Jokkoree soon arrived at a high stone wall, along The next morning, after he had eaten breakfast,
which he rode for some time without discovering which was served to him in bed, and dressed him-
any entrance. At last he came to a gap where the self, the giant entered the chamber.
stones had fallen, and thus was enabled to pass. I hope you have been pleased at your enter-
He found himself in a beautiful garden, filled with tainment," he said. Jokkoree bowed in reply.
choice fruit-trees, parterres of
flowers, and beautiful fount-
ains. As he gazed around
him, he saw a huge giant
advancing, whom he rightly
conjectured to be no other
than Steelbody himself.
The giant, who was at- ". ->
tended by a number of ser- ... '' -
vants, put on a friendly air, .-
and welcomed Jokkoree as .
though he were exceedingly --, i-
pleased by his visit, inviting d
him to enter the castle. .
"It shall not be my fault,"
said he, if you do not stay
with me a very long time." \_
Jokkoree understood the -
bidden meaning of these i1 1
words, but he followed the ''' I
giant to the rock, where a '. .. /
huge door opened of its own / -. (i,
accord, and revealed a flight '
of stone steps, which they "
ascended, and which led
them into the main hall of '
the castle.-
The youth had never even .
dreamed of anything so -';
splendid. The walls, the pil- / :
lars that supported the roof, -
and the lofty ceiling were, of "'
ebony inlaid with gold, and -
studded with diamonds, em- -
eralds, rubies, and other -'
precious stones; and the "
floor was laid in agate and JOICKOEE AND THE GIANT.
lapis lazuli. On either side
of the hall were pedestals, each bearing a statue of There is a price to be paid for it," continued
bronze. In one of these Jokkoree recognized the Steelbody. I shall be compelled to ask you to
figure of Jokkororum, and he started. do me three favors-to set three tasks for you, in
VOL. II.-Io.


fact. If you succeed in all these, you are master
of this castle and all it contains. If you fail in
either, you will change into a statue of bronze, and
stand upon the vacant pedestal."
I am ready," answered Jokkoree.
Come with me, then," said the giant, to the
valley below."
Jokkoree followed him, and when there the giant
went on to say:
"Ten miles from this, on my grounds, are six
stones, each as heavy as you can carry. You must
go there and bring them, one by one, to this place,
between now and sunset. The road is plain-the
path is before you. I leave you to your labor,
while I return to the castle. At sunset I will be
The giant left him, and Jokkoree, lacing the
Shoes of Endurance tightly on his feet, ran directly
on the path that stretched straight before him. He
soon arrived where the stones lay, and grasping
one, put it on his shoulder. It was certainly heavy,
but the quality of the shoes he wore, as the hermit
had told him, prevented fatigue, and he readily
brought it to the foot of the rock, running, all the
way with the greatest ease. In this way he made
six journeys to and fro, and it was not yet noon-
day when he had completed his labor. When he
had done it, he knocked loudly at the great door
in the rock. As he did so, he heard a crash, and
looking up he found that one of the three towers
which made the front of the castle had fallen, and
the fragments of stone had poured down on the
very spot where he had stood a few moments
The giant made his appearance, with a vexed
So you have completed your task early. That
gives you a chance to do the second before the sun
sets. You see yonder tree, with golden fruit in the
upper branches ? A basket hangs up there. You
will be kind enough to get to the top, fill the basket
with the fruit, and when you have brought it down
carry it up to the great hall of the castle, where I
shall await you."
So saying, the giant entered the portal, and the
door closed.
Jokkoree looked at the tree, and found the trunk,
which was slender and lofty, was studded thickly
with bright steel points, as sharp as razors, extend-
ing in every direction, rendering it impossible to
climb. But the youth was nowise daunted at that.
He remembered his Staff of Extension. Placing
that before him, he wished it to become a ladder
long enough to reach to the first branch of the
tree. The staff split in two, and went upward,
rounds appearing between the two parts as it
climbed, until it finally rested where desired. Up

this ladder Jokkoree ascended, and, taking the
basket, speedily filled it with the golden fruit.
Then he descended, the ladder shrank back again
into a staff, and Jokkoree, with his basket on his
arm, knocked at the great door in the rock, which
opened as before. As it did this, there was a great
crash, and a second tower of the castle fell.
The giant met him in the hall, and took the
basket of fruit which Jokkoree offered. He was
very pale, and said:
You have performed two of the tasks; but the
third is more difficult. Take the sword which I see
you wear by your side, and strike off my head. If
you fail in that, you are lost."
Jokkoree drew his sword, and the giant bent his
head low that it might be reached, while a malig-
nant twinkle in his eye showed his faith in the
invulnerability of his body to all weapons. The
youth trembled, for he remembered what the
peasant had told him; but he also remembered
what the hermit had said, and how the shoes and
the staff had proved themselves. So he drew his
sword and smote lustily.
There was a crash, and the last of the three
towers fell, as the head of the giant rolled upon the
floor. At the same moment the statues changed
into living forms, stepped from their pedestals, and
crowded around their deliverer. Jokkororum threw
herself in the arms of her brother, while Prince
Prettyboi gazed at her in admiration.
There were knights and dames, nobles and
burghers, who pressed around to thank Jokkoree;
and one of the ladies, whom the rest recognized
and paid deference to, gave him her hand to kiss.
This was the Princess Brytize, the only daughter
of the puissant Woodenhed, King of all Dunder-
land. And the servants all hastened to acknowledge
Jokkoree as their master, and as heir, by the terms
of the three achieved tasks, to the titles and estate
of Steelbody, Count of Aircastle and Lord Nozoo.
King Woodenhed fulfilled his promise, and gave
over half of Dunderland to Jokkoree, who reigned
as king there. But as the old king had no son, he
made his co-king marry the Princess Brytize, that
the whole realm might be kept in the family.
Jokkoree and Jokkororum, who was afterward
married to Prince Prettyboi, forgave Jokkorik, and
King Jokkoree invited her to his Court, where she
married a great noble, Count Henpekt, with whom
she became tolerably happy. At least, the noble
Count seemed very proud of her; for he said she
was of that amiable disposition that he did not
believe there was any one in the world, excepting
King Jokkoree, and the Crown Princess of Kleiner-
berg, and himself, whom she hated very intensely.
Considering the former character of the Countess
Jokkorik, this was very high praise indeed.






By A. S. W.

PEEPSY and Weepsy, after a pretty tough scram- Weepsy's heart is filled with dismay; timid tears
ble, make their entrance into this big selfish world, fill his eyes; he turns his little round fluffy back
and evidently wish they could go back again, on the early worm, and feels inclined to give up.


They collect their scattered faculties, and put
their heads together to consult as to what is best to,
be done about it.


Peepsy puts one tender claw around his neck,
and wipes his weeping eyes, but cannot comfort
him. Weepsy droops lower and lower and lower,



The proud blood of his forefathers stirs in
Peepsy's breast. He plants his feet firmly on his
.native heath, blinks defiantly with his right eye,
and thinks matters may not be so very bad. But

smiles faintly, his breast heaves with short sighs,
and his little lamp of life goes out.
Poor Peepsy! Bereft, but plucky, he mourn-
fully determirnes to go it alone."





JESSIE is both young and fair,
Dewy eyes and sunny hair;
Sunny hair and dewy eyes
Are not where her beauty lies.

Jessie is both fond and true,
Heart of gold and will of yew;
Will of yew and heart of gold-
Still her charms are scarcely told.

If she yet remain unsung,
Pretty, constant, docile, young,
What remains not here compiled ?
Jessie is a little child 1



IT was Christmas Eve. The night was very dark
and the snow falling fast, as Hermann, the char-
coal-burner, drew his cloak tighter around him, and
the wind whistled fiercely through the trees of the
Black Forest. He had been to carry a load to a
castle near, and was now hastening home to his
little hut. Although he worked very hard, he was
poor, gaining barely enough for the wants of his
wife and his four little children. He was thinking
of them, when he heard a faint wailing. Guided
by the sound, he groped about and found a little
child, scantily clothed, shivering and sobbing by
itself in the snow.
Why, little one, have they left thee here all
alone to face this cruel blast ?"
The child answered nothing, but looked piteously
up in the charcoal-burner's face.
Well, I cannot leave thee here. Thou would'st
be dead before the morning."
So saying, Hermann raised it in his arms, wrap-'

ping it in his cloak and warming its little cold
hands in his bosom. When he arrived at his hut,
he put down the child and tapped at the dobr,
which was immediately thrown open, and the chil-
dren rushed to meet him.
"Here, wife, is a guest to our Christmas Eve
supper," said he, leading in the little one, who held
timidly to his finger with its tiny hand.
And welcome he is," said the wife. Now let
him come and warm himself by the fire."
The children all pressed round to welcome and
gaze at the little new-comer. They showed him
their pretty fir-tree, decorated with bright, colored
lamps in honor of Christmas Eve, which the good
mother had endeavored to make a fete for the chil-
Then they sat down to supper, each child con-
tributing of its portion for the guest, looking with
admiration at its clear, blue eyes and golden hair,
which shone so as to shed a brighter light in the


little room ; and as they gazed, it grew into a sort place where he had found the fair child, he saw a
of halo round his head, and his eyes beamed with cluster of lovely white flowers, with dark green
a heavenly luster. Soon two white wings appeared leaves, looking as though the snow itself had blos-
at his shoulders, and he seemed to grow larger and somed. Hermann plucked some, and carried them
larger, and then the beautiful vision vanished, reverently home to his wife and children, who


spreading out his hands as in benediction over treasured the fair blossoms and tended them care-
them. fully in remembrance of that wonderful Christmas
Hermann and his wife fell on their knees, ex- Eve, calling them Chrysanthemums; and every
claiming, in awe-struck voices: The holy Christ- year, as the time came round, they put aside a por-
child! and then embraced their wondering chil- tion of their feast and gave it to some poor little
dren in joy and thankfulness that they had enter- child, according to the words of the Christ: In-
tained the Heavenly Guest. asmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of
* The next morning, as Hermann passed by the these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."





E was very small. Only ten years old,
and just as tall as the top of the chancel
rail. When he put on his white robes
and stood up to sing, he looked like a
young angel with blue eyes and very
l S bright brown hair. He had no wings.
This some people thought a pity. It
was not, for then he might have flown
away. Besides, a clever boy is better
than two angels in a picture-book.
On this particular morning he had no
white robe, and he did not feel much like singing. It
was cold and stormy out of doors, and one could n't
be quite sure whether it was night or morning.
The clock on the wall said five minutes past eleven,
but that was a mistake. The clock had stopped.
And the fire was out, and the water had frozen in
the tea-kettle, and the cat was dead. Poor old
blind pussy She had just died. Tommy looked
at the old cat stretched out beside the. cold stove.
He looked at the heavy frost on the windows. He
looked at his hands, red with the cold, and he won-
dered what would happen next.
Far away over the snowy house tops came the
sound of bells. The chimes How merrily they
rang He listened to the jangling music. Such a
queer old song! Tommy took up the tunre and
sang softly:
God rest you, merry gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour,
Was born upon this day."

That was all he could sing; he let the bells say the
He was not a very merry gentleman. The poor
old cat was dead, and the fire had gone out. That
was not all. There were no coals, nor any break-
fast, and upstairs-ah upstairs in the cold and
the dark lay his mother, sick, feeble, poor and old
before her time.
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ our Saviour--"

How the chimes rang out on the frosty air "It
must be nearly time to go to church." Tommy
looked at the clock. It. only stared at him, with
both hands lifted up in mute despair.
Tommy spread a rug over the poor old cat, and,
putting on a cloth cap and a faded coat, he pre-
pared to go out of doors.

He could do nothing more. The world seemed
to be quite upside down, and Christmas Day all
out of place, as if the year had stopped with the
clock. He could do nothing more. The dispensary
doctor said he would call soon. He would not wait
for breakfast, for there was nothing to eat in the
whole house. At least, he could get warm at the
church, and, by the time the service was over, per-
haps something would happen. Surely, if it were
really and truly Christmas Day, something would
happen. What might happen he could not guess.
It would be something better, for things were quite
as bad as they could be.
Ah It was pleasant to get into the warm church
out of the cold wind and the snow. The choir
were nearly all there, and the service was about to
begin. Tommy hung up his poor old hat and
coat, and carefully crept into his white robe. One
of the alto boys buttoned it up behind for him, and
gave him his music-book. There was a little stir
among the white-robed men and boys, and then
they formed in a procession and marched two and
two through a small door into the great church.
How the loud organ pealed The music seemed
to thrill him through, and he took his seat in the
choir with trembling knees. How full the church !
Every seat seemed to be taken, and he looked
around on the great company in a kind of dull
surprise'. It was in all the papers, but Tommy
did n't know it, that the famous boy soprano,
Thomas Sterry, would sing that morning, and
many had come to hear him. As for Tommy
Sterry, he knew there was a solo somewhere in the
service; he had studied it carefully, but now he
almost forgot where it came or what it was about.
Small time for thought. The choir stood up,
and in a moment away they went in the opening
anthem. How Tommy's voice rolled out the sono-
rous Latin:
Gloria in excelsis Deo! "

It was a delight to spring through the lively measures
of Mozart's great Twelfth Mass, and Tommy took
up the high sustained notes in the soprano part as
if he were really an angel, after all. There was a
great picture of an angel, standing on a gold cloud-
and with a trumpet in his hand, in one of the win-
dows, and one lady in the congregation thought it
looked just like Tommy. After the anthem, the
service began and went on in the usual fashion.
Tommy forgot all about the dead cat, and the




-875.] TOMMY, THE SOPRANO. 149

breakfast that he did not eat, and he almost forgot
his mother. The music seemed to carry him away
to another country, where there was no snow, nor
sickness, nor poverty, nor tears. He thought
how many months his mother had denied herself
everything that he might learn to sing; and now
that he could sing, perhaps the church people
would give him a little something, for really he
was so very, very poor! The church people were
well able to pay something, and they ought to do
it. He must speak to them on the morrow -
One of the singers whispered in
his ear :
"Look out, Tommy Here comes
your solo."
How the organ caught up the bril-
liant music He had hardly time
to open his book and stand up before Ti,
the symphony was over. How his
silvery voice rang through the great I
church The people listened in
silence while he sang from old Han- .
del's Messiah : "

Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice greatly,
0 daughter of Zion !"

How like "a robin racing down a
brook of music" he ran through the
sparkling measures The music
seemed to spring in long roulades
on the word rejoice," as if it were
too glad for words.

0 daughter of Zion!
Rejoice greatly, shout,
0 daughter of Jerusalem !
Behold thy King cometh unto thee."

Then it changed to smoother,
sweeter measures:

He is the righteous Saviour,
And he shall speak peace."

How softly Tommy's limpid voice gave the words :
Peace! And he shall speak Peace--"

What was the matter ? Had the organ stopped ?
The church seemed to swim round and round, and
the angel in the window was dancing madly!
"Do you feel better, Tommy?" asks a pretty
lady bending over him.
Better Where is this ?"
This is my home. Do you feel better now?"
Such a soft bed! And the room-it was so
beautiful! And the lady Who was she?

Guess I'm dead. It's heaven, is n't it ?"
The lady smiled. "No; it's only my house.
You fainted away in the church, and I brought you
here in my carriage."
Oh I remember. It's Christmas. Well,
you see, I did n't have any breakfast, and the cat
is dead, and mother's sick, and the church was so
warm, and there was so much music, and I was
tired, and--"
"We will not talk about that now. You will
not sing in that church again."

"A PRETTY LADY ..n.u-o- -V-x nue.

"'Why not ? I like to sing."
You are to sing in our church after this. I 'm
the organist's wife, and we are going to give you
four hundred dollars a year, and "
Four hundred dollars What an awful lot of
money. Oh now you 're joking a fellow 'cause
it's Christmas Day."
"Oh Tommy's better, I'm sure. Come, my
boy, sit up. There's your breakfast."
It was all a piece of magic. A girl brought in a
tray with such a noble breakfast that Tommy
did n't really know where to begin. The lady took
the tray and the girl arranged the pillows, and the
royal feast began.


The lady talked and even sang a Christmas song
The boar is dead,
Lo! here is his head."

Tommy laughed till he cried, for it was a most
amusing song. But, in the midst of the festivity,
he stopped abruptly.
By cricky I forgot. There 's mother all this
time, and she's had no breakfast."
Such language, Tommy I am surprised "
I forgot, ma'am. It slipped out 'fore I knew
it. I don't use such words much; but, then,
mother's sick, you know."
No; I did n't know. Let us go houe and see
So they did. They rode away in a beautiful cov-
ered sleigh, and soon reached Tommy's home.
And they made a fire and thawed out the tea-kettle,
and started the forlorn clock, and called a nurse

ing service every day in the year. He even paid
Tommy a part of the salary in advance, that he
might help his mother.
Then they went to the piano and sang Christ-
mas carols-"The Manger Throne," "I Saw
Three Ships," "The Holly and Ivy," and many
others quite as beautiful. Then they told Tommy
how in England on Christmas Day the children,
dressed in thick shoes and warm clothing, go from
house to house and stand out in the snow singing
carols; and how the good people open their doors.
and invite them in to partake of good cheer.
Last of all, Tommy started to walk home alone.
He had not gone far before the bells in St. Mary's:
-his church now-began to chime, and, with a
happy.heart, he sang aloud with them:
God rest you, merry gentlemen."

Then he turned back softly till he came to the

~ ~rt
b diit i t~~r -

-w ~ ~ C- <. ,*^ *^ s -J ~ r
-, ^- '* ": ?.... "^- .. _
t ,/ ^ 'i '-. ^ ^' 2, .- ',7
l/. J" 'a;TJ'r .' 1

for Tommy's mother, and brought Christmas Day
right into the wretched house. Tommy could n't
believe it all. If it had not been for the poor, old
cat folded up in her rug, Tommy could not have
believed that he had passed through such a doleful
experience that morning. All seemed so bright
now, that the past was like a dream.
Then they made Mrs. Sterry comfortable, and
the lady took Tommy away again in her sleigh.
This time the organist was at home, and he then
and there explained to Tommy how selfish the
church people had been in refusing to pay him
anything for singing so long, and that now it was
all changed, and he was to be first soprano in the
boys' choir at St. Mary's, and that they would pay
-him a fine salary, and that he was to sing at morn-

good organist's house, and there, all alone in the
snowy street, he sang a good old Christmas carol,,
for his heart was full of peace and gratitude.
God bless the master of this house,
Likewise the mistress too,
And all the little children
That round the table go.
And all your kin and kinsfolk
That dwell both far and near,
I wish you a merry Christmas
And a happy New Year."

And the people in the houses round about heard
the music in their dreams and said:
Hark The angels are singing !"
But the watchman in his big coat knew it was.
only Tommy, the soprano.



lj. f




IT is not strange that Africa, the home of the
gorilla and hippopotamus, should possess the most
curious specimens of the great class of birds ; for it
has been found to contain within its tangled jungles
the rarest and most grotesque forms of animal life,
though we must except the island of Australia,
where the laughing jackass and the kangaroo are
One of the most interesting and attractive fam-
ilies of birds is that of the hornbill, one species of
which is shown in the illustration on the next page.
Although this bird is found in India, it is much
more abundant in Africa.
If we may believe report, the bill of the hornbill
is nearly one-fourth the length of its body. The
bill is very long, curved, deep and thin, and has a
helmet upon its crown, of various shapes and sizes;
and this helmet is used to give to many species
their specific, or proper, names. Thus, there is
the Buceros bicornis, or two-horned hornbill; the
Buceros rhinoceros, or rhinoceros hornbill, so called
from the immense helmet resembling the horn of a
rhinoceros. Buceros is the generic name applied to
them from some peculiarity they all possess in
common; the specific, or individual, names being
derived from the shapes of their helmets.
Though seemingly heavy and unwieldy, the bill
of the hornbill is very light, being composed of
light cellular tissue, resembling in this respect the
skull of the elephant; and the walls of thin bone
are so fragile, that in dried specimens it may be
crushed in the hand. The edge of the mandibles,
or beaks, are very sharp, frequently breaking off
and being renewed. It is said that the age of the
bird may be ascertained from the wrinkles on its
bill, as the age of a cow is sometimes told from the
wrinkles around her horns.
Before proceeding further, it may be well to
notice a family of birds, inhabiting South America,
often confounded with the hornbills, from their re-
semblance. These are the toucans. They are
confined to the warmer portions of the New World,
as the hornbills are to those of the Old. Their
bills are large, of the same structure, but lack the
helmet; they are brighter-colored and more gaudy
of plumage. Their voices are loud and harsh, and
can be heard a long way.
It is from the cry of the Brazilian species, tou-
cano," that they derive their name. When feed-
ing, they post a sentinel. They have a habit of

sitting upon the topmost branches of trees, chatter-
ing, lifting their heads at regular intervals, clashing
their bills together, and crying out so loudly as to
be heard at the distance of a mile. From this the
natives have given them the name of preacher
birds." They have great antipathy to any bird
uglier than themselves, and will mob an owl with
the zest of crows, nearly frightening the poor bird
to death with their clashing beaks and loud cries.
To return to our friends, the hornbills. From
the great size of their bills, they cannot walk easily
upon the ground, but hop along awkwardly. The
trees are their homes, and they hop from limb
to limb with great ease, climbing to the tree-tops,
where they remain for hours shouting gleefully in
their bravest tones.
They feed upon pulpy fruits, small animals, rep-
tiles and insects, and make their nests in hollow
The largest species is the rhinoceros hornbill,
which has a stretch of wing of about three feet, and
a bill ten inches in length. The general color of
this bird is black, the tail tipped with white. The
bill is black at the base, reddish in the middle, and
yellow tipped.
The most attractive species, as to plumage, is
the crested hornbill, which has a crown of feathers,
like the spread crest of a cockatoo, and a long,
beautiful tail.
But the most interesting species is one noted, not
for its plumage, but for a habit of nesting and liv-
ing peculiarly its own. This is the red-billed horn-
bill, the Buceros erythrorhynchus of naturalists.
We have been told by Livingstone, the African ex-
plorer, that this bird breeds, like the other mem-
bers of its family, in hollow trees; that it makes
its nest in holes in the trunks of these trees; that
the female lines its nest with feathers from her own
body, and lays four or five eggs, white, and of the
size of pigeons' eggs.
In this there is nothing remarkably noteworthy;
but we are astonished when we read further and
find that, after the nest is prepared to the satisfac-
tion of the female, she is shut up a close prisoner
for weeks; that the entrance to the hole is plastered
over with mud, until only a little slit is left, three
or four inches long and half an inch wide-just
large enough to admit the beak.
The male bird, who has walled up the hole, feeds
the female through this slit until the young are


hatched and fledged-a period of eight or ten
weeks. In this time the female has become very
fat, and is often hunted but and eaten by the negroes
of the country, who esteem her a great delicacy.
Sometimes the female hatches out two young
ones, that are nearly able to fly before the other two
appear. Then, with the two older birds, she leaves
the nest and walls in the younger ones, which are

prison her, and becomes lean and emaciated in his
labor of love, in procuring food for her and their
little ones during those two long-and weary months.
It is more than probable that the object sought is
to prevent the entrance of noxious reptiles, which
could easily destroy mother and young, did not
that formidable bill so effectually fill the hole. But
one thing is. certain, the mother hornbill is obliged


LaA It4; z


,yir'' ~~i44 Jr
'n"c '
7' -


fed, through the slit, by their father and mother
until able to take care of themselves.
Many writers have speculated upon the reason
for this peculiar style of hatching out and bringing
up the young hornbills; but, although they can-
not tell exactly why the plan is adopted, there is
no doubt but that the old birds know what they
are about.

to stay at home and attend to her domestic duties;
although she must be very different from almost
any other bird if she does not, of her own free-
will and desire, hatch out her little ones and take
care of them until they can look out for them-
If we all attended to our duties as earnestly and
conscientiously as mother-birds (and sometimes

It is certainly not to prevent the escape of his father-birds too) attend to theirs, it would be better
mate that the male works so industriously to irn- for most of us.



(Some Christmas Stories of Ye Olden Time.")


ROBABLY from very ear-
ly times we suspect
even before "the gold-
en prime of good Ha-
roun al Raschid," un-
J-j der whose delightful
-1r' caliphate most of the
2 \ < Jl' wonderful things of
" which you read in the
"Arabian Nights" are
l supposed to have taken
place, or to have been
S--' first related it has
S -- been all the fashion
with story-tellers and
ballad-makers to repre-
sent favorite kings as putting on various disguises,
and playing clever, good-humored jokes on the
humblest of their subjects. Nearly all of the Eng-
lish kings are so represented, and there were no
stories that the people loved better to tell than these.
They were the old Christmas stories, told by the
Yule-log in the bleak old days of the English
barons, when swords and helmets were thick and
books were few. Thus we have the tales of King
Henry VIII. and the Miller of Dee; of good Duke
Philip of Burgundy and Sly the Tinker; of James I.
and the Tinker; of William III. and the Forester,
and so on all through the reigns of the Scottish
James and English Georges. Some of these stories
were fiction, like that of
"Old King Cole,
That jolly old soul."
But most of them were true. The wandering
harpers used to relate them in verse; and as de-
lightful as the bringing in of the Yule-log and the
mistletoe, the fiery sport of "snap-dragon," or the
rollicking play of "blind man's buff," were the
holiday tales of the funny doings of these merry old
English kings.
One of the oldest of these ballad stories relates to

and starts off briskly with :
"Henry, our royal king, would ride a-hunting
To the green forests so pleasant and fair."

The forest was Sherwood, where once lived Robin

Hood and his merry men. King Henry (Plant-
agenet) was young then, and he took with him a
great retinue of young princes and nobles. So the
horses cantered over the hills of Nottingham, and
plume after plume danced out of sight among the
green leaves. The King separated himself from
the gay party, and dashed off with spirit into the
heart of the forest.
At last the day began to decline, and the shadows
grew long and thick in all the forest. The King
blew his horn. There was no answer. He was
He rode on. As the forest grew dark, he heard
the flow of water, and discovered a cool stream just
reflecting the light of the rising moon. Presently
he heard a mill-wheel. Then his heart took cour-
age. He soon reined his horse before the door of
the mill.
Good miller," said the King, is this the road
to Nottingham ?"
I guess you know as well as I," answered the
miller. You look as though you had been there
Who do you take me for ? asked the King ir_
For some gentleman thief or other; no hones.
man, sure."
But I must lodge with you to-night. I have
gold at hand."
At the word gold" the miller began to prick
up his ears. Just then the miller's wife, a large,
fat, brawling woman, looked over her husband's
shoulder. She too had heard the word "gold,"
but was still cautious.
She delighted in the sweet name of Bymytroth.
No one delights in that name now.
Are you sure that you are no runaway ? piped
I am no runaway," said the King.
Then show ps your passport," said Bymytroth,
who had a very logical turn of mind."
"From whom ? "
"From the King "
The King had no passport, and still finding By-
mytroth suspicious and defiant, he begafi to flatter
her, and he bowed so very politely that she was at
last induced to say :
You may come in."
Bymytroth became very much pleased with -the


King, so much so that she told him that, if he was
tidy enough, he might sleep with her own son.
If the King would never hear of it, I would get
you some venison for supper," said Bymytroth.


" We do rob the King's forest of venison some-
times. Will you promise ?"
Yes, on my word," said the King; the King
shall never know any more about it than he knows
The King was very hungry after his anxiety and
long ride, and as his poor, weak human nature was
quite like that of some other men whose heads were
never topped with a crown, he made a large sup-
per off of the unlawful venison.
You will never tell about this ?" said the
cautious Bymytroth, looking keenly at her guest.
The King shall be none the wiser for this from
me," said the King, looking very profound.
With this strong assurance, Bymytroth slept very
comfortably that night, but was awakened in the
morning by a right royal retinue at the door. The
miller and his wife then began shaking and
quaking," to use the graphic language of the old
song, and the poor miller kneeled down and shut
his eyes, we suppose, in order to, decently make
his last prayer. But-how charmingly it all ends !
-the King,
"His kind courtesy for to requite,
Gave him a living and dubbed him a knight."

The above story was in its day very popular, be-
cause the game laws of England at that time were
very severe and very hard on the poor. It showed
what the King himself would do when he was

hungry, and it seemed a concession to the cause of
the suffering poor.
Next in order comes a very clever story of King
John and


The minstrels used to sing of the former as
" Good King John," but the poets seem to be the
only people who have had anything to say of King
John's goodness. His forgiveness of the crafty old
Abbot of Canterbury, we are sorry to note, is the
only good thing we ever heard of him, and we are
a little suspicious that this incident may be too
good to be true.
The Abbot of Canterbury was a thrifty old pre-
late, a lover of good cheer, and he lived right
sumptuously, as the old prelates were wont to live
during the reign of the Plantagenet kings. King
John heard of the Abbot's easy estate, and it made
him very uneasy, for, being a sadly jealous man,
he was always unhappy when he thought that
another was better off than himself.
One day, there came to King John certain busy
people, who said:
"Do you know how many servants the Abbot
of Canterbury keeps in his house ?"
"An hundred."
That is more than I keep in a palace "
Do you know how many gold chains the Abbot
has to hang over his coats of velvet ?"
That is more than can be found among the
jewels of the Crown I will visit the Abbot of
Canterbury. He has lived so long in luxury that
he has lived long enough."
Then King John put on a terrible face, which
must have been terrible indeed, for at the best he
wore no merciful countenance, and he rode over
to the grand old Abbey, and summoned before
him the luxury-loving Abbot.
How now, Father Abbot? said the King
sternly. I hear that thou keepest a better house
than I. That, sir, is treason-high treason against
the crown."
My liege," said the Abbot, "I never spend
anything but what is my own. I trust that your
Grace would do me no hurt for using for the com-
fort of others what I myself have earned."
Yes, Father Abbot, thy offence is great. The
safety of the kingdom demands thy death, and
thou shalt die. Still, as thy learning is great, and
as thou art esteemed a man of wit, I will give thee
one chance of saving thy life."
Name it, my liege."




When I come again to this place, and stand
among my liegemen with my crown on my head,
thou shalt answer me three questions."
"Name them, my liege."'
"Thou shalt tell me, first, how much I am
worth, and that to a single penny.
Thou shalt tell me, secondly, how long a time
it would require for me to ride around the whole
Thou shalt tell me, thirdly, what I am think-
"0, these are hard questions-hard questions
for my shallow wit," said the Abbot, with a fallen
face. But if you will give me three weeks to con-
sider them I think I may answer your Grace."
"I give thee three weeks' space; that is the
longest thou hast to live. If then thou canst not
answer well these questions three, thy lands and
thy livings shall become the Crown's."
The King departed, and the poor Abbot sat
down with a clouded brow and a heavy heart, and
was at his wit's end.
At last, in utter despair of forming any answer
himself, he ordered his horse, and rode over to
Oxford and Cambridge to consult the doctors.
Here he tarried many days, but

Never a doctor was there so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.

With a heart more heavy, and a brow more dark,
"Home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold."

As he was riding slowly, near the grounds of
the old, old abbey, and marked the golden crosses
gleaming above the great shadows of the trees,
and reflected that he soon would cease to enjoy the
pleasures of the place, his head dropped upon his.
breast, and the tears wet his cheek. As he dis-
mounted, he saw a jolly shepherd-one of his own
servants-going to the fold.
"How now, my Lord Abbot?" said the shep-
herd; right welcome you are home. What news
do you bring from the King? "
Sad, sad news, shepherd. I have but three
days more to live, if I do not answer him questions
And what are the questions three ?"
First, to tell him, as he stands in yon place
among his liegemen with the gold crown on his
head, what he is worth, and that to a single penny.
Secondly, to tell him how long it would take
him to ride around the world.
Thirdly, to tell him what he is thinking."
Then cheer up, cheer up, my Lord Abbot.
Did you never hear that a wise man may learn wit
of a fool ? They say I much resemble you. Lend

me your gown and a horse and a serving-man, and
I will stand in your place and will answer the
King's questions."
The Abbot brightened a little at this, and
Horses and serving-men thou shalt have, and
sumptuous apparel, with crozier and mitre, and
rochet and cope, fit to appear before the Roman
Pontiff himself."
The appointed day came, and the King stood in
the appointed place with his golden crown on his
head and a great retinue of nobles glittering around
him. The supposed Abbot soon made his appear-
ance, and took his position in the presence of the
Now welcome, Sir Abbot," said the King.

_!_- -V --o


"Thou dost faithfully keep the appointed day-
Now answer correctly my questions three, and
thou shalt save both thy life and thy livings."
"Well, my liege, but to answer correctly I 'must
speak the truth."
"And that thou shalt. Now tell me what I am
worth, and that within a single penny."
Twenty-nine pence. Judas betrayed his Lord
for thirty, and since thou art 'I!in to betray the
Church, I think that thou must be one penny the
worse than he."
The King received the answer with unexpected
good humor. He laughed heartily and exclaimed:
"Why, why, my Father Abbot, I did not think
that I was worth so little !
And now, jolly priest," he continued, "tell me
just how long it would take me to ride around the


You must rise with the sun, and ride with the
same until it riseth on the next morning, when you
will have ridden the circuit of the world in just
twenty-four hours."
The King laughed again, and said:
I did not think I could do it so soon. But now
,comes the question that will put your wits to the
test. What do I think ? "
"You think I am the Abbot of Canterbury, but
I am not. I am a poor shepherd, and that you
may see (throwing off his cloak), and I have come,
to beg pardon for the Abbot and for myself."
Then the King laughed more heartily than ever,
-and he sent the jolly shepherd back to his master
with a full and free pardon.

Four nobles a week
Will I give to thee,
For this merry jest
Thou hast shown unto me.
And tell the old Abbot
When thou com'st home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon
From good King John."

Skipping over a dozen good stories of kings who
played the part of a peasant in some generous way
,or other, we come to


In introducing this King, the old holiday ballad-
.singer used to say :

"A pleasanter monarch never was known."

He, too, went to hunt "the swift fallow deer,"
-and, like other monarchs of old English history,
he cast himself loose from the royal hunting party
in search of an adventure. He at last came to an
ale-house, in front of which was a tinker, doubtless
mending a kettle."
"My good friend," said the King, "what is the
news in these parts?"
I know of no news, except that the King is
hunting on the border."
That is news, indeed," said the King.
I wish I might be so happy as to see His High,
ness," said the tinker; "for though I've roamed
the countries around for many years, I never saw a
king in my life."
Then, as the old ballad runs,

-" The King, with a hearty, brisk laughter, replied:
I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride,
Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring
To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.'"

But how shall I know him from the nobles who
surround him ? asked the tinker.

The King's head will be. covered; the heads
of the nobles will be bare."
Then the tinker mounted the horse,

"- and likewise his sack,
His budget of leather and tools on his back,"

and rode away, greatly pleased with the idea that
he was to see the King.
They came at last to a beautiful spot in the green
wood, where the nobles were reclining after the
chase. As soon as they made their appearance,
the latter arose, and gathered around them with
uncovered heads.
The tinker tapped the King on his shoulder, and
whispered in his ear:
"They all look very gay; but which of them is
the King?"
The King laughed most heartily again, and
The man who wears his hat." He then added,
"Why, my good fellow, seeing that all the rest are
uncovered, it must be you or I! "
There was a short silence. The poor tinker's
heart quaked within him, and

With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground."

He rose upon his knees at last, and begged the
King for mercy.
What is your name ?" asked the King.
"John o' the Dale. I am a mender of kettles."
Rise up, Sir John o' the Dale," said the King.
"I will make thee a knight." And

Sir John o' the Dale, he has land, he has fee;
At Court of the King who so happy as he ?
Yet still in his hall hangs the tinker's old sack,
And the budget of tools he bore on his back."

There is another and more famous story of a
monarch and a tinker. You may have heard of it,
how Christopher Sly, as Shakespeare named this
odd character in the introduction to The Taming
of the Shrew," woke one fine morning to find him-
self a grand gentleman. Here is the veritable ac-
count of


There was to be a grand ducal wedding in
Bruges, in Burgundy, and the festivities were to
last a week. Philip the Good was to marry Elea-
nora, sister to the King of Portugal.
Christopher Sly was a tinker; and a tinker was
a man who used to "roam the countries around,"
crying "Old brass to mend?" and who repaired
the good people's broken pots and kettles.
Christopher heard of the great wedding in his



travels, and came to Bruges to enjoy the merry-
making with the rest.
He had only one pair of breeches, and they were
made of leather. He deemed them suitable for all
occasions. He had never arrived at the luxury of
a coat, but in its place he wore a large leather
apron, which covered his great shoulders like the
armor of a knight.
Christopher had one bad habit. He loved ale

weather chilled not only his blood but his spirits.
He wandered about in the storm, going from ale-
house to ale-house, and receiving hospitality, until
the town of Bruges seemed to revolve around himn
as its inhabitants around the Duke. Still he plod-
ded away through the streets, longing to see the
warm fires glow and the torches gleam in the ducal
palace. When he had nearly reached the palace,
the town began to spin and whirl around him at

J ,'

- dil,,. ,.-'.V

- ~ ~


overmuch, and he used to drink so deeply on festive
occasions as to affect the steadiness both of his
mind and body.
Christopher enjoyed the gala days. He mingled
in the gay processions that followed the ducal pair
to the tournament; he gazed with loyal pride on
the horses with their trappings of crimson and
gold; he followed the falconers to the hunting
parks, and listened to the sprightly music that led
the dance at night in the torch-lit palace. Among
the voices that cheered the glittering bfide as she
appeared on public occasions, no voice roared more
lustily than Christopher Sly's.
The ducal wedding took place in the deep of
winter, and one night soon after the joyful event,
and while Bruges was yet given up to festivities,
there fell a great snow-storm, blocking the streets
and silencing the town.
Christopher's money was gone, and the falling

such a rate that presently he sank in the chilly
snow and knew no more.
* Philip the Good loved to roam about Bruges in
disguise, and this night he started with a few of his
confidential courtiers, also disguised, for a fun-
seeking expedition about the city.
The party had not been out long when they
came upon poor Sly.
He will perish before morning," said the kind-
hearted Duke.
"What is to be done with him?" asked a
We will take him to the palace and have some
sport with him. I will cause him to be washed and
dressed and perfumed, and to be laid in a chamber
of state. He will awake sober in the morning,
when we will persuade him that he is the Duke, and
that we are his attendants. To-morrow the whole
\ Court of Burgundy shall serve a poor tinker !"



The attendants carried the unconscious tinker to
the palace, where they washed him, and, putting
upon him an elegant night-dress, laid him on a silk-
curtained bed in a very gorgeous chamber.
The poor tinker, on waking in the morning,
looked about the room in wonder. He concluded
that he must be dreaming, or that he had become
touched in mind, or that he had died the night
before and had been so happy as to get to heaven.
At last, the Duke entered the apartment in the
habit of the ducal chamberlain.
What will your Worship have this morning? "
asked the Duke.
The tinker stared.
Has your Worship no commands ?"
'"I am Christopher Sly-Sly, the tinker. Call
me not your Worship.'"
You have not fully recovered yet, I see. But
you will be yourself again soon. What suit will
your Worship wear to-day ? Which double, and
what stockings and shoes ?"
I have no 'more doublets than backs, no more
stockins than legs, and no more shoes than feet,
and more feet than shoes sometimes.' I tell you I
am Christopher Sly, and I am a tinker," was the
puzzled reply.
But the ducal chamberlain only bowed the more.
Sly continued to look about him in amazement.
At last he said, with much hesitation:
You may bring me my best suit. The day is
pleasant-I will dress becomingly."
Now you are yourself again. I must hasten to
inform the Court of your recovery. I must fly to
her Grace the Duchess, and say : The Duke, the
Duke is himself again t' "
The Duke I tell you I am Christopher Sly,
-old Sly's son, of Burton Heath,-by birth a
peddler and by trade a tinker. Duke Sly 1 No.
Duke Christopher! or, better, Duke Christophero t
Marry, friend would n't that sound well ? It may
be I am a duke, for all. Go ask Cicily Hacket, the
buxom inn-keeper of Wincot, if she don't know
Christopher Sly-Duke Christophero; and if she

say I do not owe her fourteen pence for small ale,
then call me the biggest liar and knave in Christen-
dom i "
The servants presently brought the poor tinker a
silver basin, "full of rose-water and bestrewed with
flowers." Then they brought him a siit of crimson,
trimmed with lace and starred. The bewildered
fellow stared awhile in silence; then he slowly put
on the gorgeous apparel.
The tinker next was conducted to a magnificent
banqueting-hall, where was spread a rich feast.
The tables smoked with the venison and sparkled
with the wine. He was led to a high seat beneath
a canopy of silk and gold, the Duchess following,
and seating herself by his side. Knights and ladies
filled the tables, and the tinker began to feast and
to sip wine like a duke indeed.
I wfsh --" said he, suddenly.
What is your wish ? asked the Duchess.
I wish that old Stephen Sly was here, and John
.Napes and Peter Turf, and my wife Joan, and
Cicily Hacket,-would n't it be jolly ? "
That night the reign of Duke Christopher came
to a sudden end. But the Duke Philip kindly
remembered him, and
Thou shalt never," he said,
Range e countries around,
Crying, 'Old brass to mend?'
For I'll he thy good friend,
And Joan, thy sweet wife,
Shall the Duchess attend."

Those rude times, when acts of mercy and kind-
ness on the part of a ruler were so rare and so dearly
prized by the poor people, have changed now-
faded and gone. The golden Christmases have
brightened along the centuries, answering more
and more that prayer of all good people: Thy
kingdom come." The Bethlehem story has more
and more a sweeter meaning, and He whose lowly
and gentle life mellowed even the hearts of kings
and barons at the green Christmas-tides, more and
more fills the earth with His law of love, which
makes all men merciful, just and kind.








Now, if there 's anything I hate,-
And there is some, perhaps,-
It's the way you have with you,
You city chaps !

But, then, I did n't ask you out
(You pull the dory round !)
For a chance to blow you up;
(She '11 run aground!)

Because I think that would n't be-
It 's an idea I have-
Just the way a gentleman
Would like behave.

Fact is, I'd like' to show you how,
Before we 're squared off quits,
All the gentlemen aint grown
In Boston streets.

But here You called me that, just now,
I 've heard you say before
This summer-- (Look out there!
You hug the shore !)

It's really more than I can stand-
A pretty word Dock-rat!"
Just because a fellow don't
Wear such a hat.

And does n't wear a fancy shirt,
With anchors to the sleeve;
And don't wear his stockings weeks.
You 'd best believe

That all this living round the wharves,
And picking drift-wood up,
And such like vacation chores-
(Just see that pup

Those there ladies took to bathe,
With patent corks tied on !)-

I tell you this sort o' life
Aint such a one

As needs be sarsed at specially
To be uncomf'table,
Though I like it, on the whole,

Perhaps the boarding-folks round here
May have a sprucer look;
May be, now, you Boston chaps
Can read a book

That's bigger by an inch or so
Than I can easy steer;
You may clean up more than me-
But now look here !

In all my life I never did-
And I'm just square gone ten-
Put the name of "Paddy" on
To Irishmen.

Nor called a boy a "nigger," just
Because his face was black;
Nor I don't hail sailors round:
" Oh, here you, Jack "

If so a chap is not exact
So nice or smart as I,
I don't make an imperence
To know him by.

Now, don't you see, this dory here
Don't need to hold two men ?
Just duck you under Who 'd be
The "dock-rat then?

But, sir I I asked you out to row;
Now tell me, if you can,
Which of us two is most like
A gentleman ?



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IF any of us should happen to have an old friend
whom we had never seen, we would be delighted to
have his photograph, that we might know exactly
how he looked.
On the opposite page is the likeness of an old
friend-certainly an old friend to most of us. It
is a fac-simile, or exact imitation, of the original
manuscript of that familiar poem which is now as
much a part of Christmas as the Christmas-tree or
the roast turkey and mince-pies. No matter who
writes poetry for the holidays, nor how new or popu-
lar the author of such poems may be, nearly every-
body reads or repeats 'T was the night before
Christmas when the holidays come round; and it
is printed and published in all sorts of forms and
styles, so that the new poems must stand aside
when it is the season for this dear old friend.
Just think of it! Jolly old St. Nicholas, with
his sleigh and his reindeer and his bags full of all
sorts of good things, made his first appearance to
many of us in this poem. Until we had heard or
read this, we did n't know much about him, except
that on Christmas Eve he shuffled down the chim-
ney somehow, and filled our stockings.
Now here is a part of the poem,-as much as
our page will hold,-exactly as the author, Mr.
Clement C. Moore, wrote it. Here. we see just
how he dotted his i's and crossed his t's, and how
he wrote some of his lines a little crookedly.

I j?

7 ..~.

If we knew nothing about Mr. Moore but what
we read in the biographical notices that have
been written of him, we would never suppose that
he troubled his brain about St. Nicholas and his
merry doings, or thought of such things as reindeer
and sleighs and wild gallops over house-tops. For
he was a very able and learned man. He was the
son of Bishop Benjamin Moore, and was born in
New York, July 15, 1779. He was graduated at
Columbia College (of which his father was at one
time president). He was a fine Hebrew scholar,
and published a Hebrew and English Lexicon and
a Hebrew grammar. He was afterward Professor
of Hebrew and Greek literature in the Protestant
Episcopal Seminary in New York. He was a man
of property, and had something of the St. Nicholas
disposition in him, for he gave to this seminary the
plot of ground on which its buildings now stand.
Mr. Moore wrote many poems, which were col-
lected and published in a book in 1844, and he did
other good literary work; but he never wrote any-
thing that will keep his memory green so long as
that delightful poem on the opposite page.
The original manuscript of these famous verses
is in the possession of the Hon. R. S. Chilton,
United States Consul to Clifton, Canada, whose
father was a personal friend of Mr. Moore, and who
very kindly allowed us to make this fac-simile copy
of a page of the manuscript for ST. NICHOLAS.






II -,




MORE than six hundred years ago, there began
and ended a movement among the children of
France and Germany, of which the world seems
now to remember very little. It was a crusade to
recover the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. It is
hard to understand in these days how an army of
men could be raised for such a purpose. It is more
difficult to explain why thousands of children, with-
out arms, provisions or equipment for so long a
journey, should leave their native land and try to
reach far-off Palestine to rescue the tomb of Our
Saviour from the hands of unbelievers. But this
was attempted by the Children of the Crusade, in
in the year of Our Lord 1212.
The Saracens, under the Caliph Omar, took pos-
session of the Holy Land, A. D. 637. Although
the places held most sacred in the eyes of the
Christians of that time thus passed into the pos-
session of people of a hostile faith, devout pil-
grims were still permitted to visit the spots made
memorable by tradition. To worship at spots be-
lieved to be hallowed by Our Lord's birth, suffer-

ings and death, men journeyed across continents,
suffered untold hardships, forsook home and
friends, often lost their lives, and thus earned, as
they thought, the especial favor of God and an
abundant entrance into heaven.
But, as the centuries moved on, the Saracen
rulers were less favorably disposed toward the
Christian pilgrims, who now were worried in various
ways, were shamefully treated, and forbidden to
keep the sacred places in repair. This ill news
spread throughout Europe. In all the Roman
Catholic courts there was much indignation. The
Pope, then the great potentate of Christendom,
was deeply stirred by the tidings brought him by
returning pilgrims. Peter the Hermit, a zealous
man, who had seen with his own eyes the indig-
nities practiced by the Saracens, began to preach
a crusade. He traversed many Christian king-
doms, calling on rulers and people to rescue the
Holy Sepulcher from the hands of unbelievers.
Urban II., then Pope of Rome, sanctioned the
movement. The multitude took up the cause,



crying God wills it! God wills it! And thus
the first crusade began.
Those who entered the enterprise wore a cross
of cloth on the breast or shoulder. Bearing thus
the sacred emblem, they became crusaders-cross-
Several hundred thousand people nobles,
knights and soldiers-finally marched upon the
Holy Land in 1096. These were divided into four
armies. They met with divers fortunes, and out
of the vast body of crusaders, only 21,500 soldiers
at last reached Jerusalem. The Holy City fell into
their hands, and Godfrey of Bouillon was chosen
head of the Latin kingdom of Palestine. This
power melted away in the lapse of time, and in
1145 another crusade became necessary to restore
the Holy Sepulcher to Christian keeping. This
was begun in 1146. It was undertaken by France
and Germany. It was unsuccessful, and a third
crusade was soon after resolved upon. In this
great movement all Christendom was engaged.
Of those whose names are most prominent in the
history of the time, Richard I., King of England,
surnamed The Lion-Hearted," has been longest
remembered as a chivalric sovereign and a puissant
A fourth crusade was thought necessary in 1200,
the victorious results of the third crusade having
faded away by that time. In this the French,
assisted by the Venetians, were chiefly concerned.
The ultimate effects of a long campaign were not
satisfactory. The Holy Land was overrun once
more by the Mohammedans, and the new Turkish
power became firmly established on the border of
Europe in Asia Minor.
At the beginning of the thirteenth century,
Europe was jarred by numerous wars; some of
them were domestic, and others had been under-
taken by royal or noble adventurers, greedy for
conquest. Fire and the sword had passed from
kingdom to kingdom; the people were impover-
ished and sick of violence and war. Civilization
was at a low ebb, and men everywhere were weary
of their long struggles for peace. Into this con-
dition of society came wayworn pilgrims from the
Holy Land, bringing tidings of the wretched plight
of the shrines which Christian hands had reared,
and telling harrowing tales of the indignities heaped
on holy men who went to worship or pay their
vows at the birthplace and sepulcher of Our Lord.
To these appeals for succor there was no re-
sponse. The country was poor and the people
tired of wars. We can suppose that the preaching
of the excited pilgrims fell on the ears of men who
sullenly asked themselves, Will it pay ? There
could be but one answer. Europe was filled with
outlaws; the people were sore distressed; robber

barons dwelt in strongholds, whence they issued to
ravage vast tracts of country; and only in the
crowded, want-stricken cities was there any security
for life and property. A crusade would not pay.
The popular religion of the times was not much
better than heathenism; and the threats and en-
treaties of priests were alike unheeded.
In the gloomy old town of Cloyes, situated in
the part of France now known as the Department
of Eure-et-Loire, in 1212, lived a young lad named
Stephen. The scant history of the times tells us
only that he was a shepherd boy, that he was about
sixteen years old, and that he tended a flock on the
hills of the Loire, which flows through the town.
His family name is not recorded; he is known in
history only as Stephen of Cloyes.
Stephen had heard the passionate appeals of the
priests, and had seen the tears of returning pil-
grims as they recounted the perils of the way to
the Holy Land and pictured the sufferings which
Our Lord had endured through his disciples at
Jerusalem. His heart had been stirred within him
as he saw that there was not one to help the dis-
tressed Church and her faithful cross-bearers. He
had talked of these things in his rude companion-
ship; he had mused over them in his solitude
among the hills of the Loire. As he mused, the
fire burned.
There to him appeared, one day, a strange man,
who commended his zeal and pious tears. To the
wonder-stricken, rapt youth he announced himself
as Jesus Christ. He gave him a commission to
preach a crusade to the children, promising that
he should lead to Palestine an army that should
occupy the land and restore the Holy Sepulcher.
Into his hand he delivered a letter to the King of
France, commanding the monarch to aid the
Heaven-appointed apostle of the new crusade.
Filled with rapture, Stephen flew to his parents,
told his marvelous story, and exhibited his celestial
letter to the king. The simple people listened with
amazement and perplexity. They asked for the
heavenly visitant; but he had disappeared as mys-
teriously as he came. We can only guess who and
what he was. Probably, he was a priest of the
neighborhood, who, hearing of Stephen's kindling
enthusiasm, had disguised himself in pilgrim garb,
and had thus visited and misled the simple boy.
Stephen soon proved how apt a pupil he was.
Fired with strange ardor and gifted with great
natural powers of oratory, the lad kindled in-
numerable hearts with burning zeal. Leaving
Cloyes, he went to the city of St. Denys, then
famous as the burial-place of the martyr Dionysius.
Placing himself before the shrine of this early vic-
tim to the rage of the heathen, he addressed the
multitudes who came thither to worship. In glow-


ing language, he pictured the desolation which the
Moslems had wrought in the sacred city, and con-
trasted with it the comfort and ease with which
his hearers were surrounded. Here were gilded
shrines, costly vestments, and clouds of incense.
Yet the person of Christ was once more wounded
in the bodies of those who would bow at His
manger; and no pious hand restored the ruin
which wicked men had wrought upon His tomb.
Men had failed, he said, to redeem Jerusalem.
Proud barons and powerful kings had been de-
feated in their attempts to regain for Christendom
the holy places. Now Christ had promised the
children that they should recover the Holy Land
and restore the Holy Sepulcher. The armies of
the Lord, led by the power of kings and princes,
had been overthrown by the Mohammedan. At
last, out of the weakness of children, God had
ordained strength.
The people heard with awe, not unmixed with
doubt. The religion of the time was overlaid with
much ridiculous superstition. Legends of heathen
deities were intermingled with monkish tales and
lies. Divine appearances and angelic visitations
were believed to be common; and not a few were
ready to accept Stephen as a divinely-appointed
prophet. He is said to have healed the sick by his
touch; and the fame of his youth, piety, and high
mission spread far and wide. Nevertheless, there
was no movement of the people toward his banner.
Men were disturbed by the civil wars that then rent
France. There were many rulers, and the fertile
provinces of that beautiful land were trampled by
hostile forces. But the children were caught up by
this strange enthusiasm. Like a contagion, the
crusading spirit spread from Brittany to the Rhine.
Stephen traversed the country, speeding from city
to city, and everywhere calling on the children to
hear the voice of God commanding them to save
the Holy City from the defilement of the Mos-
The young apostle must have been a youth of
rare power. His appearance was in all places
hailed with wild enthusiasm. He fascinated the
children and youth. Inspired by his words, these
young people seemed to be transfused with an un-
accountable zeal. They passed into a state of
spiritual exaltation not now easily to be understood.
Boys and girls, of ten or twelve years of age, left
their games and toys, or their tasks and homes,
and joined the three-pointed, blood-red banner of
the young crusader. Here and there, minor
prophets sprang up, preaching the sacred mission
of Stephen and avowing him as their leader. Like
a flame the movement spread, sweeping children
of tender years, and even maturer youths, into the
ranks of the augmenting army. Children escaped

from the confinement in which parents thought it
necessary to put them; they were deaf to the
voice of authority and the call of affection. They
flew, they ran, they poured, they tumultuously
streamed to the banner of the Children's Crusade,
reechoing once more the cry which had followed
the fiery cross of Peter the Hermit, God wills it!
God wills it "
The King of France was forced to turn his atten-
tion from his ambitious and selfish plans, and to
regard attentively this phenomenon. Not daring
to suppress a crusade, he asked the opinion of the
University of Paris. The learned doctors of that
conclave very sensibly, we must think, advised that
the matter be stopped. This was not so easy.
The infatuation had grown too strong in volume.
The -government was powerless against these elu-
sive streams of singing, praying children. Like a
rolling snowball, the vast mass grew as it moved,
until countless numbers had poured into the
columns of Stephen's army. People were aghast
at their own inability to lay a straw in the way of
this wonderful army. It was currently reported
and believed to be the work of evil spirits in the
guise of heavenly visitants. Some said that this
was the result of a scheme of the King of the
Mountains, a mysterious potentate who was be-
lieved to live somewhere in Syria. This person
was supposed to be chief of the Assassins, a band of
trained secret murderers, from whose namb and
occupation we derive our word "assassin." The
credulous French common-people believed that the
chief of the Assassins had instigated this movement
in order to procure recruits for his service.
Yet, many grown people embraced the faith
preached by Stephen; they fed his followers, en-
couraged their children in their resolution to join
the crusade, and not a few followed the army.
There were also abandoned and wicked persons
who joined themselves to the host; they saw an
opportunity to practice their vile arts, or they. con-
cealed themselves in the throng while they plun-
dered the country through which the army passed.
Their evil influence pervaded the ranks; many
youths were ruined in body and soul; demoraliza-
tion and discontent spread; and, before the throng
was out of France, the seeds of destruction were
terribly sown.
News of this strange uprising sped swiftly
throughout Europe. Pilgrims returning to Ger-
many from the sacred shrines of" France, told the
story of the boy prophet as they trudged wearily'
up the fertile lands of the Rhine. Near the old
city of Cologne, where lie the fabled bones of the
three wise men of the East, lived a boy named
Nicholas. He was then ten years old. His family,
like that of Stephen, was humble; and we only



know him now as Nicholas of Cologne. He heard
of the great success of Stephen, and, incited by
his father, who is said to have been a bad man, he
began to preach in Germany the Children's
Crusade. He also pretended to have a divine
commission ; and this, he related, came to him in
a blazing picture in the sky, where he saw a fiery
cross and a command to go and rescue the Holy
His success was immediate and very great.
Youths of all stations and ranks came at his call.
Sons of nobles and high-born lads from the castles
of knightly renown hastened to join his banner.
Expostulation was in vain; and, as in France, the
strange madness spread until Cologne was over-
flowing with an army, and tens of thousands were
camped in the country outside the walls.
Early in the summer of 1212, Nicholas marshaled
his army. It was twenty thousand strong; and on
its skirts hung the dissolute and bad, who, as in
France, were eager to embrace this opportunity to
plunder, mislead, and corrupt. Heedless of these
evil influences, the children,-gentle and simple,
noble and serf-born,-ennobled by a common in-
spiration, formed themselves into three columns,
and began their march to Palestine.
With banners fluttering in the soft summer air,
songs joyfully ringing as they moved, and crosses
borne aloft, they passed down the banks of the
Rhine. These twenty thousand children could
find no place large enough to lodge them; they
had no stores of provisions, except where some of
the sons and daughters of nobles had been pro-
vided with supplies and attendants by their parents.
For the most part, therefore, they camped in
forests, by running streams, or sought lodging in
cattle-sheds and rude cottages by the way. They
begged their scanty repast from the inhabitants of
the country, fed on roots and berries, and often
went forth hungry in the morning and lay down to
sleep at night pursued by gnawing hunger. Many
wasted away and fell among the rocky paths be-
fore they had left German soil. Others were re-
ceived into houses on the route, and so roamed no
Passing into Switzerland, then a collection of
little principalities without any central government,
they were inhospitably received. Even Southern
Germany was a rude country and sparsely peopled
by half-savage men. But the country now called
Switzerland was even less civilized. Moreover, the
people who inhabited the valleys of the Alps (into
which they now passed) were unfriendly toward the
Germans. The land was full of savage beasts;
wolves, bears, and other.frightful creatures prowled
along the margin of this moving human stream,
snatching off the stragglers, picking up the

wounded, or dashing into the night encampment
in pursuit of their prey.
Still, the devoted band pressed on toward Italy.
Their songs were exchanged for sighs, but up the
Alps they climbed. With wounded and bleeding
feet, they crept over the rocky ledges or plunged
into the icy torrents. At night, drenched with
chilly rain, they lay down on stony pillows or sank
upon the ground. Some who sought rest on these
inhospitable couches never woke again, but slept
away their hapless lives amidst Alpine snows.
Others stripped themselves of their tattered gar-
ments to shelter a freezing brother, sister or corm-
panion, and so perished nakedly, the unnamed
heroes of the Children's Crusade.
Singly or in straggling bands, many turned their
faces homeward. But even these were too far
spent to reach Germany again. They perished
miserably in their feebleness ; and the comfortable
homes of Fatherland knew them no more. So
great was the mortality among the children of the
German nobility, that a century passed away before
the effects of this great inroad upon the flower of
the nation had ceased to be apparent.
At length, reaching the last declivity of the Alps,
the German children beheld the superb city of
Genoa. Its marble palaces and cathedral spires
gleamed in the warm sunlight; around rolled the
verdurous valleys and hill-sides; and beyond
sparkled the blue Mediterranean. Filled with joy,
they forgot their hardships and raised a song of
triumph. Neglected banners were once more un-
furled; crosses waved on high; and, renewed by
the brightness of the moment, this strange inunda-
tion precipitated itself upon the plains of Italy.
Of the twenty thousand fair-haired youths who
had left Germany, only seven thousand were left to
knock at the gates of Genoa. The rest-well, we
know how they had perished by the way. We can
guess how, as their young lives went out, their
sufferings must have pained the very ear of a mer-
ciful God. We can imagine the dreadful story of
their woes as they sank beneath the afflictions of
hunger, cold, and disease, along the paths which
these seven thousand had threaded. The army of
the crusaders has long since melted away. We
know very little of the young enthusiasts, or even
of the people who must have known them; but,
while time endures, the pathetic story of their
journey across the Alps shall be told with wonder
and with tears.
Seven thousand German boys, the flower of the
Rhine lands, rugged survivors of an army of chil-
dren, demanded one day's rest in Genoa. On the
morrow, they confidently said, God would open a
path through the sea. They wanted neither arms
nor transportation. They were on the way to


preach Christ to the Moslem. God had promised
to cleave the waters of the Mediterranean for them,
so that they might go over dry-shod to convert the
cruel Saracen to the Christian faith. They were
granted their request by the wondering senators.
And the strange procession of ragged, shoeless and
sun-browned children passed into Genoa, singing
their wild crusading hymns.
The people were greatly moved, and knew not
what to make of this strange spectacle. It was

by the shore, longing and expecting a marvelous
deliverance. But it never came. The sun sank
toward the horizon. Their brief allowance of time
had passed; and, with weary steps and slow, they
passed out of the city and gathered in the fields.
It was impossible to go back. It were better to
die in Italy than to reascend the Alps. Some
found homes in Genoa and thereabouts; but the
main body passed along the sea toward Pisa, then
one of the great free cities of Italy-rival of Genoa


feared that so many pilgrims would bring a famine
into the city. The effect of their example was
dreaded by parents of impressible children. More-
over, Genoa sided with the Pope, who was then at
war with the Emperor of Germany, Otho the
Superb. These children must not long stay in the
city. On the morrow (Sunday, August 26, 1212),
they rose in haste and rushed to the seaside. Alas !
the tide rose and fell, lapping the marble walls and
quays as before. There was no path through the
sea. All day they waited, but no divine miracle
came to relieve them. They sat down in groups

and Venice. Here they were doubtfully received;
and a few, giving up their hope in a miraculous
passage of the sea, accepted an offer to take ship
to the Holy Land. We cannot follow these. It is
believed that they finally reached Ptolemais, the
only port in Asia Minor then in the hands of the
Christians. They went no further. The city was
beleaguered by the Moslems; and into the motley
population of Ptolemais this detachment of the
Children's Crusade melts away and is heard of no
The remnant of the army of Nicholas pursued


*-: I


their way to Rome, the seat of the papal power
being their only source of light and counsel. The
Pope (Innocent) received them kindly, but without
encouragement. He told them that they must give
up their crusade; but, with curious hardness, he
said that they were still bound to their vows, and
when they had reached maturer years they must
recommence the undertaking that he now declared
Here, then, the last of the followers of Nicholas
found rest. In Rome, where so many modern pil-
grims have thought they gained their nearest
glimpse of the glories of Heaven, the boys of Ger-
many ended their crusade. They disappear in the
thronging multitudes of the Eternal City, and find
no more place on the pages of history.
Another body of German children followed that
led by Nicholas. These were about ten thousand
in number; but why they were not included in the
previous army we cannot tell. There is no ex-
planation of their course; no record of the names
of their leaders. We only know that they pursued
a slightly different course from that of their prede-
cessors; that they met the same privations; suffered
also from hunger, thirst and exposure; and that
they finally reached Italy reduced in numbers, and
that they rested at last at Brundusium. From this
port, at the extreme edge of the Italian peninsula,
they expected to cross to the Holy Land. They
found means of transportation; and, embarking on
board several ships that were offered them, they
sailed away into oblivion. All trace of them is lost.
We cannot tell whether they suffered shipwreck
and so were swallowed up in the sea, or whether
they were sold into slavery in distant pagan lands.
Their tragical story has perished out of the records
of the past.
The French children, under the leadership of
Stephen of Cloyes, left Vend6me during the latter
part of June, 1212. Thirty thousand, mostly boys,
set out with the same demonstrations of joy and
enthusiasm with which the German children had
begun their march to Palestine. There were
huzzas, songs of lofty cheer, anthems to God, and
hopeful predictions of victory in the Holy Land.
There were weeping mothers holding out in vain
their beseeching hands to the departing children
whom they should see no more. The procession,
gay with banners and shouting with joy, passed
down the Loire and so journeyed toward Marseilles.
Their route was not beset by the same hardships
that had broken the ranks of the German children.
There were no Alps for them to scale; no mountain
torrents to chill their young blood. But the sum-
mer of 1212 was one of severe drought in France.
The fields were parched, the streams were dry, and
food was hard to get.

Nevertheless, the bulk of Stephen's army passed
on undismayed. Stephen assumed the airs of a
young king. He rode in a chariot adorned with
gorgeous trappings, and surrounded himself with
an armed body-guard. He was luxuriously clad,
and his person was held so sacred that a touch from
him was a priceless boon. His deluded followers
paid him divine honors; when he spoke, they
thronged about his chariot in such numbers that
many of the weaker boys were trampled to death.
He seems to have passed from a deluded victim of
priestcraft into a wily, selfish impostor.
The terrible heat prostrated many. Their corpses
strewed the way; and it is said that the country
through which they passed was afflicted by the
scourge their mortality inflicted. Barefoot, emaci-
ated, and greatly reduced in numbers, the army
reached Marseilles. Stephen's authority was gone,
the crowd having long since refused to own him as
their chief. They reached the sea at last, a de-
moralized and disorganized rabble.
Here the sight of the Mediterranean revived
them, and they waited for the Lord of Hosts to
open a path for them, In vain Days and weeks
passed and no relief came. The citizens of Mar-
seilles grew weary of feeding them; and their pros-
pects of reaching the Holy Land daily darkened.
Thousands sought homes in the city or in the
country round. Groups straggled off homeward,
and a remnant only remained to wait.
Two merchants of Marseilles, when the number
of the children was reduced to about five thousand,
offered to carry them to the Holy Land. The offer
was gladly accepted; and in seven small vessels
the joyful young crusaders finally set sail. Two of
these craft were cast on the rocky shores of the Isle
of Falcons, a small island in the Mediterranean.
All on board perished miserably, their comrades
looking on in horror while the cruel sea swallowed
up their forms forever.
The rest of the fleet sailed away. Their banners
disappeared down the horizon, and for eighteen
years they were lost to the world that had known
them as the young crusaders. In due time, there
came tidings-at first uncertain, then more posi-
tive-of the hapless boys. The two merchants of
Marseilles-Porcus and Ferreus-were disguised
slave-dealers ; the young crusaders were carried to
Bujeiah, an Algerine port, and there sold into
pagan slavery. A few were taken to Alexandria,
where they were bought by dealers from Bagdad,
Cairo, and other Moslem cities. The children who
had been born on the Seine, the Loire, or in the
lovely valleys of Southern France, wore their lives
away in the hot fields of Syria, Mesopotamia and
Egypt. Cruel Algerines drove to their daily tasks
the tender young ones of mothers who sorrowed in


distant homes for the children whose fate was un-
known, and on whose dear faces they should look
no more.
Centuries have gone since this strange crusade
was preached. Kings and mighty men who then
filled a great space in the world have gone their
way. The little actors in this moving drama have
long since become dust. Their burial-places, scat-
tered from Central Europe to farther Asia, are un-
known. In the crowded chapters of the history of
humanity this doleful tragedy is but a little point.

Even we who read it wonder vaguely at the mar-
velous religious enthusiasm that awakened this
mass of children; and we close the story with a
But God has doubtless wrought out some lesson
from these pathetic events. So soon this dream
was over; so soon this pitiful struggle was ended;
so rapidly into the dim past melted the story of
the Children's Crusade-who shall tell why it was
ever begun so strangely, or why it ended in such a
cloud of woe ?



A CURIOUs place is Old Santa Claus' den,
All stor'd full of treasures; where queer little men,
No larger than drumsticks, yet active and bright,
Are busily working from morning till night.

These queer little fellows, these workmen so small,
All answer with pleasure Old Santa Claus' call
For Fifty more bonbons, one hundred more toys !
More names on my list of good girls and good
boys! "

" Here, merrily ho! he" gleefully cries ;
"My sled is all ready-make haste, the time flies!

My reindeer are prancing and pawing the snow;
Make haste there, make haste, we're impatient to go!"

Soon the bundles are packed with the greatest of care,
Then off spring the reindeer, on I on I thro' the air,
Till they stop at some home, where snug in their bed
Sleep Cora and Mabel, cr Willie and Fred.

When the children awake at dawn's early light,
And steal from their beds, how they 'll scream with
On beholding their stockings, they hung on the wall,
With treasures o'erflowing, and something for all.








- -- _

" Wal, I reckon,"

YOUNG fellow in a
light buggy, with a
big black dog sitting
composedly beside
him, enjoying the
ride, drove up, one
summer afternoon,
to the door of a
log-house, in one
of the early settle-
ments of Northern
A woman with
lank features, in a
soiled gown trailing
its rags about her
bare feet, came and
stood in the door-
way and stared at
. him.
"Does Mr. Wig-
gett live here ? he

said the woman.

Is he at home ?"
Wal, I reckon."
Can I see him ?"
"I dunno noth'n' to tender. Yer, Sal run up
in the burnt lot and fetch your pap. Tell him a
stranger. You've druv a good piece," the woman
added, glancing at the buggy-wheels and the
horse's white feet, stained with black prairie soil.
"I've driven over from North Mills," replied
the young fellow, regarding her pleasantly, with
bright, honest features, from under the shade of
his hat brim.
I 'lowed as much. Alight and come into the
house. Old man 'll be yer in a minute."
He declined the invitation to enter; but, to rest
his limbs, leaped down from the buggy. There-
upon the dog rose from his seat on the wagon-
bottom, jumped down after him, and shook him-
All creation said the woman, "what a pup
that ar is! Yer, you young uns! Put back into
the house, and hide under the bed, or he '11 eat ye
up like ye was so much cl'ar seap-grease !"

At that moment the dog stretched his great
mouth open, with a formidable yawn. Panic seized
the young uns," and they scampered; their bare
legs and exceedingly scanty attire (only three shirts
and a-half to four little barbarians) seeming to offer
the dog unusual facilities, had he chosen to regard
them as soap-grease and to regale himself on that
sort of diet. But he was too well-bred and good-
natured an animal to think of snapping up a little
Wiggett or two for his luncheon; and the fugitives,
having first run under the bed and looked out,
ventured back to the door, and peeped with scared
faces from behind their mother's gown.
To hide his laughter, the young fellow stood
patting and stroking his horse's neck until Sal re-
turned with her pap."
Mr. Wiggett? inquired the youth, seeing a
tall, spare, rough old man approach.
That's my name, stranger. What can I dew
for ye to-day ?"
"I 've come to see what I can do for you, Mr.
Wiggett. I believe you want your section corner
looked up."
That I dew, stranger. But I 'lowed 't would
take a land-surveyor for that."
I am a land-surveyor," said the young fellow,
with a modest smile.
A land-surveyor ? Why, you're noth'n' but a
boy And the tall old man, bending a little, and
knitting his gray eyebrows, looked down upon his
visitor with a sort of amused curiosity.
That's so," replied the "boy," with a laugh
and a blush. "But I think I can find your corner,
if the bearings are all right."
Whar 's your instruments ?" asked the old man,
leaning over the buggy. "Them all? What's
that gun to do with land-surveyin' ?"
Nothing; I brought that along, thinking I
might get a shot at a rabbit or a prairie hen. But
we shall need an axe and a shovel."
"I 'lowed your boss would come himself, in place
of sending' a boy! muttered the old man, taking
up the gun,-a light double-barreled fowling-piece,
-sighting across it with an experienced eye, and
laying it down again. Sal, bring the axe; it's
stickin' in the log thar by the wood-pile. Curi's
thing, to lose my section corner, hey ?"
"It's not a very uncommon thing," replied the
young surveyor.
"Fact is," said the old man, "I never found it.

t- "


I bought of Seth Parkins's widder arter Seth died,
and banged if I 've ever been able to find the
gov'ment stake."
May be somebody pulled it up, or broke it off,
to kill a rattlesnake with," suggested the young
Like enough," said the-old man. Can't say
't I blame him; though he might 'a' got a stick in
the timber by walking' a few rods. He could n't
'a' been so bad off as one o' you surveyor chaps
was when the gov'ment survey went through. He
was off on the Big Perairie, footin' it to his camp,
when he comes to a rattler curled up in the grass,
and shakin' his 'tarnal buzz-tail at him. He steps
back, and casts about him for some sort of we'pon ;
he had n't a thing in his fist but a roll of paper,
and if ever a chap hankered arter a stick or a stun,
they say he did. But it was all jest prairie grass ;
nary rock nor a piece of timber within three mile.
Snake seemed to 'preciate his advantage, and flat-
tened his head and whirred his rattle sassier 'n
ever. Surveyor chap could n't stan' that. So
what does he dew, like a blamed fool, but jest off
with his boot and hurl it, 'lowin' he could kill a
rattler that way. He missed shot. Then, to git
his boot, he had to pull off t' other, and tackle the
snake with that. Lost that tew. Then he was in
a perdickerment; snake got both boots; curled up
on tew 'em, ready to strike, and seemin' to say, If
you've any more boots to spar', bring 'em on.'
Surveyor chap had n't no more boots, to his sor-
row; and, arter layin' siege to the critter till sun-
down, hopin' he 'd depart in peace and leave him
his property, he guv it up as a bad job, and footed
it to the camp in his stockin's, fancyin' he was
treadin' among rattlers all the way."
The story was finished by the time the axe was
brought; the old man picked up a rusty shovel
lying by the house, and, getting into the buggy
with his tools, he pointed out to his young com-
panion a rough road leading through the timber.
This was a broad belt of woodland, skirting the
eastern side of a wide, fertile river-bottom, and
giving to the settlement the popular name of
"Long Woods."
On the other side of the timber lay the high
prairie region, covered with coarse wild grass, and
spotted with flowers, without tree or shrub visible
until another line of timber, miles away, marked
the vicinity of another stream.
The young surveyor and the old man, in the
jolting buggy, followed by the dog, left the log-
house and the valley behind them; traversed the
woods, through flickering sun and shade; and
drove southward along the edge of the rolling
prairie, until the old man said they had better stop
and hitch.

I don't hitch my horse," said the young sur-
veyor. "The dog looks out for him. Here, old
fellow, watch !"
"The section corner, I ca'c'late," said the old
man, shouldering his axe, "is off on the prairie
thar, some'er's. Come, and I'll show ye the
Is that big oak with the broken limb one of
them ? "
Wal, now, how did ye come to guess that ?-
one tree out of a hundred ye might 'a' picked."
"It is a prominent tree," replied the youth,
"and, if I had been the surveyor, I think I
should have chosen it for one, to put my bear-
ings on."
Boy, you're right! But it took me tew days
to decide even that. The underbrush has growed
up around it, and the old scar has nigh about
healed over."
The old man led the way through the thickets,
and, reaching a small clear space at the foot of the
great oak, pointed out the scar, where the trunk
had been blazed by the axemen of the government
survey. On a surface about six inches broad,
hewed for the purpose, the distance and direction
of the tree from the corner stake had, no doubt,
been duly marked. But only a curiously shaped
wound was left. The growth of the wood was
rapid in that rich region, and, although the cut
had been made but a few years before, a broad lip
of smooth new bark had rolled up about it from the
sides, and so nearly closed over it that only a nar-
row, perpendicular, dark slit remained.
"What do you make of that?" said Mr. Wig-
gett, putting his fingers at the opening, and look-
ing down at his companion.
I don't make much of it as it looks now," the
young surveyor replied.
Did n't I tell you 't would take an old head to
find my corner ? T' other tree is in a wus shape
than this yer. Now I reckon you '11 be satisfied to
turn about and whip home, and tell your boss it's
a job for him."
Give me your axe," was the reply.
"Boy, take kere what you're about! "
"Oh, I will take care; don't be afraid." And,
grasping the axe, the young surveyor began to cut
away the folds of new wood which had formed over
the scar.
I see what you 're up tew," said the old man,
gaining confidence at every stroke. Give me the
axe; you aint tall enough to work handy." And
with a few strokes, being a skillful chopper, he
cleared the old blaze, and exposed the blackened
tablet which nature had so nearly enclosed in her
casket of living wood.
There, cut into the old hewed surface, were the

.I 70



well-preserved marks of the government survey:
N. 480 15' w.
18 R. 10 L.
"What does that mean ?" asked the old man, as
the youth made a copy of these marks in his note-
It means that this tree is eighteen rods and ten
links from your corner stake, in a direction forty-
eight degrees and fifteen minutes west of north."
"I can understand your rods and links," said
the old man; for I know your surveyor's chain is
four rods long, and has a hundred links. But
banged if I know anything about your degrees and
"All that is just as simple," replied the young
surveyor. "A circle is supposed to be divided into
three hundred and sixty degrees. Each degree is
divided into sixty minutes; and so forth. Now, if
you stand looking directly north, then turn a
quarter of the way round, and look straight west,
you have turned a quarter of a circle, or ninety de-
grees ; and the angle where you stand-where the
north line and the west line meet-is called an
angle of ninety degrees. Half as far is forty-five
degrees. Seen from the corner stake, wherever it
is, this tree bears a little more than forty-five de-
grees west of north ; it is forty-eight degrees and a
quarter. Where 's the other tree ? "
That was ten or eleven rods away, still in the
edge of the timber; and it bore on its blazed trunk,
facing the open prairie, the inscription-laid bare
by the old man's ready axe-
N. 820 27' w.
16 R. 29 L.
"Eighty-two degrees twenty-seven minutes west
of north, and sixteen rods twenty-nine links, from
your corner," the young surveyor read aloud, as he
copied the marks into his note-book. The other
tree is so surrounded by undergrowth, it would take
you and your axe an hour to cut a passage through
so that I could run a line; and I am going to try
running a line from this tree alone. Be cutting a
few good stakes, while I go and bring up my horse
and set him to eating grass."

THE horse was driven to a good shady place on
the edge of the woods, relieved of his bridle, and
left in charge of the dog. In the meanwhile the
old man cut a few oak saplings and hewed them
into stakes.
"Now, I want ye to give me a notion of how
you 're gwine to work," he said, as the youth

brought his compass and set it up in its tripod at
the foot of the tree. "For, otherwise, how am I
to be sure of my corner, when you say you 've
found it ?"
0, I think we shall find something to convince
you. However, look here, and I 'll explain."
While waiting for the wavering needle to settle
in its place, the youth made a hasty diagram in a
page of his note-book.

"Here we are on the edge of the timber. A is
your first tree. B is the one where we are. Now
if the bearings are correct, and I run two lines ac-
cordingly, the place where they meet will be the
place for your corner stake; say at C."
That looks cute ; I like the shape of that! "
said the old man, interested.
"If the distance was short,-feet instead of rods,
-all the instruments we should want," said the
young surveyor, with his peculiarly bright smile,
"would be a foot measure and two strings."
How so?" said the old man, who could not
believe that science was so simple a thing as that.
"Why, for instance, we will say the tree A is
eighteen feet from the corner you want to find; B,
sixteen feet. Now take a string eighteen feet long,
and fasten the end of it by a nail to the center of
the blazed trunk, A ; fasten another sixteen feet
long to B; then stretch out the loose ends of both
until they just meet; and there is the place for
your stake."
I declar'! exclaimed the old man. That's
the use of the tew trees. Banged if I dew see,
though, how you 're gwine to git along by running'
a line from jest one."
"If I run two lines, as I have shown you, where
they cross will be the point. Now if I run one line,
and measure it, I shall find the point where the
other line ought to cross. We 'll see. Here on
my compass is a circle and a scale of degrees,
which shows me how to set it according to the bear-


ings. Now look through these sights, and you are
looking straight in the direction of your section
Curi's, aint it ?" grinned the old man. "'Cord-
in' to that, my corner is out on the prairie, jest
over beyant that ar knoll."
"You're right. Now go forward to the top of
it, while I sight you, and we 'll set a stake there.
As I signal with my hands this way, or this, move
your stake to the right or left, till I make this mo-
tion; then you are all right."
The young surveyor had got his compass into
position, by looking back through the sights at the

"But it's noth'n' but a bog this time o' year; ye
can't navigate a boat thar. And it 'll take till
middle o' next week to build a brush road acrost.
Guess we 're up a stump now, hey ?"
O0, no; stumps are not so plenty, where I un-
dertake jobs Let's have a stake down there,
pretty near the slew; then we will measure our
line, and see how much farther we have to go."
The old man helped bear the chain; and a care-
ful measurement showed that the stake at the edge
of the slough was still four rods and thirty links
from the corner they sought.
"Banged if it don't come jest over on t' other


tree. He now placed himself between it and the
tree, and, sighting forward, directed the old man,
who went on over the knoll, where to set his stakes.
On the other side of the knoll, it was found that
the line crossed a slough,-or "slew," as the old
man termed it,-which lay in a long, winding hol-
low of the hills. This morass was partly filled with
stagnant water; and the old man gave it a bad
"It's the wust slew in the hull country. I've
lost tew cows in it. I would n't go through it for
the price of my farm. Could n't git through; a
man would sink intew it up tew his neck."
Then we may have to get a boat to find your
section corner," laughed the young surveyor.

side of the slew the old man exclaimed, com-
puting the distance with his eye. "But we can't
measure a rod furder; and yer we be stuck."
Not yet, old friend I cried the young surveyor.
"Since we can't cross, we '11 measure the rest of
our distance along on this shore."
The old man looked down upon him with indig-
nation and amazement.
"Think I'm a dog-goned fool?" he cried.
" The idee of turning' from our course, and meas-
urin' along by the slew! What's the good of
that ?"
Finding that the old man would not aid or abet
what seemed to him such complete folly, the young
surveyor made another little diagram in his note-




L.- _7


book, and explained: Here is the end of our line
running from the direction B,-theoretically a
straight, horizontal line, though it curves over the
knoll. You noticed how, coming down the slope
ahead of you, I held my end of the chain up from
the ground, to make it horizontal, and then with

my plumb-line found the corresponding point in
the ground, to start fresh from. That was to get
the measurement of a horizontal line; for if you
measure all the ups and downs of hills and hollows,
you '11 find your surveying will come out in queer
The old man scratched his bushy gray head, and
said he had n't thought of that.
"Well," the young surveyor continued, "we are
running our line off toward C, when we come to
the slew. Our last stake is at D-say this little
thing with a flag on it. Now, what is to be done ?
for we must measure four rods and thirty links
farther. I measure that distance from D to E,,
along this shore, running my new line at an angle
of sixty degrees from the true course. Then, with
my compass at E, I sight another line at an angle
of sixty degrees from my last. I am making what
is called an equilateral triangle ; that is, a triangle
with equal sides and equal angles. Each angle must
measure sixty degrees. With two angles and one
side, we can always get the other two sides; and
the other angle will be where those two sides meet.
They will meet at C. Now, since the sides are of
equal length, the distance from D to C is the same
as from D to E-that is, four rods and thirty links,
just the distance we wish to go; C, then, is the
place for your corner stake."
It looks very well on paper," said the old man,
"but"-casting his eye across the bog-" how in
the name of seven kingdoms are ye ever gwine to
fix yer stake thar ?"
"That is easy. Go round to the other side of
the slew, get yourself in range with our line from
the tree, by sighting across the stakes, and walk
down toward the slew-that is, on this dotted line.
Having got my angle of sixty degrees at E, I will

sight across and stop you when I see you at C.
There stick your last stake."
Banged if that aint cute 1 Young man, what
mout be your name ?"
I was only boy a few minutes ago," said the
voung surveyor, slyly. "Now, if you are ready,
we '11 set to work and carry out this plan."
The line from D to E was measured off.
Then the youth set his compass to obtain
the proper angle at E ; while the old man,
with his axe and a fresh stake, tramped
around to the eastern side of the slough.
Having got the range of the stakes, he
was moving slowly back toward them,
holding his stake before him, when the
youth signaled him to stop just in the
edge of the quagmire.
The new stake stuck, the young sur-
veyor, taking up his tripod and compass,
went round to him.
"That stake," said he, "is not far from your
corner. Are there any signs ? ".
I 've been thinking, said the old man, "the
'arth yer looks like it had been disturbed some
time; though it's all overgrowed so with these
clumps of slew-grass, ye can't tell what 's a natural
hummock and what aint. Don't that look like a
kind of a trench ? "
"Yes; and here 's another at right angles with
it. Surveyors cut such places on the prairies, pile
up the sods inside the angle, and drive their corner
stakes through them. But there must have been
water here when this job was done, which accounts
for its not being done better. We 'll improve it.
Go for the shovel. I '11 get the bearings of those
trees in the meanwhile, and see how far wrong they
make us out to be."
When the old man returned with the shovel, he
found his boy surveyor standing by the compass,
with folded arms, looking over at the woodland
with a smile of satisfaction.
Sighting the trees, the tall, straight stems of
which were both visible over the knoll, he had found
that their bearings corresponded closely with those
copied in his note-book. This proved his work to
his own mind; but the old man would not yet con-
fess himself convinced.
"We may be somewhar nigh the spot, but I
want to be sure of the exact spot," he insisted.
That you can't be sure of; not even if the best
surveyor in the world should come and get it from
these bearings," replied the youth. Probably the
bearings themselves are not exact. The Govern-
ment surveyors do their work in a hurry. The
common compass they use does n't make as fine
angles as the theodolite or transit instrument does;
and then the chain varies a trifle in length with


every variation of temperature; the metal contracts
and expands, you know. Surveying, where the land
is worth a dollar and a-quarter a foot, instead of a
dollar and a-quarter an acre, is done more carefully.
Yet I am positive, from the indications here, that
we are within a few inches of your corner."
"A few inches, or a few feet, or a few rods! "
muttered the old man crossly. Seems like thar's
a good deal of guess-work, arter all."
I am sorry you think so," replied the young
surveyor, quietly removing his tripod. "If, how-
ever, you are dissatisfied with my work, you can
employ another surveyor; if he tells you I am far
out of the way, why, then, you needn't pay me."
The old man made no reply, but, seizing the
shovel, began to level the hummock a little, in
order to prepare it for a pile of fresh sods. He was
slashing away at it, with the air of a petulant man
working off his discontent, when he struck some-
thing hard.
"What's that ar?" he growled. "Can't be a
stone. Aint a rock as big as a hazel-nut this side
the timber."
Digging round the obstacle, he soon exposed the
splintered end of an upright piece of wood. He
laid hold of it and tried to pull it up. The youth,
with lively interest, took the shovel, and dug and
pried. Suddenly up came the stick, and the old
man went over backwards with it into the bog.
He scrambled to his feet, dripping with muddy
water, and brandished his trophy, exclaiming:
Dog my cats if 't aint the eend of the ol' cor-
ner stake, left jest whar 't was broke off, when the
rest was wanted to pry a wheel out o' the slew, or
to kill a rattler with "
He appeared jubilant over the discovery, while
the young surveyor regarded it simply as a piece
of good luck.

THE new stake having been stuck in the hole
left by the point of the old one, and plenty of fresh
turf piled up about it, the old man wiped his fingers
on the dry prairie grass, thrust a hand into his
pocket, and brought forth an ancient leather wallet.
My friend," said he, shall I settle with you
or with your boss? "
You may as well settle with me."
"Nuff said. What's yer tax ?"
Two dollars and a-half."
Tew dollars and a-dog-gone-ation You 've
been only tew hours and a-half about the job. I
can hire a man all day for half-a-dollar."
It is an afternoon's work for me," argued the
young surveyor. I've had a long way to drive.

Then, you must understand, we surveyors (this
was said with an air of importance) don't get pay
merely for the time we are employed, but also for
our knowledge of the business, which it has taken
us time to learn. If I had been obliged to hire the
horse I drive, you see, I should n't have much left
out of two dollars and a-half."
Friend, you 're right. Tew 'n' a-half is reason-
able. And if I have another job of land-surveyin',
you are the man for my money."
A man, am I, now? And with a laugh the
young surveyor pocketed his fee.
Good as a man, I allow, any time o' day.
You've worked at this yer thing right smart, and
I'll give ye the credit on 't. How long have ye
been larnin' the trade ? "
0, two years, more or less, studying at odd
spells. But I never made a business of it until I
came to this new country."
"What State be ye from ?"
New York."
York State That's whar I hail from."
One would n't think so; you have a good many
Southern and Western words in your talk."
I come by 'em honest," said the old mah. I
run away from home when I was a boy, like a
derned fool; I 've lived a'most everywhar; and
I 've married four wives, and raised four craps of
children. My fust wife I picked up in ol' Kaintuck.
My next was an Arkansaw woman. My third was
a Michigander. My present was born and raised
in the South, but I married her in Southern Illinois.
She 's nigh on to forty year younger 'n I be, and
smart as a steel trap, tell you So you see we 're
kind of a mixed-up family. My fust and second
broods of children's married off, or buried,-scat-
tered to the four winds o' heaven Tew boys o'
the third brood, and that ar Sal, is with me yit.
Some of the present brood you 've seen. Thar 's
been twenty-one in all."
Of the fourth brood ?"
No, of the lot. Whose hoss mout that be ?"
Mine ; I brought him from the East with me."
What do you have to pay for a beast like that,
now, in York State ? "
I did n't pay anything for him."
Somebody gi'n him tew ye ? "
Not exactly."
Ye gambled for him ?"
Raised him from a colt, then ?"
"Stole him?"
Not much."
Picked him up astray ?"
The young surveyor, laughing, shook his head.
"Then how in the name o' seven kingdoms did



ye come by him, if ye did n't find him, nor steal
him, nor raise him from a colt, nor buy him, nor
have him gi'n tew ye ? "
I borrowed him of a neighbor, and drove him
to a show, where the old elephant broke loose and
had the handling of him for about a second and
a-half. The owners of the elephant paid the dam-
ages; and I kept the horse. Nobody thought he
would get well; but he is now scarcely lame at all.
I can show you the scars where he was hurt."
The two had approached the wagon during this
talk; and now the old man examined the horse
with a good deal of curiosity.
That your dog tew ?"
Yes, sir. Here, Lion !"
Cost ye suth'n, did n't it, to bring your animals
West with ye ?"
Not a great deal. When my friends wrote for
me to come, they said good horses were scarce and
high-priced out here, and advised me to bring
mine. I could n't leave my dog behind,-could I,
old Lion ? "
Who mout your friends be ? "
Mr. and Mrs. Lanman, at North Mills; and
Mrs. Lanman's brother,-my boss, as you call him,
-Mr.'Felton, the surveyor. They came out last
year; and last winter they wrote to me, offering me
a good chance if I should come. It was in winter;
I drove Snowfoot in a cutter, and crossed the De-
troit River on the ice just before it broke up.
There the sleighing left me ; so I sold my cutter,
bought a saddle, and made the rest of the journey
on horseback. That was rather hard on the dog,
but I got the stage-drivers to give him a lift once
in awhile."
"What did you say your name was?" the old
man inquired.
I don't think I said. But I will say now. My
name is Ragdon-Henry Ragdon. My friends call
me Jack."
"'And it aint yer name ?"
0, yes, it is, and yet it is n't. I was brought
up to it, my friends like it, and so I keep it." *
"Wal, Jack,-if you'll rank me with your
friends, and le' me -call ye so," said the old man,
with a cordial grip of his great, flat hand,-" I
s'pose we part yer, and say good-bye. I'll shoulder
my tools, and take a cow-path through the woods;
you '11 find a better road than the one we come by,
murder north. Jest keep along the edge of the
prairie. I sha'n't forgit this job."
Nor I," said the young surveyor, with a curious
It was the first work of the kind he had under-
taken on his own account, and without assistance ;

for which reason he felt not a little proud of it.
But he did not tell the old man so.
After parting company with him, he drove in
the shade of the woods, along a track so little
traveled that the marks of wheels looked like dark
ruled lines in the half-trodden grass.
The pleasant summer afternoon was drawing to
a close. The peculiar wild scent of the prairie,
which seems to increase as the cool evening comes
on, filled all the air. The shadows of the forest
were stretching in a vast, uneven belt over sum-
mit and hollow ; while far away beyond, in seem-
ingly limitless expanse, swept the golden-green
undulations of the sunlit hills.
Jack-for I trust we shall also be entitled to call
him so-kept his eye out for game, as he drove
leisurely along ; stopped once or twice for a rabbit
on the edge of the woods; and, finally, pulled up
sharply, as a prairie hen shot whirring out, almost
from under his wheels.
He sprang to his feet and faced about, raising
his gun; but before he could take aim, the bird,
at the end of a short, straight flight, dropped into
the prairie grass a few rods away.
Jack followed on foot, holding his piece ready to
fire. Knowing the shy habits of the bird, he
trampled the grass about the spot where she had
alighted, hoping to scare her up. He also sent his
dog' coursing about; but Lion, though an intel-
ligent animal, had no scent for birds.
Suddenly, from the very ground between the
hunter's feet, with a startling rush and thunder of
wings, the hen rose. Up went gun to shoulder.
But instantly the dog gave chase, and kept so ex-
actly in the line of flight, that Jack durst not fire.
"You silly boy's dog!" he said; don't you
know better than that ? You '11 get a stray shot
some day, if you run before my gun-barrels in that
fashion. Now go to the horse, and stay."
The dog, who had fancied that he was doing
good service, dropped ears and tail at this rebuke,
and retired from the field.
Jack was continuing the hunt, when all at once
a strange spell seemed to come over him. It found
him on one foot, and he remained on one foot,
poising the other behind him, for several seconds.
Then, softly putting down the lifted leg, and lower-
ing his gun, he stole swiftly back, in a crouching
attitude, to his wagon by the woodside.
Taking his horse by the bridle, he led him down
into a little hollow. Then, piercing the under-
growth, he hastened to a commanding position,
where, himself hidden by the bushes, he could look
off on the prairie.
His heart beat fast, and his hand shook, as he

* See "Fast Friends; also the previous volumes of this series-"Jack Hazard and His Fortunes," A Chance for Himself," andl
"Doing His Best," which give a full account of the young surveyor's early life and adventures.



drew the bird-shot out of the two barrels of his
fowling-piece, reloading one with buck-shot, the
other with an ounce ball.
All the while his eye kept glancing from his gun
to the shadowy slope of a distant hill, where were
two objects which looked like a deer and a fawn

THEY were a long way off-more than half-a-
mile, he thought. Evidently they had not seen
him. Though marvelously quick to catch scent or
sound, deer have not a fine sense of sight for dis-
tant objects.
They have left the covert early, to go out and
feed," thought he. If not frightened, they will
browse around in the hollows there until dark."
He was wondering how he should manage to
creep near, and get a shot at the shy creatures,
when the dog barked.
That wont do he muttered; and, hurrying
to silence Lion, he saw a stranger loitering along
the prairie road.
Jack stepped out of the bushes into the hollow,
and beckoned.
I've sighted a couple of deer that I 'm trying
to get a shot at; if you go over the hill, you '11
scare 'em."
The stranger-a slender youth in soiled shirt-
sleeves, carrying a coat on his arm-looked at. him
saucily, with his head on one side and a quid turn-
ing in the cheek, and said :
Well! and why should n't I scare 'em ?"
I can't hinder you, of course ; but," said Jack,
"if you were hunting, and I should be passing by,
I should think it a matter of honor -- "
Honor is an egg that don't hatch in this coun-
try," interrupted the stranger; and the quid went
into the other cheek, while the head went over on
the other side, as if to balance it. But never
mind ; 't aint my cut to interfere with another fel-
ler's luck. Show me your deer."
Jack took him through the thickets to his am-
bush. There were the deer still feeding; the old
one lifting her head occasionally as if on the look-
out for danger. They seemed to be moving slowly
along the slope..
The dark eyes of the strange youth kindled;
then he said, with a low laugh :
I 'd like a cut-bore rifle for them fellers You
never can get 'em with that pop-gun."
I believe I can if you '11 help me. You notice
there 's a range of hills between us and them; and
they are on the north slope of one. I've been
surveying a little of the country off south, and I

think you can get around the range that way, and
come out beyond the deer, before they see you.
There 's everything in our favor. The wind blows
to us from them. At the first alarm, they '11 start
for the woods; and they 'll be pretty sure to keep
along in the hollow. I'll watch here, and take
them as they come in."
Quid and head rolled again; and the strange
youth said jeeringly, with one eye half-closed, look-
ing at Jack :
So you expect me to travel a mile or two, and
drive the deer in for you ? He then pulled down
the nether lid of the half-closed eye, and inquired,
somewhat irrelevantly, whether Jack saw anything
green there. Not by this light he answered
his own question, as he let up his eyelid and
snapped his thumb and finger. Ye can't ketch
old birds with chaff. I 've been through the lot.
Parley-voo frongsay ? "
Jack regarded him with astonishment, declaring
that there was no catch about it. Only help me,
and we will share the game together."
Still the fellow demurred. I've walked my legs
off to-day already; you 'll find 'em back in the
road here! Had nothing to "eat since morning;
wore myself down lean as a rail; felt for the last
two hours as though there was nothing but my
backbone between me and eternity No, sir-ree !
I would n't walk that fur out of my way for a herd
of deer. If I had a horse to ride, I would n't
Jack was greatly excited. He had never yet had
a good shot at a deer; and if, at the end of his
day's work, he could carry home" a good fat doe,
and perhaps a fawn, of his own shooting, it would
be a triumph. So, without a moment's reflection,
he said:
You may ride mine. Then, if you don't
want a share of the game, I 'll pay you for your
The strange youth took time to shift his quid
and balance it; then replied, in a manner which
appeared provokingly cool to the fiery Jack:
I'll look at him. Does he ride easy ?"
"Yes. Hurry "
Jack ran down to the horse, led him into the
bushes, where the wagon could be left concealed,
and had already taken him out of the shafts, before
the stranger came lounging to the spot.
Pull off the harness," said the latter, with the
easy air of ordering a nag at a stable. And give
me that blanket out of the buggy. I don't ride
bare-back for nobody."
Jack complied, though angry at the fellow for
being so dilatory and fastidious at such a time.
The strange youth then spread his coat over the
blanket, laid his right hand on it, and his left on




bridle and mane, and with a leap from the ground
threw himself astride the horse-a display of agility
which took Jack by surprise.
I see you have been on horseback before "
"Never in my life," said the stranger, with a
gleam in his dark eyes which belied his words.
And now Jack noticed that he had a little switch in
his hand.
He wont need urging. Be sure and ride well
beyond that highest hill before you turn; and then
,come quietly around, so as not to frighten the deer
too much."
The fellow laughed. "I've seen a deer before

,. *?' -,. -_, ^ ^- .-

". .i ;. .
"'' ." i"

to-day And, clapping heels to the horse's sides,
he dashed through the bushes.
Jack followed a little way, and from his ambush

paces along the slope. Jack waited with breathless
anxiety to see his horseman emerge from among
the hills beyond. Several minutes elapsedI; then,
though no horseman appeared, the old deer,
to-undulating movements, along the hillorse's sides,

The prfawn darted after herie, and disappear around the rangute ofthey

were hidden from view in a hollow. The stratagem
had so far succeeded. They had started toward
the woods.
Jack, in an ague of agitation, waited for the
game to show itself again, and, by its movements,
guide his own. At length, the fawn appeared on
the summit of a low hill, and stopped. The doe
came up and stopped too, with elevated nostrils,
snuffing. For a rifle, in approved hands, there
would have been a chance for a shot. But the
game was far beyond the range of Jack's gun.
To try his nerve, however, he took aim; or,
rather, attempted to take aim. His hands-if the
truth must be confessed-shook so that
he could not keep his piece steady for
.- an instant. Cool fellow enough on
:- ordinary occasions, he now had a vio-
lent attack of what is called the buck
Fortunately, the deer had not seen
S ,-, the horseman; and, while they were
SJ.'llIt recovering from their first alarm, they
Sj. ,t gave the young hunter time to subdue,
Srt'.. with resolute good sense, his terrible
.ri-). I nervous agitation.
They did not stop to feed any more,
but moved on, with occasional pauses,
toward the woods; following the line
S- of the hollows, as Jack had foreseen.
All this time the dog lay whining at
his young master's heels. He knew
"M instinctively that there was sport on
-- foot, and could hardly be kept quiet.
The deer took another and final
start, and came bounding along toward
the spot where the wagon had stood.
But for the excitement of the moment,
Jack must have felt a touch of pity at
sight of those two slender, beautiful
creatures, so full of life, making for
HAND. their covert in the cool woods. But
the hunter's spirit was uppermost. He took aim at
the doe, followed her movements a moment with
the moving gun, then fired. She plunged forward,
and dropped dead.
The fawn, confused by the report and by the
doe's sudden fall, stood for an instant quite still,
then made a few bounds up toward the very spot
where the young hunter was concealed. It stopped
again, within twenty paces of the leveled gun.
There it stood, its pretty spotted side turned toward
him, so fair a mark, and so charming a picture, that
for a moment, excited though he was, he could not
have the heart to shoot. Ah what is this spirit of
*destruction, which has come down to us from our
barbarous forefathers, and which gives even good-
hearted boys like Jack a wild joy in taking life ?


The dog, rendered ungovernable by the firing
of the gun, made a noise in the thicket. The.fawn
heard, and started to run-away. The provocation
was too great for our young hunter, and he sent a
.charge of buck-shot after it. The fawn did not fall.
"Take 'em, Lion shouted Jack; and out
rushed the dog.
The poor thing had been wounded, and the dog
soon brought it down. Jack ran after, to prevent
a tearing of the hide and flesh. Then he set up a
wild yell, which might have been heard a mile
away on the prairie,-a call for his horseman, who
had not yet reappeared.
Jack dragged the fawn and placed it beside its
dam. There lay the two pretty creatures, slaught-
ered by his hand.
It can't be helped," thought he. If it is right
to hunt game, it is right to kill it. If we eat flesh,
we must take life."
So he tried to feel nothing but pure triumph at
the sight. Yet I have heard him say, in relating
the adventure, that he could never afterward think
of the dead doe and pretty fawn, lying there side
by side, without a pang.
He now backed his buggy out of the woods, set

the seat forward in order to make room for the
deer behind, and waited for his horse.
"Where can that fellow have gone ?" he mut-
tered, with growing anxiety.
He went to a hill-top, to get a good view, and
strained his vision, gazing over the prairie. The
sun was almost set, and all the hills were darkening,
save now and then one of the highest summits.
Over one of these Jack suddenly described a dis-
tant object moving. It was no deer this time, but
a horse and rider, far away, and going at a gallop-
in the wrong direction.
He gazed until they disappeared over the crest,
and the faint sundown glory faded from it, and he
felt the lonesome night shutting down over the
limitless expanse. Then he smote his hands to-
gether with fury and despair.
He knew that the horse was his own, and the
rider the strange youth in whose hands he had so
rashly intrusted him. And here he was, five miles
from home, with the darkening forest on one side,
and the vast prairie on the other; the dead doe
and fawn lying down there on the dewy grass, the
*empty buggy and harness beside them; and only
his dog to keep him company.

(To be continued.)


To build a bridge of this kind, you must begin the four center ones, and then the side ones; re-
by placing six dominoes flat on the table and four ferring to Fig. I to see how to place them.

upright, as in Fig. 2. Take care to make a close
joint, and to keep every piece exactly in line and
center. Then lay the pieces in the order num-
bered, keeping each side equally advanced till they
meet in the middle.
The dominoes in the base may now be elevated
to the higher positions. First cautiously remove

Lastly, the whole is to be capped by the two outer
uprights, and the structure should be so beauti-
fully balanced that they may be gently slid from
under, and laid side by side on the very top.
The bridge should be built of the ordinary domi-
noes, as expensive ones are apt to have a project-
ing point on the face.






WHAT do you do on Christmas?" asked a
pale-faced little girl in a black dress, of her cousin
Christmas ?" said Jeanie, with a puzzled look
on her rosy face. Why, nothing; only just not
go to school."
Nothing !" returned the first speaker, aghast.
"Don't you have any Christmas-tree ?"
"Christmas-tree What 's that ? asked Jeanie.
Nor hang up your stocking?"
Jeanie shook her head.
Nor have a single bit of a present ?" May went
on in utter amazement.
What for? asked Jeanie.
Why, don't you know about Santa Claus, who
comes down the chimney on Christmas Eve, and
gives everybody a present ? said May, completely
"Don't know nothing 'bout him," said Jeanie.
"Don't believe there's any such a person in Mis-
May drew a long sigh. It was not the first time
she had sighed since the jolting old wagon, called
a stage, had landed her, two weeks before, at her
uncle's home, a wretched, penniless orphan.
"What is a Christmas-tree, any way?" asked
Jeanie, seeing that May was not going to speak.
Oh, it 's a beautiful green tree, covered with
lights and presents and beautiful things When
mamma was alive we always had one on Christmas
Does it grow so ? asked Jeanie, curiously.
"Of course not! what a question!" said May.
" Do you know what Christmas is, anyhow ?" she
added, with a quick flush of color.
Of course I do," retorted Jeanie; "but that
has n't anything to do with Christmas-trees."
Yes it has," said May, earnestly, a great deal
to do with them, and with every way that we have
for having everything just as sweet and lovely as
we can on that day. Mother always said so."
Jeanie opened her eyes wider, and then asked
softly :
But what about the Christmas-tree, May ?"
"Well, it's cut down and brought into the house,
and all the things put on before you see it, and when
it's all ready the folding-doors are opened, and-
oh it's beautiful! May added in ecstasy. Last
Christmas I had such lovely things,-the prettiest
blue dress you ever saw-I 've got a piece of it in
my trunk-and new clothes for my doll; oh, such

nice ones a whole suit with overskirt, and all in
the fashion; and a cornucopia of candies and a box
of nuts and raisins and Oh, I can't think of
half the things," added May, brightly, yet half
ready to cry.
I wish I could see one," said Jeanie; but we
don't have such things here. Ma has n't got time,
nor anybody."
"I'll tell you what we can do, I guess," said
May, who had been revolving an idea in her mind;
"we might get up one ourselves,-you could; of
course it would n't be so nice as mamma's, but it
would be better than none."
"Well, let's! said Jeanie, "and not tell a
single one till it's all done."
Where can we have it? We need a fire and a
door that '11 lock," said May.
Oh, Pa '11 let me have the out-room, I know,
if I coax him," said Jeanie, and we can put a nail
over the latch to fasten the door."
The out-room, you must know, was a roughly
built room, a little apart from the house. It had a
big open fire-place and a huge kettle, and when
there was any big work, like making up the year's
soap, or putting down the year's supply of salt pork,
a great fire was built there and the out-room came
into use.
Well," said May, reflectively, I guess we can
do it; we can trim it up, you know."
"How?" asked Jeanie, to whom all Christmas
ways were unknown mysteries.
Oh, I'll show you. We can get evergreens in
the woods, and oh, some of that lovely bitter-sweet,
and I can make paper flowers," May went on en-
thusiastically, as ideas rushed into her mind.
" We can have it real pretty; but don't let's tell
anybody a thing about it."
The next week was a very busy one to the two
plotters. Every moment, when out of school, they
were whispering in corners, or engaged in some
mysterious work, which they would hide if any one
came near.
Mrs. Stanley was glad to see the first cheerful
look on the face of the orphan, and did not inter-
fere so long as the girls kept out of her way. The
boys-of whom there were two younger and one
older than Jeanie-were very curious, and Will-
the older one-rather teasing about it; but on the
whole May and Jeanie succeeded very well in keep-
ing their secret.
Two days before Christmas, Jeanie followed her


father as he started off in the morning to the barn
to feed the cattle. How she managed her teasing
I cannot say, but in a short time she came into the
house, radiant, gave a mysterious nod to May, and
they at once disappeared upstairs.
Soon they stole down the back way, armed them-
selves with brooms, materials for a fire, and a big
nail with which to lock the door, and slipped into
the out-room.
It was not a promising-looking place, but they
were young and enthusiastic; so Jeanie went to
work to build up a roar-
ing fire, and May began I '. '".
with the broom. i I '
Well, they worked all !I L .,'
day, harder than ever .l,Y .- ,, 11 "
before in their lives, and '' .' .
all the next day, and 'i' '
when at last the room I;;i", ,
was ready for company, ',''.' ,. ....
it really looked very
pretty. f. c p" .' '1 'i'
The bare walls were or- i,
namented with wreaths '.' ,'
of the gay bitter-sweet, ,' .
and evergreen boughs, .'_' i
brightened by an occa- .- 4'"",
sional rose or lily neatly .,1' ,
made by May, of thin ',. ''
white paper. The big ..'i ,,.
kettle was transformed '
into a table by means ''
of a board or two across into --: by e
the top, and a white --
sheet spread over all. --
The two windows were ---_ -
curtained with old news- -
papers, concealed by : -
branches of evergreen. i_
In the center of the

room stood a tub, and
braced up in it by stones and sticks of wood, hid-
den by sprays of green, stood a very pretty ever-
green-tree. There were no candles on it, for the
united wisdom of the two workers had not been
able to compass that. But the bright flickering
light of the fire was enough, and in fact made just
the right effect, as it did not reveal too much.
On the tree were hung bits of bright ribbon and
other pretty things out of May's trunk,-keepsakes
from her old playmates. These were used just for
decoration. There were long strings of popped
corn besides. There were festoons about the
branches, and among them a present for each one
of the family.
All this time, one of the girls had been obliged
to stay in the out-room every moment to keep the

door locked, for the boys were just wild to find out
the mystery. Mrs. Stanley had stopped in her
dreary round of drudgery-for this home, you must
know, was the temple of work-to ask what all the
fuss was about. But Jeanie told her that her father
said she might use the out-room; and she was too
busy and tired to feel much interest,-so she said,
"well, she did n't care so's they didn't do any
On the eventful night, when called to supper,
May went into the family-room, for Jeanie could

'"' .- ,' -.-' 'lq--..

i '. ,,i'i '1 -,
,', ,I ,

A. ', ; ,:.,, ,




U$~*2~~- __

not tear herself away from contemplation of the
wonderful tree. To her it was the embodiment of
everything beautiful and enchanting in the world.
With no books but school-books, no pictures, no
papers, nothing beautiful to be seen in that little
grinding prairie home, she had never even con-
ceived of anything so lovely.
When at last they rose from the table, May stop-
ped at the door.
"Aunt," she began timidly,-for she was rather
afraid of the hard-working woman, whose sharp
gray eyes seemed to look through her, and whose
thin lips never opened but to make some practical
remark,-" will you come over with uncle and see-
our Christmas-tree? Come, boys." And she
started off.





So that's what the young ones have been up
to, is it ?" said Mr. Stanley, lighting his pipe.
"Come, mother, let's go over and see what
they 've got. That May 's the beater for plans
if ever I see one."
"Wall," said Mrs. Stanley, pushing back the
table that she had already cleared, I don't mind
if I step over a minute before I get out my dish-
water. I never see Jane so took up as she has been
this week."
They went over to the out-room. The boys were
already there staring in a bewilderment of wonder.
May leaned against the unique table, very tired,
but happy, and Jeanie fairly danced around with
Well, well said Mr. Stanley, "this looks
something like, now Why, this carries me back
to when I was a boy, away down in York State.
I 'd never 'a' thought you two little gals could fix
this old room up so pretty; would you now,
mother ? "
Mother did n't say anything. There was a
sort of a choke in her throat, and something sus-
piciously like a tear in her eye, as she looked at the
bright, happy faces of her children-faces such as
she had never seen since they were babies, before
they were initiated into the regular family grind.
After a moment she recovered herself, went up
to May, and, to her utter amazement, gave her a
warm kiss, and .said:
It's beautiful, dear, and I thank you for it."
And then she looked a few minutes, and said she
must go. But Jeanie sprang up.
Wait, ma; the presents are coming yet."
Presents !" said Mr. Stanley, are these pres-
ents, then ?"
Oh, of course said May, else how could it
be a Christmas-tree ? "
Sure enough said Mr. Stanley.
May now went up to the tree and took down first
a pretty necktie for Will, made out of some of her
bits of silk.
Why, that's just the very thing I want," said
Will, amazed. How did you know that, you
witch ? and who made it ?"
"Jeanie and I," said May.
No, May made it 'most every bit," said Jeanie.
" I don't know how."
Next came a pair of warm red mittens for
Jeanie made these," said May. "I can't knit."
Well, so they went on. Mrs. Stanley had a
pretty pin-cushion for her bureau; Mr. Stanley a
neat bag for his tobacco; Johnny a pair of wristlets
to keep his wrists warm. Each of the children had
a little bag of nicely cracked hickory-nuts, a beauti-
ful red apple and a few sticks of molasses candy.

The girls had nothing; they had been so busy they
never thought of themselves.
When the presents were all distributed, and the
children were busy eating nuts and candy, and
having a merry time naming apple seeds, and doing
other things that May taught them, Mrs. Stanley
stole out, and went back to the kitchen to her dish-
washing. But something was the matter, for she
moved more slowly than ever before; she let the
water run over, put the soap into the milk-cup,
and made various other blunders. She was think-
And when all the family were in bed that night,
and she and Mr. Stanley were sitting alone by the
fire, she spoke her thoughts.
"John, that tree has set me a-thinking. We
aint doing just right by our children. It's all work
and no play, and they 're growing old and sober
before their time. We 're forehanded enough now
to let up on them a little."
"You're right, mother," said Mr. Stanley.
"I've been thinking the same thing myself. That
little gal, with her pretty, lady-like ways, does
make me think so much of her mother, only 't
wa' n't natural to her to be so downhearted as the
little one has been. But see her to-night 1 I de-
clare I 'd do anything a'most to keep that happy
face on her. What shall we do, Sally ?"
"Well," said Mrs. Stanley, her face unwontedly
bright with new thoughts, "it is n't eight o'clock
yet, and I've been thinking if you 'd go to the vil-
lage and buy a few things to put by their beds for
Christmas it would be good. Children think so
much of such things," she added, half apolo-
So it would and I 'll do it, wife," said Mr.
Stanley, taking his boots out of the corner, and
hastening to put them on. Make out your list,
and I 'll go down to Kenedy's. He don't shut up
till nine."
Kenedy's was a country store, where you could
buy everything, from a needle to a thrashing-
machine, and about nine o'clock Mr. Stanley came
home with a market-basket full of things. There
was a gay merino dress for Jeanie, a pair of skates
for May, a new knife for Will, a sled and a picture-
book for each of the boys.
There was, besides these, a package of real store
candy, some raisins, and, down under the whole,
where Mrs. Stanley could not see it, a neat dark
dress for her, which Mr. Stanley had bought to
surprise her.
Well, everybody was surprised the next morn-
ing, you may be sure, and after the breakfast-of
which little was eaten-Will went out and killed a
turkey. Jeanie and May put on big aprons and
helped; Will chopped stuffing and suet; and, for


the first time in their lives, the children had a real
Christmas dinner-plum-pudding and all.
That was the beginning of a new life in the plain
farm-house. Little by little, books found their way
to the table, an easy-chair or two stole into the
rooms, pictures made their appearance on the walls,
and in time a wing was added to the house After
awhile a neat-handed farmer's daughter came to
help Mrs. Stanley. Shrubbery came up in the
yard, vines began to grow over the windows, and

the fence had a new coat of paint. Now that she
was not always tired out, Mrs. Stanley began to
go out among her neighbors; friendly visits suc-
ceeded, then a tea-party. Will joined the book
club in the village, and Mrs. Stanley invited them
to meet at her house in turn, and, in fact, some
innocent pleasures came into these hard-working
lives, and all owing, as Mr. Stanley would say,
holding the bright, happy May on his knee, to
this little girl's Christmas-tree."



HOMAS and Hannah lived quite
alone in a little house in the
middle of a great forest. Their
father was an under-forester,
and all day long, in good
weather and bad, he had to
watch or else shoot birds and
hares for the prince's table.
Their mother was dead, and nobody was at home in
the little house with the children but their old grand-
mother, who was almost blind and could hardly
hear. When she was not asleep, or hobbling around
the kitchen to cook the children's dinner, she sat
by the fire and spun. Weeks sometimes passed
without anybody visiting the forester's hut; but
in summer the children did not care about this,
because they went day after day to the village to
school, and that was a great pleasure. But in win-
ter it was very gloomy and tedious. Then the
snow was deep in the forest, and the children had
to keep in the house, like two little mice in a hole.
The father had to go out often, and always took
Watch, the great spaniel and their only playfellow,
with him. The old grandmother used to tell fairy-
tales, but now she had almost forgotten them all,
and spoke to hardly anybody but herself. Little
Hannah sat at her grandmother's side spinning,
but it was a tiresome work in the silence. Thomas
tried to carve figures of dogs and rabbits out of
wood; but they never turned out well, and he cut
his fingers so often that he became impatient, and
gave up the business as a bad one. He often used
to say:
"Ah, how nice the rich children have it. I 'd
like to be the young lord that I once saw drive in
his carriage through the village, or one of the
steward's children, who -can eat as often as they

want to, or one of the gypsy boys, who can go out
whenever they like."
One evening, not long before Christmas, it was
particularly quiet and gloomy. The lamp oil,
which the grandmother made of beech-nuts, had
come to an end; the way to the village was so full
of snow that Liese had not been able to come to
them. So they were there without any oil, and
could not light the lamp. Fortunately the clear
moon shone into the room; but the children were
half afraid of the deep shadows which lay upon the
bright floor.
Little Hannah nestled closely at her grand-
mother's side, and Thomas stood beside her, and
screamed in her, ear:
Grandmother, now tell us only once more a
little story. Don't you know any more ? "
"Not un, Bubby, not un; forgotten all," mumbled
the old woman.
"But only one, grandmother: only one about
the little dwarf in the quarry."
"In the quarry? Yes; wait, Bubby, let me
think and see if I know it." Then she added very
quickly, and in her old distinct way :
"Where the quarry is, down there in the glen,
long, long ago, the rocks stood fast and just like
a wall. There was n't a single stone broken off,
and before the rocks was a green, fresh place.
Under that the dwarfs used to live. They used
to carry things down there to the dwarf-queen's
palace, and had a merry little town below. There
were not yet any hunters, nor stone-cutters, nor
wood-choppers in the still forest. Ah, no: then
on sunny days all the little dwarfs came out and
sunned themselves on the green moss, and played
and danced and were right merry. At last, people
who lived on the plain outside of the forest be-




gan to build houses, and they came into the forest
and chopped down trees and carried away great
stones. The dwarfs became very much frightened,
and feared that their beautiful rocky wall, their
dancing-green, and their little city would be ruined.
So to stop the people from cutting away the stone
from their rock, they went by night into the forest
and dug up big stones, and rolled them with all
their might to the edge of the forest. But the
people were not satisfied. They found the beauti-
ful rocky wall, and dug stones from it. The great
heavy stones fell upon the dancing-green. Then
the little city was destroyed, and there was loud
wailing among the dwarfs.
"The dwarfs, who were not killed, dug themselves
a way far into the forest. Where they live now, or
whether they have built themselves another little
town, nobody knows. Ever since then they have,
in the night, rolled out many stones, but new ones
always fall in again, and every year, on St. Thomas'
night, they come to see if so many stones still lie
on the ground; and if anybody should roll out
three stones on that night, the dwarfs would grant
him any wish that he might ask."
That is what the grandmother said. She had
not said so much for a long time, and was therefore
quite tired. Little Hannah became afraid even of
herself, and nestled up more closely to her grand-
mother; but Thomas, with glowing cheeks and
sparkling eyes, wondered if the little dwarfs yet
came. Just then they heard Watch barking out-
side, and the father stalked in, cross and chilled.
He sought in the dark for something to eat, for, as
usual, the old grandmother had forgotten to keep
any supper for him. He found nothing, and so
went hungry to bed.
This night Thomas could hardly sleep. He had
heard the story more than once, but what the
grandmother had said about the dwarfs being able
still to come, that he had not known. Now his.
heart beat wildly with pleasure, as he thought how
he could brighten up the melancholy loneliness of
their forest life with the treasures of the dwarf
world, especially now, while there were yet only
two days before St. Thomas' night.
On St. Thomas' night the father came home
early, and before the grandmother had put out the
lamp he was fast asleep. Thomas waited until
Hannah was asleep. He had told her nothing, for
he knew she would not go. As for his grand-
mother, she could not hear him even if she were
awake. Soon everything was quiet. He had not
undressed himself, so that he had only to draw his
fur cap over his ears, and then he slipped out.
The moon shone clearly, and it was so death-
like still in the forest that Thomas shuddered at
first; but he soon grew brave again, and went

softly but quickly over the well-known road to the
quarry. Not even a mouse stirred as he came down
into the glen. Hardly a moonbeam shone on the
broken stone, which looked really very dreadful.
With timid steps, he crept softly to the place where
the dwarfs' dancing-green had been, and where yet
a great number of large and little stones lay. With
trembling hands he grasped the largest ones that
he could handle and dragged them away. Just as
he had rolled away the third, a thin, little voice
called out:
Who 's there ? And on the only spot in the
glen where the moonlight fell, stood a mite of a
man in green clothing. It was he who had asked
the question.
Thomas, the under-forester's son," answered
the boy, very much frightened, and at the same
time respectfully taking off' his cap.
What do you want there ?"
Only to take away stones, so that the little
gentlemen can come back again."
That wont help much," said the dwarf, sadly;
"but it is very good in you, and you shall not do
it for nothing. What do you wish ?"
Thomas could not decide upon anything, and
yet he knew of so many things that he wished.
He thought of a horse, so that he could ride to
school; of a whole cask full of oil, so that the little.
lamp might not go out any more; of'a bag full of
apples and nuts,-but they were all hardly worth
the trouble. At last he stammered out:
"A big purse full of money."
So," said the dwarf, do you know the use of
that already ? What will you do with the money ?"
Oh, lots of things. Instead of our hut, I'll
build a great, great house, larger than the forester's
house in the village," continued Thomas, somewhat
encouraged, and a stable full of beautiful horses,
so that I may ride when it snows, and buy a new
cloak for Hannah, and a whole cask full of oil, that
we may not be in the dark."
Ei, ei; what else ? laughed the dwarf. "The
house, you shall build, but not in the dark forest.
You shall also go out into the world, but you don't
need a horse for that. Hannah can get a new
cloak without you; and you can get oil enough
yourself. If you will come with your little basket
to the quarry, you will always find beech-nuts
enough to fill your little lamp with oil for two years.
So I think that you do not need the purse of money
yet awhile. You are too young for it."
Ah," said Thomas, low-spiritedly, if it were
only not so gloomy and tiresome in the long winter,
-if we had only a pretty picture-book while the
evenings are so long."
Now," said the dwarf, that is better. Only
go home and believe what I say, and after Christ-


mas I will come to you and take care that the time
shall never be so long in winter. Be only content;
the little dwarfs do not forget to reward those who
help them."
The dwarf disappeared. Thomas shivered, and
went home more quickly and with a lighter heart
than he had come. He opened the door, slipped
into the house, into the little chamber, and into his
warm bed without being seen or heard. All night
long he dreamed of the dwarfs. He made up his
mind not to tell little Hannah his secret, but to
wait quietly until Christmas.
Christmas came, and there was joy even in the

little hut. The father brought from the village
as many nuts and apples as he could carry.
The head forester's maid, who was the children's
godmother, brought them two magnificent ginger-
bread hearts, and gave to Hannah a beautiful new
cloak, and to Thomas a good warm jacket. .The
father spent the day at home, and himself dressed'
a hare for supper. They had not eaten anything
so good for a long time. But Thomas could not
enjoy himself so much as he might have done.
He thought all the while of something better that
was yet to come.
It was night again. Everybody but Thomas was
fast asleep. As he sat with his clothes on, wide
awake, wondering what his new friend would bring

him to drive away the tediousness of the gloomy
winter, suddenly he heard a light knock on the
house door. His heart beat quickly, and with
trembling hands he lifted the latch. In stepped
the little man in green clothes. He brought noth-
ing but a small piece of colored glass.
Lead me to your room! said he, and stepped
quickly and yet more softly than Thomas could into
the little bedroom. By the light that came from his
little glass, he looked around the room. There
was not much to see; the old bedstead, a rickety
table with three legs, and a couple of chairs. The
greatest piece of furniture in the room was a large

chest, black with age, which was fastened in the
wall, and which often served the children as a hid-
ing-place when they played hide-and-seek." In
the front of this chest was a large round hole, that
always seemed frightful to Hannah as often as
she saw it, because it looked so black. The
dwarf seemed to have perceived it. He slipped
into the chest, and after a little hammering: So,"
said he, as he came out, now the tediousness is
cared for. Little one, if time becomes long again,
then look at the round hole in your chest. Look
only mornings and evenings when you are alone.
Good night, my boy. God take care of you "
And before Thomas knew what had happened, the
dwarf was gone. The boy hardly understood what



it all meant, and not daring to look into the chest
immediately, he lay down beside his father. While
he wondered whether the dwarf had spoken in jest
or in earnest, he fell fast asleep.
The next morning the father went out early.
Thomas could not keep his secret any longer, so
he whispered the whole story to his sister as she sat
and spun beside her deaf grandmother. She
listened to it half laughing, half afraid, and told
him that he must have dreamt it all. However,
he persuaded her to make the first trial that even-
ing. That day was very long to the children,
who waited impatiently for the evening. The
father was still away in the evening, and the
grandmother nodded in her chair. Then the chil-
dren went timidly but eagerly to the chest, and
lifted the lid. Thomas, the bolder-hearted, was
the first to look at the hole, where now shone
brightly the glass which the dwarf had put in.
What a beautiful sight met his eyes He drew the
trembling Hannah down to his side, for the open-
ing was large enough for both to look through at
the same time. It was splendid The children
could hardly resist screaming with wonder and de-
light. They saw a long, wide parlor that was
magnificently lighted by golden lights, but mostly
by a high, richly decorated Christmas-tree, from
which the light of many hundred colored tapers
streamed. The table before the tree was covered
with beautiful toys-play-soldiers, cavalry and in-
fantry-whole regiments of them, with cannon
and wagons; there was a complete royal stable full
of all sorts of little horses; there were pretty picture-
books, and a multitude of playthings such as the
poor little forest children had never before seen,
among which were a pair of silver spurs and a
horse-whip, a gun and sword, a complete boy-uni-
form trimmed with gold. All these fine things were
neatly arranged on the table, and with them little
baskets and plates of the choicest confectionery.
"Oh, dear, who 'll get all that?" sighed the
Just then the door opened, and a thin, pale boy
of ten years stepped into the parlor. Behind him
came beautifully dressed ladies and gentlemen.
Thomas and Hannah expected that a whole band
of children must come to share these splendid
presents, and looked for the others. But there was
only the one boy. He smiled faintly, and did
not seem surprised as he glanced at the beautiful
things, and hardly noticed them, while Thomas
and Hannah pressed their glowing faces against
the glass and almost devoured the splendor with
their eyes.
Where are you, children?" now called the
voice of the grandmother. Startled, they drew
their heads back, and everything was as dark as

before. The old chest looked as if nothing at all
had happened. They were as if in a dream when
they came back to the light of the little oil-lamp
and sat again in the old sooty room.
Ah, how well off the young lord is," they often
said. Oh, if we only had what he has," they
sighed, even when sleep closed their eyes to show
them the splendor yet once more in their dreams.
Before it was yet quite day, Hannah glided into
the bedroom. This time the father had not come
home, so that they could so much more safely look
into the wonderful chest. They wished very much
to see again the beautiful parlor. Sure enough,
there it was in clear daylight, almost as beautiful as
by the light of the festal candles. There were all
the fine playthings, but better arranged. The boy
who had been there yesterday was lying in a silk
dressing-gown upon the sofa. A number of pretty
books were scattered around him. He seemed tired
and restless. As the children were looking and
wondering how .any one could not be pleased and
happy with such beautiful things, one of the doors.
opened and an old gentleman came in. The chil-
dren could hear him say, as if he were far away,
but yet distinctly :
"What! already wearied, dear prince? And
yet you have so many things that would make
other children happy."
"What other children?" asked, the prince.
" Other children are not alone. I have already seen
all of my things. I wish I could go out like other
children. I 'd like to go out alone, and go where I
choose. I'd rather be a gypsy boy than a prince."
Before the astounded children could hear any
more, the grandmother called them, and they
hastily dropped the lid.
Full of joy and expectation, they chattered all
day long, and could hardly wait until evening before
their little faces were pressed against the glass.
This time they did not see the parlor, but a forest,
quite like that in which they lived. They saw a
large open place in this forest. In the middle was
a cheerful fire, before which some fine game was
roasting. Near by sat a number of browned and
ragged people,, several of whom were playing a
lively tune on instruments of music, to which a
band of joyful children sprang and danced around.
A young gypsy came with a bag full of dried
fruits. The children received him with shouts of
joy. He emptied the bag on the ground. The
children fell greedily upon the fruits, and, scramb-
ling for them like little pigs, feasted to their hearts'
delight, after which they began again all sorts of
merry wild games, so that Thomas wished very
much to spring in among them, and was quite pro-
voked when his father just then came home and
called loudly from the kitchen.


Early the next morning, before his father was
awake, he looked at the glass, without waiting for
Hannah, who came in lightly after awhile.
Yes, there was once more the open place in the
forest, but it did not seem to be so cheerful. It
was morning. The fire was out. There was a
wild, anxious running hither and thither among
the gypsies. Presently the children saw soldiers
coming near, and soon after, in the great tumult
that still continued, the poor gypsies were captured
and led away, because they had been accused of
robbery and theft. The children would see no
more of it, and turned away from the glass.
That evening the children went to the wonderful
chest, and they saw a very handsome room,-not
so elegant as the prince's parlor, but yet much
more beautiful than their godmother's room,-with
brightly colored tapestry and pretty pictures on the
walls. It was full of playthings for boys and girls.
There was a fine baby-house, with little ladies and
gentlemen dressed in handsome clothes and sitting
on little sofas and chairs in the parlor. There was
a little kitchen full of white china tea services, and
more little plates and pitchers than all the crockery
and tinware in the old grandmother's kitchen put
together. There were dolls, big and little,-some
almost as large as Hannah herself,-cradles, little
chairs and carriages. On the other side of the room
stood a fortress with soldiers; a store well provided
with raisins, almonds, sugar and figs; a carrier's
wagon with trunks and valises; a pile of picture-
books,-in short, almost as much as the prince
had. The children were full of admiration and
joy. Suddenly the possessors of all these elegant
things-two girls and a boy-entered. Evidently
they had just returned from a walk. The girls
went immediately to the baby-house, and the boy
to the store. One of the girls went with bright
new pennies to exchange them with her brother
for candies, and the other began to dress her dolls
out of a little chest full of pretty dresses and hats.
Ah, how sorry were Thomas and Hannah as just
then their grandmother called them to supper.
Sleeping and waking, they still dreamed of what
they had seen, and hastened early the next morn-
ing to see the lucky children again.
The room did not look as beautiful as before.
The dolls lay upon the floor, and one of the little
girls stood crying and screaming beside them
The evening before she had left them on the floor
and the room door open. The cat had come in
and had played with the painted dolls, had torn
their silk dresses and scratched their pretty faces.
You're to blame for it," said one of the chil-
dren. "You left them lying here."
No, it was you," cried the other.
Then they began to dispute about a little sugar-

loaf that one of the girls had in her kitchen, and
which the boy claimed as belonging to his store.
In their quarrel the girl pushed against the store,
so that many of the little glasses fell down and
were broken. In anger and spite, the boy jumped
upon the little kitchen and kicked it about, so that
all the crockery and tinware were broken to pieces.
Then followed such screaming and crying and yell-
ing and quarreling, that the forest children ran
gladly away, not wishing to see any more.
Now what do you think, Thomas," asked
Hannah, that all the children in the world are
unhappy ?"
No, indeed," replied he eagerly, that cannot
be; for if the little prince had not been quite
alone -- "
"And," interrupted Hannah, the gypsy chil-
dren had only had good fathers and mothers, and
the three children had not been so quarrelsome.
Yes, see, when people are good and contented and
happy and well and love one another, then they
can be happy."
Even if they are so poor and lonely as we are ?"
asked Thomas.
Hannah could not really say yes.
That evening the grandmother fell asleep very
early. They almost feared to look at the glass
again, for everything came to such a sorry ending.
However, they made up their minds to try it once
more. As they put their faces to the glass they
almost screamed out aloud:
There is our kitchen and our own selves "
So, in truth, it was-only the room looked lighter
and pleasanter than usual. It was much cleaner
and in good order. The window-panes were so
clean and clear that they shone. On the window-
seat stood some forest flowers that looked beauti-
fully green against the snow outside. In a willow
cage, such as Thomas had often seen the farmer-
boys make, hopped a little bird, that seemed to be
better in the warm kitchen than in the snow, for it
sang and whistled so sweetly that it was a pleasure
to hear it. And there, at her little spinning-wheel,
sat the old grandmother, and by her side was
Hannah, and Thomas was not far away, but neither
was so tired and sorrowful as before. They heard
themselves singing a pretty little song which they
had already learned at school, but which it had
never before occurred to them to sing at home.
It sounded lovely, and the old grandmother seemed
very much pleased with it, for she kept time by
nodding her head in a friendly manner. After
they had finished the song, then the Thomas that
they saw through the glass reached up to the shelf
over grandmother's bed and took down a large old
book that had long lain there, covered with dust,
ever since she had been unable to read even with



spectacles. The children were astonished. They
had learned to read well, but had never thought of
such a thing as reading at home. The Thomas in
the glass began to read aloud, so loudly that the
grandmother could hear. At first he did not read
any more distinctly than the real Thomas could
have done, but the reading soon became better.
He read the story of Joseph, which the children
had already heard, but so long ago that it sounded
so new and beautiful that they listened eagerly to
the Thomas in the glass until they heard a dog
bark. That was also just like Watch's bark. Then
the Hannah in the glass rose quickly, placed a pair
of old shoes near the fire and hung her father's
house-coat before it. Soon the father entered with
Watch. Thomas drew off his wet coat and carried
away his gun, and Hannah brought the warm shoes
and dry coat.
The children gazed with surprise at their busy
images. Hitherto they had always let their father
come and go, and had never even thought that one
could care for him also. The father in the picture
looked surprised at the little services of his children,
and was much more friendly than the real father
generally was. He seated himself at the table, and
Hannah had a good, warm supper for him, which
formerly had generally been forgotten, because the
grandmother could never remember to save it.
The father patted Hannah on the shoulders, which
he had never done before, and began to talk about
their saintly mother, who had also cared so kindly
for him; and that was so remarkable to the chil-
dren that they would not have come away from the
glass if the grandmother had not called them to
go to bed.
The next morning a new life entered into the
children. Hannah turned and cleaned the furni-
ture, washed the windows and cleared up the room
so thoroughly that the grandmother, as in a dream,
asked, Is it a feast-day ? "
There was not time to plant flowers, but Thomas
brought a couple of pine branches from the forest,
with which they neatly dressed the room. Then
they helped the grandmother to prepare the break-
fast. Formerly she had always had that trouble
alone. It was quite good, and tasted much better
to them than ever before. Then Hannah sat down
with her grandmother to spin, and Thomas climbed
up on a chair and brought the Bible, which was
just as dusty as in the picture, and began to spell
out the words. The grandmother listened very at-

tentively. As the reading became more and more
distinct, and as, for the first time in many years
that she had not been able to go to church or even
to read at home, she heard from her little grand-
son's lips the beloved word of God, her old heart
became full of joy, she folded her hands on her lap
and nodded approvingly, while bright tears gathered
in her eyes. He was quite pleased to see what
effect his reading had, and read on more earnestly.
Hannah listened and spun, not noticing how
the morning passed, until the grandmother arose
to cook the potatoes. Thomas immediately sprang
up and said, "Wait, Granny; I'll help you."
They fetched water from the little well in the yard,
washed the potatoes and stirred up the fire. It was
a perfect pleasure. The grandmother clasped her
hands in wonder. Such potatoes they had never
before eaten. In the afternoon, it occurred to
them to sing. They tried it at first in a low voice,
but soon they sang more heartily and clearly, and
the grandmother listened as if dreaming, and
smiled more than she had for years. How they
enjoyed themselves when the father came home !
How astonished he was at the loving attentions of
his children, which no one had shown him since
his good wife had been carried to her grave.
Everything came to pass as in the mirror. His
heart warmed under the warm house-coat and from
the kindness of his children.
You must see how beautifully Thomas reads,"
the grandmother said, and brought her old prayer-
book. The father, who for so many years had for-
gotten the prayers, heard with pride and joy how
well his boy read. As the holy words fell from his
child's lips they sank deep into his heart.
The children had never before gone to bed feel-
ing so happy as on this evening.
Now -every day did not continue so new and fresh
as this, but the children continued to work with
heartfelt joy. The angel of prayer was drawn in
and made this quiet forest-hut a little church full
of peace and love. The children took less pleasure
now in the wonderful mirror. They felt that it
could not show them anything better than their
own dear home, especially when the joyful spring
came; and they already thought of how they could
make their little house pleasant and cheerful for the
next winter.
All of us have our house, or cottage, or little
room. Shall we not seek to make it as bright and
happy as did the forest children their lonely hut ?

-- ---4 .0




WELL, boys, what are you looking at so eagerly ?
Only a piece of coal, do you say, Charlie? I
should n't suppose you could find anything worth
looking at in a smutty piece of coal. Ah, well! I
am glad my boys have found that only a piece of
coal, as Charlie calls it, is worth looking at.
I think I can tell you something about it that
will make you open your eyes wider still. You
know how astonished and puzzled you were the
other night at the tricks of the magic-man," who
turned beans into sugar-plums, and did all sorts of
wonderful things before your very eyes. Now this
piece of coal is the most wonderful piece of magic
in the world. Suppose I tell you that this hard
black lump once had life. Yes, it did, Ned, though
you need n't look as if you expected it to walk
off now. It would n't have done that when it
was alive. It grew and moved, yet was not an
Can you guess what it was? That's right; it
was a plant-a beautiful green plant. Yes, I'm in
earnest. That black lump is really one of the most
wonderful things in the world. It was once a deli-
cate little plant, turning ever to the sun, and bend-
ing and nodding with every breeze. It is almost
beyond belief, and I don't wonder that you shake
your heads. Many people older than you would
do the same if told that the coal, to which they
owe so much, and which they use quite as a matter
of course, once made up great forests which covered
vast areas. They know it comes somehow out of
the earth, and as long as it continues to come, and
does n't cost more than so much a ton, they don't
bother themselves with questions as to what it
is. I have no doubt many regard it as a peculiar
kind of rock. I want my boys to know better,
and so let us see if we can't explain the mystery
about it.
Well, then, in the first place, plants are com-
posed principally of two gases and a substance
called carbon. The gases are oxygen and hydro-
gen. You can easily remember the word car-
bon. Now when a plant begins to decay, these
two gases escape into the air, while the carbon
stays and forms coal. So remember that coal is
chiefly carbon, and it gets the carbon from plants.
You think, Charlie, that if plants make coal
there must be a good lot of it in our big forests?
Well, here is another strange thing. You see how
one wonderful thing leads to another. You would

find scarcely any coal in those big forests; yet
there are tons upon tons of leaves that fall to the
ground every year, and I have just said they were
precisely what coal comes from. How am I going
to explain that ? Listen.
I said that coal was formed from vegetable
matter. I did n't say that all vegetable matter
formed coal. It does so only under certain condi-
tions. As the leaves and plants fall to the ground,
they lie exposed to the air, and decay, when the
two gases-oxygen and hydrogen-escape. The
carbon goes too, so that nothing is left for coal.
You don't see, then, how coal ever was made ? I
am going to tell you.
Since it has been proved that coal does come
from plants, and that our vegetation nowadays
makes little or no coal, we know that when the
great beds of coal were formed everything must
have been specially arranged for it. The world
was n't then as it is now. It was just sky and water,
with here and there patches of land. There were
great marshes everywhere. Sometimes these would
dry up and become dry land. Then again the sea
would come rushing in over the land, and form
new marshes. There were no birds in the air; no
people upon the land. Only reptiles and marsh-
loving beasts roamed around in the soft clay. All
was quiet and desolate, yet it was not a dreary time.
In the marshes and on the land grew beautiful
trees. Plants ran wild everywhere. It was a world
of living green. Now, it was simply on account of
the marshy land that this vegetation made coal,
while our own does not.
I told you that a time was specially planned for
coal-making. As the plants and leaves decayed,
they fell into the water. The gases could still
escape, but the carbon, being covered from the
action of the air, was left. This is the simple ex-
planation. Silently, and with no human eye to
see, the work went on year after year, century after
A few of the plants in those days of gigantic
forests were like what we have-beautiful ferns as
large as many trees. Such now grow only in the
tropics. "Horse-tails," as you call them, which
are now seldom over two feet high, grew then
as high as twenty feet. Conifers, like our firs and
pines and cedars, were very abundant. But the
two most important trees in coal-making have en-
tirely disappeared from our forests. One of these




had no branches, but was covered with leaves and
crowned with a cluster at the top. Sometimes they
were sixty feet high.
But you don't see how we know that trees did
make coal ? There are several reasons. If you
should put a piece of coal under a microscope, and
examine it carefully, you would see the vegetable
fibers in it. It is the best proof we could have.
Then, besides, in many places stems and leaves are
found in the coal, and sometimes trunks of trees
are standing in the beds. Again, wood contains
silica or sand, and this is found also in coal. You


IN the multitude of books for young folks, nowadays,
there are so many that are foolish or harmful, it is pleas-
ant to find a really capital and healthy story. Such a
story is Antony Brade, by Robert Lowell; published by
Roberts Brothers, Boston.
Mr. Lowell, as some of our young readers may know,
wrote a book for grown-up folks some time ago, with
the title of The New Priest in Conception Bay. That
book was very much liked; but Antony Brade, we
should say, has more heart in it, and it must be a great
favorite with the boys. Indeed, Mr. Lowell must have
thought so, or he would not have said, as he does at the
beginning of his book, that it was written lovingly for
those who have been boys, or are boys, or like boys.
The story is one of school-days; and the hearty out-door
life, the hockey-playing, the trapping and the school-
boy quarrels, are just enough seasoned with study and
book-learningto make the picture of young life all the
more real. There is a harmless little mystery in the
story, and a good deal of fun; and if anybody, man or
boy, can read the account of the disaster on the ice-pond
without some springing of moisture in the eyes, we
should not like to make his acquaintance. There ought
to be more such bright, fascinating and wholesome books
as Antony Brade.
The multitude of ST. NICHOLAs readers will be glad
to hear that Mr. Trowbridge's story of Fast Friends

don't understand it as well as I hope you will when
you are older; but you can believe it now, and
some day prove it for yourselves.
I want you to look at this bright, beautiful dia-
mond. Put that black, smutty piece of coal by the
side of it. Would n't you think they had about as
little in common as any two things in the world ?
Yet they are made of the same substance-carbon.
And although diamonds are the most valuable of
gems, and eagerly sought after, the world could get
along without them much better than without their
black and often despised relation.


has been issued in book form by J. R Osgood & Co. of
Boston. It makes a very enticing volume of 282 pages,
with many illustrations. This story, as most of our
young friends will agree, is one of the very best Mr.
Trowbridge ever wrote. It reads like a chapter out of
real life; and the reader is led on from page to page,
with an affectionate interest in the fortunes of the two
lads who were trying their desperate fortunes in a great
city. There are a great many young chaps like Jack
and George making their way in New York; and it
really seems a pity that the tale of their trials and tri-
umphs, sorrows and fun, could not have so delightful a
historian as the author of Fast Friends.

Hazel Blossoms, by John Greenleaf Whittier. Boston:
James R. Osgood & Co.-The true poet is always
young at heart, and so this book, though written for
grown men and women, will have a charm for you all.
Such poems as "Conductor Bradley," "Sumner," and
"The Prayer of Agassiz hardly can fail to stir young
souls and bring out the best bravery of boyhood and
girlhood. Three-fourths of this volume are filled with
Mr. Whittier's recent productions, and the remainder
with the poems of his sister, Elizabeth H. Whittier. Of
these last, you will be interested, we think, in the lines
entitled, Dr. Kane in Cuba," especially after reading
Mr. Whittier's preface.


.1.' 's Thanksgiving, and other Stories. By
Susan Coolidge. Illustrated by Addie Ledyard. Bos-
ton: Roberts Bros.-Now and then, girls, comes a
story-book that once read becomes a part of our lives.
Such an one is this by Susan Coolidge. When we have
said that it is fresh, cheery, bracing, fragrant and clear, we
have only told you of the atmosphere that hangs about
its living scenes and events. Mischief, Little Roger,
Ellie, and Ricket, in these stories are real children,
almost as real as little Fredrika Bremer, Jeanette Berg-
lind, and other Girls of the Far North," of whom our
author gives you delightful sketches in this same volume.

The Hanging of the Crane. By Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow. With illustrations. Boston: James R.
Osgood & Co.-This is not the pathetic story of a poor
crane that came to his death by hanging. Not at all.
In the days when great chimney-places and open wood
fires were in fashion, a swinging iron crane stretched
forth from the inner side of the fire-place, like an arm,
ready to hold pot or tea-kettle over the blaze. So it
came to be understood that to hang the crane in a new
house was really to turn the house into a home, and to
offer a fit occasion for merry-making and congratula-
tions. Therefore is "The Hanging of the Crane" sung
by our great poet Longfellow; and that his verse may
have a worthy setting, the publishers have made a
superb book filled with such pictures as America has
hardly produced before-exquisite in art and beautiful as
can be conceived. The artists, Thomas Moran and
Mary A. Hallock, are well known to you by their work
in ST. NICHOLAs, and we heartily congratulate them
upon their great success in illustrating Mr. Longfellow's
latest poem.

More Bed-time Stories. By Louise Chandler Moulton.
Illustrated by Addie Ledyard. Boston : Roberts Bros.
-We can speak as heartily of this volume as we did of
the first Bed-time Stories," which is saying a good
deal. Against Wind and Tide and Blue Sky and
White Clouds" are good stories charmingly told, but,
like the others in this volume, they end too soon. Mrs.
Moulton could have made two books out of her material.

Lolly Dinks's Doings. By his mother, old Mrs. Dinks
(alias Elizabeth Stoddard). Boston: William F. Gill &
Co.-Mrs. Stoddard is one of the strongest and best of
American novelists, although she does not by any means
confine herself to pleasant, heartsome incidents, and
model men and women. Therefore, when the same lady
writes a book about Lolly Dinks, we do not expect to
find a model little boy; and a model boy Lolly Dinks
certainly is not. He is simply his own startling little
self, bewitching sometimes in his baby way, but not to
be imitated on any account. In short, if ever a naughty
darling stood glorified in the light of mother-love-if
ever a sweet little ruffian wore bright fancies and tender
thoughts as naturally as other babies wear pinafores, that
naughty darling and sweet little ruffian is Lolly Dinks.

Another new book which boys and girls will welcome
is one by our beloved contributor, Olive Thorne, entitled
Little Folks in Feathers and Fur, and Others in Neither,
and published by Dustin, Gilman & Co., of Hartford,
Conn. It tells all about a great many of the wonderful
little creatures in the world, and in the fresh, clear, sim-
ple way that has made its author a favorite among young
readers. It has also a large number of interesting illus-
trations that will help you to remember what you read.
We recommend this handsome book, and advise all the
boys and girls who want to become acquainted with its
"little folks "-and what boy or girl does not ?-to read
and study it.

Moonfolk, by Jane G. Austin (G. P. Putnam's Sons),
is one of those stories of the curious adventures of a
little girl in Fairy-land, which would be very interesting
and original if Alice in Wonderland had never been
written. Little Rhoda meets with "The Old Woman
who Lived in a Shoe," with "Sinbad the Sailor," with
"Margery Daw," and a great many other good folks
from Mother Goose, and she has pretty much the same
sort of a time with them that Alice had with her friends
in "Wonderland." The illustrations to this book are
by Mr. Linton, the famous engraver, and they are most
excellent; just as quaint and delicate in the drawing
and exquisite in the engraving as they can be.

Risen from the Ranks is the seventh of the Luck and
Pluck Series," written by Mr. Horatio Alger, and pub-
lished by Mr. Loring of Boston. Like the other books
of the series, this is a story of an ambitious and straight-
forward boy, who, after some hard struggles, became a
man of influence and importance. Harry Walton's
example will fire the heart of many a young reader,
who will see how it is possible to achieve a great success
in life after a very small beginning. The book is one
that can be honestly commended to young folks, though
we do really think that Mr. Alger ought to explain to us
how Oscar's father, who begins the story as an India
merchant, ends it as a Boston editor.

To Brave and Bold, another of Mr. Alger's stories,
we cannot award like praise. The story is of the
" sensational" order, while the characters are such as
we do not meet in real life-and we are very glad that
we don't meet them. The book appears more hurriedly
composed than some of the author's other works, and
this may account for its deficiencies

All children, who are good children, love Hans Chris-
tian Andersen, and they will therefore be glad to hear
that Messrs. Scribner, Armstrong & Co. have recently
issued an excellent edition of Andersen's Fairy Tales.
The fairy tales written by the German brothers Grimm
have also been issued by the same house. These tales
have long been deservedly popular, and this collection,
as well as that of the Andersen stories, has been edited
and arranged for children by Mrs. Paull.

Childhood Songs. By Lucy Larcom. (Illustrated.)
Boston: James R. Osgood & Co.-Our ST. NICHOLAS
readers need only.to be told of a book, written from be-
ginning to end by Lucy Larcom, to be anxious to see it
-and a lovely book this is. "Prince Hal and little
Queen Maude," to whom it is dedicated, must be very
happy little ones with these delightful poems and bright
pictures before them. And how fine it is that other wee
princes and queens, and all who love little children, may
share their enjoyment Well may their poet say:
"And I, for one, would much rather,
Could I merit so sweet a thing,
Be the poet of little children
Than the laureate of a king.

G. P. Putnam's Sons have issued the first series
of The Girlhood of Shakespeare's Heroines, by Mary
Cowden Clarke-a book which ought to be welcome
wherever it goes. The young can gain from it a true
appreciation of the great master's works; and older
people who have read the plays hardly can find a
safer guide than this noted student of Shakespeare in
the delightful study of tracing the characters, whose
after-life he describes, back to their early beginnings in
childhood. The book affords many instructive glimpses
into the life and customs of the times, and the stories
will interest everybody.




(Arranged for Parlor Refresentation as a Ballad with Living Pictures.)

THE well-known story of Ginevra," as told in Rogers' poem of
" Italy," and in the ballad of "The Mistletoe Bough," is very suit-
able or parlor representation, especially during the Christmas holi-
days. To give it with the best effect, a temporary stage and drop-
curtain are needed; better still if the curtain be hung at the wide
opening between two rooms. As an expedient, two large clothes-
horses, draped and stood so as to form the back and sides of the stage
-thus, /. answer the purpose admirably. The flooring of
the stage should, if practicable, be raised about fourteen inches. A
large pine frame covered with gilt or "black walnut" paper, if placed
close to the stage so as to form a picture-frame to each scene, will add
very much to the illusion; and the effect will be still finer if a very
thin black gauze or tarletan be stretched across the back of the frame
over the entire opening. But both the frame and gauze may be dis-
pensed with if they involve too much painstaking. In any case, a
sliding curtain can be hung on a wire stretched across the fronfit, and so
arranged as to be drawn back, when necessary, by persons concealed at
each side of the screen. A space can be left in the rear, between the
two clothes-horses, where the actors, by parting the draperies, may go
in and out. Somebody behind the screen recites or sings the ballad,
which at proper intervals is illustrated by tableaux vivants. Every-
thing must be arranged in advance, and the actors dressed ready to
appear. A large wooden chest should be at hand. It may stand in
the rear of the stage in the first scene, concealed by gay draperies or
the wedding guests. A capital chest may be made of large sheets of
pasteboard sewed together and covered with oak wall-paper. Great
iron hinges and locks should be painted upon it The lid, bent down
around the edge, can be tied on at the back, so as to open and shut.
The mistletoe bough and holly, if necessary, can be made of green
paper; or almost any green boughs with small leaves will answer the
purpose. The costumes, which in detail may hbe left to the taste of the
performers, should have an old-time effect and be in harmony with each
other. The chief requirements are powdered heads, knee-breeches,
and great shoe-buckles for the gentlemen; high-heeled and rosetted
slippers, farthingales, trains, puffed, curled and powdered heads, with
flowers, wreaths and showy jewelry for the ladies. Twenty-five cents'
worth of tinsel paper, crinkled and creased, will greatly assist in the
jewelry and shoe-buckle effects, when better things are not at hand.
Old chintz curtains for the guests, and muslin or lace curtains for the
bride, will make capital trains and mantles; white wool-wadding and
horse-hair will-serve for the ladies' and gentlemen's wigs, when pow-
der is not used, and knee-breeches may be easily produced by cutting
the bottoms off of old trousers, lapping them tightly at the knee, and
concealing the lap by a rosette. Two persons may be required to repre-
sent Lovel-one as a young, the other as an old man. For the latter
part, a long white beard may be made of goats-hair fringe or white
wool-wadding. A few charcoal shadows about the face (studied from
nature) will produce the look of old age. In the last scene, the wed-
ding guests, with a few slight changes of costume, and with charcoal
shadows on some of the faces, will serve as the old man's friends.
Children can personate all the characters as easily as grown persons.
A spinning-wheel and a few old-style pieces of furniture will be
found useful.
Very pleasing results, however, can be secured with far less prep-
aration than we have suggested. The main thing is to try for har-
monious effects of color and grouping, and the proper lighting up of
the tableaux. All the lights should be in front of the performers, and
hidden from the spectators. If the scenes are carefully rehearsed,
there will be no difficulty in arranging each tableau silently and
swiftly in in its proper succession. Actual experiment will be the best
guide in deciding at which points the curtain is to be raised and
lowered. When practicable, the singing or reciting of each stanza
should accompany its tableau to the fall of the curtain, and the
musical accompaniment can run on between the stanzas during the
brief time allowed for arranging each scene.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall;
And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
And keeping their Christmas holiday.
The baron beheld with a father's pride
His beautiful daughter, young Lovel's bride,
While she with her bright eyes seemed to be
The star of that goodly company.
Oh! the mistletoe bough!
Oh! the mistletoe bough!

Tableau. Scene.-The castle hall. The happy old
baron and baroness are seated in state; the bride and

groom, with the wedding guests, may be represented as
dancing, or in the act of playing some merry game.

I 'm weary of dancing now," she cried;
Here tarry a moment-I '11 hide, I 'll hide !
And Lovel be sure thou 'rt the first to trace
The clue to my secret lurking-place."
Away she ran, and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;
And young Lovel cried, "Oh, where dost thou hide?
I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride."
Oh! the mistletoe, &c., &c.

Tableau. Curtain rises at "Away she ran." Scene.
-A dim old garret. When there are no painted scenes,
this effect is produced by lowering the lights and display-
ing dimly a few old chairs, garments, and stray articles,
crowded together at one side ; while at the other, nearer
to the center, stands the large open chest. The floor
should be of dark boards or covered with some dull
material. Ginevra, drawing her wedding drapery
around her, and looking merrily back, is about step-
ping into the chest. The light should be arranged so
as to fall only upon the form of Ginevra.

They sought her that night, and they sought her next day,
And they sought her in vain when a week pass'd away;
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,
Young Lovel sought wildly, but found her not.
And years flew by, and their grief at last
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past;
And when Lovel appeared, the children cried:
" See the old man weeps for his fairy bride! "
Oh! the mistletoe, &c., &c.

Pantomime. Curtain rises at "And years flew by."
An out-of-door scene. (If the trunk and various articles
are pushed back and covered with green baize, and
groups of children, with hats on, are arranged to partially
conceal the background, a painted scene can be dis-
pensed with.) Lovel, now an old man with long white
beard, with cocked hat, and big cane, is seen walking
slowly across the stage from L. His head is bowed and
his manner very sad. The children, looking pityingly at
him, whisper together, and, finally, two or three steal up
to him, as if to attract his attention, as the curtain falls.
At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid,
Was found in the castle-they raised the lid,
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there,
In the bridal wreath of the lady fair !
Oh! sad was her fate! in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring, and her bridal bloom
Lay withering there in a living tomb !
Oh the mistletoe, &c., &c.

Tableau. Curtain rises at "Sad washer fate." Scene.
-The garret as before. Lovel, the old man, stands near
the open chest, grief-stricken, with a necklace in his
hand. A group of friends stand by in amazement and
pity. One young girl has her arm on Lovel's shoulder,
as if to gently draw him away. (Curtain falls while
the music is playing.)




DING-DONGo ding-dong! ding!
The bell-ring-ers in the pict-ure are re-al cats. Their names are Jet,
Blanche, Tom, Mop and Tib. Jet is all black; Blanche is white as snow;
Tom stands in the mid-dle; Mop is next; and Tib, who has the small-est
bell, has to reach high-est to ring it.
Like the Bright-on cats of which we once told you, these pus-sies have




been trained to do won-der-ful tricks. They can stand up and beg like
dogs; they can lie down and play that they are fast a-sleep; they can
march in a row like sol-diers; more than all, they can ring the bells in
good time, so soft-ly and sweet-ly that the music is pret-ty e-nough for
Christ-mas chimes.
Mr. Bow-en tells a-bout them in a Lon-don book called "The Chil-
dren's Friend." He says the mas-ter who taught them to ring the bells
was al-ways ver-y kind and gen-tle. They knew that he loved them, and
that when-ev-er they tried to learn their les-son well, he would give them
a nice meal of fish.
Cats like fish as well as you like can-dy,-bet-ter than you like a can-dy
fish; so you see they must have felt, when they gave the ropes a good
pull, that, some-how, they were ring-ing their own din-ner-bell. At first
the pus-sies found it ver-y hard to catch hold of the bell-rope; but when
their mas-ter put soft bunch-es of wool up-on the cord, so that the pus-sies.
could fast-en their sharp lit-tle claws in-to it, they took hold with a good
"Ding-dong! Thank you, Mas-ter," they seemed to say. "This is
some-thing like !".
Some-times the pus-sies would not a-gree ver-y well. Tib would get
tired of her short rope, and try to get hold of Jet's. Then Blanche and
Tom would join in the fight; the ropes would get twisted; all the bells
would ring out of tune, and Mop would "me-ouw" with all her might.
But the dread-ful noise would soon bring them to their senses; and the
mo-ment they were good, the sweet mu-sic would come a-gain and make
them hap-py.
When the pus-sies were not do-ing their fun-ny tricks, they would walk
a-bout just like any oth-er cats, or lie down on the rug and doze. Some-
times, in their sleep, they would wave their tails slow-ly, and then their
mas-ter would say:
"Bless 'em! They are dream-ing of the. bells."
If he called to them, they would spring to his side and rub their cool
noses a-gainst his hand, or, jump-ing up-on his knee, they would look
up in-to his face, as if to say:
Good mas-ter! you look tired. Poor dear! you are on-ly a man.
But you may de-pend up-on our help. We know ver-y well that if it
were not for us cats there would be no bells rung in the world."
The mas-ter would smile at this, and stroke them fond-ly; then the
fire-light would play a-bout their forms as, one by one, they would set-tle
soft-ly up-on the rug for an-oth-er nap.
VOL. II.-13.


I -- -* H
W 'p -'%'

S A CK- IN'-'- T ,E P,.. T

,. I


A MERRY Christmas and a glad New Year to
you, my darlings And may nothing check your
daily growth in kindness, strength and love, in all
sweet and holy ways throughout this new year 1875 !
Now to business. Here, to begin with, is

North Pole, December 2oth, 1874.
To JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Expect me very soon. Important bisi-
mess. If any of your young breezes wish to have their own way,
send them here; no rival societies. Have only one opposition firm.
A. Borealis & Co. Will outdo them yet. They only care for brilliant
display, while I believe in trumpeting. They are as silent as the ice
Any foolish young greens trying to grow in your vicinity? I'll
soon stop that. Business is not at all dull. There is much work to
be done, and sending out of iceberg agents. Magnificent display of
ice in our warerooms. Unequaled this side the equator.
I must get away for a tour among your pines; their backs need
'bending a trifle. Will give you a call if you are "at home."-Yours,
THEY have sweet Christmas music in Norway-
Norway, that far-off country, with the steel-blue
sky and frozen sea. It is a song in the air. The
simple peasants make the birds that inhabit those
rude coasts and icy valleys so very happy on this
one day of the year that they sing of their own ac-
cord a glad carol on Christmas morning, and all
the people come out of their houses and rejoice to
hear it.
On Christmas Eve, after the birds have sought
shelter from the north wind, and the still night is
bright with stars, the good people bring from their
store-houses sheaves of corn and wheat, and, tying
them to slender poles, raise them from every spire,
barn, gate-post and gable. Then when, after the
long night, the Christmas sun arises, crowning the
mountains with splendor, every spire and gable
bursts into sudden song.
The children run out to near the old church-
spire singing; the older people follow; the air is

filled with the flutter of wings and alive with carols
of gladness. The song of the birds fills every vil-
lage with happiness, and to this. living, grateful
anthem the people respond in their hearts, Glory
to God in the highest; on earth peace; good-will
to men."
A LADY and gentleman were crossing our meadow
one cloudy day, when suddenly it began to rain.
Wont you be kind enough to hoist my um-
brella ?" said the lady.
Certainly," said the gentleman.
I was astonished at this, for if "wont" means
anything at all it means will not; and therefore,
according to my translation, the gentleman really
had told the lady that certainly he would not be
kind enough to hoist her umbrella !
But no. Even while he spoke he opened that use-
ful article and held it gracefully over his companion.
Thank you said she earnestly.
"Not at all," said he still more earnestly. And
on they went.
"Why, the fellow flatly contradicted the lady,"
said I to myself.- "How outrageous !"
But no, again, for they were on the best of terms,
and the lady smiled sweetly at his words.
Yet the birds tell me that this sort of talk is quite
usual among genteel human beings.

You remember, my dears, how, last spring, the
bonny blue Scotch Heather sent a letter through
your Jack to our own Trailing Arbutus. Well,
Arbutus has sent an answer to that letter, and I
take this way of forwarding it to Scotland. ST.
NICHOLAS goes there regularly every month, I 'm
happy to say. It's a pretty compliment to the
Heather for the answer to be in Scotch, is n't it ?
By the way, I 'm quite sure, from what T. A. says
in a message to me, that you need n't mind reading
the letter, though it's not worth while to mention
its contents out of the family.
New England, Autumn of 1874.
DEAR CAPE HEATH: Ye bonny purple blooms, a' oor hearts gae
out in answer to yer frien'ly letter, an' since a' oor simmer wark is
done-ilka wee bud tucked tenderly awa', an' a' oor roots taught how
to tak' firm hold o' Mither Earth's warm han's-we ha'e the time to
sen' ye greetin' before the winter snaws mak' oor beds.
Oor winsome wee daughters will na open their een afore May,
an' lest ye should grow tired waiting we, their careful' mithers, sena'
ye a letter. We learned yer sin sweet mither-tongue lang years ago,
frae Highland lads an' lassies wha come here to live. Indeed we
think a' flowers maun use the sweet soundin' words, for they are
purer and easier-like for flower-lips to utter than ony either.
Of course, Sir Heather, ye never meant yer letter to be a luve-letter,
sac ye will be as glad to hae it answered by Mistress Arbutus as by
her lassies; besides, ye will ken yersel that nae discreet lass wad be
writin' to lads far ower the sea.
An' noo we maun tell ye a' about oor life an' wark in this country.
A' simmer we are busy, as we told ye, wi' oor balmrnies, an' ilka fall
the trees aboon us--wha seem to ha'e kind herts-throw down their
wee bit plaids o' green an' gold an' scarlet to cover us warmly frae
auld Winter's cruel winds. Ye may be sure we gi'e them kin'ly wel-
It is wonnerfu'--the great heart o' kin'ness which lies under a'
things, like a wheel aye turning' an' turning an' at ilka turn throwing'
up glimmerin' bits o' spray, white an pure, an' destined to water
some droopin' thing. Sae it seems oor seasons are turning' round for
aye, and forever tossin' some treasure to ilka created thing. Ye can
a'maist see the hert-beats in streams wha run down the burnies, and
in the gentle clouds wha wander owerhead.



Sometimes the braw auld Sun himself' seems but a smile o' kin'ness,
an' aft at evening' time the moon an' stars are smilin' too. We can
only offer sma' payment by pourin' out oor sweetness an' showing' oor
color, which we maun mak' as rich an' delicate as possible, an' sae
we are busy frae year's end to year's end weavin' brightness an' dis-
tillin' sweet incense. We a'maist envy the birdies their thankful'
voices. The marvel o' the warld, as made known to flower-herts, is
the deep, aye lastin' luve which has provided a' things needfu' for
ilka livin' creature.
We shake yer han's, dear Heather, an' we wish for ye a' noble things
o' which yer life is capable. May a' yer bloomings content ye!
If ye will convey oor warmest luve to ilka spray o' heather in auld
Scotland, an' to a' growing' in Ireland an' on rugged German mount-
ains as weel, ye will confer a favor upon-Your lovin' frien's,

I SAW an oyster once-about as flabby and limp
a fellow as one could wish to meet. To be sure he
had just been turned out of house and home, poor
thing, and the spirit was pretty well out of him!
But that's nothing here nor there. I'm told.that
oysters often are found with tiny crabs in their
houses. How can this be ? and how does the case
stand ? Does the crab go in to catch the oyster,
or does the oyster catch the crab ? Is it a peculiar
kind of crab warranted never to grow big, or, if
not, what happens? That is to say, if it's only a
baby crab of the ordinary sort, what becomes of
that oyster when the crab grows up? Which en-
compasses the other ?
I 'm a stay-at-home body, so I hope you children
will please find out all you can on this crab-and-
oyster business, and let your Jack know the facts
of the case.
You 'VE all read Grimm's Fairy Tales," or, if
not, you '11 be pretty sure to read them before you
are much older. They are very apt to be found
in Christmas stockings, and being the production
of two German brothers, who know well how to de-
light young folk, they are always very welcome.
Jack heard the pretty schoolma'am one day repeat
to her out-door class a pretty story that old Jacob
Grimm, the brother who put these stories in a
book, tells about one of his little readers.
He was told one fine morning that a little girl
wished to see him in his reception-room, as she had
something to say to "Herr Professor."
Stepping down to the room, he found a little
miss, looking very grave and very wise.
Is it thou," she said, who hast written these
fine fairy tales ? "
Yes, my dear; my brother and I have written
Then the tale of the clever little tailor is thine;
and it says at the end that he who will not believe
it must pay a thaler (a German dollar)."
Yes, I have written that too."
Well, sir, I do not believe it."
"Ah ) "
Here, sir, is a quarter of a thaler. It is all I
have now, but I will call and leave the rest at some
other time."
The kind old man laughed, and declined the
quarter-thaler. He offered, however, to see the
honest little one home, and I have no doubt that
the two became in time the best of friends.

AND now since it's holiday times, and we are
speaking of the great tellers of fairy tales, you shall
hear about

YOU have read about it, perhaps ? But did you
ever know that that ugly little duck" was dear
old Hans Andersen himself?
Well, it was. I have just heard all about it.
He was born in a poor little hut, on the wind-
swept Island of Odense, one of the possessions of
Denmark. He was a neglected child; his father
made shoes, and could not attend to him; his
mother left him to follow his own will, and the
little children laughed at him, and said that he was
a fool, "just like his grandfather."
Hans' only comfort was to build castles in the
air. He fancied he was a prince, who had been
changed at his birth, and that the angels came and
talked'with him in the garden. He was almost,
but not quite, right, and yet most people in his
neighborhood agreed with the children that he was
a fool, just like his grandfather."
One day he said:
"Mother, I am going to Copenhagen, and shall
become famous."
"But, Hans, what will you do ?"
Suffer adversity till I become famous." And
the ugly little duck waddled away to the bleak
open sea, and when he came back he was the
famous Hans Christian Andersen! He was indeed
.born a prince, and good angels talked with him.
You must read the "ugly duck" again.

How 's this, my children ? I've always had an
idea that if ever there was a new country it was
Colorado, here in America, and now, if they're
not finding antiquities in it,-the remains of good
two-story stone houses, away down in its deep
ravines; not one house, but groups of houses,
towers and temples, and other signs that there
were civilized settlements there long before the
days of Indians and wigwams I must see the
birds about it. Meantime, you may ask your
fathers and mothers, who read the newspapers, for
further particulars. This is a great country, my
dears, and the half has not yet been told. It's
Jack's opinion that, as a country, America is young-
looking for her age.

LEARN these lines, my boys and girls, on New
Year's Day, and carry them with you all the rest
of your lives. They are very, very old, but not so
old as the truth they tell:
"Devoutly look, and naught
But wonders shall pass by thee;
Devoutly read, and then
All books shall edify thee;
Devoutly speak, and men
Devoutly listen to thee;
Devoutly act, and then
The strength of God acts through thee."




HERE come some verses from E. S. F., floating so lightly and
brightly toward the Letter-Box that we must not turn them away.

I blew bubbles once for Kitty.
As they sailed about,
Kitty cried, "They are so pretty
Don't let them go out!"
Then I tossed them hither, yonder,
Low, high, every way;
Kitty's eyes grew wide with wonder:
"Mamma, make them stay e"
Let me catch one!" she entreated,
As they flitted past;
Let me have one !" she repeated;
"I will hold it fast!"
So I tossed a bubble at her;
Light it touched her hands,
Broke, and left a soapy splatter;
All abashed she stands.
Said I, What is it that troubles
Mamma's darling pet ?"
Cried she, "Wish you'd wipe these bubbles,
So they wont be wet/ "

'WILLIAM B. S.-If you send your monthly copies ot the first
volume of ST. NICHOLAS-all in good order-to Scribner & Co., 654
Broadway, N. Y., and send also one dollar to pay for binding, you
will receive, by express or mail, the beautiful bound volume for 1874.
You must pay the express charges on the numbers you send, and on
the volume when you receive it; or, if you wish the volume sent by
mail, you must send thirty-two cents to pay postage on it.

HOSTS of our boys and girls will be glad to know that Mr. Stock-
ton's delightful story, "WHAT, MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXPECTED,"
with all its pictures, has just been published in book form by Dodd &
Mead, of New York, and that it already has had a very large sale.
We are proud to think that this noble story, with its wealth of inci-
dent and pure, true spirit, entered the world through the pages of
ST. NICHOLAS ; and we are sure it will be good news to you all that
Mr. Stockton has promised to write as much as he can for this
magazine during the coming year.

TURTLE-CLOVES.-Alice Donlevy writes:
"Turtle-cloves are funny little fellows that may be placed with
fine effect on Christmas sugar-cakes, or set down beside each plate at
the Christmas dinner. And this is the way to make them. Take for
each turtle-clove a large, plump raisin and six cloves. Push a clove

in the end of the raisin until but little more than the bud is seen; this
forms the head of this turtle-like object. Two cloves on each side
form the feet. For the tail, fasten the bud part of the clove in the
under side of the raisin, letting only the tapering end of the clove be

A NEW GAME.-J. S. S. offers an original fireside game to the
readers of ST. NICHOLAs. He calls it Rhymes and Trades." Any
number may play. No. i starts a line, which he says aloud, such as
The mason builds." No. 2 must rhyme it with a similar remark
concerning some other tradesman; for instance, "The gilder gilds."
No. 3 in turn must give a new trade and rhyme if he can. If not,

he starts a fresh line, such as, "The binder folds." No. 4 follows
with "The sculptor molds," or "The lawyer scolds," or whatever
fitting line may occur to him, and so the game goes on. Anyone,
failing to give a rhyme, or, if the latest couplet is complete, a fresh
line, when his or her turn comes, must pay a forfeit. It is considered
a good point to keep up the same rhyme as long as possible, and in
the effort to do this the comical or extravagant rhymes suggested will
make a good deal of fun.
"It is surprising," says J. S. S., "how easy the game is when
once it is fairly started. Fitting rhymes seem to spring naturally
from the trades and professions: The miller grinds, the gleaner
binds, the hunter finds ; the barber shaves, the doctor saves, the
beggar craves; the cobbler mends, the broker lends; the surgeon
hurts; the fireman squirts; and so on.

JOHN ScoTT, R. L. M. and CATO" ask for a good, short speak-
ing-piece." Try "Conductor Bradley," by John Greenleaf Whittier.
You will find it in his latest book, Hazel Blossoms.

WILLIE and CHARLIE, who send a double letter from Br;inn, Mo-
ravia, and who "find the monthly visits of ST. NICHOLAS a great
compensation for being so far from home," write:
"A fortnight before Christmas, one sees in the windows here, and
also being carefully carried in the streets, a curious figure of an old
man in long, flowing robes, who looks kindly at the children. He is
supposed to be St. Nicholas, a friend of all good young folks, and
well supplied with candies for their benefit; but following closely be-
hind him is a gloomy figure in black, bearing a bundle of sticks with
which to flog the bad boys and girls; and naughty children are quite
sure that he'will find them out. All through the country St. Nicholas
Day is observed religiously, and great preparations are made for its

WE find that our article in the October number, describing the shipi-
ment of ice from Boston to India, did not state the matter altogether
correctly. Great quantities of ice are sent from Boston to India, but
it is not cut on Lake Ontario, but from the ponds around Boston.
We here giveashort account, kindly sent us by a Boston ice-merchant,
of the manner in which the ice is obtained from these ponds:
"The ponds from which the ice is cut lie within twenty-five miles
of the city. The process of cutting maybe briefly described. When
clear ice of sufficient depth-say fourteen inches-is formed, all snow-
ice, which is opaque and of inferior value, with what snow there may
be upon the ice, is removed by scrapers drawn by horses. The surface
which is to be cut is then marked out by cutting long grooves with
a "hand-plow." A horse-plow follows, cutting the grooves deeper,
and at the same time, by a guide-marker, marking a second line
parallel to the first, and twenty-two inches from it. This is in turn
deepened, and a third groove cut, until the entire field is marked out
into twenty-two inch squares. Cutters with longer and stronger teeth,
and finally saws, cut the ice into rafts. It is then ready to be housed.
The ice nearest the houses being taken out first, an open space is
formed over which the rest is floated, and thus through channels and
over the miniature ponds the blocks and rafts are conducted to eleva-
tors of various kinds, which carry them up to the doors, through which
they are pushed into the ice-house until the last is stored."
From these houses the ice is taken to the ships at the wharves, and
in them carried to India, where, as the writer says, it "sends a chill of
.gratitude through the community."

JESSIE F. D.-The sketch you send us is taken from an old print,
a copy of which is given here for the benefit of all who are interested
in the good saint after whom this magazine is named.
St. Nicholas lived over 0.400 years ago in the city of Patara, in
Asia Minor. He is said to have been from the first a wonderfully
saintly child, and when he became a man, though he was but a
simple citizen, he rose, through his active piety, to be Bishop of
Myra. Wonderful stories are related of his good deeds, and some of
them are commemorated to this day in the various churches of
Europe. Over the altar in the Church of St. Nicholas at Ghent, is a
large painting of the very scene shown in this old wood-engraving.




A wealthy gentleman in Asia, the story runs, sent his two sons to
Athens to be educated. He charged the boys at parting to stop at
Myra on their way and pay their respects to his reverence, the
bishop. The boys reached the city at night, and took lodgings in an
inn, intending to make the promised call in the morning.
Now the landlord was a very wicked man, and when he saw the
boys' rich store of baggage he resolved to robh and murder them. So
when the poor boys were asleep, he crept up to their room and dis-
patched them, and, to conceal his terrible deed, he cut up their bodies
and packed them in a pickling-tub with some pork, intending to sell
the whole to some ship in the Adriatic.
Now good St. Nicholas that night saw it all in a drgam, and in the
morning he put on his pontifical robes (for he was now an arch-
bishop), and, with his croziei in his hand, went in holy indignation
to the inn.
The landlord was greatly frightened when he saw the archbishop,
and on being accused, fell upon his knees and confessed his crime.
St. Nicholas next went to the tub in all his pontificals, and he passed
his hands over the boys, who at once hopped up out of the pickled
pork alive and whole. The happy fellows began to sing praises to

!St. Nicholas, but he, good soul, would not listen to it. He told them
to worship none but God. The boys, at once recovering their posses-
sions, went on their way rejoicing, and St. Nicholas was regarded as
the special protector of boys and students from that hour.
Most of the old pictures represent three boys in the pickling-tub,
all with uplifted hands, praising good St. Nicholas. We suspect that
three boys in the tub, instead of two, better suited the fancy of the
old artists. It did not make a great deal of difference in point of fact,
and it certainly made a better picture.
But how came St. Nicholas to be the patron of Christmas gifts
and the particular saint of the Christmas holidays ? "
After St. Nicholas was made archbishop at Myra, he became very
,rich, and because he despised money for his own sake, he spent a
good portion of his time in giving away his money to others, and in
such a way that none should know from whom it came. It chanced
that there was a very poor nobleman in Myra, who had three lovely
daughters. Knowing that they could have no marriage portion, St.
Nicholas, considerate soul, felt pity for them, and one moonlight
night he took a purse, round as a ball with gold, and, throwing it into
the open window at the feet of the eldest daughter, he hid himself
from view. The eldest daughter could now marry. What a good

saint St. Nicholas was, and what a pity he died so long ago 1 After
awhile, the Saint visited the nobleman's premises again, and did
the same mysterious kindness to the second daughter. The noble-
man now began to keep watch at night, in order to discover whence
his sudden good fortune came. As good St. Nicholas was about to
throw another rounded purse at the feet of the third daughter, he was
discovered by the grateful father, who threw himself at his feet, say-
ing: 0 St. Nicholas, servant of God, why seek to hide thyself ? "
St. Nicholas made the nobleman promise never to tell the discovery
he had made; but the secret escaped in some unaccountable way;
and after St. Nicholas died, the nuns of the convents in the East used
to imitate him on certain holidays in making secret gifts to their
friends. They used to put silk stockings at the door of the abbess at
night, and label them with a paper invoking the liberal aid of good
St. Nicholas. In the morning the stocking would be found full of
In time, as you know, children began to imitate this custom,
especially at Christmas.
St. Nicholas used annually to be honored in the old English
churches by the election of a boy-bishop, whom the whole church
were accustomed to obey for a short time, because St. Nicholas was
the patron of boys. He is still honored with a grand festival at Bari
on the Adriatic, is the patron saint of Russia, and of the mariners
on the great winter seas, and his name is borne by the Russian czars.
He also is the patron saint of New York city, which, you know, was
settled by the Dutch, and of all saints he is most reverenced in Hol-
land. But there the young folks do him honor on St. Nicholas day,
which comes on the 6th of November, keeping it very much as we
do the Christmas holidays.

ELLA and EDWARD C.-Osgood & Co., of Boston, are about to,
publish a little play, written by Mrs. Geo. L. Chaney, from the
William-Henry books, by Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz, whose stories
in the ST. NICHOLAs have delighted you so much. The play prob-
ably will be just the thing you need for parlor representation, and, if
we are rightly informed, it will be out very soon.

JANE H. (AND OTHERS).-In making up your club for a premium,
the names of old subscribers will count the same as new ones.

DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS : Please, can any one tell me who wrote
the following lines:
"'Tis midnight: and the setting sun
Rises in the far glorious West;
The rapid rivers slowly run,
The frog is on his downy nest;
The pensive goat and sportive cow,
Hilarious hop from bough to bough ? "
They have amused me ever since I can remember.

JULIA T. F., of California, sends the following to the Letter-Box.
It was circulated last Christmas among the boys and girls at a San
Francisco Sunday-school, and was written, she believes, by the
teacher. She thinks it will be new, as well as useful, to hundreds of
her ST. NICHOLAS friends:'
MATTHEW and MARK and LUKE and JOHN the Holy Gospels wrote,
The Saviour's life and death they tell, and all that they denote;
ACTS proves how God the Apostles owned with signs in every place,
St. Paul in ROMANS teaches us how man is saved by grace;
The Apostle in CORINTHIANS instructs, exhorts, reproves,
GALATIANS shows that faith in Christ alone the Father loves;
EPHESIANs and PHILIPPIANS tell what Christians ought to be,
COLOSSIANS bids us live to God, and for eternity;
In THESSALONIANS we are taught the Lord will come from Heaven,
In TIMOTHY and TITU a bishop's rule is given;
PHILEMON marks a Christian's love, which only Christians know,
HEBREWS reveals the Gospel prefigured by the law;
JAMES teaches, without holiness faith is but vain and dead,
ST. PETER points the narrow way in which the saints are led;
JOHN, in his three EPISTLES, on love delights to dwell,
ST JUDE gives awful warnings of judgment, wrath and hell;
The REVELATION prophesies of that tremendous day
When Christ, and Chrst alone, shall be the trembling sinner's stay.




MR. EDITOR: Papa helped me to find out about "the Torricellian
tube" mentioned by Mr. Jack-in-the-Pulpit. It's a barometer.
Papa showed me the quotation the pretty schoolma'am used. It was
from some verses written by the Rev. Gilbert White in his book about
the "Natural History of Selborne." It's a little piece with a great
long name. EDDIE BLACK.

DEAR EDITOR: Please tell Jack-in-the-Pulpit that "the Torri-
cellian tube" is named after the inventor, Torricelli, an Italian
philosopher and mathematician, who discovered the principle on
which the barometer is constructed. "JICKS."

WILL the Editors of the ST. NICHOLAS please inform me by what
author, and from what poem, the line "Piping on hollow reeds to his
spent sheep is taken ? And the origin of the quotation, "The brook
that brawls along the wood? F. 0. M.
The second quotation you mention is from Shakespeare's "As You
Like It," Act II., Scene I. It is part of a beautiful speech by one of
the lords resident with the banished duke in the forest of Arden, and
has reference to the "melancholy Jaques," who, he says :
"--lay along
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood."
You do not quote it exactly, and this makes us think that perhaps
your first quotation is hardly accurate. We know of no passage ap-
proaching it more nearly than one in the first stanza of Spenser's
"-Shepherd's Calendar."

GRACE ETHEL.-We cannot put you down as a Bird-defender, as
you do not send your full name.

Lucy WILLIAMS sends the following list of Bird-defenders: Jessie
Cook, Bessie Gilbert, Maggie Gilbert, Sadie Gilbert, Josie Gilbert,

Clara Gilbert, Fannie Prouty, Lizzie Welch, Mary Welch, Pollie
Hackett, Ida Spence, Mary Bardwell, Lucinda Bardwell, Judea
Bardwell, Lillie Meramvill, and Lucy Williams.
The following new names of Bird-defenders have also been received
since our last issue: May Ogden, John F. Ogden, Fannie M. Gris-
wold, Florence Peltier, Anna M. Glover, Maggie Derrick, Jimmie
H. Detrick, Hattie Carman, Charlie Carman, Johnnie Carman,
Jennie Carman, Lizzie Park, Alice I. Paine, Katie R. Paine, Eny E.
Paine, Mary C. Paine, Fannie D. Murden, Maude Cheney, Alice
Angell, Eva Dodds, Bennie Stockdale, Willie C. N. Bond, Arthur
H. Clarke, Arthur L. Gilman, William F. Darrah, Rufus E. Darrah,.
Robert Staigg, Chas. T. Griffith, B. C. Weaver, Bessie Severance,
Mary Severance, John Severance, Allen Severance, Annie Severance,
Julia Severance, Bertha Hunt, Grace Murray, Fannie Laurie, John
F. Hays, Herbert Shaw Forman, Lulu F. Potter, Tony Foot, and
Thomas P. Sanborn.
Fayette, Howard Co., Mo., Oct. 14, 1874.
GENTLEMEN: I enclose you $3.00 for ST. NICHOLAS for 1875. My
little son and daughter have made the money themselves. I live on
a farm; and Ethelbert plowed one day instead of going to the circus,
so as to save his show-money to help pay for your magazine. So youm
can see that it is highly appreciated.-Yours, &c., THOMAS W.

MINNIE THOMAS sends a batch of riddles which she "found in an
old book, and thought might be new to many readers." We select a
"What is that which, by losing one eye, has only a nose left?
Ans.-A noise."
"My first some men will often take
Entirely for my second's sake;
But very few indeed there are
Who both together well can bear.
A ns.-Misfortune."
"In my first my second sat; my third and fourth I ate. Afts.


S() Take a thousand and one, in proportions to suit,
S- And sprinkle it carefully over the fruit;
(2) Now a daisy or rose, and (3) one hundred with
/. ^" love,
(4) The east and the west winds in conflict above;
(5) A Seneca chief taking supper at e'en,
,' (6) Two tools and some ice, with a small pea between;
(7) And now from Missouri get two pretty girls,
Bright, sparkling and lively, blue eyes and soft
(8) A frank kind of fruit with the sound of a bell,
f And all these ingredients together mix well;
(9) Now please add two verbs of an opposite meaning,
.10) What the writer of this did at supper this evening;
Add milk, eggs and raisins, stir well, and I ween,
,'t .i p- --"< You '11 have a plum-pudding that's fit for a queen.
I AM composed of thirty-eight letters : My 30, 4, 21,
5, 24, 38 is a city in the United States. My 1, 22, 9 is
: '.i, a domestic animal. My 6, 34, 19, 13 is the name of a
month. My 14, 17, 31 is an insect. My 6, 7, 28, 33,35,
A PLUM PUDDING. 21 are employed in court. My 29, 18, 20, 12, 5 is one of
the five senses. My 23, 36, 28, 25, 32, 27, 18, 20, 12,
OUR Christmas would certainly be incomplete it is a number. My 26, 33, 35, 29, 5o is a useful ani-
Without a plum-pudding, rich, juicy and sweet; mal. My 30, 2, 37 is a weapon used by the Indians.
The recipe you will demand, I dare say- My 15, 3, 8, 34, i6 is to endow. My whole is an old
I 'll give it at once in a fanciful way: saying. c. A. B.




I. THE subject of your thoughts I tell.
2. A word that speaks a long farewell.
3. A native of a distant land.
4. I. mean, to seize with sudden hand.
5. And I, to take with trust the true.
6. In Italy, my home, I grew.
7. Me, before all, should men pursue.
Never found on land or sea;
But in mid-air look for me.
Piercing darkness, golden bright,
Giving life, and shedding light.
A kind of tumor or
swelling. 3. To repulse ,,
or drive back. 4. A .'i'( hi
boy's nickname. 5. A
consonant. A
ter. 2. Novel or fresh. A
3. A sufferer often men-
tioned in Scripture. 4-
A retreat used for shel-
ter or concealment 5.
A letter.
TAKE the name of a i
-useful animal, insert a
consonant, and find the
name of a celebrated
mountain; then insert
a vowel, and find a con-
fection. R. C.

FILL the first blank with a certain word; the second,
by the same word minus its first letter; the third, by
original word minus first two letters; and in like man-
ner the lines of the second stanza:
The princess who once tried to
Her fair hand wounded with the -
A magic sleep, she then fell -
And thus for years she lay;
Until, to break the slumber -
Ere her sweet soul by it were -
A noble knight, by true love -
Kissed all the spell away.
(Read the inscription on the sign.)


,, I Ye k.~ oA~~~L...- AAv-.B_ ~ w
GEOGRAPHICAL ":-t.-- aL!-T e,- O"0 lN;... 057.- i
I. A FAMOUS water- -- k... EY. a0..--ld ..,.- -b, e I ,
ing-place. 2. A fresh- 11, .. ave YoU.... C. N.T.I g
water lake in Central : ose.. 1aS_. N .Y. .
Africa that Livingstone A L r .S. Mo-L- nl. 'll../ .
investigated. 3. One R/ OMEL. Art..P9 :A a --L~ ? La..tt
of the oldest cities R,a. -{e r
in Asia. 4. A large I4DT..- latW--WTh PU. PR, ....CTE.h.-.--
island in the Northern T.AL.S C. Fi L. ty. .". 0Yr.
Ocean, famous for its at!.- Ch- TonaRY R AW...
boiling springs and sub- i our, r I!..Cs=.To.PAN.
terranean fires. 5. An .e .Al ... Y-Y., Denr.T.L-rllhtjL. 55J-o
empire that has four
hundred millions of in-
lhabitants, and the oldest
government now in ex- ,
istence. 6. A range of
mountains whose tops
are covered with per-. -. _s--
petuial snow, and the -..K> .
country all around cov-" ? '
ered with perpetual verdure. 7. A river and gulf of EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.
Siberia. 8. A frozen northern country. 9. A land you
and I love. Io. The country where Scott and Burns were I. A VOWEL. 2. The organ of hearing. 3. A wooden
born. The initials of the above will give the name of frame for holding pictures. 4. A color. 5. A conso-
one whom we hope you are glad to see. F. R. F. nant. IRON DUKE.




THE blanks in each sentence are to be filled by one
word or phrase and its transpositions :
Once rooms, and some guests,,
who my door with pleasure.
My was that I could at one twenty, for
which number Of plates I placed --
- my table.
A which held four more, seemed a -
- relieving a fear -- more than I could
seat. Each dish the different taste of guests.
Some prefer cooked by One guest, named
- never but is fond of broiled An-
other, who as a Turk, eschews One
dish of vegetables being passed to him, he exclaimed,
"- occasion, ever touch an !" A gen-
tleman named near a dish of potatoes,

of which he was very fond. Another moved that each
man who in market classed with those
who make their sole diet. A servant, taken up
with this gentleman's placed two -
- pair of china tureens! At this I was so that
I to smile yet, whenever I think of it, and, in
fact, it all merry.
Two gentlemen, a little from the rest -
only, for dessert. One friend made compli-
mentary of my -. I should have given them pre-
served but they were burned in the
My pudding of -- before the Then
one gentleman, not firm of -, called for -, but was
rudely interrupted by the remark that they only turned
men into -!
We then for the drawing-room, and I think all
- that the dinner was a success. J. p. B.


LOGOGRIPH.-Oporto-Port 0 t-Port(e)-Or-O.
L -ea- F
A -It- 0
P -e- G
ANAGRAMS.-I.--. Shoemakers. 2. Authors. 3. Painters. 4.
Teachers. 5. Policeman. 6. Editor. II.-T. Anemone. 2. Tube-
roses. 3. Dahlia. 4. Geraniums. 5. Dandelions. 6. Lilac. 7. Hya-
cinths. 8. Verbenas. III.-i. Currants. 2. Orange. 3. Pine-
apples. 4. Apricots. 5. Water-melons. IV.-x. Simultaneously.
2. Discourteously. 3. Premeditation. 4. Foreground. 5. Loiterings.
6. Kinswoman.
DECAPITATIONS.-t. Cape, ape. 2. Blot, lot. 3. Climb, limb. 4.
Store, tore.



ENIGMA.-Charlotte Cushman.
THE DAY IN THE GROVE.-Cyprus (cypress)-Florence-James
-James-Flattery-Virginia Java Orange Sandwich Great
Bear-Florence-Fear-Adelaide-Cologne-Good Hope-Florence
-Virginia Darling- James-Madeira-James-Newfoundland-
Loyalty Constance Rocky Lena Florence-Virginia-Pesth
EASY REBUSEs.-I. Prowess. 2. West Indies. 3. Belief.
TRANSPOSITIONS.-I. Oracles-so clear. 2 All pearl- parallel.
3. Avers-raves. 4. Felicity-city life. 5. Aloof-a fool. 6. Carest
-caters-recast-traces-carets. 7. Indenture-end in true.
S -tea-1
DOUBLE CRoss-WORD.-Rose and Pink.
EASY METAGRAMS.-Cow, vow, bow, now (or how), tow, Po, 0?

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NOVEMBER NUMRBER were received, previous to November r8th, from Constant E. Jones, L. W. Jones,
D. P. L. P., Helen B. Fancharl, Charlie N. Thompson, Eugenia C. Pratt, Ida H. Jenkins, Mary H. Wilson, Thornton M. Ware, Herbert
R. Palmer, Georgia C. Bosher, Mary H. Rochester, C. Bachelor, George F. Pease, Alexander Noyes, J. B'yan, James S. Rogers, Jr.,
-Louise F. Olmstead, Ida P. Williams, Bessie H. Van Cleef, Charlie Woodbury, Sarah Havens, Carrie Simpson, Florrie Kronau, Lulu.
Habisshory, Belle Hooper, and Thomas P. Sanborn.

The three prizes for the best sets of answers to the sixty-three conundrums contained in this puzzle, published in the November number,.
were awarded to M. E. WALKER, 20 Cottage Street, Utica, Oneida County, New York; JosIE MCLAUGHLIN, Montclair, New Jersey;
and TINTY WATSON, Orange, New Jersey; and a bound volume of ST. NICHOLAS has been sent to each.
The sets of answers received from the following named boys and girls were so admirable that the senders deserve honorable mention:
Ednah B. Hale, Nelly E. Sherwood, Norman Henderson, Elsie and Frank Du Pont, Thomas Turner, AliceW. Ives, M. T. Pitman, Ade-
laide Long, Elsa and Grace Hobart, Richmond W. R. Jaffray, Bessie Thomas, Ethel Oliver, Hattie F. Johnson, George Aston, Charles
Brooks Stevens, Mary F. Sinclair, Annie Young, Gertie Baylor, Walter Austin, Jamie J. Ormsbee, Jenny Almy, Jennie D. V. Brown,'J. A.
Lighthipe, "Beau K," "The Little Gallaudets," Sarah E. Shankland, Grace Gilbert, Nellie W. Banks, Alexis J. Du P. Coleman, S. W.
Lambert, Evy and Fanny, Lulu Wight, Frank and Edgar Lethbridge, Emily Shaw Sargent, .M. Joe Shotwell, Harry G. Andress, Bessie
H. Van Cleef, Fannie M. Hall, Minnie L. Welles, Robert De Wolfe Duck, Florence Worthington, William Loving, Jr., Hannah Clark,
Elgood C. Lufkin, Eddie B. Van Vleck, Julia V. Laquerenne, Herman N. Tiemann, Harmon W. Marsh, Lulu Bull, Anna M. Glover,
L. J. McMullen, Ed. T. Okells, T. L. Davis, Constant and Louis W. Jones, Henry F. Guy, Emily O. Post, Ida H. Jenkins, Frank Alex-
ander, Nicholas Brewer, Jr., George G. Humphrey, D. W. Murther, Willie O. Tremaine, Grace M. Thirkal, Mabel Moore, Horace S. Dodd,
Le Baron Hathaway, Carrie Crawford, Jack and Carrie, "The Buttles Children," Henry C. White, Fred W. Porter, Ellie Turner, "Grand-
mamma" (answers in verse), M. W. Collet, Robert Edwin Withers, Annie May Keith, Charles A. Rossiter, Emily Van Zandt, Kate N.
Noble, G. E. Rogers, Harry H. Wyman, Carrie R. Lord, Minnie Bateham.
For the satisfaction of all those who have sent in sets of answers, we give the following list of special answers that, though not the same asa
those given in our December number, were good enough to be considered correct, viz.: For answer 3. Two feet, ofa yard, we allowed:
Bush, two-thirds of a bushel. 7. Horn-Bow; Robin Hood was skillful with the long bow. 04. Hide-Hook (to steal). x6. Crook-Back,
shoulders, so20. The Hidden Hand-" Blade o' Grass," "Fast Friends," "On Guard," "On the Heights." 22. Band-Staff, arms.
23. Fleece-Hook, pocket. 35. Nails-Plane. 28. Blades-Teeth. 29. Hill-Walker. 37. Arms-Spears. 40. Pear-Apple (the same.
as pupil). 41. Knees-Sides. 44. Mouth-Head. 46. Face-Hand (not hands, as there is only one in the picture). 47. Black Legs-
Lambs gamblersrs. 48. Sheep's Heads-Soles. 49. Joint-Mutton, leg of lamb. 50. PufilZ and Tsulis-Pupils and irises. 52. Rest-
Staff, paws (pause), a minor. 54. Wool-Banks, Lee, Mead, Greene. 55. Tuliaf-Irises, phlox. 56. Teeth-Blade. 57. Neck-Headland.
As some of those sending answers from distant States, such as California and Nebraska, have complained that they did not have sufficient
time, it may be well to state that the last-named of the three winners, though living within a few miles of New ork, was among the verylatest
to sending her answers, so thatif those received from the distant subscribers had been as correct they still would have been first in point of time.
Indeed, a set of answers was received from Scotland before the expiration of the time allowed. A grandmammaa" sent an excellent set of
answers, embodied in graceful rhyme, which perhaps may find a place in our next number.