St. Nicholas, vol. 3, no. 1

ST. NICHOLAS.

NOVEMBER, 1875.

No. I.

ABOUT THE PAINTER OF LITTLE PENELOPE.

BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS.

LITTLE Penelope Boothby looks at us all with
such a friendly, innocent face, over the gap of a
hundred years, that I, for one, felt I must ask the
little girl, in some way, how the world had used
her in that long-ago time. It was a brilliant,
wicked world into which she had come, but with
plenty of gracious, good women hidden, as now,
in quiet homes. Did little Penelope grow into one
of these wives and mothers, or was she among the
famous dazzling beauties whose histories no child
could read?
There is an old library near me that is a verita-
ble Doomsday-book in itself,-a record of the lives
of obscure, forgotten people. There, after diligent
search one September afternoon, I found the story
of the little lady, hidden in a brown old book, its
leaves thin with age. I found in it this little girl's
picture, which ST. NICHOLAS has now so beauti-
fully engraved after Sir Joshua Reynolds' painting,
and beneath, written by her father, "Penelope,
setat. s. iv." Her eyes, he said, were blue, and the
hair under the queer old cap translucent gold."
There was a picture, too, of her home, Asbourne
Hall, buried among trees, and of the quaint old
church where the little girl knelt beside her mother
on Sunday mornings; and there was much fond
talk of how she watched at the gate for her father
coming home, or sat at evening on his knee, and
was, in a word, his one only child, too well beloved.
For the name of the book was Sorrows," and
it was the lamentations of a father, written at inter-
vals during a long life, for the child who died when
but seven years old. All that the age possessed
VOL. III.-I.

of genius had come to his aid to preserve her
memory: Sir Joshua had painted her; there was
a marble statue by Banks of the child, as she fell,
smiling, into her last sleep, her hands closed
together under her chubby cheek; and a wonder-
ful picture by Fuseli of the silent angel Death
softly lifting the dear baby, still smiling, to her
bosom.
So I was glad that little Penelope never changed
into a great court beauty, or even into a happy
wife and mother; but that the child went home
just as we see her, to the land where there are so
many children, and where He who loves them
best of all never leaves them.
I am sure the children here who see to-day her
friendly little face will be glad to know something
of the man who has sent it to us across these hun-
dred years. His story means, after all, more to us
than that of Penelope.
One July morning in 1723, a baby was born in
the schoolmaster's house in the English sea-coast
village of Plympton Earl. The schoolmaster had
six children already; the news, therefore, pro-
duced no great stir among the neighbors. Yet,
although the village was nigh a thousand years old
when the baby was born, and more than a hundred
and fifty years have passed since then, it is only
known to the world as the birthplace of this little
boy, who was christened Joshua, and grew up with
his eleven brothers and sisters, noticed by nobody,
coarsely dressed and poorly fed. The children
were fond of drawing, as all children are, but were
too poor to own paper and pencils, and used char-

VOL. III.

ABOUT THE PAINTER OF LITTLE PENELOPE.

coal instead, on the cellar walls. We have the
name of the lady who gave them their first pencil,
so great a possession did they hold it. Joshua's
drawings were different from the others, in the
scrupulous care with which they were finished.
Many of the boys who read this can dash you off
a tiger or a ship on a black-board so effective that
their mothers are sure they will be great art-
ists. Little Joshua did not work in that way.
Before he was eight years old he had found a book
on the rules of Perspective, and studied it. There
is still to be seen a Latin exercise, De Labore, on
the back of which is drawn a book-case in panels.
Beneath, his father has written, Drawn by Joshua
in school, out of pure idleness." But the idleness
was painstaking, most faithful work; for critics
assure us that in this drawing are to be found the
same conscientious care and delicacy which marked
the great pictures of his later years. His brothers,
as they grew older, sketched and daubed away vig-
orously; but Joshua worked at drawing. Before he
was ten years old, he had studied so thoroughly
Richardson's Treatise on Painting, that its theories
worked like leaven in his mind all through his life.
He copied faithfully, too, such books of engraving
as fell in his way; studied, as other boys do Latin
and arithmetic, the combination and rules of color.
His pencil (we hope money was given without
grudging for his pencils then) was seldom out of his
hand. If he had no paper near, he sketched on his
thumb-nail some face that struck him. One of these
faces (that of a Latin master) he copied from his
nail in a boat-house under the cliff, using a piece
of old sail for canvas, and the wheelwright's coarse
paints. The portrait still exists,-a forcible and
remarkable drawing, according to Cotton.
Joshua's father, who had meant to make an
apothecary of the boy, was touched by his diligence
and faithfulness in the work he had chosen, and
consented to enter him at sixteen as a pupil with
Hudson, then the first portrait-painter of England.
The price paid Hudson was about $800 for four
years,-a heavy tax on the poor schoolmaster, with
his swarm of children, and sometimes but one
scholar. If Joshua in after years followed that
branch of art which paid him best, and saved his
pence that he might give guineas to his family, we
should not blame him too hardly. He learned the
value of money in sore experience, and through the
many sacrifices which his family made for him.
Hudson taught the boy the rules of his art, but
he also taught him the formal, stiff style of por-
trait-painting then in vogue: every lady wore the
same glazed smile, every man carried his hat under
his arm, and frowned under his fair wig. As long
as young Reynolds copied his master's work, his
pictures deserved little notice; but one day, ventur-

ing on his own theory of truth to Nature, he paint-
ed the portrait of an old servant-woman, and hung
it up in the gallery. Hudson was honest enough
to confess that it was better than any work he could
do, but was too jealous of his pupil to allow him
to remain any longer with him. Joshua then
returned to Devonshire, and began the practice of
his art in Plymouth as a portrait-painter. When
he was about twenty-six years old, he formed a
friendship with Commodore Keppel, and with him
visited Southern Europe, remaining two years in
Rome, studying his art, as he tells us, with
measureless content." One of his first pictures, on
his return, was that of his friend, then Admiral
Keppel, in which he carried out his idea of giving
to the figure characteristic expression and an appro-
priate background. The gallant Admiral stands
upon a stormy beach, his hair and mantle blown
by the wind, his hand on his sword. This picture
opened the door to fame and fortune for the
artist.
Thereafter the history of Joshua Reynolds was a
series of steady triumphs. He never married, his
stately house always being a home for his sisters or
their orphan children. All the poets, philosophers
and statesmen of the time, all the beautiful women
came to him to be painted, quite sure that if there
were any latent nobility or charm in their faces
which nobody had yet seen, he would discover it
and make it immortal. Here, perhaps, lay the
strength of Sir Joshua's portraits. He painted
men and women as they ought to have looked in
their best moment of life; hence, although his
colors now in some cases have given way, his
favorite lakes dulled, and the carmine turned pur-
ple, the faces look upon us from the canvas with a
wonderful power and sweetness. We tell ourselves
that these were not ordinary men and women who
lived in that time; they must have been gods
and heroes who blazed across that sky; and the
man who painted them was surely of their kin.
The Royal Academy, founded during his life,
elected the schoolmaster's son the first President;
he was knighted immediately after; and, what was
of much more value to him, he welcomed at his
table as his friends the most noble and illustrious
men and women of his time. At the age of
sixty-six, while painting the portrait of the Mar-
chioness of Hertford, he felt a sharp pain in his
eye, and was conscious that his sight had failed.
He laid down his pencil, never to lift it again; and
five years later died, having been for nearly half a
century "sole dictator in the realm of English
art."
Boys who read this little story will notice that it
was by no sudden "spurt" of genius, no spas-
modic effort that he reached this place. He found

[NOVEMBER,

1875.] THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 3

out the work for which he was fitted, and gave to excel must go to his work, whether willing or
himself to it patiently, both in brain and body. unwilling, morning, noon and night; and he will
Sir Joshua himself tells it all in a line, in his find it to be no play, but, on the contrary, very
advice to a young artist: "The man determined hard labor."

THE BOY EMIGRANTS.

By NOAH BROOKS.

CHAPTER I.
HARD TIMES AT HOME.
T 'S no use talking,
Arty, there are too
Many of us. The pie
don't go round."
j Arthur smiled a lit-
Stie ruefully as he ad-
Sded to Barnard's com-
S1plaint : And Sam
l and Oliver wear their
clothes all out before
they can be made
S over for me."
Barnard whose
whole name, by the
-' way, was Barker Bar-
nard Stevens-show-
.1I .a ,:nfidence in his younger
-.- :. brother's judgment when he
). :. said: "As we are a too numer-
S ous family, what is to be done
about it? Kill off a few ?"
Arthur was one of seven-great hearty boys all
of them. His trousers were inherited from his
elder brother Sam, and had been "turned" in the
legs and were already inconveniently short. With
an impatient little jerk at the knee of one of these
objectionable legs, he said: Let 's emigrate "
Barnard, five years older, and more cautious,
asked: "Where to? "
"Oh, anywhere, so that we have a chance to
strike out for ourselves. Father emigrated from
Vermont with all of us young ones, and why
should n't we put out for the Far West, I'd like to
know ? It is n't so far from Illinois to Somewhere-
else now, as it was from Vermont to Illinois when
we were brought here."
A great deal you know about it, young Arthur

boy. Why, you were only six years old when we
came here."
"All right, Barney, but I'm fifteen now, and
have not studied geography for nothing."
"Boys boys it's time to turn in. You've got
to go down to Turner's to-morrow after those grain
sacks; and your ma says there's no rye-meal in
the house for Saturday's baking."
This was the voice of Farmer Stevens from the
porch. The boys had been sitting on the rail-fence
in front of the house while the twilight fell. The
evening was tranquil but gloomy, and they had
taken a somewhat somber view of family affairs,
considering what cheery, hopeful young fellows
they were.
But it was a fact that there were too many of
them. There were four boys older than Arthur,
two younger, and a baby sister. Since the Stevens
family had settled in Northern Illinois, things had
gone wrong all over the country. First, the chinch-
bug came upon them and ate up their crop-and it
was not much of a crop, either. Then they had a
good year and felt encouraged; but next there fell
a sort of blight on the Rock River region. It was
dry in seeding-time and wet in harvest. The smut
got into the wheat-and nobody planted anything
besides wheat in those days. So, what with rust,
mildew, and other plagues, poor Farmer Stevens
was left without much more than grain enough to
feed his growing boys. His cattle went hungry or
to the butchers. From year to year things alter-
nated between bad and worse. It was discouraging.
As the boys climbed down from their perch, Bar-
nard said to his father:
Arty and I are going to emigrate."
Yes, to Turner's mill; and be sure you bring
back all those grain-sacks, Arthur."
But the watchful mother heard the remark, and
said, as the boys lumbered upstairs to bed:
"Barnard' was cut-up to-night because he missed

THE BOY EMIGRANTS.

his piece of pie. Joe Griffin was here, and it did
not go round."
Well, I must say, mother," replied Farmer
Stevens, it's hard lines when the boys fall out
with their provender; but Barney is dreadful no-
tional, and he's out of conceit with Illinois."
Yes, father, he is a restless boy, and he and
Arty set so much by each other; when one goes
the other will."
The poor mother laid her sleeping baby in the
cradle, and sat for a moment looking out over the
dim landscape beyond the open window.
Sugar Grove was a small settlement on a broken
rise of ground. Behind stood a dense grove of
sugar-maples, extending two miles east and west.
In front of the few houses and the row of wheat-
farms was a broad valley, belted with trees, and
through which Rock River wound in big curves,
now faint in the early Summer night. The crop
was mostly in the ground, and the little farm looked
tidy. But the fences were not in good repair, the
house had never been painted, and the whole place
seemed pinched and poor.
This is n't the 'rich West,' after all," sighed
Mrs. Stevens, sadly; and the tears gathered in her
eyes as she thought of her noble boys growing
up in such strait circumstances, with defeat and
poverty continually before them. "So the pie
wouldn't go round? Poor Barney!" The mother
laughed a sad little laugh to herself, as she thought
of Barnard's grim discontent.
Returning from Turner's, next day, Arthur
brought the family mail which had been left at the
mill by some of the neighbors down the road, on
their way home from town. It was not a heavy
mail; and, as Arthur jogged along on Old Jim,
sitting among the grain-sacks, he opened the vil-
lage newspaper. The Lee County Banner was pub-
lished once a week, and the local news usually
occupied half a column. This week that important
part of the paper was led off with a long paragraph
headed "Latest News from California! Arrival
of Joshua Gates, Esq. Arthur held his breath
and read as follows:
We take great pleasure in informing our friends and patrons, as
well as the public generally, that Joshua Gates, Esq., our esteemed
and highly-respected fellow-citizen, has just arrived from California,
overland. Accompanied by a bold and adventurous band of Mis-
sourians, he has crossed the continent in the unprecedented time of
sixty-five days, stopping in Mormondom two days to recruit. Our
fortunate fellow-citizen brings ample confirmation of the richness of
the gold discoveries of California. To say that he brings tangible
proof of all this would be to put the case in its mildest form. Our
hands have handled and our optics have gazed upon the real stuff
brought by our enterprising fellow-citizen, who assures us that the
half has not been told us, and that he proposes to return as soon as
possible to what may now with extreme propriety be called the Land
of Gold, where we are told that a "strike" of hundreds of thousands
is a common thing, and any industrious man may make from $15 to
$1,5oo per day. We welcome our distinguished fellow-citizen home
again, and congratulate him on his well-deserved success. We ap-

pend a few of the reigning prices in California: Flour, $15 per bbl.;
pork, $1.50 per lb.; fresh beef, $z.oo to $1.5o ditto; mining-boots,
$50 per pr.; quinine, $50 per oz.; newspapers, anywhere from $r.oo
to $5.00 each.
"Gold! Gold Gold! Gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cola,
Molten, graven, hammered and rolled;
Heavy to get and light to hold."
Arthur did not stop to read the poetry; he folded
up the paper with emphasis, jammed it into his
pocket, pulled his straw hat tightly on his head,
and said: The very thing Old Jim, who had
been browsing off the hazel brush as his young
rider absorbed the news, looked around with meek
surprise.
"Yes, you old rascal, that's the very thing!
We 'll go to California, my boy; and when we are
picking up the diamonds and gold-dust, wont we
tell Old Turner to go hang for an old hunks "
Jim neighed and pricked up his ears, just as if
he understood that the miller had taken more toll
from the rye than young Arthur thought he was
entitled to.
Digging up gold in California Hey, Jim !"
and Arthur went cantering up the road as blithely
as if he were already in the Land of Gold.
Say, mother, Josh Gates has got back."
Has that worthless, miserable vagabond come
back to plague his poor old mother once more ?"
asked the plain-speaking Mrs. Stevens. Well,
well, he's the bad penny, that's certain sure."
But he's rich-got lots of gold from California
-and the Banner says he's a distinguished fellow-
citizen," remonstrated Arthur, who suddenly re-
flected, however, that Josh Gates had gone off
" between two days," when he departed from Lee
County, and that he had been indicted for stealing
hens, and that his former reputation in the town of
Richardson was not at all fragrant.
Arthur was a little crest-fallen, but he handed
Sam the paper, and said:
"Perhaps Gates is a liar, as well as a chicken-
stealer; but you see the newspaper man says that
he has seen his gold-dust; so there "
Oh, pshaw said his mother, returning to
her wash-tub ; these gold stories about Califor-
nia are all got up to help the shipping people.
They are selling their vessels, and advertising to
take folks out at great prices. So the Chicago
papers say "
"But Josh Gates came back overland, ma,"
said the boy.
"'Tis my opinion that that scamp has never
been farther west than Iowa," cried Sam, holding
up the paper with a knowing air. Hi Fender
saw him over to Council Bluffs last Fall, sweeping
out a billiard saloon. He went from there-to St.
Louis as deck hand on a steamboat. He aint
worth shucks."

[NOVEMBER,

1875.] THE BOY EMIGRANTS.

Having so said, Sam went on mending his ox-
yoke, as if the case were finally settled.
That day, Arthur and Barnard worked together
in the field putting in a second crop where the
first seeding had been winter-killed. They talked
over and over again the chances of the journey to
California, the story of the gold discoveries, the
truth or falsehood of Josh Gates, and all the ways
and means of getting across the continent. About
this last branch of the subject there was a great
deal of doubt. It would cost much money.
But only think, Barney, how grand 't would
be if we could come home in a year or two with
lots of gold, pay off the mortgage, build a new
house, and fix things comfortable for the folks
during the rest of their lives! Wouldn't that
pay ? And Arthur, in a great glow of anticipa-
tion, scattered the seed-wheat far and wide by big
handfuls.
"Take care there, boy you're throwing away
that grain," grumbled Barnard, who was twenty
years old, and a little less enthusiastic than Arthur.
But he added, "I do just believe there's gold in
California; and if we can only figure it out to satisfy
the folks, we'll go there, by hook or crook."
It's a whack cried Arthur, who was ardent,
and a little slangy.

CHAPTER II.
GREAT PREPARATIONS.

"Now, if I was in a story-book," said Arthur
to himself, one day, I should find a wallet in the
road, with one hundred and fifty dollars in it."
One hundred and fifty dollars was just about the
sum which the boys had found they needed to
complete an outfit for California. Without any
formal declaration of their intention, or any
expression of opinion from father and mother, Bar-
nard and Arthur had gone on with their plans;
but these were all in the air, so far. The details
worried them a great deal.
There was a spare wagon on the farm which
might be fixed up and mended well enough to
last for the journey across the Plains. Old Jim
could be taken from the plow; but they must
have another horse, some mining tools, harness,
and provisions. From a New England newspaper
they cut a list of articles considered necessary for
the journey. It was fascinating, but formidable.
This is the way it ran :

x Wagon ............................... $125.00
Wagon Cover ............................. i.o
2 Horses oi M ules........................ o50.00
Harness ................................ 60.o
Tent .............. ................ 25.00
4 Picks ................ ................ 5.o
2 Shovels ............ .. .. ... .......... 4.40

4 Gold-Pans............................ $x.oo
2 Axes ................................. 5.50
8 Cwt. Flour. .......................... 24.oo
i Bush. Beans .......................... 1.25
2 Bush. Corn Meal ...................... 4.75
S Cwt. Pork ...................... ... o.oo
4 Cwt. Bacon .......................... 44.00
i Cwt. Sugar ........................... 8.00
5o Lbs. Rice ................. ... ........ 550
60 Lbs. Coffee ............................. o.8o
Sundry Small Stores................... io.oo
Ammunition .......................... 12.00
M edicines .................. .... ....... 5.00oo
Total.......... $523.20
"More than five hundred dollars !" Arthur would
say, over and over again. "More than five hun-
dred dollars, and we have n't five hundred cents "
By degrees, however, the boys had managed to
reduce the sum-total somewhat. The wagon, they
thought, might be taken out of the list. So might
one of the horses, if Old Jim could be put instead.
Then the sixty dollars for harness could be brought
down to less than half that amount. They could
make some of the old harness on the farm avail-
able-with their father's consent. They could take
less pork and more bacon.
"I hate pork, any how," said Barnard, who
had worked one season of haying with a neighbor,
and had been fed on fried pork and hot bread
three times a day, for five weeks.
"But we can't have hams and shoulders," ob-
jected Arthur. Don't they cost a good deal ? "
Side-meat's the thing, Arty. No bones in it;
easy to carry, and cheap. Nine cents a pound;
and we've got a lot in the smoke-house, you know,
that perhaps father will let us have some from."
"And this fellow has got down bacon at eleven
cents a pound said Arthur, with great disdain.
" And what he should put in 'Sunday small stores'
at ten dollars for, is more than I know. What are
'Sunday small stores,' any how ? "
Ho, you goose !-those are 'sundry small
stores.' You've made an a out of an r; that's
all. 'Sunday small stores !' Well, that's a good
one He's guessed at the lot; and I guess it's
high for a little salt, spice, and such knick-nacks.
Besides, there's five dollars for medicine. Who's
going to be sick on the Plains, I'd like to know? "
A multitude of such discussions as these, with
much contriving and figuring, put the young emi-
grants where they could see their way clear to an out-
fit-if they had only one hundred and fifty dollars
in cash. That was a big sum; and, even with this,
they had calculated on obtaining permission to take
from the farm many things which were needed.
The boys studied over the ways and means of
getting to California with real enjoyment. Hubert,
the big brother, who was employed in a store in
town, and came home on Sundays, declared that
Arthur carried the printed slip from the Plow-

THE BOY EMIGRANTS. [NOVEMBER,

man to bed with him. Nevertheless, the whole
family joined in the debate over the propriety of
taking corn-meal on such a long journey, or the
cost of extra boots and clothing for the travelers,
with a glow of satisfaction. It was a novelty, and,
though none but Barney and Arthur really thought
anything would come of it, all the boys discussed
the route, outfit, and dangers of the way, at morn-
ing, noon and night.
They made out new lists of things indispensable
for the trip, and fingered these with a certain sort
of fascination for the items and figures which was

-;- *
k~ l i i
-~i_ -----i-
;=i
~= ~----' i--

the plains? Would he find there the romance and
fun which he anticipated ?
If I was only in a story-book, now, I should
find a wallet in the road with one hundred and fifty
dollars in it."
Arthur had said this to himself a great many
times. This time, as he lay at full length on top
of the hill behind the house, looking off down the
valley of the Rock, he built once more his golden
dream. Beyond the brown, newly plowed fields,
suggesting only hard work; beyond the tall cotton-
woods that bordered the stream, and beyond the

-

-;-

"LOOKING OFF DOWN THE VALLEY OF THE ROCK."

quite satisfactory. As Sam said one day, they had
the fun of talking about it, even if nobody should go.
The care-worn mother looked on and listened.
She could not contentedly think of these dear young
fledglings of hers flying so far away from the home
nest. There were dreadful tales of Indians on the
way, disease, and death, and violence and crime in
the gold-diggings. What would become of her
boys, alone and unfriended, in that rude country,
even if they should ever reach it? She looked at
Arthur's golden head, deep in the mysteries of the
cookery-book, which he was studying for future
use; and she sighed and smiled together. Could
she trust her boy to the chances of a roving life on

pale blue line where the valley of the Rock River
melted into the sky, wvas the promised land. So
faraway it was! Yet he could see, he thought,
the gay caravans pressing on to the golden shores
of the Pacific. There were long trains of brave
men with wagons, horses and arms. There were
the rolling prairies dotted with buffalo, deer, and
strange game. The red man lurked by the trails,
but fled away to the snow-capped mountains as the
white conqueror came on apace. The grand Rocky
Mountains, whose devious line ha had painfully
studied on his school-map, rose majestically on the
horizon, lying like clouds against the sky.
How mean and narrow the little farm below

THE BOY EMIGRANTS.

[NOVEMBER,

T _-;.-..

4;$

i875.] THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 7

him looked! How small the valley and how
wearisome the plowed fields! He remembered
that his back had ached with the planting of that
ten-acre lot; and he remembered, too, how his
father had said that little boys' backs never ached;
that little boys thought their backs ached, but they
didn't. Arthur turned his eyes westward again
with a vague and. restless longing. Surely, there
was a place for him somewhere outside the narrow
valley, where he could make a name, see the
world, and learn something besides plowing, sow-
ing, harvesting and saving.
"One hundred and fifty dollars," he murmured
once more, as his eye fell on Hiram Fender, slowly
plodding his way through the tall grass below the
hill.. "Oh, Hi called Arthur, and Hiram, shading
his eyes from the sinking sun, looked up where
Arthur lay on the ledge. Everybody liked the
cheery Arthur; and Hi Fender climbed the hill
with "Well, now, youngster, what's up ?"
Nothing, only Barney wanted me to ask you,
whenever I saw you, what you'd take for that white
mare of yours. She is yours, is n't she ?"
"Well, yes, I allow she's mine. Dad said he'd
gin her to me on my twenty-first buthday, and
that was Aprile the twenty-one."
What '11 you take for her ? "
"Don't want to sell. Besides, what d' ye want
her for?"
To go to California with."
"Be you fellers going to C:ii;f:.rr, ?"
*' Yes, if we can get up an outfit."
Hiram Fender looked l-ilu;dl .:1, .-r the glow-
ing landscape. He was a slow-molded chap,"
Farmer Stevens said; and he never was excited.
But the sun seemed to burn in his eyes as he
said: "Will u :,J!;: a feller along?"
"Who? You?"
Sartin, sartin; I've been a-thinkin' it over, and
I'll go if you fellers go."
Arthur jumped up, swung his ragged hat two or
three times, and said: "Good for you, Hi! and
the list is made out for four "
Hiram looked on him with a mild query expressed
on his freckled face, and Arthur took out of his
pocket the well-worn list for the outfit and read:
" The following list is calculated for four persons,
making a four months' trip from the Mississippi to
the gold diggings."
Hiram looked at it and said: "Five hundred
and twenty-three dollars Phew "
Hiram's father was a thrifty Illinois farmer. The
neighbors said he was forehandedd; but he had
brought up his boys to look at least twice at a dol-
lar before spending it; therefore, when Hiram
looked at the sum total of the list, he said "Phew! "
with an expression of great dismay.

"But," cried Arthur, "it is for four persons, and
we have figured it down so that we only want one
hundred and fifty dollars. Can't you think of
some other fellow that would go ? Then we should
have a party of four."
"I allow that Tom might go. He wants to go to
Californy powerful bad; but I aint right sure that
dad'11 let him."
Now, Tom was Hiram's younger brother and
Arthur's particular aversion. So Arthur dubiously
said: "Wouldn't Bill go?"
"Bill!" repeated Hiram, with great disgust.
"Bill hasn't got spunk enough to go across the
Mississippi. Why, he's that scared of Injuns that
he gets up in the middle of the night, dreaming
like enough, and yelling Injuns Injuns He
was scart by a squaw when he was a baby, and
he goes on like mad whenever he hears 'em men-
tioned."
Arthur laughed. "And he's older than you,
Hi?"
"Yes, Bill's the oldest of the family. But
there's little Tom, now. Aint he peart, though?
He can yoke up a pair of young steers, or shuck
a bushel of corn equal to any grown man about
these parts. And he's only fifteen come harvest,
too He's just afraid of nothing. He '11 go fast
enough."
That is if your father will let him."
"Yes, if dad'll let him. And we can put in
my white mare agin your Old Jim. But my white
mare will kick your Old Jim all to pieces, I allow; "
and Hiram grinned at what he thought was the
great-contrast between the two horses.
Arthur was very much elated at the prospect of
reinforcements to the party, though he could not
regard Tom Fender as a desirable recruit. Tom
was an awkward, loutish lad, disposed to rough
ways, and holding very contemptuous views of the
manners of the Stevens family, whom he called
" stuck-up Boston folks." Arthur had felt obliged
to challenge Tom to open combat on one occasion,
when that young gentleman, secure behind Old
Fenner's corn-crib, bawled out "mackerel-catch-
ers at Arthur and his brothers as they were jog-
ging along to church one Sunday morning. The
consequence was that both boys wore black-and-
blue eyes after that encounter, and suffered some
family discipline besides. They had since been on
very distant terms of acquaintance.
I don't care. Hi Fender is a downright good
fellow," said Arthur, when Barnard opened his
eyes at the information that the two Fender boys
might be secured for their party.
"Yes, but how about Tom?"
Arthur hesitated. "Well, I want to get off
across the plains. That's a fact. I think I could

THE BOY EMIGRANTS.

get along with Tom, if you can. He is real smart
with cattle and horses, you know."
Oh, I don't care for Tom," said Barnard, dis-
dainfully. "He's only a little chap, smaller than
you, and he wont worry me. Besides, his brother
Hi is a inighty good fellow, even if he is rough.
He is pretty close, I know, but we sha' n't quarrel
about that. We 've all got to be economical, if we
are to get across to California."
So it was agreed, and when word came up the
road that Mr Fender had consented that his boys

know but what I'd go myself. It's pretty hard
pickings here." Farmer Stevens had a roving dis-
position, which he had not quite outgrown.
But," remonstrated the mother, they have n't
money enough to give them a good outfit. It
would be a frightful thing to let those thoughtless
boys go out on the great plains without food and
other things sufficient to take them through."
Now, mother, I've been thinking that we
might sell the wood off the lower half of the wood-
lot down by the marsh. Page has offered me one

DEPARTURE OF THE GOLD-HUNTERS.

should go, there was great excitement in the
Stevens house. It really seemed as if the boys
were going to California. They had insensibly
glided into the whole arrangement without taking
any family vote on it. Neither father nor mother
had once consented or refused that the boys should
go with so much of an outfit as they might pick up.
"Oh, father," said Mrs. Stevens, "it is heart-
breaking to think of those boys going off alone into
the wilderness. I 'm sure I shall never see them
again, if they go."
Well, mother, I should like to keep them on
the place; but they are getting restive, and I don't
much blame them. They've got the gold fever
pretty bad; and if I was as young as they, I don't

hundred dollars for the cut. That, with what the
Fenders put in and what we have on the place,
would give the boys a tolerable fit-out."
That wood-lot was the special pride of the family.
"Timber," as every species of tree was called in
those parts, was scarce. Wood was dear, and in
some seasons the prairie farmers used corn for fuel,
it was so much cheaper than wood; and it cost a
great deal to get the grain to market. It was a
great sacrifice to cut down those maples and sell
them for fire-wood. But Farmer Stevens, poring
over maps, estimates of provisions, and California
news, with his boys, had been secretly fired with
the gold fever. He could not go; but he was will-
ing to give up the standing timber in order that

[NOVEMBER,

1875.] HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 9

Barnard and Arthur should have a good outfit.
It cost him a struggle. But, old as he was, he
sympathized with the boys in their' adventurous
ambition. He was not so sanguine about the gold
of California holding out long. But it was there
now. He had seen and handled Josh Gates' pile
of dust; and Solomon Bookstaver, who went to
the Columbia River, five years before, had just
come back from California and had fired the entire
population of Lee Centre with his display of golden
nuggets, or ckisfias, as Sol called them.
When the father's determination to sell the wood
off his wood-lot was made known the next day, in
family council, Barnard's face glowed, and Sam
said: Well, I swan to man !" Arthur dashed out
by the back door, turned five or six "flip-flaps" to
calm himself, came back, and, putting his arm
about his father's neck, whispered in his ear, "You
are the best old father a boy ever had "
So it was finally settled that the boys should go
to California, across the plains, the party consisting
of Barnard and Arthur Stevens, and Hiram and
Thomas Fender.
Great were the preparations. The provisions
available on the two farms were laid under contri-
bution. The tent, a marvel of comfort and light-
ness, was made and set up before the house, to the
great curiosity of the passing neighbors, who stopped
their teams, and asked: Gwine to Californy? "

In those days, groceries and clothing were cheaper
than now, and, with the cash which the party had
collected, they laid in a very fair supply, and had a.
little money left to use when absolutely necessary
on the journey. The young fellows hugely enjoyed
getting ready. The woolen shirts and jean over-
alls, wide hats and leather belts, which were to be
their uniform, were put on with solid satisfaction.
Tom swaggered around with a seven-barreled Colt's.
revolver, nearly as big as himself, slung on his hip.
Those delightful days of packing flew quickly.
The wagon was crammed full to the ash bows.
which supported the canvas cover. A sheet-iron
camp-stove was tied on behind. Water-pail and
tar-bucket dangled underneath. Thus equipped,
one fine May morning, the gold hunters drove
away. Old Jim and White Jenny trotted gayly
down the road, their faces turned toward the
West.
Father and mother stood at the gate. Hi Fen-
der drove the wagon, the rest of the party trudging
along by the side. Hubert, who had come over
from town to see the departure, with Sam and
Oliver, accompanied the young adventurers to the:
top of the divide, where they left them.
And so they were off. Behind them was home.
Before them an unknown sea of privation, danger,
want and adventure. The wagon disappeared over
rii ridge. The boys were gone.

(To be continued.)

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
(Copen4agen, August 4th, z875.)

THERE is silence in the Northland, for one hath passed away
Honored of all, 'a veteran, weary for many a day-
Weary of earth, of suffering, of toil and cumbering care,
Eager to lay the burden down, but willing still to bear.
A silence in the Northland. Yet Denmark's soul is glad-
Glad for the honored veteran, the truest man she had!
Glad for the countless little ones who crowd about his bier,
Glad for the voice that evermore the listening world shall hear!

There is joy among the angels. To that bright company
One cometh as a little child-all gladly cometh he!
Our Lord hath lifted off his load, hath led him to the light,
And happy spirits, welcoming, lead up the pathway bright.
Now shall the ransomed poet hear the holy, glorious song,
The grand, eternal story he hath waited for so long!
O children ye who love his name, wait on, and watch and pray--
In reverent thought still honor him the Lord hath called this day!

A FEW ALLIGATORS. [NOVEMBER,

A FEW ALLIGATORS.

BY FRED BEVERLY.

FLORIDA may be called the home of the alliga- tives, in various ways. Their teeth, beautifully
tor. Here he finds water and climate exactly to carved, and mounted in gold, are offered for sale,
his liking. Further north, the rigors of Winter and boots and shoes are made of the best portions
compel him to subside into the mud. His deli- of their skins; while the small alligators are cap-
cately organized system cannot endure cold. tured, held in captivity until the departure of winter
Scattered along the Georgia coast, in the creeks visitors, when they are sold and transported north.
and bayous, they are occasionally seen; but it is The alligator, although it very much resembles
when sailing up that wonderful river of Florida, its cousin the crocodile, as you will see by the pict-
the St. John, that we meet them, in constantly in- ure on the next page, is a different animal, and is
creasing numbers, till nearly every stretch of sandy found nowhere but in America. It is said that a
shore, every half-sunken log, shows one or more. crocodile or two have been killed in our Florida
SIn the little-known creeks of the interior, and in waters; but even if this is true, such instances are
the swamps of the Everglades, they fairly swarm. extremely rare.
But there are not so many now as in former years, Let us commence with the alligator ab ovo, or
for travelers and hunters have reduced their ranks, from the egg, and follow him to maturity, noticing
and rendered them shy where once they were bold. his peculiar traits and the methods employed in
To the hunter of hides, more than to the tourist, is his capture.
due the diminution, as very few are killed by the The eggs are of the size and shape of goose eggs,
latter. A great trade has arisen, and declined, in though a little more rounded at the small end, of
alligator hides, and a few years ago all the native a yellowish-white color. They are laid in nests
hunters were engaged in killing alligators. Even constructed of mud and vegetable substances,which
the swarthy Seminole Indian was induced to bring produce heat by fermentation, thus aiding in hatch-
in the skin of a reptile his ancestors held in rever- ing the eggs.
ence and awe. The maternal alligator always keeps watch near
Now, though there is little demand for their the nest, as the male parent is very fond of young
skins, they are made to yield a revenue to the na- alligator, raw or cooked, and it requires all her

A FEW ALLIGATORS.

NOVEMBERI

A FEW ALLIGATORS.

diligence to prevent the total destruction of her off-
spring. As it is, the old fellow generally contrives
to snatch up a few, though the little ones follow
close in their mother's wake, spreading out like the
tail of a comet.
The young are very nimble, even on land, and
when in the water very deceptive in appearance as
to size. I remember catching one by the tail,
which appeared in the water to be about a foot in
length, but it was a three-footer that turned upon
me when it was jerked out of the water.
The size of the largest alligator is a matter of
much dispute.. Every native Floridian has his
story to tell of "that big 'gator," and statements
vary, none exceeding twenty feet, most of them
being satisfied with eighteen. Tolerably correct
information has been obtained of the c iptn- u:.!f
one sixteen feet in length, but they rarely exceed
fourteen.
For my part, though I have hunted in the wild
est portions of, Florida, I have yet to see an alli-
gator exceeding a length of twelve feet. My guide
and myself once captured one measuring twelve
feet. We harpooned him as he lay at the bottom
.of the river, and it was as
though we had hitched on to
a whale. For half an hour he
made the boat spin through
the water as it never went be-
fore.' It took three shots to -
kill him, but we finally did i
it, and a steak from his tail I "I.p;
was upon our bill of fare that
night.
Was it good? Well, I have
eaten better meat, meat more
to my liking, than alligator -
steak.
The alligator, at all times, '"
and under any circumstances,
emits a disagreeable, musky -
odor, and his flesh is strongly
impregnated with it.
His food is-any and every-
- thing. He is as omnivorous,
or all-eating, as a crow. Birds,
fishes, hogs, dogs, and even
chunks of wood, are swallowed
by him. Whether the wood
is swallowed for sustenance,
or to aid digestion, the alligator alone can answer.
The vulnerable points of an alligator are greater
in number than is popularly supposed. The state-
ment that a rifle-ball will flatten out upon his side
or back is now known to be incorrect. Contrary
to the general belief, a rifle-ball will penetrate any
portion of the body, if it strike fair.

Is the alligator dangerous ? That depends upon
circumstances. The only danger to be feared from
an alligator, on land, is in his tail. He cannot run
rapidly, and, conscious of his inability to escape, he
either quietly submits or lashes out furiously with
his tail.
They rarely leave their watery abodes, except
from an insufficient depth of water or scarcity of
food. They seem to scent a body of water a long .
way, for their trails to them are generally direct.
Very few instances have come to my knowledge of
any one being bitten by an alligator. One was of
a man being seized by the hand, as he was stoop-
ing to drink from a pool. It was only by the op-
portune arrival of aid that he escaped.
They prefer negroes to white men, and hogs and
dogs to either' An alligator will follow on the
trail of a dog for a long distance, and it is difficult
for settlers near the banks of an alligator-haunted
river or lake to keep dogs at all.
I recall one of my adventures while hunting
some rare water-birds. My friend and myself had
penetrated a swamp, and had entered a place where
the water was waist-deep, black with mud, and alive

with alligators. It was a strange sight to me, and
I rather shrank from proceeding any further; but
my friend, who had been acquainted with 'gators
for years, said there was no danger, and we went
in.. On every side were the knotty heads and evil-
looking eyes of scores of alligators. They swam
about us, seemingly more from curiosity than from

. 875.]

A FEW ALLIGATORS. [NOVEMBER,

any other ..-,t- :. but they gulped up our dog
with a rapidity that set my heart .i-l,.,i;n,. I shot
and shot, as fast as I could, with a breech-loading
shot-gun, but failed to disperse them. That they
did n't eat us I attributed to the abundance of food
that, in the shape of young birds, literally dropped
from the trees into their mouths. IJ ic were the
birds we lost, for as they fell into the water the al-
i .: ,--.'- rushed for them and seized them before we
could get them.
I do not think that an alligator will attack man
unless he has him at a I disadvantage. They
are cowardly, but know their power in the water,
and probably would seize a man if they met him
swimming beyond his depth.
The following description is from the pen of
Bartram, the botanist, who visited Florida a hun-
dred years ago. ..l:iou l, he was known as an
accurate writer, one cannot help surmising that
here he drew the long bow a trifle:
Behold him rushing forth from the flags and
reeds. His enormous body swells. His plated
i.,., brandished il.!,. floats upon the lake. The
waters, like a cataract, descend from his opening
jaws. Clouds of smoke issue from his dilated nos-
tii I.. The earth trembles with his thunder, when
immediately, from the opposite coast of the lagoon,
emerges from the deep his rival champion. Ti, .
suddenly dart upon each other. The boiling sur-
face of the lake marks their rapid course, and a
terrific conflict commences. They now sink to the
bottom, folded tIi,-l'..'r in horrid wreaths. The
water becomes thick and discolored. Again .1-
rise; their jaws clap together, r,:.,: ihon. ihr.. i :
the deep i- I.I.uI1!..rc forests. * My appre-
hensions were highly alarmed after being a specta-
tor of so dreadful a battle. It was obvious that
every delay would but tend to increase my dangers
and difficulties, as the sun was near rting and the
alligators gathered round my harbor from all quar-

ters. My situation became precarious to the last
degree, two large ones attacking me closely at the
same instant, rushing up with their heads and part
of their bodies above the water, roaring terribly,
and belching floods of water over me. They struck
their jaws together so close to my ears as almost to
stun me, andI expected every moment to be dragged
out of the boat and devoured."
Such is the story of an encounter in 1773. I
think, however, that actual adventures of this kind
must have been rare even then. Bartram was
probably among the first to penetrate the dismal
regions which are the home of the ,llii, i..r. Little
was then known of it save by actual investigation,
and with a pioneer in those vast, lonely tropical
forests, such sounds and sights as .1..<-: which the
odious habits of this creature .i!!. .i .1 might easily
inspire an undue, fear of it. Certain it is, at least,
that a century later, we find the alligator possessed
of a much milder temper. The decrease in their
numbers may have made them more cowardly, but
among people who have seen much of them, I
think that they are at this day r:r _: .1-:, with dis-
gust rather than with fear.
l.,il..:::.. : r .. of you have heard of "cr.:,..il. d:
tears "-tears shed for effect only, not tears of real,
genuine i;:. rl,. I do not know where or how
the term originated. It may have been that the
position sometimes assumed by the animal when
lying upon a bank, of placing its fore-feet over or
near its eyes, suggested the fancy to some facetious
tourist. However, some old writers solemnly aver
that the crocodile actually sheds tears. If he weeps
at all, it must be to think that any one could tell
such a story about him.
While I am sure that .ll;an never weep, it
is probable that they are sometimes the cause of
tears in others, especially people who own nice
little fat pigs. Alligators are extremely fond of
fresh young pork.

"E GAVE TO MISER. ALL HE HAD, A TEAR."

A FEW ALLIGATORS.

(NOVEMBER,

x87s.] A DOLL'S WEDDING. 13

A DOLL'S WEDDING.

BY LUCY LARCOM.

SAYS Ivanhoe to Mimi:
"It is our wedding-day;
And will you promise, dearest,
Your husband to obey?" "

And this is Mimi's answer:
"With all my heart, my dear;
If you will never cause me
To drop a single tear;

"If you will ask me nothing
But what I want to do,
I '11 be a sweet, obedient,
Delightful wife to you."

Says Mr. Fenwick, giving
His brown mustache a twist:
"I shall command you, madam,
To do whatever I list-!"

Miss Mimi answers, frowning,
His very soul to freeze:
"Then, sir, I shall obey you
Only just when I please !"

Says Ivanhoe to Mimi:
"Let us to this agree,-
I will not speak one word to you,
If you 'll not speak to me;

"Then we shall never quarrel,
But through our dolly-life
I '11 be a model husband,
And you a model wife!"

And now all men and women
Who make them wedding-calls,
Look on, and almost envy
The bliss of these two dolls.

They seem so very smiling;,-
So graceful, kind, and bright I
And gaze upon each other
Quite speechless with delight.

Never one cross word saying,
They stand up side by side,
Patterns of good behavior
To every groom and bride.

Sweethearts, it is far better,-
This truth they plainly teach,-
The solid gold of silence,
Than the small change of speech!

THE KIND TURKEY-MAN.

THE KIND TURKEY-MAN.

BY SARGENT FLINT.

IT was the evening before Thanksgiving..
The sun had gone down behind the hills of
Greenville, leaving them cold and bare against
the dull sky. The squirrels were safe and warm
in their own little houses, cracking nuts for their
Thanksgiving dinner. The trees waved tl}eir tall,
bare branches in the biting cold, but they jnew
that their roots were sheltered by the kind earth.
The cold wind shouted a merry good-evening "
to everything, as he rushed over the frozen ground.
He raced over the bare hills; the squirrels drew
closer together, and exulted over their crowded
storehouse; the trees bowed a stately good-night,
as he whisked away; but he calmed down as he
met a little figure on the frozen road, and gave
her time to draw her faded cloak tighter over her
blue hands, before he rushed on again.
A wagon was heard. Rattle, rattle Even
the wagon is cold, the child thought, as she heard
the loose spokes rattling in the wheels.
She stepped aside for the wagon to pass; the
driver, a pleasant-looking man, stopped his horse,
and asked her whither she was going.
"To the city," answered the child.
"To the city cried the man. "Why, you will
never get there, unless you are blown there, or I
take you."
"Will you take me?" she asked, not eagerly,
but like one accustomed to refusals.
His answer was to reach down his hand to help
her up.
Now," said he, as he put her under the heavy
buffalo-robe, "what's your name ?"
Mary,-only Mary," she answered hastily.
Mary," said the man softly, more to himself
than the child, I wish it had n't been that."
Why, there 's lots of Marys," said the child.
"Yes, I know it," he said. I had a little
Mary last Thanksgiving. I-I don't like to see
any one named Mary in trouble."
"I aint crying," said the child, smiling, "be-
cause I 'm in trouble, but 'cause I 'm so cold. I
ought to have trouble, Granny says."
Ought to have trouble, hey said the man,
stopping his horse, and drawing from under the
buffalo-robe a can of hot coffee. That has n't
been off the stove more than five minutes," he
said, as he filled a little tin cup and handed it to
her. Take that, and drink to your Granny "
It is very nice," she said, when she had drank

it all. She did not say, I have tasted nothing
before to-day. Why should she, when there had
been so many days like this in her short life ?
The man replaced the can, pulled the robe up
even with her chin, and told the horse to get
up" and "go along;" then he whistled awhile;
then he said, It is mighty cold. I hope it will
keep so "
0, don't exclaimed the child; 'cos it
makes turkey cost so much, poor folks can't have
any."
Don't you care anything for me cried the
man, pathetically; here 's my wagon full of tur-
keys."
I did n't know you were a turkey-man," she
said, gently. .
"Yes, I am a 'turkey-man,' and I think even
poor people can afford to buy a turkey once a
year, if they are high. The turkey-men have
been waiting a year for this day."
There was a twinkle in his eye she did not see;
he looked down into the little pale face. I. am
afraid you don't care for the turkey-men he
said, soberly.
She hung down her head, started to say some-
thing, but stopped.
Well, what is it? he said, laughing.
I do like you," she answered, earnestly; "but
the poor people-I have known them always."
They rode on for awhile in silence. The hot
coffee had worked wonders; the blue little hands
had stopped shaking, and the child smiled as she
saw the city lights in the distance.
Now you are a little more comfortable," said
the turkey-man, "let us hear where you are
going, and what your other name is."
My name is only Mary,' and I am going to
find my cousin."
"Nonsense he said, a little sharply. "Of
course you have got a name."
They call me Mary Kent,' but I hate it, and
I wont have it! she cried, passionately.
"Why did they call you that?" he asked,
gently.
"'Cause my father ran away, and left me in
Granny Cole's house, when I was little. He
pinned a paper on my dress, that said on it,
'Left to pay the rent.' "
The turkey-man whistled, and asked if Granny
Cole were good to her.

~

[NOVEMBER,

1875.] THE KIND TURKEY-MAN. 15

Pretty kind," said the child, wearily. "Any-
way, she did n't 'spise me like Sally did."
"Who may Sally be ?" asked the turkey-man.
She is Granny Cole's daughter."
"Did Granny Cole send you alone to the city?"
said he, watching her suspiciously.
She told me the other day," said the child,
mournfully, if I ever come home and found her
gone, to go to the city and find my cousin. Yes-
terday she sent me off with Sally, an' when I come
back Sally ran away from me, an' I could n't find
Granny."
"Are you quite sure you can find your cousin?"
She looked up in his face, and laid her thin hand
on his sleeve.
I never saw my cousin," she said, calmly.
"If Granny has run away from me, I have n't
anybody I know."
Why, then, did you come to the city? said
the turkey-man, wondering where he could leave
her.
"I know the city best," she said; "Granny
used to live there, till a week ago. It is so dark
in the country, when you have to stay alone!
There are the market-men,-see how bright they
are "
It was the night before Thanksgiving, in the
city as well as in the country; the markets shone
as they always do the evening before the great
feast. Never were garlands more green, never
apples more red, or gobblers more plump.
The turkey-man drove up and stopped.
"Here is as far as I go, little one," he said, as
he lifted her out and stood her safely in the bright
light of the market.
She was a pretty child, but pale now, with blue
lips and shaking hands.
Poor little thing !" he muttered; "I wish they
had n't named her Mary; and he entered the
market.
The market-men beamed on everybody. They
rubbed their hands as customer after customer
vanished with the cold form of some kind of fowl
neatly covered, all but its feet, in brown paper.
It was growing late; the turkey-man had sold
out; he waited only to get a hot supper before
starting for home. He had been thinking entirely
of dollars and cents; but as he walked out of the
market, he thought of his home, his wife waiting
alone for him in the great white house, and his
little Mary safe in God's home above-he had for-
gotten the homeless child left alone outside the
market.
A heavy hand was laid on his arm Stand
back a moment whispered a voice. He looked
up, and saw a large policeman watching a child at
a barrel of red apples.

It is his little fellow-traveler !
That's a sharp youngster half laughed the
policeman, under his breath. This sort of thing
is going on here all the time. Nothing is safe for
a moment."
The little blue hand was already on an apple.
It faltered a moment, then grasped it tightly, then
dropped it.
She hid her face in her hands. The turkey-
man stepped up to her and touched her shoulder
gently. She had not seen him; but, without
looking up, the child knew who it was-it was the
only friend she had.
I could n't do it! Oh, I could n't! she
sobbed. "But I'm so hungry!" and she fell
against the barrel.

The stars were shining cold and clear. The
turkey-man's wife was looking out, and wishing
the thermometer could go up, without the price
.of turkeys going down. "It is so cold for John
riding from the city alone she said to herself.
She opened the door, hoping to hear the wagon;
but the cold wind sent her back to the blazing fire.
She thought of a year ago, when she did not sit
waiting alone. She imagined she heard the little
voice, though it had been hushed nearly a year-
how plainly she saw the sweet face, though it had
been covered so long She wiped the tears from
her eyes as she heard the rattling wheels; John
must not see her sad. She opened the door, hold-
ing the lamp high above her head.
The turkey-man came in, with something wrap-
ped in the buffalo-robe; he laid it on the big din-
ing-table. Don't say no I he cried; "let us
do something for Mary's sake, this Thanksgiv-
ing "
".Are you crazy? she exclaimed, as he uncov-
ered the pale face.
Wait till I tell you all," said the turkey-man.
When he had told his story, he said, earnestly,
How could I go to church to-morrow and thank
God for His care of us, if I, with no little one to
care for, had left this child alone in the great
city ? "
"You did right, John," said his wife; "you
always do."
With these words, the woman-good, practical
soul l-hastened to wash the little girl's face and
hands. Then she warmed and comforted her,
while the kind turkey-man went to take care of
his horse.
I remember this house," said the child, as she
looked out of a large blanket before the bright fire.
I saw it one day with Granny Cole; I stopped
and looked through the fence, and threw stones at
the turkeys. I did n't know he was a kind man

then. Granny hates rich men-I wonder where lower and lower; the pale lids closed; the little
Granny is-I 'm sorry I threw the stones-but hands grew quiet; but the little voice repeated in
they was n't so very big." The little head fell sleep, I did n't know he was a kind man."

NIKOLINA.

BY CELIA THAXTER.

TELL me, little children, have you seen her-
The tiny maid from Norway, Nikolina?
0, her eyes are blue as cornflowers 'mid the corn,
And her cheeks are rosy red as skies of morn!

O buy the baby's blossoms if you meet her,
And stay with gentle words and looks to greet her;
She 'll gaze at you and smile and clasp your hand,
But no word of your speech can understand.

Nikolina Swift she turns if any call her,
As she stands among the poppies hardly taller,
Breaking off their scarlet cups for you,
With spikes of slender larkspur, burning blue.

In her little garden many a flower is growing-
Red, gold, and purple in the soft wind blowing;
But the child that stands amid the blossoms gay
Is sweeter, quainter, brighter even than they.

O tell me, little children, have you seen her -
This baby girl from Norway, Nikolina ?
Slowly she's learning English words, to try
And thank you if her flowers you come to buy.

NIKOLINA.

NOVEMBER,

ARNELD AND HIS VIOLIN.

ARNELD AND HIS VIOLIN.

BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

A MELANCHOLY little Swiss boy was Arneld, for
he felt himself all alone in the world. His father
and mother had been lost in the shipwreck from
which he himself was rescued to find a home at
last with a warm-hearted American farmer. But
kind though every one was, nobody was his own,
nobody remembered the same things that he did,
or loved the same things; and so slow was he in
learning a new tongue, that to nobody could he
speak of any one of all the thoughts that labored in
his little breast.
He did his best to please the farmer, though, who
.gave him many a kindly toned word and many an
encouraging slap on the shoulder, while the good
motherly farmer's wife set aside for him now a cus-
tard and now a turnover, and little Rosa used to
take her own custard and go and stand beside him
to eat it in concert, as if that might lessen a little
the loneliness which she knew he must be feeling.
She undertook, too, to be his especial instructress
in our language; but as she did not know it very
well herself, her pupil did not make progress
enough to be proud of, and was, in fact, more
likely to teach Rosa his own dialect than to learn
hers.
He could, indeed, signify simple wants and call
simple names; but he wanted to tell of other
things. He wanted to tell of the terrible wreck,
and the black waves where his father and mother
went down. He wanted to tell Rosa of his little
sister Marie, with her eyes like Alpine violets; of
the echoes among the hills, the pictures in the
lakes, the valleys full of the roar of waterfalls; of
the white-tipped mountains melting into heaven;
of all the thoughts they used to give him,-but
nothing could he say. And when, on some clear,
bright day, he chanced to look upward and see the
white angle of the house against the blue of the
sky,-or higher yet, and see a snowy cloud repos-
ing on that blue,-then the remembrance of some
mountain-side shining white against the sky at
home would rush over him and bring the tears to
his eyes: some snowy mountain-side that he never
knew he loved so till he had lost it. Then little
Rosa would come and slide her hand into his, and
look at him so wistfully that Arneld would long
more than ever for some way of telling her what it
was of which he thought so sadly and longingly.
If I only had my violin that went down on the
great ship," he would sigh to himself, "then she
would know And with that thought he began
VOL. III.-2.

to count the coppers that had been given him from
time to time, to do little odd.jobs for more, to get
a penny here and a half-dime there, till one day he
spread them all out before the farmer and signified
by some pantomime, a little English, and a great
deal of what the farmer called gibberish, that he
should like to go into town with him when he went
to sell his vegetables. And as soon as the farmer

"THE VALLEYS FULL OF THE ROAR OF WATERFALLS."
got at his meaning, he took Arneld by the shoulders
and swung him into the cart, and they plodded
along together. Arneld told the farmer a great
deal that morning of what he had wanted to have
and how he intended to get it, and what he would
certainly do with it; but though the farmer nodded
and nodded, not one word did he understand; and
when at last he set the boy down in the market-
place and saw him dart away, he felt very much as
an old robin must feel who by accident has had a
young cuckoo hatched in his nest.

ARNELD AND HIS VIOLIN.

It was just as the farmer was ready to mount into
his wagon again for a good rattle home, that Arneld
made his appearance with a little fiddle tucked un-
der his arm. He looked at the farmer, and stood
a moment grinning from ear to ear; then he tucked
the little fiddle under his chin, and began to play a
tune,-a good lively tune, such as the peasants
might have danced by. Clear and strong he drew
it out,-and presently the farmer was laughing and
nodding and beating time; and not the farmer
only, but all the others in the market-place, and
the boys were crowding round him and the people
were throwing him coppers. Arneld looked at the
coppers, amazed; he had only meant to show the
farmer what he could do. But he took them, after
a moment or two,-they would buy strings and
varnish and rosin for the beautiful new violin he
would make; and he took off his cap and made a
great bow to the people. 'It was his first appear-
ance in public; but it was not his last. Then he
climbed into the wagon with the farmer.
Bad, very bad," said he, tapping the little fid-
dle, as they went their way.
Good, very good," said the farmer, slapping
his back heartily; and threat Arneld, though
.wincing a little under the good-natured blow, be-
gan to tell the farmer volubly, in an indistinguish-
able swarm of English and foreign words, how he
should now make an excellent violin himself, the
very least murmur of which would be enough to
win his soul out of him the way the Lurley's voice
won the fisherman into the stream,-and not
making a syllable of it understood, though he went
on unhindered, for It does him good, and does n't
hurt me," said the farmer.
When the farmer had finished his out-door work
that night, he came into the kitchen, saying,
Now, Arneld, my boy, let us have a tune," suit-
irg the action to the word, and sawing away with
the edge of his right hand on his left arm, and
stopping surprised to see the table covered with
strings and pegs and fragments of cherry-wood that
had been once cut into odd shapes, and with great
sheets of brown paper, on which Arneld was draw-
ing strange lines, stout Roman curves, long lovely
Greek ones, whorls, volutes, measuring and com-
paring and reckoning like an old astrologer.
Little Rosa hung over his chair, her face still
wet with her tears. He has torn his pretty
fiddle all to pieces!" she cried to her father.
And for a moment her father felt really angry,
because, never having been in the habit of spend-
ing much money, the fiddle had seemed to him a
great acquisition, and its ruin was a wanton de-
struction of property. Arneld looked up eagerly,
though, and began, Bad-very bad "'
He means that it was a bad fiddle," cried little

Rosa, "and that he is going to make one very
good,-very much better."
"Better," said Arneld, "very better," catching
the spirit of what she said; and there came an-
other confusion of unknown tongues to explain to
the farmer why cherry-wood was not as good to
carry the vibration of the tone as maple and pine;
why this was so thick here as to dull the sound,
and so thin there as to break it; why this piece of
wood, if you struck it, resounded in a key very
different from the key of that piece, instead of
resounding in tune with it; why such a line should
be longer, and such a one should be shorter, for
the sake of elasticity in conducting the sound; and
how there was nothing like a good fiddle any way
for beauty of perfect curves,-just a true lover's
knot of lovely lines; how those lines represented
waves,-and music itself was waves,-and just as-
the shell repeated the murmurs of the sea, so the
violin repeated the murmurs of the air, and made
itself a voice ; and much more that he had learned
at home, where his father had made the bows of
violins, and his little sister Marie had picked the
long and even hairs for him to fasten under their
flat plate. And the farmer said, "Hm, hm, hm,"
as if he knew what it was all about, although he
hadn't the least idea; and having said "Hm, hm,
hm," felt that he was compromised by a passive
sort of consent, and must not interfere with Arneld's
future operations.
And what operations they were! What a rum-
maging in the great garret and in the barn cham-
bers, after it had been discovered that permission
was .wanted, and it had been granted What a
gathering of sections,-of here a broken bureau,
and there a useless table-top; and in another place
an ancient fire-board, a ruined spinning-wheel, an
unprized box! Then what a splitting, and shav-
ing, and planing what a hollowing of tiny vault
and arch with knife and chisel! what a bending of
one wood and another over the steam of the tea-
kettle 1 what a setting away in the sun, bound into
shape and turned over and over every day! what a
mixing of gums and rums for varnishes, and what
a varnishing of all the farmer's furniture, till nearly
everything in the house was sticky, and. at last the
very varnish of all was hit upon And then what
a drawing of designs, what a calculating of curves,
what a delicate whittling into form, what a slicing,
and paring, and mincing, till the beautiful wavy
maple of the bottom was all in shape, till the long,
narrow "ouies" were exactly in place in the old
seasoned pine of the top, till the light willow was
bent for the sides, and for the ledges that little
Rosa called the pipings, till the rolling volute at
the end of all was carved! And then what a
breathless putting together of the parts, Rosa

[NOVEMBER,

ARNELD AND HIS VIOLIN.

hanging over the table and handing Arneld every-
thing in the very place, and delightedly telling all
who were near that she and Arneld were making a
violin. And at length it was ready for the var-
nish,-that varnish which he had gotten with so
much trouble, taking such pains that it should not
be too tough and hard, and so hinder the elastic
wood from carrying its sound; that it should not
be too thin, and so leave the instrument unpro-
tected from the changes of the weather; that it
should not be of glaring tint, and so spoil the
beauty of the wood. With what loving strokes he
laid that varnish on, while Rosa held the little jar
for him And then at last the new violin was put
away to mellow like an unripe pear.
"Every day," said Arneld to Rosa,--and she
really thought she understood him,-" every day
it gains a little richer color, and every day all the
woods put themselves one little bit more in tune
together."
And then they used to go and look at it; and
although old Jacob Steiner might have laughed at
this little Arneld violin, they would not have
exchanged it for one of the precious violins which
that old Tyrolean made for the Twelve Electors of
the Empire To these children that rude little
fiddle was a part of themselves; days, weeks,
months had passed in its manufacture; while at
work upon it, Arneld had almost ceased to be.
lonesome, for the whole house had been interested
in it; little Rosa had been one soul with himself,
and she had meantime learned something of his
tongue, and he could in a way make himself
understood in hers.
It wants but a single thing,-its bridge over
which the strings shall pass," he would say, as he
and Rosa went to look at it; and as he was not
particular whether he said it in his native patois, or
in his lingo that was half his patois and half
Rosa's,-for Rosa's. English was not the very best
in all the world,-I will translate it for you:
And that must be a bit, a tiny tiny bit, of old
Swiss pine," he said, "if we can ever find it.
And then you shall hear it hum It is thinking
now what it will say,-how it will tell us of the life
it used to live before it was a violin,, the life it used
to live when it was in the forest, when the willow
in it set its feet in the spring brooks, when the
maple in it burned scarlet'in October, when the
pine rustled all its pins together to hear the soft
snow falling. It will tell us how storms sound up
in the very tops where it used to rock, how the
birds sing to one another in the branches,-once it
lived the life of the woods, you know, but now it is
like their risen soul."
And so Arneld would run on, always ending
with a sigh that he could not find a bit of old Swiss

pine for his bridge,-perhaps he thought it would
whisper of his mountains to the strings as they
passed over,-and if Rosa had understood no
more, she could not in the frequent hearing have
helped understanding that; and she was as eager
as Arneld for'that bit of Swiss pine.
One day the farmer's wife, in a search for some-
thing she wanted, opened a drawer from which she
produced various treasures,-things she had valued
when a girl,-keepsakes, and trinkets, and her
wedding ring, which she held far too precious for
every-day wear. Among the rest was a little
carved box that kept her mother's string of gold
beads; and no sooner did Arneld's eyes light upon
that box than Rosa saw them sparkling with new
light; and when he asked to take the box in his
hands, and turned it over and over, and gave it
back with a long sigh, she knew that the little
box, with its cover carved in a group of goats, was
made of the Swiss pine,-old wood, with the right
grain, seasoned many years.
That afternoon Rosa brought to Arneld a bit of
dark old wood,-it was the bottom of that box.
:' I knew she would not give it to me, and so I
took it; and you can make another bottom that
will do just as well," said Rosa, whose eyes had
become so blinded by the vision of the violin, that
she could not see right from wrong.
Arneld looked at her a moment in amazement,
when he comprehended her; and then he looked
at the little piece of old brown wood, and looked
and looked again, longingly. But presently he
seized Rosa's little hand and led her back to the
spot from which she had taken it, and began to
put it in its place again, explaining to her, in his
broken lingo, that the stolen wood must make a
discord in the music that he, at any rate, would
always hear. And while he was doing this, the
farmer came into the room, and with a single
glance took in the situation,-the wrong way.
So, sir so, sir !" cried he, with a blazing face,
"you are teaching my daughter to steal, are you ?"
And Arneld hung down his head and never said
a word, though the farmer was whirling him
round by the shoulder, and Rosa was looking on
with a white, scared face.
But directly her mother, drawn by the loud
tone, was coming into the room, and Rosa ran and
hid her face in her mother's apron, crying:
Oh, I did it! I did it! And he would n't; he
said No; and he was putting it back; oh, he was
putting it back "
And two minutes after that, the precious piece
of coveted wood was in Arneld's hands,-his own,
his very own,-and Rosa was in the great dark
best room, that was seldom used except for funer-
als, hearing some heart-breaking words from her

20 ARNELD AND HIS VIOLIN.

mother; and then Arneld, forgetting all else, was
at his table in the long kitchen, carving away, with
all his heart, upon the lovely outlines of the
bridge, as delicate as the contours of a flower. At
last the bridge was in place, the strings were drawn
over it, the bow was freshly rosinea,-the violin
was in tune,-the magic moment had come !
Softly Arneld passed the bow over the strings
and drew out one long, slow tone to satisfy him-
self the thing was done, hesitatingly, half afraid to
be heard, lest, after all, it were a failure. But in
another moment he had forgotten all about whether
he was heard or not, as tone after tone came leap-
ing from the strings almost as if they. chose to
crowd and come without his effort; he had forgot-
ten Rosa, and the farmer, and the people,--he
thought only of the sounds that came bounding
underneath the bow, so silvery, so strong, so clear,
in a wild and joyous flight, as though they had
been so long imprisoned that now they rushed into
the free air as gladly as the rivers rush and run
when the sun loosens their icy fetters.
What visions filled the long, low room as he
played! He saw the dews dropping among the
singing pines; he saw the brook darken beneath
the swaying shadow of the willow; he heard the
birds warble in the maple; he heard the wind
brush all their tops together. All the sweet
sounds that he had ever known seemed to send
their spirits into the music that he drew from his
violin,-the hum of bees in the blossoms, the
laughter of children frolicking on the meadows;
all the half-forgotten tunes of home, the yodle of
the shepherds echoing through the deep, dark,
starry blue from peak to peak, the gay jangling of
marriage peals, the slow toll of a passing bell;-
and it appeared to him, as he played, that he saw
the elves rocking in the flower-bells, Lurley sing-
ing as she swept along the tide, the Wild Ladies
riding on the wind.
And then the melody grew slower and softer,-
he was remembering a tune his mother used to
sing; there came the tinkle of the little altar-bell
in the chapel among the crags, the praising voices
of the choir; and then the little chapel opened
out into wide darkness, and Arneld was playing to
himself the wild music of the storm, the crying
wind, the rushing billows of shipwreck, till the
sound seemed to rise from all the troubled chords
and discords to the sweet and silver sonority of the
voice that can say to the waters, Peace, be still!"

Wife," said the farmer, as they sat in the best
room and listened,-at the close of the lecture to
poor little sobbing, repentant, and forgiven Rosa,
-" my mother used to tell me never to turn a
beggar from the door, as I might entertain an
angel unawares. Do you hear yonder? "
I thought," said the farmer's wife, that I
heard the rustle of an angel's wings beside me."
And the next day the farmer drove into town
and took Arneld to the parson; and the parson
took him to the organist; and the organist taught
him all he knew, till Arneld could better teach

. .. .- ..
L- 7 .7
"HE SAW THE BROOK DARKEN BENEATH THE SHADOW.
him. And now, if you go to evening concerts,
some time when you see a tall, fair-faced man,
with flowing hair and dreamy eyes, begin to play,
bending his head down lovingly to his violin, to
play so that the violin seems to sing with a human
voice and a human soul, you will know that it is
Arneld,-though it is not the little rude fiddle
that he and Rosa made, with which you will hear
him work his wonders, but a dark and perfect in-
strument two hundred years old; while as for
that magic wand, his bow, I should not dare to
tell you how many diamonds there are in it that
kings and queens have given him.

[NOVEMBER,

HOW PLANTS COME FROM SEEDS.

FIFTH OF NOVEMBER: GUY FAWKES' DAY.

BY L.

Now all who fear a sudden shock
Of rhymes, must stand from under !
The tale I tell you smells of smoke,
And mutters low of thunder!
It is a tale of England old,
In times when thrones spoke louder
Than nowadays,-of England old,
King James, Guy Fawkes, and powder.

King Jamie was a prudent king,
Though more in plan than action;
Yet well his prudence needed was,
For many a traitorous faction
Held England in "those good old days"-
So called in modern fashion,
When present deeds and present men
Put some one in a passion.

Well, children! Guy Fawkes was employed
By some disloyal schemers,
To blow up those who made the laws.
"Men of perdition Dreamers
Of evil!" their stern critics said;
" Their every Canon loaded
With fell destruction to the land;
Such men should be-exploded!"

At last a plan grew ripe for deeds;
But one conspirer yielding,
For auld lang syne's sake, warned a friend,
In covert letter shielding
His meaning with ambiguous phrase
(He dared not breathe it louder).
The friend put James upon the scent,-
The royal nose smelt powder!

And so was caught the traitor Fawkes,
Who served the plot's igniting;
Though in the cellar dark he thought
To do another lighting,-
Waiting a sign to thunder forth
A Parliament's last meeting,
The members of a lordly House
For evermore unseating!

But he was taken, and then soon
This traitor knave disloyal,
And all his mates, were put'to death
By James' own mandate royal!
'T was very long ago, yet this
Great treason to remember,
The English boys in effigy
Hang Fawkes with each November.

HOW PLANTS COME FROM SEEDS.

BY ANNIE J. MACKINTOSH.

WE are going to assist you in finding out for
yourselves some of the wonderful things connected
with the life and growth of plants; and if you will
try the simple experiments, here mentioned, you
will surely be interested, and, besides, will learn a
great deal that you ought to know.
Let us begin at the beginning, then; and as
most plants grow from seeds, we shall talk first
about seeds.
We will suppose that you have collected a few
seeds, such as may be easily obtained-peas, beans,
grains of wheat, corn, &c. Of course, you have a
penknife in your pocket; and if, in addition to the

knife, you can have a small magnifying glass, many
of your lessons will be much more interesting.
Take a bean first (Fig. I),
and with your knife remove
the skin, which is called the
Sseed-coat. You find that the
bean separates into halves as
soon as the covering is re-
moved. Now, each part is
~. called a lobe, and seeds
which naturally split in two
are called two-lobed.
FIG. I.-A SPLIT BEAN. Take a grain of corn, and

HOW PLANTS COME FROM SEEDS.

treat it in the same way. It does not split; if you
want to part it, you must cut it. Seeds which do
not split in two are called undivided; and you will
find that all seeds belong to one or other of these
classes.
Now examine those from which you have re-
moved the seed-coats, and you will find at the end
of each a small worm-like ob-
ject (Fig. i, a, and Fig. 2, a),
ill which may easily be removed
I I with the point of the knife. If
I'' you look carefully at the speci-
S men removed from the bean,
you will be able to see that it
.. bears somewhat the appear-
ance of a little plant. Such in
truth it is-the germ, or baby
plant. But put your germs aside
FIG. 2.-A SPLIT GIAIN for awhile, and let us look at
or CORN. the rest of the seed. You will
find in the corn that it resembles dry flour or starch,
while in the bean it looks more like a mixture of
flour and water which, has become dry. This is
the food of the baby plant, and consists mostly of
sugar and starch. Upon this the germ lives till
old enough to obtain nourishment from the earth
and air.
Perhaps you think it strange, if the plant and its
food are both contained in the seed, that it is
necessary to sow seeds in order to have them grow.
But the plant cannot appropriate the food until it
has been moistened. But if moisture can be ob-
tained in any other way than from the ground, the
seed will begin to grow just as if put in the earth ;
and you may prove this for yourselves.
Fill a tumbler with water, and cover the top with

FIG. 3.-A GRAIN OF CORN BEGINNING TO GROW.
cotton-wool, on which you may place a few beans
or some seed of the kind. Place the glass in the
window, and in a few days you will find that your

seeds have sprouted; and they will continue to
grow until the nourishment is exhausted.
But let us return to the germs. Place them un-
der the magnifying-glass, and you will find that
some have a root, stem, and two leaves, while
others have a root, stem, and but one leaf. You
will also notice that all those having two leaves
have been taken from two-lobed seeds, while those
having only one leaf have come from the undivided
seeds; and you will find, when they begin to grow,
that they present the same differences. The two-
lobed seeds put out two leaves at first, the un-
divided only one. So that, by looking at a young
plant, you can tell at once from which class of seeds

V A

I'

/ --- -

'Iv

._
FIG. 4. A BEAN GROWING.
it has sprung; or, looking at a seed, you will be
able to foretell the appearance of the plant.
Now we shall require the plants in the tumbler,
and such leaves as you may be able to collect.
Observe first, that although you may have placed
the seeds in various positions upon the cotton, still
in every case the leaves have shot upward into the
air, while the roots have passed downward through
the cotton into the water. Some of them have had
to do a good deal of twisting in order to accom-
plish it. It has been hard work, but they have
succeeded. It is one of Nature's laws that leaves
must go up, roots down. But how or why the
plants should know what this law requires of them,
we cannot tell. Experiments made upon this point
prove that, rather than break the law, plants will
sometimes slowly transform their parts; that is,
the branches of trees which have been planted up-
side down. will in time become roots, while the
roots will turn into branches.
Now take the leaves which you have before you,
and examine the veining of each, by holding it
between your eye and the light. In some of them
-maple, oak, and beech leaves, for instance-you

[NOVEMBER,

1875.] HOW PLANTS COME FROM SEEDS. 23

will find the veins, or fine lines of the leaf, running
in every direction; while in others, as the leaves
of the calla, lily-of-the-valley, grasses, &c., they
are parallel to each other-that is, they run side by
side, extending from the top of the leaf to the
bottom, or else from the outer edge to the stem,
which passes down the middle. The blades of
grass and lily-of-the-valley leaves are examples of
the first; the calla leaf of the second.
Look at the plants in the tumbler, and you will
find that the leaves all come under one or other of
these two classes; they are either net-veined or
parallel-veined.
Next consider the seeds; those that are two-
lobed have all produced net-veined leaves, while
the leaves growing from the undivided seeds are all
parallel-veined.
Let us sum up what we have learned in this way.
Two-lobed seeds: Two leaves at first, net-veined
leaves. Undivided seeds: One leaf at first, parallel-
veined leaves.
If you will commit these two short lists to mem-
ory, you will often find it an advantage, as one
point will immediately recall the others.

But let us look once more at our young plants.
You will notice that in the case of the two-lobed
seeds, the lobes have grown up with the plant, and
are now to be found one on each side of the stem
(Fig. 4, a, a). They have changed not only their
appearance, but their name, since our last lesson,
and are now called seed-leaves. Perhaps by this
time they may have turned green; but they will
never resemble the other leaves in anything but
the color. By and by they will begin to look
shriveled, as they part with the nourishment which
is stored in them, and when it is all gone they will
drop off.
Perhaps you are wondering what the plant is
going to do after it has exhausted the food con-
tained in the seed, but by that time it is quite able
to support itself, by drawing upon the earth and
the air. From the earth it obtains earthy matter
and moisture; from the air, some of the gases of
which it is composed; and these three things con-
stitute the food of the plant.
A little later we shall tell you something of the
manner in which the food is obtained and pre-
pared.

ALL THUMBS!

" MOTHER'S BOY" AT SEA.

"MOTHER'S BOY" AT SEA.

BY CYRUS MARTIN, JR.

BARRY very much liked being called "Mother's
Boy." I am not so certain that he would not have
also liked the name of "Father's Boy," if that title
could have been given him. But it so happened
that Barry's father was a sea-captain, and was off
on foreign voyages so much that
Master Barry sometimes said,-with a
pout, that he might as well have no
father. So he was called "Mother's
Boy," and he was tolerably well con-
tented.
But when Barry went to Sagadunk
with his mother the case was different.
At home, in the city, he went to walk
or ride with his mother, and together
they visited the galleries where pict-
ures and many other beautiful and
curious things were to be found. At
Sagadunk, where the coast is very
rocky, the water deep, and the past-
ures boggy, Barry would have had
great d.. i -hr if his mother could only
climb and wade as he did. But the
fact was that his mother could neither
climb nor wade. I am sorry to add
that she could not swim a stroke.
Evidently her early education had
been neglected.
In the city, you see, the fact that
this lady was so ignorant and incapa-
ble had never been brought out. It
was a great surprise to Barry when he
discovered it. And as he. lay on the
rocks, one day, looking wistfully out
to sea, he said softly to himself:
"My gracious! to think that my
precious mamma can't swim!" -
He had thought that his mother
could do everything; and he added, by way of
explanation to himself: "I don't believe women
were made to swim, anyhow." On the subject of
wading he was not quite so clear. It was possible
for her to wade; but evidently she did not like it.
Now, Mrs. Dingle was not willing that Master
Barry should go wandering about the cliffs by him-
self, scrambling into places where she could not
climb, and wading out to the rocks where the lim-
pets, sea-weed and kelp grew so lovely and thick.
You have seen a hen stand on the brink of a pond
when her little ducklings paddle away from her on

'the smooth surface? Pretty little Mrs. Dingle
used to laugh to herself and think of the mother-
hen's distress, as she called after Barry when he
waded out to the reef, in the bright sea-water, and
secured such a prize as a comical little crab, or a

coral-like star-fish, hiding in the crevices of the
rock. She would cry out:
"Yes, yes, it is very curious, Barry; bring it
here. I am afraid the tide is rising."
Barry was a duckling who sometimes preferred
staying in the water.
I don't know what Barry thought about it, but
his mother often felt that Mother's Boy" was.
growing out of her reach. He had been brought
up at her side. It gave her a little pang to see
him restive when she tried to keep him there. And
it must be said that when Barry climbed up to the

[NOVEMBER,

1875.] "MOTHER'S BOY" AT SEA. 25

ledge called the "White Boar," and sat looking off
on the ocean, he had a vague longing to be out on
that lovely sheet of water, shining in the sun, tum-
bling into bright green waves, and stretching so

I -

-kW
i b

BARRY AT THE WINDOW.
far, so far, down to the sunset, where the red rays
blurred out the horizon. Somewhere beyond that
crystal gate in the south was his father's big ship-
sailing among the spice islands, may be; or gliding
by shores where strange birds and beasts and
painted savages were dotted along, as in the pict-
ures of a geography.
The Sagadunk fishermen, used to go out of the
harbor early in the morning and return late at
night. Barry sometimes saw them from his cham-
ber window as he dressed himself at sunrise. They
spread their sails like wings; the soft morning
breeze sprang up ; and so they sailed away and dis-
appeared down the far-off horizon. They seemed
to sail into the sky.
One day, Barry privately- inquired of Old
Kutch," who was a famous fisherman of Sagadunk,
if he ever saw his father's ship, the Flying Fish,
out at sea. The old fisherman said: "Never, so
far as I knowed of," which was not satisfactory to
Master Barry. He thought that Old Kutch"
must see the whole world when he got below that
dim horizon.
"I know my papa's ship, and if I were to go
with you I might show her to you, and find my
papa," said Barry.
Old Kutch laughed. "But your mar would n't
let you go so far away, my little man."
Barry's countenance fell, but he explained :
She would be so glad if I brought back my
papa, that she would n't care if I did go without
her knowing it."
Barry was on dangerous ground for Mother's
Boy."
After many mysterious talks and movements,
which took several days, Old Kutch agreed that
Master Barry should get up early some fine morn-

ing, and steal away to the boat at the wharf. At
night, Barry scarcely slept at all; and when he
dreamed, it was of curious and often frightful sights
in foreign lands. When day broke, he was in such
haste that he scarcely dressed himself. He might
have gone out at the door; but, creeping past his
mother's chamber, he got out by the hall-window,
stole down through the orchard, scrambled over
the stone wall, slid down the bank, and was soon
on board the Polly Ann, commanded by Captain
Kutch.
It was a great adventure. He was going to sea
in search of his father. His heart was a little
heavy when he looked back at the old farm-house
where he had left his mother. But the Polly
Ann was under way, and, with a curious sort of
feeling in his throat, he watched the village fade
away. He was at sea.
It would not be pleasant for me to tell you of all
the troubles that befell Master Barry that day. In
the first place, he was very hungry; and he ate a
great deal of a nice luncheon which one of the
fishermen produced from a big basket, strangely
like one of his mamma's. Then, when he had
satisfied his hunger, his luncheon did not agree
with him at all, He felt very queer. Everything
seemed going around. His stomach was all in a

"WHEN HE DREAMED."

whirl. He was sea-sick, and he lost all interest in
what was going on about him. The Polly Ann
was very lively, and, although she was anchored
on the fishing-grounds, she bounced about at a

"MOTHER'S BOY" AT SEA.

great rate. The sun was hot, and, as Barry looked
over the edge of the bulwark where he lay, he saw
nothing but horrid, tumbling waves everywhere.
No land in sight, unless a low cloud on the dull,
gray horizon were land. He was homesick; and
if he cried silently behind the ill-smelling tarpaulin
that screened him, I do not think any of my boy-
readers should laugh at him. I have been in just
such a plight, and probably did just as 'Barry did.
What was worse, there was no sign of the Flying
Fish, or anything that looked like her. Once
in a while, a brown sail crept up from the horizon,
drifted along against the sky, and melted away into
the dim distance. It was a Down-East coaster,
loaded with lime," Old Kutch would say, unless he
was too busy with his fish to say anything. Barry
only wanted to get home once more.
Oh, what will my poor, dear mamma say?" he
moaned.
You oughter thought of that afore," Captain
Kutch made answer. And so he should have.
Meantime, was Mrs. Dingle going up and down
the beach, crying out for her Mother's Boy?"

thing as sea-sickness and discomfort in all the
world. She was possibly thinking of the hen and
her willful duckling.
That night, when the stars came out and the
Polly Ann drifted up Sagadunk harbor, the most
tired, weary and homesick little chap you ever
heard of, scrambled out into the small-boat which
was to take him ashore. Mrs. Dingle, somehow,
happened to be on the landing; and when Barry
jumped into her arms and cried, "I could n't find
papa she only hugged him tight and whispered,
"Mother's Boy "
It seemed an age to Barry since he had been
gone. The familiar little bed, with its blue-and-
white check cover, looked like an old friend from
foreign parts; and the hollyhocks in the parlor
fire-place were fresher and brighter by candle-light
than any hollyhocks he ever saw.
I need not tell you how Barry settled affairs with
his mamma. When he found Old Kutch, after
that, one leisure day ashore, that venerable -skipper
asked him when he proposed going again on a
voyage of discovery. Barry replied:

AS THE POLLY ANN DRIFTED) UP SAGADUNI HAnRBOR."

Strange to say, she was doing nothing of the sort.
She sat at the gable window that overlooked the
sea, and, as she sewed or read, she glanced out
over the sapphire waters of the bay, and over the
shining waves that rippled toward the sunset as
brightly and silvery as though there were no such

I shall n6t be so naughty and run away again,
for I am Mother's Boy,' you see."
Why, she knowed it all the time."
And so she did; and when she let Barry go off
in charge of Old Kutch, she was trying two experi-
ments-one on herself and one on Mother's Boy."

[NovEMBER,

IN THE POND AND ON THE MARSH.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

BY JOEL STACY.

V'RY little grape, dear, that clings unto a vine,
Expects some day to ripen its little drop of wine.
Ev'ry little girl, I think, expects in time to be
Exactly like her own mamma-as grand and sweet and free !
.. Ev'ry little boy Who has a pocket of his own,
Expects to be the biggest man the world has ever known.
'' Ev'ry little piggy-wig that makes its little wail,
Expects to be a great, big pig with a very curly tail.
Ev'ry little lambkin, too, that frisks upon the green,
Expects to be the finest sheep that ever yet was seen.
Ev'ry little baby-colt expects to be a horse;
Ev'ry little pup expects to be a dog, of course.
Ev'ry little kitten pet, so tender and so nice,
Expects to be a grown-up cat and live on rats and mice.
- Ev'ry little fluffy chick, in downy yellow drest,
Expects some day to crow and strut, or cackle at its best.
Ev'ry little baby-bird that peeps from out its nest,
Expects some day to cross the sky from glowing east to west.

Now ev'ry hope I've mentioned here will bring its sure event,
Provided nothing happens, dear, to hinder or prevent.

IN THE POND AND ON THE MARSH.
(Translated from-he German.)

BY ABBY S. ALGER.

CHAPTER I.
THE DOLL UNDER THE BRIAR-BUSH.
THERE was once a little girl, whose name was
Beata. She was only five years old, but she was a
good, clever little girl. On her birthday, her old
aunt made her a present of a doll who was a real
beauty. There was not a fault to be found with
the dear creature, except that perhaps her left eye-
brow was drawn up a tiny grain too high.
"It's just as if she were frowning a little bit
with one eyebrow. Is n't she pleased?" asked
Beata, when she first took her into her arms.
Oh, yes," said aunty, but she does n't know
you yet. She always raises her eyebrow a little

when she tries to examine any one carefully. She
only wants to see if you are a good little girl."
"Yes, but now she sees that I am; for I think
her brows look just alike," said Beata.
The doll grew very dear to her, almost dearer
that even little Marie and Louise, although they
were her best friends.
One day she went into the yard with her doll.
She had given her a name now, and they had be-
come trusty allies. The doll was called Beata too,
because that was the little girl's own name, and be-
cause aunty was called Beata. It was Spring time,
and in one corner of:the yard, round a pond, there
was a nice green plat, with thick, soft grass; and
in it grew a low, bushy willow-tree covered all over

IN THE POND AND ON THE MARSH.

with the yellow tassels which, you know, German
children call goslings. And they do look like gos-
lings, for every one has soft yellow down on it, and
will float on the water, but then they can't move.
So big Beata-to be sure she was only five years
old, but still she was much bigger than the other-
and little Beata agreed that they would pull the
goslings from the tree and throw them into the
pond, for they knew they would like it as well as
the big goslings did, which they had seen swim-
ming about there. It was really big Beata who
made the proposal, but little Beata said nothing to
the contrary; for no one can think how intelligent
and good-natured she always was. So big Beata
climbed up into the willow-tree and gathered the
cunning yellow goslings into her white apron, and
then she counted them, and when she had counted
as far as twenty-two, she said that now she thought
they had enough, and little Beata never said a
word against it. She came down again, and that
was very hard work, because she had to hold her
apron together with one hand all the time. She
fancied that little Beata called out to her to drop
the goslings down on the grass, but she dared not,
for fear they would hurt themselves in the fall.
Then they both ran to the pond, and big Beata
helped her friend to fasten her legs close between
two of the palings round it, so that she could stand
there comfortably and watch the dear little goslings
swimming about in the vater. One gosling after
another slipped in, and as they approached the
water, they seemed to come to life and begin to
move a little. That was fun! Big Beata clapped
her hands at the darling wee little downy birds,
and when she just helped little Beata a tiny bit,
she clapped her hands too. But soon all the gos-
lings lay quite still and would not stir. That was
very stupid, and Beata asked her little namesake
if she did not think she (big Beata) could lean over
the edge of the pond a little and blow on them, for
then she truly believed they would come to life
again. Little Beata did not answer.
So big Beata bent over the pond and blew on the
nearest ones. Yes that was right-they began to
move at once. But those which were farthest away
lay quite still. Some of them are very silly !"
said Beata, and she leaned far, far over the edge;
her hand slipped on the wet railing and-plump!
she fell right into the water; it was very, very cold,
and it closed over her head and carried off her
straw hat; she had no time to hear whether little
Beata screamed, but she felt sure she did. When
her head rose above the water again, she saw her
dear friend little Beata standing, mute with alarm,
staring at her, with her right hand extended over
the water. Big Beata hastily grasped it, and little
Beata made herself as stiff as she could and stood

fast between the palings and held her dear friend
up. So she kept her face above water long enough
to give a shriek of terror, and her father and
mother both came running to her; they were pale
with fear and pulled her out. She was dripping wet,
the water streamed from her, and she was so fright-
ened and cold that her teeth chattered. Her father
was going to carry her right into the house; she
begged him for mercy's sake to take little Beata
too, lest she should fall into the pond also. For
it was she who saved me," she said.
Beata was put to bed, and little Beata had to lie
beside her. When she grew sleepy and had said
her Our Father," she patted her little friend and
said: "I can never thank you enough for saving
me from the horrid, deep pond, dear little Beata.
Of course I know that our Lord helped you to
stand fast between the pales and to make yourself
stiff; but still it was you and no one else, who'
reached me your hand, so that I did not sink to the
bottom, and for this you shall be my best friend as
long as I live, and when I grow big you shall stand
god-mother to my first daughter; she shall be
named little Beata like you." Then she kissed the
little one and fell asleep.
But big Beata had a brother, who was still bigger
than she; he was eight years old, and was a wild,
unruly fellow. His name was Viggo; he had read
in an old history book about a horrid, bearded Vik-
ing, who had the same name, and who sailed from
land to land and killed people, and often took pri.-
oners, and all the gold and silver he could find, .:.
board his ship. And so Viggo got himself a little
axe, such as he read the old Viking had, and told
his sister that henceforth she must call him Viggo
Viking, for that was what he meant to be when he
grew up. He chased the hens and ducks in the
yard and tried to cut off their heads with his axe;
they shrieked and ran away, which made the little
Viking all the bolder. But when he went into the
goose-fields with his axe on his shoulder and raised
his war-cry, the old gander grew angry, bent his
long neck and snapped at Viggo Viking's legs so
savagely that he dropped his axe and ran howling
away. For the old gander knew that Vikings had
no right to cut off heads in their own country, not
even on the farthest side of the goose-pond.
One day Viggo Viking came to his sister, looking
very fierce; he had a paper helmet on and was
scowling furiously.
Now, I 'm going to carry off somebody. I 've
come out on purpose," said he. You are too big,
but I shall certainly take little Beata. I shall carry
her a great way off, at least to the plowed field,
and perhaps as far as the pasture. And you will
never see her again as long as you live."
"You're a bad boy, and do nothing but mis-

[NOVEMBER,

1875.] IN THE POND AND ON THE MARSH. 29

chief; mother said so, too, only the other day," re-
plied his sister. Little Beata never did a single
thing to plague you ; she never even said a cross
word to you."
"Not done anything to plague me-!" said the
Viking. "Did n't she stand down in the yard
under the big geranium in the flower pot, when I
came and fastened my wooden horse there? Don't
you suppose I saw how she pushed the horse so
that he fell down and broke his left hind leg? If I

and that she might not be wet when it rained or
dew fell, her big friend laid a green grassy turf
over her. There little Beata had to sit alone, but
it was no great hardship, for she had her cloak,
which she could put on at evening when it grew
cold, and a sugar-cake on a little mound beside her,
and the roses smelt sweet about her. Then big
Beata bade her good-bye and good-night, and told
her to be quiet, and to be sure not to stir out, for
fear Viggo Viking should set eyes on her; big Beata

LITTLE BEATA HOLDS HER DEAR FRIEND UP.

did my duty I should cut off her head," said the
Viking, trying the edge of his little axe with his
finger.
"Oh! you really are a dreadful boy," cried
Beata, "but I shall contrive to hide little Beata so
snugly that you can never set your bloody hands
on her. You may trust me for that."
Then she went straight to her little friend and
told her with great distress what a wicked villain
Viggo was, and that he meant to murder her, and
that she, big Beata, dared not keep her in the
house another day. But I know where I '11 hide
you. so that he never can find you."
She took the little one and went across the field
to a great pile of stones. On the top of this grew
a briar rose in full bloom, the flowers drooping to
the ground on all sides. It formed a sweet-smell-
ing little bower of green twigs, and there little.
Beata was to live securely, sitting on a grassy couch;

promised most faithfully to visit her next morning to
see how she had slept and how she was getting on.
Next morning Beata only stopped to wash her
little face before she ran to her friend; she hardly
took time to braid her hair. She was very much
afraid that little Beata had lain awake and been
frightened, because she was alone in her leafy hut
at night. Beata hurried as fast as she could and
reached the bush quite breathless and exhausted.
But imagine her horror! Outside the bower lay
little Beata, her head was chopped off and lay at
her feet. Viggo Viking was the guilty one, as
Beata but too plainly saw; for he had left his little
axe behind him on the heap of stones. Big Beata
had never been so wretched in the whole course of
her existence. She burst into tears, snatched up
her little friend and kissed her again and again.
Then she dug a grave beneath the briar rose and
laid her in it. She set her head on her shoulders

IN THE POND AND ON THE MARSH.

again, and spread the grassy turf which had shel-
tered her in life softly and lightly over her. And
after that she went slowly and mournfully home.
Who would be her best friend now? who would
never have any will but hers?
and who would stand godmother
to her first daughter, when she .
grew big?

CHAPTER II.
THE FLOATING ISLAND. ;
BEATA had now grown two
whole years bigger, but she had
never found a doll to equal little
Beata. None were so good and
obedient, and none so neat and
pretty-all her dolls were too
rosy-cheeked, or else they had
no idea of dressing themselves
properly; they were all stiff and i'
unnatural when they tried to
move their arms or legs, and it
was almost useless to try to have
any conversation with them.
They were like the dolls in a
story she had read, whose moth-
ers had to whip them every i
Monday morning to keep them
good through the week. But
Beata had a lovely doll-house
now, with chairs arid tables and ..-. .
a chest of drawers in one corner.
It was Saturday, and on Sun-
day Beata expected her friends
Marie and Louise to make her
a visit, so she wanted to make
the baby-house look as pretty -
as possible. All the furniture
was set in order, and juniper and --- .
yellow dandelions were strewn
on the floor; but still she needed a few trifles to set
on the chest of drawers.
Beata knew what she would do. She remem-
bered seeing on the hill behind the house the love-
liest little snail shells imaginable, round and smooth,
and spotted with yellow and brown. They would
look splendidly on the chest of drawers, if she could
only find some that had n't any snails in them.
She ran to the spot and crept about among the
hazel bushes and under the walnut trees on the hill,
and found empty snail shells by the dozen. But
the best of all was, that she heard a bird cry out
very oddly right down in the marsh; she peeped
out between the green branches and saw a big, big
bird swimming there; it had a long blue neck and
white breast, but its back was bright black. It

swam away over the marsh so fast that it left a
wake in the water behind it, and then suddenly it
dived down under the water and disappeared.
Beata stood gazing at the water, watching for it

THE MONDAY MORNING WHIPPING.
to come up again, but she waited and waited, and
no bird came. She began to be afraid that the
dear thing was drowned; then she saw it pop up
far away, almost midway out in the water. It beat
its wings about so that great rings spread around
it wider and wider on the smooth surface. Then
it swam again, very slowly, toward a wee little green
island, which lay there. When it reached the
island, it stretched its neck in the air and.looked
about in every direction, and then crept into the
tall reeds which overhung the edge. Beata stood
and looked at the beautiful little island; it was
lovely and small, and oval in shape, with tiny bays
running into it here and there. There were ozier
bushes on the grass in spots, and at one end grew
a slender white birch. Beata thought she had

[NOVEMBER,

IN THE POND AND ON THE MARSH.

never seen anything so charming as this little green
island out on the smooth, dark water.
At last the evening breeze began to blow and to
ripple the water. Then Beata knew that she must
hurry home; she stooped to pick up a few more
snail shells to give to Marie and Louise, for there
were some right at her feet; she looked up again
and peered through the bushes to bid the island
good-night-only fancy! the little green island
was gone She could not believe her own eyes;
she thought that she must have moved without
knowing it, so that the bushes hid the island from
her; but no, she was in the self-same spot. She
thought of mermaids and fairies and ran up the hill
as fast as she could. But when she reached the
top she looked around again. She was even more
astonished than before, for now she caught sight of
the little green island, but far from the place where
she first saw it; it was sailing slowly across the
marsh in the southerly breeze, and the little white
birch was the sail.
As soon as Beata reached home she told Anne,
the nurse, what she had seen. Anne knew the
floating island well; it had been in the marsh for
many a year. Every year a loon built her nest
there, and Anne had her own opinion, both about
the loon and the island; but when Beata teased to
know more, old Anne only shook her head; for she
was not one to tell all that she knew. At last she
yielded, and said that if any one stands on the
floating island, and takes the loon's egg from the
nest for a moment, and wishes something, it will
surely come to pass, if the loon does not forsake
her nest, but hatches the egg in peace.
If the loon sits on her nest till Autumn, even
if you wished to become an English princess, it
will certainly happen," said old Anne. "But there
is one thing more to be remembered. That you
must not say a single word about it to any living
creature."
"Not even to your father and mother?" asked
Beata.
"No," answered Anne, "nor to any mother's
son or daughter."
Beata thought of nothing but the island the whole
evening, and when she fell asleep she dreamed of
nothing else all night.
As soon as she was up in the morning, she
begged her father very prettily to row Marie and
Louise and herself out to the floating island when
they came that afternoon, and he promised to do
so. But he also asked what made her think of it,
and what she wanted to do there. At first she
was going to tell him all; but she remembered
Anne's words, and did not tell him all, but only
that she longed to go there, because the little green
island looked so cunning.

"Yes, it is pretty, and you shall see a loon's
nest there too," said her father, stroking her brown
hair.
Beata grew quite red in the face and tears came
into her eyes; for she knew about the loon's nest
very well, and felt that she had deceived her father,
and that she had never done before.
In the afternoon her father took the three little
girls to the marsh.
The water was calm, dark and bright; the pine
wood on one shore and the green hill on the other
were reflected upside down in it. Here and there
were broad green leaves, and big, shining white
marsh flowers, swimming on the dark water.
Beata's friends thought it was the most delightful
sight in the world, and begged her father to stop and
fish up some of the lovely flowers for them. But
Beata only longed for the floating island.
There it lay in the midst of the marsh, and
when they approached it it looked as if there were
two small islands, one above and one below the
water, the last almost more beautiful than the first.
The father rowed close up to it and around it, and
when they came to the other side the loon jumped
suddenly out of the rushes into the water and
dived down.
"Here is the loon's nest," said the father, and
steered the raft that way.
The girls bent over the raft while the father held
them, one by one, and they were indeed delighted;
the nest was right on one corner of the island,
among the grass, and on the bottom of it lay two
big grayish-brown eggs with black spots, bigger
than any goose-egg.
Marie and Louise shouted and laughed, but
Beata was very still and shy. She begged her
father to let her stand on the island, only for one
minute and take one of the loon's eggs in her
hand, so that she could see it better," she said.
Her father would not refuse, lifted her in his
arms and placed her on the floating turf, but told
her that she must only touch the egg with her fin-
ger tips, for else the bird would know that some
one had meddled with it and would never hatch
the young one out.
So there stood Beata at last on the green floating
island and she grew pale with excitement as she
stooped to pick up the grayish-brown egg. She
took it between two fingers. Now she could have
whatever she chose! What do you think she
wished? To become an English princess? No,
she knew something much better than that; her
lips moved and she murmured softly:
"I wish that little Beata was safe and sound,
and sitting under the briar rose again /"
But just at that moment the loon rose up close
by her; and when she saw Beata standing by her

IN THE POND AND ON THE MARSH.

nest with an egg in her hand, she gave such a
shrill, shrill scream, that, in her alarm, Beata
dropped the egg. It fell into the nest right upon
the other, and-crash they both broke in two, so
that the yokes spirted out.
Beata stood petrified, with the right hand, which
had held the egg, still upraised, until her father
lifted her on to the raft again. Then the tears

gushed from her eyes and she told him the whole
story; but she promised faithfully, that it should
be the last time, as it was the first, that she would
be so naughty a girl. Her father said that that
was a good resolve, which he hoped she would
always keep, and then he rowed them to shore.
But the loon forsook her nest from that time forth,
and the green island has grown fast to the land.

THE "MISS MUFFETT" SERIES.

(No. V.)

- ------ 4,

I

/c

LITTLE Dutch Gretchen sat in the kitchen,
Eating some nice sauerkraut,
When the little dog Schneider
Came and sat down beside her,
And little Dutch Gretchen went out.

[NOVEMBER,

A DARK BIT OF HISTORY.

A DARK BIT OF HISTORY.

BY DONALD G. MITCHELL.

You have all heard, I dare say, of the French
Revolution. But do you know how it came about,
and what its terrors were ?
It came about because there had been a great
many wicked kings and wicked nobles in France,
who had lived only for their own selfish ends, and
had considered the people as beasts of burden to
be used to help them forward for pleasure-seeking
and for money-getting. If they wanted war for
any ambitious purpose of their own, whole regions
were desolated, and sons and fathers and husbands
swept away down the bloody path that war always
makes. If they wanted service of any kind-
whether honest labor or vile labor-children were
torn from parents, and new-married wives from
their husbands. But the poorest of the French
people were so ignorant, and had lived in a state
of slavish dread of those who were above them in
rank for so long a time, that perhaps they would
have borne their trials longer if it had not happened
that very many among the richer people and the
better educated ones suffered too, by reason of
quarrels with the nobles, or quarrels among them-
selves, or abuses from the king or his courtiers.
Among the most fearful of these abuses were those
which were committed under the authority of what
were called lettres du cachet, or letters with the
royal seal. Throughout the reigns of Louis XIV.
and of Louis XV. this sort of tyranny was com-
mon. Thus, if a noble bore a grudge against some
neighbor, or had a fierce quarrel with some old-time
friend, and wished to take him out of the way, he
would apply to the king or to a royal minister and
beg or buy an order with the royal seal upon it,
and send a file of soldiers or an officer to seize-
under authority of this royal order-his enemy, and
thrust him into a prison of the state, where he
might languish for years, without any communica-
tion afterward with wife or children or friends.
Friends or family would not know, indeed, whither
he had gone; and so secretly would the work be
done, that they would not know when or by whom
he was torn away. Sometimes an old, white-haired
man, who had been almost forgotten, would sud-
denly appear among his friends again, after twenty
years of dungeon life.
If you should ever read Mr. Dickens' "Tale of
Two Cities,"-and it is one of the strongest stories
he wrote, and well worth your reading,-you will
VOL. III.-3.

find a most thrilling narrative of such a long im-
prisonment of a French physician, who was torn
away from his young wife, and for sixteen long
years never heard if she were alive or dead. No
wonder that his mind gave way, and that when
he found liberty at last he was a poor decrepit
shadow of a man.
There is also another terrible story of abuse
under these lettres du cachet, which is said to be
wholly true, and which appeared in a book called
" Letters from France," by Helen Maria Williams,
an English lady who passed much time in France
before the Revolution, and who was herself a pris-
oner in the Temple under the rule of Robespierre.
Her story was about a black-hearted father, who,
under cover of one of these kingly orders or letters,
caused his own son, who had offended him, to be
snatched away from his family, and to be buried in
a dungeon for years. In fact, there was hardly
any crime against persons that might not be per-
mitted under shelter of one of those terrible "let-
ters of the king.
What would you think, pray, if General Grant,
or General Sherman, or Mr. Fish, might issue a
letter, with the State seal affixed, which would em-
power any marshal or politician, or whoever might
gain possession of the letter, to seize upon any
enemy of his at dead of night, and bear him off to
prison, and keep him there so long as he might
choose ? Would not such a power, unchecked by
any courts of justice or by law, make of our coun-
try, or of any country, a very doleful place to live
in?
And can you wonder that those poor people in
that far-away country of France, and in that far-
away time (nearly a hundred years now), should
have chafed under it, and talked bitterly and threat-
eningly, until after awhile their angry and threaten-
ing talk grew into a great tempest that swept
through the Paris streets like a whirlwind ?
No wonder they were maddened; no wonder
their passion got the better of their judgment; no
wonder the population, led on by enraged fanatics,
worked deeds of cruelty which made all Europe
shudder. Very great and disorderly wrongs are
almost always balanced, sooner or later, by very
great and disorderly avengement.
When that tempest of madness I was speaking
of just now first swept through the streets of Paris

A DARK BIT OF HISTORY.

(in the reign of Louis XVI.), it drove the crazed
people in herds to glut their vengeance upon those
who were keeping captives in chains within the
great prison of the Bastille. It was indeed a grim
and dismal-looking building upon the borders of
Paris, with sluggish water around it, and its door
was entered by a draw-bridge. Toward the frown-
ing walls of this prison (there is only a tall bronze
column upon the spot now) the populace of the
city rushed headlong, with whatever weapons they
could lay hands upon. Butchers took their cleav-
ers, stable-men their forks, carters their heavy
oaken stakes, carpenters their axes; and there were
thousands with guns and cutlasses, and there were
brawny women with heavy pistols. The soldiers
who guarded the prison were so frightened by the
sights and sounds of this tempest of the people's
fury, that they could hardly make any opposing
fight at all. The governor of the prison, seeing
what mad rage he must encounter, would have
blown up the huge building altogether, and had
actually laid the match to do so, but the soldiers
rebelled and forced him to surrender. Then the
raging mob flowed in, and those who wore the
uniform of the king were smitten to death, and
dungeon-gates were unlocked, and prisoners stag-
gered out who had not seen the day for dozens and
scores of years.
A beautiful girl was caught sight of flying down
one of the great stair-ways, and she was straight-
way seized upon by those who believed her to be a
daughter of the governor, and would have been
burned in the court-yard had not a few generous
soldiers stolen her away and secreted her until the
sack was over. As for the governor, who was a
marquis and the king's friend, they cut off his head
and bore it bleeding from the top of a pike-staff all
down the street; and all down the street poured
the mad, rejoicing rabble, slaying many another
as they went, and carrying the trophies with them
-gory heads on pikes, or gory heads on chafing
dishes carried by women.
As it was that day so it was on many a day there-
after, and for many a week and month; and for
years whoever was a noble, or friend of the hated
nobles,-or rich, or friend of the hated rich,-
lived, if he lived at all in that city of revolution, in
great dread and danger.
There was not much feeling at the first against
Louis XVI., for he was a far better king than those
who had gone before him. He was kindly at heart,
and what we might call nowadays a gentlemanly,
amiable man, with not much force of character,
and disposed to yield to the opinions of those who
had been his old advisers. These, by their ob-
stinacy, brought him very soon to grief. The
people forced him to trial, and there was a forced

condemnation. His head, too, fell before the fury
of the enraged people, and was held up by the
executioner upon the scaffold for the thronging
mob to look upon.
This poor king had left behind him in the prison
a son, whom he had taught, as he best could in
those dreary prison hours, arithmetic and geogra-
phy. Do you think the boy ever forgot those les-
sons, or ever forgot the sorrow and the loud wail-
ings of his mother, the queen, when the king went
out to his bloody death ?
A little after this, those crazy ones, who were
governing France so madly in this time, gave over
this prince boy to the care of a shoemaker and his
wife, to whom they furnished a lodgment in the
prison for this purpose; and they did this in order,
as they said, that the bringing up of the boy might
be as low as that of the lowest of the people. Poor
boy poor prince !
A little later, Marie Antoinette, the queen, was
taken out of her dungeon to go to trial. They
called it a trial, for the sake of decency; but I
think they knew how it would end before they
called on her to appear. If the judges before
whom she stood had said she was innocent and
must go free, I am sure that the wives of the wine-
sellers, and the fish-women, and the hags of Paris
would have snatched her away and carried her off
to execution, if they had not slain her with their
own bread-knives in the street.
These mad people had such a thirst for blood !
It was better, perhaps, that the judges should
say the Queen must be beheaded (as they did),
than that these wild women should cut her in
pieces.
She certainly died an easier death by the guillo-
tine.
You don't know what the guillotine is ?
It is simply a great knife sliding in grooves
between two upright posts, which by its fall severs
the head from the body in an instant; and it is
the most humane way of executing capital punish-
ment-if there be any humanity about it.
The machine was called Guillotine, after a Dr.
Guillotin, who, in the French Assembly in 1791,
proposed a better way of cutting off people's heads
than the old way of doing it by an axe; which he
said was a clumsy way, and clumsy headsmen
sometimes made bad work of it. But Dr. Guillo-
tin was not the inventor, as some books will tell
you; nor did he lose his own head by it, as other
books will tell you.
In 1792, the question of finding some new way
of execution was referred to Dr. Antoine Louis,
the Secretary of the College of Surgeons, and he
advised such a method as had been hinted at by
Dr. Guillotin the year before. So, then they had

YOUNG JOE AND THE DUCKS.

a machine made for trial by one Schmidt, who
was a knife-maker. And they tried it on a body
or two, and found it worked so well that they
adopted it; and people called it at first Louisette."
But Dr. Louis said he did n't invent it or make it.
(Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, which is so
rarely wrong, makes a mistake in saying he did
invent it.)
So the people went back on the name of Dr.
Guillotin-all because a poet of that day had made
some jingling rhymes, in which the honor had
been referred to him.
The real truth is, that a machine like it had
been used in Italy, at Genoa, two hundred years
before; and in England, at Halifax, and in Scot-
land, at Edinburgh, more than a hundred years

before. The Scotch people had called it The
Maiden."
It is a dreadful machine, and does very quick
work, as I know; for I have myself seen a man's
head taken off by it; and I never wish to see
such a sight again.
And now, why do you suppose I have run over
this bloody bit of history ? Only as a sort of intro-
duction to two of your good friends-a man and a
woman, who lived in Paris through all this time
of blood, and who yet have written the two most
charming and pleasant stories for children that are
anywhere to be found in the French language.
. You know them both in English. Who the
writers were, and what the stories were, I must tell
you some other month.

BASS COVE SKETCHES.-YOUNG JOE AND THE DUCKS.

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

ONE day, a good many years ago, young Joe if they had never seen anything so agreeable.
Scoville, of Bass Cove, went up to town to sell "What pleasant folks these city folks be !" thought
some wild ducks he had shot. Old Joe (that was young Joe.
his father) had said to him, early in the season, "Walk up, gentlemen, and take a look Don't
"When I see you come a-luggin' hope a couple o' cost nothing' to take a look, whether ye buy or
dozen ducks to oncet, then I'll let you go and try not!" he called out. "How d'e do ?"
your hand selling' on 'em;" and young Joe, having He said "How d'e do?" to about the hand-
bagged that morning his two dozen and upward, somest, best-dressed, and fattest man either he or
had now for the first time in his life come alone to anybody else ever saw. He had a cane in his hand
market, and a cigar in his mouth, and was altogether a
And very proud was young Joe, I assure you. nice, plump, shiny fellow, from his hat to his boots.
He drove smartly into the Square, and cried, He did not say in reply, "Pretty well, thank ye;
" Whoa and Here's yer nice fine ducks, gen- how are you ?" as Joe, who had been taught good
tlemen walk up, gentlemen!" and nodded re- manners at home, thought he ought to have done;
spectfully to customers, and felt and acted very but, with his hat tipped airily on one side of his
much like old Joe, his father, head, and his cigar sticking up jauntily out of one
He thought everybody appeared greatly pleased corner of his mouth, he came along and looked
with him. Some looked at his freckled face, long carelessly into the wagon.
hair, and old coat that had been his father's (and Hello !" said he, when he saw the ducks. He
had seen I don't know how many Atlantic storms), took the cigar out of his mouth, and said Hel-lo I "
and smiled approvingly. Some appeared delighted again, more emphatically than before, and looked
with his manners-so fresh and natural, you know. up at young Joe. Where did you get these ?"
Others regarded his little old one-horse wagon, "Shot 'em; where d' ye s'pose ?" said young
and queer little pony,-with his unkempt mane Joe, proudly.
about his face and eyes, which gave him a striking You didn't shoot 'em?-a boy like you/" said
resemblance to young Joe with his long hair,-as the fat man.

YOUNG JOE AND THE DUCKS.

Mabby I did n't," replied Joe, indignantly;
"and then, ag'in, mabby I did; and it's a little
more I did than I did n't, this time, I guess !"
Bless my heart! if I aint surprised "
Now the handsome and well-dressed plump gen-
tleman happened to be no other than Mr. Augustus
Bonwig, the confectioner, whose celebrated candy-
shop was well and favorably known to every good
boy and girl in town. He looked almost as if he
had been made of candy himself-clear white and
red, and a great deal of it. There was one thing

Do-you-want-to-buy-them-ducks?"
demanded young Joe, ungrammatically, but very
distinctly, beginning to distrust Mr. Bonwig. "If
you don't, you need n't feel obliged to handle 'em
any more, that's all."
"No, I don't care to purchase; but I'll give
something for a chance to shoot a few such birds,"
said Mr. Bonwig-and blessed his heart again.
Oh! that's it! Wal, you come down our way
some time, and I'll show ye a chance. Ye can
shoot as many black ducks and coots and old wives

I-Iw

n.,.
P.'..r-

JOE AND HIS DUCKS.

he was remarkably good at, but on wl;ich he did
not pride himself at all, and that was-his business.
There was another thing he was not so good at,
but on which he naturally prided himself a good
deal (for that is the way with some of us), and
that was-gunning. He did n't care whether you
praised his sweetmeats, or not; but if you hap-
pened to say, "Bonwig, people tell me you are a
fine shot," that pleased Mr. Augustus Bonwig. It
was this ambition of his which caused him to regard
young Joe with sudden interest, and to exclaim
again, very emphatically, after having examined
him and the ducks once more, "Bless my heart
now I am surprised "

as ye can carry away on yer back. And I wont
charge ye nothing' for't, neither. Takes gumption
to git 'em, though, sometimes !" said Joe.
"I guess if you can get 'em Ican, fast enough !"
said the smiling Augustus. "Where do you live ?"
"Bass Cove. Ask for old Joe Scoville-that's
my father. Stage-driver 'll set ye down right by
the door. Hope you'll bring a good gun. I ha'nt
got much of a gun, nor dad ha'nt, neither;-some-
times I take mine, and sometimes I take his 'n, and
sometimes I take both;-flint-locks; miss fire half
the time; but we manage to make 'em do, seeing'
we 've got the hang o' the ducks."
This speech greatly encouraged Mr. Bonwig,

------

[NOVEMBER,

I-,

YOUNG JOE AND THE DUCKS.

who thought that if such a green youth as Joe,
with an old flint-lock, could bag wild ducks at Bass
Cove, surely he, Augustus the sportsman, with his
fine double-barreled fowling-piece and modern ac-
couterments, must have great success there, and
astonish the natives at their own game. He named
an early day for his visit, and already imagined
himself shooting ducks by the dozen.
"'Arly in the morning' 's the best time for 'em,"
said Joe, who accordingly advised him to come
down the evening before, and stop overnight.
To this Mr. Bonwig agreed, and walked away in
fine spirits, with his hat on one side, swinging his
cane, and puffing his jaunty cigar. Then, having
sold his ducks for a good price, and bought a new
fur cap for Winter wear, and a glass of very small
beer for immediate consumption, and a rattle for
the baby, and a paper of brown sugar for the
family, all with the duck money, young Joe turned
about and drove home, with a pretty good handful
of small change still jingling in his pocket.

One evening, not long after, the stage-coach
rolled up to old Joe's door at the Cove, and a stout
sporting gentleman got down over the wheel, from
the top, and jumped to the ground. It was Mr.
Augustus Bonwfg, looking plumper than ever, in
his short hunting-jacket, and handsomer than ever,
to young Joe's fancy, in his magnificent hunting-
boots (red-topped, trousers tucked into them), and
with the fine double-barreled gun he carried.
"Oh, a'nt that exclaimed Joe, poising
the gun. He did not say what-no word in the
language seemed adequate to express the admira-
tion and delight with which he regarded the beau-
tiful fowling-piece. "And what boots them are for
wet walking And ha'nt you got the splendidest
game-bag, though And what a huntin'-cap!-
it don't seem as though a man could miss a bird,
that wore such a cap as that! Come in," said Joe,
his respect for Mr. Bonwig greatly increased, now
that he had seen him in such noble sporting rig.
"Father's to home. And I'll show you our guns
-old-fashioned queen's-arms, both on 'em."
"Bless my heart!" said Augustus, smiling.
"Well, now, I am surprised! You don't mean
to say you shoot ducks with those things? Well,
well! am!/"
"My boy there," said old Joe, filling his pipe
and cocking his eye proudly at the youngster,
"he'd shoot ducks with 'most anything, I believe.
He'd bring 'em down with a hoe-handle, if he
could n't git holt o' nothing' else. He's got a knack,
sir; it's all in havin' a knack." And old Joe, who
had been standing with his back to the fire, turned
about and stooped to pick up a small live coal with
the tongs. "Then ag'in,"-he pressed the coal

into the bowl of his pipe, and took a puff,-
"ducks is"-puff, puff--"puty plenty,"-puff,-
"and puty tame on this here coast, about now."
And the old man, having lighted his pipe, and re-
placed the tongs in the chimney-corner, stepped
aside, to make room for his wife.
Mrs. Joe swung out the old-fashioned crane,
hung the tea-kettle on one of the hooks, and swung
it back again over the fire. Then she greased the
iron spider, placed it on the coals, and made other
preparations for supper.
Sed down, sed down," said old Joe; and Mr.
Bonwig sat down. And the children crowded
around him, to admire his watch-chain and his
red-topped boots. And the amiable Augustus,
who had come prepared for such emergencies,
pulled out of one pocket one kind of candy, and
another kind out of another pocket, and still a
third variety from a third receptacle, and so on;
for his hunting-suit seemed to be literally lined
with pockets, and all his pockets to contain more
or less of those celebrated sweetmeats so well and
so favorably known to the good boys and girls in
town. And Mr. Bonwig was pleased to observe
that human nature was the same everywhere;
country boys and girls were like city boys and
girls, in one respect at least-all liked candy.
0, a'nt it good !" said Maggie.
"Prime! I tell ye!" said Joe, who had his
share, of course.
Goodie, good said Molly.
Goo, goo! crowed the baby.
Oh, my! said Tottie.
And they all sucked and crunched, with cheeks
sticking out and eyes glistening, just like so many
children in town, for all the world. And Augustus
was happy, thinking just then, I imagine, of three
or four plump little darlings at home, of whom he
was very fond, and whom he never left for a single
night, if he could help it, unless it was to go on
some such glorious hunting frolic as this.
It was a poor man's kitchen. I don't think there
was a carpet or a table-napkin in the house; the
ceiling was low, the windows were small, the walls
smoky, and everything was as plain and old-fash-
ioned as could be. But Mr. Bonwig, nice gentle-
man as he was, appeared delighted. He prided
himself on his sportsmanlike habits, and so the
rougher he found life down on the coast, the better.
He admired the little smoky kitchen, he liked the
fried perch and cold wild duck for supper, and he
was charmed with the homely talk of gunning and
fishing, and storms and wrecks, which took up the
evening, and with the bed of wild fowls' feathers on
which he passed the night.
The next morning young Joe came to his bed-
side, candle in hand, and awoke him, before dawn.

YOUNG JOE AND THE DUCKS.

"Hello! said Mr. Bonwig, rubbing his eyes
open. "Hel-lol I am surprised! I was having
such a splendid time I thought I was hunting
ducks, and I had got a whole flock in range of my
two barrels, and was waiting for a few more to
light; but I was just going to shoot, when you
woke me. I wish I had fired before "
"Wal, you come with me, and mabby your
dream '11 come to pass," said young Joe, leaving
him the candle to dress by.
Mrs. Scoville was already cooking their break-
fast; for, like as not," she said, they would n't
be back till noon, and they must have a bite of
something to start with."
. Mr. Bonwig was sorry she had given herself so
much trouble; but he afterward, as we shall see,
had good reason to be thankful that he had taken
that "bite."
At daylight they set out, Mr. Bonwig with his
fine, stub-twist, two-barreled fowling-piece, and
young Joe with both the old queen's-arms, his own
and his father's.
Mr. Bonwig wished to know what the boy ex-
pected to do with two guns.
They may come handy; they 'most alluz
does," said Joe.
"But I've my gun this time," said Augustus;
"and I shall want you to carry the birds."
That was a somewhat startling suggestion; but
Joe thought he would take both guns, nevertheless.
I a'nt goin' to coie in the way of your shoot-
in'; but I'll jest take what you leave-though I
don't suppose that will be much," said he.
It was a cool Autumn morning. The air was
crisp and exhilarating. The morning light was
breaking, through dim clouds, over land and sea.
Joe led the way over the short wet grass, and rocks
and ledges, of a rough hill back of the Cove. At
last he. pulled the eager Augustus by the jacket,
and said:
Be sly now, climbin' around them rocks yen-
der! There's a beach t' other side, and a little
stream o' water ruinin' acrost it. Black ducks can't
git along, as some kinds can, with salt water alone
-they alluz have to go to fresh water to drink, and
we're apt to find 'em around Beach Brook here,
'fore folks are stirring 'T was on this beach father
shot the twenty-five, to one shot, he told ye about
last night."
Was that a true story, Joe ?" Augustus asked,
growing excited.
"True as guns," said Joe. "Ye see, they all
gether in a huddle along by the brook, and you've
only to git in range of 'em, and let fly jest at the
right minute; sometimes there '11 be a flock of a
hundred, like as any way, and ye can't miss 'em
all if ye try."

I should think not said Mr. Bonwig, taking
long, noiseless strides in his hunting-boots, and
holding his gun in the approved fashion. Only
show me such a chance "
I'11 wait here in the hollow," said Joe. You
crawl over the rocks, and look right down on the
beach before ye, and -- By sixty! there's a
flock lighting' now !-see 'em ?"
"Bless my heart!" said Bonwig, in no little
trepidation.
He took the route Joe pointed out, and soon dis-
appeared behind the ledges. Then all was silence'
for several minutes, while Joe waited to hear the
double report of the destructive fowling-piece, and
to see the frightened flock of ducks-or such as
were left of them after Mr. Bonwig's shots-fly up
again.
Bonwig in the meantime crept along behind a
pile of rocks Joe had described to him, and, look-
ing through an opening, saw a wonderful sight.
Before him spread the broad, smooth beach, washed
by the surf. There must have been a high wind
off the coast during the night, for the sea was
rough, and long, heavy breakers came curling
and plunging magnificently along the shore. The
morning clouds were reddening over the agitated
ocean, which faintly reflected their tints.
But the sight which most interested Mr. Augus-
tus Bonwig was the game that awaited him. The
brook, which cut out afresh its channel across the
beach as often as the tide, which filled it with sand
twice in the twenty-four hours, receded,-the little
brook, from the rocks to the surf (it was now half
tide), was alive with ducks, and more were alight-
ing.
Mr. Bonwig silently blessed his heart two or
three times-and well he might, for it was beating
with very unsportsmanlike rapidity,at that exciting
moment. His hands shook so that it was well that
Joe, if he was to retain his high respect for him as
a gunner, did not see them. In fact, Mr. Bonwig,
who fancied himself a sportsman because he had
been sometimes successful in firing at a mark,
found this a very different business. He hardly
knew whether he took aim or not. That one barrel
went off prematurely in the air is quite certain.
At the report,-the like of which ducks on that
coast had made acquaintance with before, and
knew that it meant mischief,-the entire flock of a
hundred or more flew up at once, with a sudden
noise of wings which could be heard above the
roaring of the breakers. Then the other barrel
went off. Then young Joe came running up in
high glee, to offer his congratulations and to help
pick up the dead birds. He looked, expecting to
see the beach strewn with them.
There was n't a bird on the beach, dead or.alive!

[NOVEMBER,

i87s.] YOUNG JOE AND THE DUCKS. 39

In utter amazement, Joe turned and looked at
Mr. Bonwig. That gentleman stood with his portly
form erect, his head thrown back, and his mouth
and eyes open, staring at the sky, into which his
fine covey of ducks were rapidly vanishing.
"Well, well!" said he. "Now, now! IfI aint
surprised I Who ever saw anything happen like
that? BLESS-MY-HEART "
Not a darned duck said Joe.
O, I must have wounded some I must have
wounded about twenty !" Augustus declared. He
looked critically at his gun; then he turned his
gaze once more at the sky; then he looked at
young Joe, who was beginning to grin. I think
my shot must be too fine," said Mr. Bonwig.
Joe asked to see his lead.
"'T aint no finer 'n what I use. Feathers on
a loon's breast are so thick them shot would n't

go through 'em; have to fire at a loon's head,
when he's facin' ye. But I don't see how ye could
let fly into a flock o' loons even without knocking'
over a few."
"It's a very remarkable circumstance! -very
singular !-very surprising!" observed Mr. Bon-
wig, wounded in his tenderest point,-his pride as
a sportsman,--and betraying a good deal of chagrin
and agitation. He was very much flushed. He
took off.his cap and wiped his forehead. Just let
me try that thing over again, that's all! "
Best way now will be to go off to the island,"
said Joe. "That's our dory. Jest help me shove
it off, and we '11 have some fun yet!"
Yes, yes-so we will! said Bonwig.
And so they did; but we shall have to post-
pone our account of it for a future number of ST.
NICHOLAS.

LAST DAYS AT THE SEA-SIDE.

TEN LITTLE COIJNTItY BOYS. [Novai~rnER,

TEN LITTLE COUNTRY BOYS.
(A t old song to a new tune.)

~PCY~Ih3 2 > -~

I ~~"

----4 ~

TEN little country boys underneath a vine;
A darning-needle frightened one, and then there were but nine.

Nine little country boys swinging on a gate;
One turned a somersault, and then there were but eight.

s) -- e:._;J "~-

Eight little country boys learning about heaven;
One fell fast asleep, and then there were but seven.

-I _

Seven little country boys, full of monkey tricks;
One rolled down the hill, and then there were but six.

Six little country boys going to rob a hive;
A bumble-bee stung one, and then there were but five.

TEN LITTLE COUNTRY BOYS.

[NOVEMBER,

TEN LITTLE COUNTRY BOYS.

Five little country boys asking for some more;
One burst his little self, and then there were but four.

Four little country boys climbing up a tree;
The farmer came and whipped one, and then there were but three.

Three little country boys, gayly dressed in blue;
One tumbled overboard, and then there were but two.

;- ,
r^' CK X^^ .' /
'V 3 .1r' f re
-?--? i-. -
-- = _=_ - -- =__-

Two little country boys, both named John;
One knocked the other down, and then there was but one.

cp ** -k'j n " -- --.-- '^ ',
r.' ,",' ?> *.,)i ,: 3- -i?_h ..,-"' ; .,.c .- ;-'1"

... .__ .....

One little country boy diving for a penny;
A little fish swallowed him, and then there was n't any.

p-~

THE FORTUNES OF A SAUCER-PIE.

THE FORTUNES OF A SAUCER-PIE.

BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.

ll T was on the day before Thanks-
giving that the saucer-pie came
into being. Miss Hepzitah made
it. All the grown-up pies were
done and in the oven. The
S Indian pudding was mixed and
flavored, waiting its turn till all
the other things should be drawn out, when the
oven door would be shut and it put in and left to
slowly bake all night long, and come out in the
morning brown as a chestnut and spicy as-well,
as an old-fashioned Indian pudding. There is
nothing else in the world spicy enough to be com-
pared with it.
Rows of loaves, brown and white, stood covered
with towels on the shelves of the buttery, which
smelt delightfully, and not of fresh bread alone,
for in the corner, under a tin pan, was the hpuge
jelly-cake, a miracle of light sponge, and jam, and
pink and white frosting. Apple sauce and cran-
berry sauce were simmering over the fire in little
kettles. On the window-sill stood the great chicken
pie, set out to cool, while beside it to-morrow's
turkey lay trussed and ready, its drumsticks and
wings meekly folded over a well-stuffed breast.
There was no end to the good things, thought lit-
tle Dolly. It was as exciting as Thanksgiving-day
itself, just to stand by and watch and see, and smell
the fragrance of the impending feast.
A morsel of paste remained on the board after
the big pies were finished, and at the bottom of
the bowl a little strained and lemon-flavored apple
sauce. Miss Hepzitah stepped to the dresser and
took down a small blue and white saucer. Dolly's
eyes grew round as the saucer with expectation
when she saw this. To and fro went Miss Hepzi-
tah's roller, and presently the paste had become a
smooth, flat sheet, which was laid over the saucer
and neatly trimmed about the edges. Then the
apple was poured in, covered with another sheet
of paste, three little fork-holes were pricked in the
middle, and lastly, sizzz, sizz" went Miss Hepzitah's
"jigger," and behold, in one second of time, a
pretty scalloped border grew into shape and rounded
the pie into perfect beauty. Dolly had been hold-
ing her breath during the last of these operations,
but now she felt that she must speak or die !
"Is it for me?" she cried. "Oh, Miss Hepsy,
is it for me ? "
"Wait and see," replied Miss Hepsy. The pie

was meant for Dolly, but, like many grown per-
sons, Miss Hepzitah enjoyed baffling children and
putting them off when they asked questions. She
had never had much to do with any child till
Dolly came, and did not understand how little
hearts set themselves on little things, or how hard
it is for little patience to "wait and see" when
they are bidden to do so.
With anxious interest Dolly watched the saucer-
pie shoved into the oven. You maybe sure that she
managed to be on hand to see it come out. Miss
Hepsy had never made a saucer-pie before since
Dolly had lived with her. That was almost a year.
Dolly was beginning to forget the time that went
before-the time when she lived with mamma, and
was petted with baby-talk, had treats and surprises,
and spent the pennies given her in candy instead
of putting them into the missionary box, as Miss
Ilepsy made her do. Miss Hepzitah meant to be
very kind to Dolly, but her sense of duty was
strong, and she thought a good deal more of what
was good for Dolly's character than of what Dolly
happened to be wishing and longing for at the mo-
ment. This sometimes led to misunderstandings
between them.
Dear little Dolly! Her pink and white fat face
was full of anxiety as Miss Hepsy lifted the saucer-
pie from the oven and set it on the table to cool.
Now you'll tell me if it's for me, wont you?"
she said.
Miss Hepsy relented, and was just going to say
"yes," when, unfortunately, somebody knocked at
the door. It was little Kitty Blane who knocked.
Kitty was the child of a neighbor not quite so well
off as Miss Hepzitah was. Mrs. Blane happened
just then to be laid up with rheumatism, and Miss
Hepsy had promised her a pumpkin pie, which
Kitty was now come to fetch. It stood on the
table, already packed in a basket with a mold of
cranberry jelly, and Miss Hepzitah proceeded to
tuck a clean napkin neatly about it.
Suddenly a bright thought struck her. She
turned sharp round and seized the saucer-pie.
Now, Dolly," she said, "I did mean this pie
for you; but here's Kitty, you see, whose ma is
sick, and who aint going to have any Thanksgiv-
ing at all, none of her folks, nor nothing. Now,
you 'll have Aunt Jessie, you know, and Uncle
Jim, and grandma, and all the cousins, and a
good dinner and a first-rate time generally; so I

[NOVEMBER,

THE FORTUNES OF A SAUCER-PIE.

think you 'd better give this little pie to Kitty!
You'd rather, would n't you? You don't want to
feel selfish about it, I 'm sure, do you, Dolly?"
Miss Hepzitah thought that to make this lit-
tle sacrifice would be good for Dolly's character,
you see; so she was much disappointed when, in-
stead of cheerfully replying, like a little girl in a
book, Yes, indeed, Miss Hepsy, let Kitty have
it," Dolly burst into tears, and sobbed out, "Oh,
was it for me? I don't want to give it away. I
don't, Miss Hepsy! I don't want to!"
"Dolly! cried Miss Hepsy, sternly, I am
ashamed of you! Here, Kitty, take the little pie
and go. I'm sorry that Dolly should behave so
naughty, that I am."
Oh, please, Miss Hepsy," faltered Kitty, "don't
give me Dolly's pie. I'd a great deal rather she
had it; indeed I would."
"It is n't hers. It's your pie! declared Miss
Hepsy, with a stamp of her foot. I never gave
it to Dolly at all. There, Kitty, I've put it in the
basket. Go home, now, and tell your ma I'll1
look in sometime to-morrow, and see how she's
getting along."
Kitty cast a sorrowful look at the sobbing Dolly.
But it was never of any use to oppose Miss Hepsy,
so she took the basket up and went away without
another word. She liked little pies very much;
but this, she felt, it would be impossible to enjoy,
because, while she ate it, she should be thinking of
poor Dolly, left behind pieless and tearful.
Arrived at home, she gave Miss Hepzitah's mes-
.sage to her mother, set the pies and the jelly away
in a cool place, mended the fire, hung on the ket-
tle for tea, and then sat down on the broad stone
door-step to rest for a little while. The sun was
setting, making haste to go to bed, as sleepy suns
do on November afternoons. The air was mild,
with just a faint bright touch of frost, which seemed
to add freshness to it rather than chill. Kitty al-
ways liked to watch the sunsets, they were so
pretty, from the kitchen door. All the leafless
woods turned into beautiful colors; the pond, which
shone in the distance, gleamed golden and still,
like a big burnished mirror. Odd, unexplained
fragrances came from the forest, as though the
ghosts of the dead flowers had come back to haunt
the spot. A belated bird hopped by. Above was
a dome of pure yellow sky, with here and there a
little fleck of crimson cloud drifting over it, like a
tiny, rapid boat. Surely no summer evening could
be more beautiful. Frost and winter, all unlovely
things, seemed just then impossible and a long
way off.
Presently Kitty left off looking at the sunset, to
watch a small figure which came into view on the
.road, dodging behind fences, and kicking up dead

leaves with a pair of brown little feet. It was a
girl about Kitty's own age, a girl with a thin, dark
face, tangled hair, and a ragged frock, which only
half hid her limbs. Behind her ran a dog, which
barked and snapped at the leaves which the girl
kicked up with her toes.
When the girl saw Kitty sitting there she stopped
and looked for a minute, as though she would turn
and run away. Then she sidled slowly nearer,
glancing shyly out of her large black eyes, and not
speaking till Kitty spoke.
Is that your dog?" asked Kitty.
Yes," said the girl, he's mine. His name is
Spot."
"And what's your name?" was Kitty's next
question.
Dono what 't is now. Mother used to call me
Nance sometimes."
But don't they call you Nance any longer? "
asked Kitty, surprised.
"No. Nobody don't call me no name at all,
only just 'Come here, you,' or 'Get out, you
limb!' or something like that."
"Why, what horrid people they must be! I
would n't stay any longer with people who called
me names like that," cried Kitty, opening wide
her eyes.
"Where would you stay, then ?" demanded
the girl.
This was a poser !
I 'd-I 'd-run away, or-something. I'd go
somewhere else," said Kitty.
"Yes,-but where? Nobody wants a tramp-
child like me about. 'Most always at nice clean
houses like this they drive me away. Once a
boy set his dog on me, but Spot was the biggest,
and he gin it to 'em, I tell you. Jack, and Spelter
Sal, well, they aint so very kind, I 'spose, but
they gin me a meal of vittles whenever they has
any theirselves, and I sleep under the tent with
'em; and it's better than outside. 'T aint so easy
as it sounds to go hungry, I can tell you."
Oh, I am so sorry for you cried Kitty, with
tears in her eyes. Wait here just a minute, and
let me ask mother if I may n't give you some sup-
per. I'm sure she 'll say yes." And in she ran,
leaving the poor little vagrant at the gate, with
Spot jumping and barking at her heels.
"Here," cried she, coming back with a mug
and a plate of bread in her hands, "I knew
mother 'd let me. Here's some bread-and-milk
for you, Nance. Sit down on the step and eat it
all up. Poor Nance! it's dreadful for you to be so
hungry. Why, I never was hungry in. my life,-
not so hungry that I could n't wait, I mean," she
added, correcting herself.
Nance evidently had reached the point of hun-

THE FORTUNES OF A SAUCER-PIE.

ger when it was not easy to wait. She attacked
the bread-and-milk like one famished. But, half-
starved as she was, Kitty observed that she stop-
ped every now and then to throw a bit of bread to
Spot, who sat on his tail watching with wistful
eyes each mouthful that went down his mistress's
throat. When Kitty saw this, she ran for more
bread, and fed Spot herself. Her tender heart was
full of pity for the forlorn creatures; she longed to
help farther, to do more for them. A sudden
thought crossed her mind.
Shall I? she asked herself. Yes, I will."
And without farther-delay, she hastened indoors
once more, and came back with a happy flush on
her cheeks, and in her hand the saucer-pie !
Here," she said, look at this dear little pie.
Is n't it cunning ? Miss Hepsy gave it me for my
own, and I'm going to give it to you. I wont
give you the saucer, though, because that does n't
belong to me. Don't touch it till I come back.
I'm going to get a knife and some paper to wrap
it in."
You should have seen Nance's face as Kitty
carefully loosened the edges of the pie, turned it
out, and folded it in the paper I suppose such a
treat had never lighted upon the poor little waif
before in the whole course of her life. Spot
appeared to understand that something of unusual
importance was going on, for he stood on his hind-
legs, barked wildly, careered about, and behaved
generally like a distracted dcg. When the pie was
placed in her hands, Nance looked at it silently,
and then she looked at Kitty. She did not say
" Thank you "-I suppose no one had ever taught
her to do so, but her eyes made up for the defi-
ciencies of her tongue, and Kitty missed nothing.
" Spot I Spot! called Nance, and, squeezing the
precious pie very tightly in her hand, she smiled
once more into Kitty's face, and walked away.
Kitty watched her go, with a warm, happy feeling
at her heart. It was a great deal nicer that poor
Nance had the pie, than if she had eaten it her-
self,-this was the thought in her mind, when at
last she went in and shut the door.
- Nance, meanwhile, was making the best of her
way toward the gypsy tent, which was a long way
off in the woods. She had no idea of keeping the
pie till she got there, because then Jack and Spel-
ter Sal would, she knew, take it from her; but

she wished to enjoy the pleasure of possession till
the last possible moment. As she walked, she
every now and then lifted the parcel to her nose
for a rapturous sniff, but she did not undo the
paper until nearly a mile was passed, and she and
Spot were almost within sight of the tent. Then
she sat down under a tree, untied the string, and
after feasting her eyes for a moment, raised the pie
to her lips, and took a great bite. It was even
better than it looked,-the best, the very best
thing, Nance thought, that she had ever imagined.
" Oh, if it would only last forever, and never be
eaten up !" she thought, as she took the second
bite.
Now, Spot had seated himself also at the same
time with Nance, and exactly in front of her. He,
too, smelt the pie, and admired its looks. When
she took the first mouthful, he writhed himself
about, and his tail rapped sharply in the dry
leaves beneath him. His mouth watered, his red
tongue hung out from his jaws, and waved to and
fro suggestingly. At last he gave a short remind-
ing bark. Nance stopped eating. She held the
pie a little way off, and looked first at it and then
at Spot.
"Yes," she said at last. "You shall have
some, Spotty, 'cause you're the only friend I've
got. Poor Spotty, dear Spotty, don't wag so-
you shall have a bit." She gave a little guess of
self-renunciation, broke the pie bravely in two,
and held the smaller piece out to Spot. It was a
large piece-almost half of all that was left! Spot
seized it joyfully. Munch--crunch-down his
throat it went in large morsels. Munch-crunch
-Nance's share was also disappearing. In a very
short time there was no pie left-not a crumb;
and which of the two who shared the feast enjoyed
it the most thoroughly, it would indeed be hard to
say.
So Dolly, and Kitty, and Nance, and Spot, each
and all, had a saucer-pie. Were these four pies,
then, or was it but one, multiplied and made
many by the blessed arithmetical rule called gold-
en, which consists in giving each to the other?
And which of those who gave enjoyed the giving
most, think you,-Dolly, who parted with the pie
against her will; Kitty, who gave from pity and ten-
derness of heart; or Nance, who lovingly shared
her little all with her dumb and only friend?

[NOVEMBER,

r- r'
~`--~-~c~`~%~p~ea's;-~~

p--~--- ---~-- --

8751 A FAMOUS VICTORY. 45

TO A YOUNG GIRL
With a Spray of Auumn Leaves.

THOUGH Autumn winds are sighing in your future, .'h-r. dear,
Their music may be sweeter than the early Spr:i.,-tihr: cheer;
As the 1.: .-ir, moments ripen in the fullness of your prime,
There '11 be tints and shadows richer far than those of Summer-time;
And, so, these leaves prophetic made me dream, my girl, of you
As they trembled in their gladness, with the sunlight :.linr-. through.
M. M. D.

A FAMOUS VICTORY.

BY ETHEL C. GALE.

FTER all, it was n't much of a
S thing to fight about; but, then,
if every one should refuse to quar-
rel till there was a good reason for
S it, how could there be famous vic-
tories ?
I' t happened in this way.. Every
thing has a 1,: rIrii:i'. and the
'/I-'*', beginning of this victory dated
,;, '* back to the corn-husking. Not
!---_ an old-fashioned, social husking-
li bee in a big barn, with a big sup-
per afterward, such as we some-
times read about; but a modern
husking, where several men stand or kneel all day
in the frosty Autumn weather by the "stouts" of
corn, and, taking ear by ear, pull off the husks,
I- ii some fast to the stalks, and scattering
others over the L- 'oI It was these scattered
husks which made one of the parties to the battle.
The corn had all been husked, the bundles of
stalks carried and stacked beside the barn, and the
corn itself had been sorted and stored in the cribs;
so the wide corn-field, lying on the south side of a
hill, and still further sheltered by a thick maple
grove on the ill-to., would have been left all
alone had not a number of large yellow Pumpkins
and the loosened Corn-husks have staid to keep it
company.
Now one would think that, under these circum-
stances, the Corn-husks and the Pumpkins would
--- the best of friends. But it is n't always

circumstances that make good friends of people or
things; it's the kinds of natures ih.;, have. A
Corn-husk is niiur .ill' light-minded and vain.
Pumpkins, on the contrary, are not very brilliant
(I never yet heard of one of them making an after-
dinner speech, .it1..!l]h they are often Ir,-n:''lt on
festive occasions, and much liked), but they are
quite content to be useful, good-natured members
of the community.
One morning, an hour or two after the sun had
kissed the hill-!sir.. field awake, the Corn-husks be-
gan a pleasant chat with the Pumpkins,-that is,
the chat was pleasant to the Husks because it was
all about themselves; and it was not disagreeable
.to the Pumpkins because they v .:'l. ,iou,,t-h IMoreii
enough to take, an interest in whatever subject
would best please their friends.
N.* i',ib.- Yellow-face," exclaimed an uneasy
Husk, fairly jumping up and down in his excite-
ment, "how can you bear to spend your life in
lying there so qlii.-lr., week in and week out?
Why, I could n't endure it for an hour t Look at
me now. I stay at home a little while, then coax a
friendly wind to give me a lift in his c 'l, n-a',y, and
take me to call upon some of my brothers and
sisters on the other side of the field; then I may
go down to the road-side and amuse myself 1 .k;l;ig
at the passers-by; then I may go up by the grove
and listen to the gossip of the trees-very enter-
1 tli'n; it is too; and :l..-I,. in the afternoons, we
all get together to have a dance. We Corn-husks
are '.. i,-1.%;l: going about, always having a good

A FAMOUS VICTORY.

time, always improving our minds by intercourse
with the world; while you Oh! dear neigh-
bor Yellow-face, I think your life must be dread-
fully monotonous. Don't you often wish you were
a Husk?"
"Well," smiled the Pumpkin, rolling himself a
very trifle more to one side, I don't know that I
ever wished that. I think my life is very pleasant.
I dream of a great many happy things, and don't
find the days long or dull. A great deal passes

them that people shall learn always to think of
peace and happiness when they see my face."
"Hear him now !" shrieked the little Corn-husk,
in his hasty temper not half hearing what the
Pumpkin had said. "Only hear him Old Yellow-
face here says that we were all sent into the world
just to eat and drink and sleep, as he does, from
morning till night "
With this arose a great rustling and a confusion
of many voices. Up sprang the Corn-husks, every

THE BATTLE OF THE PUMPKINS AND CORN-HUSKS.

before my eyes, and I'm so busy thinking that the
time seems short. In fact, there is but one thing
that troubles me, which is that by thinking so
much I'm a little afraid that my head is swelling.
Do you think I shall die of it ?"
Die of what?" snappishly answered the irri-
tated Husk. Your head is swelling, but it's all
because you lie here all day in the sun and do
nothing but eat and drink. I should n't wonder
one bit if you died of laziness. You've no ambition
at all, or you would try to rise in the world "
0 yes, I have said the Pumpkin as placidly
as ever. Yes, I have an ambition to do as well as
I can what I was sent in the world to do, and that
is to think of happy things, and grow so full of

one of them indignant at the presumption of the
Pumpkins.
They are all alike," cried the Husks. The
lazy, stuck-up things The ignorant, conceited
lot! Husks of our position should never have no-
ticed them! Let us make war upon them."
And with this the Husks began to throw them-
selves upon the Pumpkins, to rain down blows
upon them, and at the same time to pelt them with
words.
What in the world is this abdut ? exclaimed
the astonished Pumpkins. "What have we done
to deserve this ? "
But for answer they received only more blows
and hard words from the now furious Husks.

[NOVEMBER,

THE REFORMER.

In the midst of the turmoil, both parties might
have seen, if they had not been too busily engaged
to do so, the farmer and his ox-cart slowly ap-
proaching.
"Land sakes exclaimed the farmer. "I do
believe those Husks think they're really hurting
my Pumpkins! Ho, ho Things that are worth
the least always think the most of themselves."

And he began tenderly lifting the Pumpkins one
by one into the cart.
As this was slowly creaking out of sight again,
and not a Yellow-face was left upon the ground,
the field felt lonely, and sighed for its late friends.
But the Corn-husks called a convention, and passed
resolutions and issued reports, to prove to all the
world that they had gained a famous victory.

THE REFORMER.

BY MRS. M. C. PYLE.

A GOODLY sound has that word Reform,"
And with it this age keeps its virtue warm,
But many reformers, well we know,
Spend their strength showing others the way
to go;
With zeal and knowledge telling each one
How his neighbors' duty can best be done,
While neglecting to prove to all beholders
How such loads would be borne by their own
strong shoulders.
The guide-post maxim keeping in view,
"Do as I say and not as I do."
Remembering this, we must duly prize
One hero who acted otherwise,
To whom these words of honor are due,
That he showed the duty and did it too.

Our poultry-yard was a cheerful place
With its tenants of various hue and race:
Geese, and turkeys, and waddling ducks,
Motherly hens with anxious clucks,
Speckled Dominiques, Polanders dark,
Guinea fowls with their queer "Pe-trarch ;"
But the proudest and grandest of all the flock
Was Gobble, our gorgeous turkey-cock;
Strutting about with stately tread,
With wattles of scarlet and tail outspread,
He seemed to feel himself set to guard
The morals of all in the poultry-yard.
He meddled with broods which the mothers
reared,
In every squabble he interfered,
His swelling importance seeming to say
"Do as I do; 't is the only way."
At last, his ideas expanding yet,
He would teach the very hens to set,

Since his views on the subject no setting hen
Had properly showed to the world till then.
From each nest that he found in the fragrant
hay
Its anxious tenant he drove away,
Settling himself on the warm, round eggs,
'With his awkward and sprawling wings and
legs,
And looking about for the admiration
Due to such lessons in incubation.
But as such a genius none could ask
To bind himself to so dull a task,
When the mother crept back he was always
gone,
And the nest and the eggs were as cold as stone.

But Nemesis comes surely if never fast,
And our Gobbler was brought to grief at last,
When Aunt Peggy's burning wrath was hurled
On this work of reform in the chicken world.
Sternly she vowed herself "bound to fix
That meddling turkey, and cure his tricks!
That he should hatch out, by hook or by crook,
The very next brood that he undertook "

So said so done; for that very day
He drove off old Dorking the usual way
From the nest she had set on two weeks and
more,
Well hidden just back of the tool-house door;
Then, tiring soon, would have sallied out,
But he found Aunt Peggy waiting without!
Close by the door she had taken her stand,
A paddle she wielded with strong right hand;
Again to the nest, with resounding thwack,
She chased the astonished reformer back;

THE REFORMER.

And again and again, in the self-same way,
She taught him that there he was bound to stay.
Vainly, peering with outstretched head,
He crept from the tool-house with stealthy
tread;
The vigilant watcher was there before him,
The terrible paddle was flourished o'er him,
And its very sight made him judge it best
To scuttle hastily back to the nest,

The stars pass over,-the sunset's glow;
How on dancing boughs and on waving grass
The sunbeams and shadows would come and
pass.
The proud hens cackled, the pigeons flew,
The summer breezes fitfully blew,
Ripe mulberries dropped from the low-hung
limb,
All things in nature tempted him,

"BUT THE PROUDEST AND GRANDEST OF ALL THE FLOCK
WAS GOBBLE, OUR GORGEOUS'TURKEY-COCK."

Conning the lesson severe and surprising,
That doing is harder than criticising.

So there, at morn, and night, and noon,
Poor Gobble sat through that week in June,
Till Dorking's appointed time had run,
Till the chicks hatched out and his task was done.

He saw, through the tool-house window low,

So, sadly sitting in doleful thought,
A change in old Gobble's zeal was wrought,
And he learned, as a lesson strange but true,
There was something in setting he never knew.

With rumpled feathers and drooping crest
He came at last from that hated nest;
No more a teacher longing to be,-
A sadder and wiser fowl was he.

[NOVEMBER,

1875.1 POSTAGE-STAMP COLLECTING. 49

POSTAGE-STAMP COLLECTING.

ABOUT ten years ago, when
the passion for collect-
ing postage-stamps
had just begun, all
that was known of
them could be told
in a few pages of
ST. NICHOLAS. But at the present day, postage-
stamp collecting, in many parts of this country
and Europe, has so increased, that a name-
" Philately "-has been given to the pursuit, and
much attention has been paid to it in various ways.
In some of our cities there are shops where nothing

Indian stamps we learn something of the peculiar
characteristics of these islands; while in the stamps
of our own country, in common with others issuing
from other quarters of the globe, we have national
portrait galleries.
While postage-stamps are being collected, or
when they are put into their albums, they are ex-
amined and studied. The map is consulted to find
the location of the country issuing them. The his-
tory is opened to find whose portraits are figured
on them. The cyclopedia is brought out to get
some idea of their value. Some learned friend
is questioned to find the meaning of the peculiar

Paraguay. i87o

Orange Free States, 1868.

Virgin Islands. x868.

12 Ceats.

Cashmere, 1867. British Guiana, x85o. Naples, 1858.
SOME NOTABLE POSTAGE-STAMPS.

but foreign postage-stamps are sold, and in Paris
there is a regular postage-stamp exchange on the
Champs Elysees.
The collecting of postage-stamps is not always
such a frivolous pastime or occupation as many
people imagine.
These little bits of colored paper, ornamented
with portraits, or coats-of-arms, or peculiar devices,
have a great deal of information in them. They
tell of the rise and fall of princes; of the history
of republics; of the manners and customs of the
people; of the peculiar characteristics of the coun-
try. The French and Spanish stamps are epitomes
of the histories of their respective countries; the
English colonial stamps are a geography in them-
selves; the South American stamps present a fine
display of mottoes and devices; from the West
VOL. III.-4.

Turkey. x862.

Egypt, 1867.

inscriptions or legends. And, little by little, this
research goes on until the collector often finds him-
self, in a manner, getting hints of almost every-
thing of interest going on in the world. If Russia
and Turkey are quarreling over Montenegro, he
can discuss the cause of the troubles. He found it
out when examining the Montenegrin stamps in his
album. When a young boy is placed on the throne
of Spain, and the collector's attention is called to
this country, stamps show him the many changes
in that unfortunate country; and Amadeus, and
Don Carlos, and Isabella, and the proud and
haughty nation which unveiled a new continent,
pass before him as a panorama. The Centennial
is spoken of; our young collector takes out his
album, and sees Franklin with his kite, Washing-
ton at Yorktown, Perry on the Lakes; Jefferson

New South Wales, 1850.

Western Australia, 1872.

POSTAGE-STAMP COLLECTING.

and Louisiana, Jackson behind the cotton bales at
New Orleans, Scott on the plains of Mexico, and
Lincoln with his emancipation proclamation.
In stamp-collecting the judgment is sharpened
in endeavoring to detect the good stamps and to
discard the counterfeit; the eye is drilled to appre-
ciate the harmony and contrast of colors, in the
proper arrangement of the stamps; patience is
acquired and taste cultivated in the efforts to pro-
duce fine effects; and cases are known of foreign
languages being studied simply to enable the col-
lector to decipher the legends and inscriptions on
the stamps. A pursuit which is productive of so
much good should not be decried as a mere child-
ish pastime.
The introduction of the postal system, as it at
present exists in all countries on the globe, has
been credited to England, when, in 1840, covers
and envelopes were devised to carry letters all over
the kingdom at one penny the single rate. This
plan was adopted through the exertions of Sir
Rowland Hill, who has been aptly termed the
"father of postage-stamps." It now appears, how-
ever, that there is another aspirant for the intro-
duction of the stamp system. In Italy, as far back
as 1818, letter sheets were prepared, duly stamped
in the left lower corner, while letters were delivered
by specially appointed carriers, on the prepayment
of the money which the stamp represented. The
early stamp represented a courier on horseback,
and was of three values. It was discontinued
in 1836. Whether Italy or Great Britain first in-
troduced postage-stamps, other countries afterward
began to avail themselves of this method for the
prepayment of letters, although they did not move
very promptly in the matter.
Great Britain enjoyed the monopoly of stamps
for three years, and, though the first stamps were
issued in 1840, she has made fewer changes in her
stamps than any other country, and has suffered
no change at all in the main design-the portrait
of Queen Victoria. In other countries, notably in
our own, the Sandwich Islands, and the Argentine
Republic, the honor of portraiture on the stamps
is usually distributed among various high public
officers; but in Great Britain the Queen alone
figures on her stamps, and not even the changes
that thirty-five years have made in her face are
shown on the national and colonial postage-
stamps.
The next country to follow the example of Eng-
land was Brazil. In 1842 a series of three stamps
was issued, consisting simply of large numerals de-
noting the value, and all printed in black. Then
came the cantons in Switzerland, and Finland, with
envelopes which to-day are very rare, and soon after
them, Bavaria, Belgium, France, Hanover, New

South Wales, Tuscany, Austria, British Guiana,
Prussia, Saxony, Schleswig Holstein, Spain, Den-
mark, Italy, Oldenburg, Trinidad, Wurtemburg,
and the United States. Other countries followed
in the train, until, at the present moment, there is
scarcely any portion of the globe, inhabited by
civilized people, which has not postage-stamps.
In looking at a collection, one is struck with the
variety and peculiarities of the designs. You
would not suppose that Cashmere, noted for the
beautiful designs of its shawls, could ever sanc-
tion such a stamp as the one shown on the preced-
ing page. And it would puzzle a hieroglyphist to
decipher the queer device unless he stretched his
imagination to see some resemblance between it
and the Cashmere goat. These stamps are printed
from ivory blocks, which accounts for their daubed
appearance, the figure in the cut being decidedly
superior to the stamps themselves. The stamps
for the Virgin Islands are very significant. The
first that appeared represented a virgin holding in
her hand a lamp, and surrounded by eleven lamps.
Collectors at once put their heads together, and
agreed that Columbus, who discovered these islands,
having regard to their number, named them in
commemoration of the celebrated eleven thousand
virgins of Cologne. The truth is, however, that
Columbus discovered these islands on the Virgin's
day, and accordingly named them after the Virgin
Mary, and that the twelve lamps represent the
twelve primitive Christian charities. The Virgin
Isles are a group of small rocky islands north of
the Caribbees.
We know of a postage-stamp issued in the Isle
of Reunion (formerly the Isle of Bourbon), in the
Indian Ocean, which, originally with a few cents,
cannot now be bought for one hundred dollars,
although this is by no means the highest price
which has been paid for a postage-stamp.
The British Guiana stamp, represented in our
cut, though ugly enough, is one of the rarest
stamps known. Perhaps there is not a complete
set in any one collection.
We might proceed in this way, describing the
peculiarities of postage-stamps, the reasons for the
numerous devices and changes, and find a pleasure
in the recital; but the young collector must have
something left for his own industry, and it is bet-
ter, therefore, to leave this part of the subject, and
say something about the proper way of keeping
the stamps.
It is a disputed question whether prepared albums
should be used or not. Although there may be a
certain measure of usefulness in them, they leave
no room for the exercise of individual taste. That
the prepared album should be entirely discarded is
the opinion of nine out of every ten collectors, and

[NOVEMBER,

TRIP AND TOM.

our advice would be, therefore, to use books made
of heavy paper, with perfectly blank pages. On
these the stamps may be arranged to suit the col-
lectors' fancy.
The principle of mounting the stamps now
adopted by amateurs is that known as hingeing.
Several methods have been advocated, but the
one we name is superior to all others in conve-
nience and adaptation to the purpose. First, then,
as to the paper used for the hinges. There is a
kind of fine, foreign letter paper, strong, thin, and
almost transparent, called by stationers onion-
skin," which answers the best. Sheets of this
should be washed on one side only with a weak so-
lution of pure gum arabic, just thick enough to flow
easily, and to not crack when dried. The sheets,
when dry, must be cut into strips of about one-half
inch in width. The stamps, having been freed
from all adhering paper, should be placed side by
side on the strip, one edge of which has been pre-
viously moistened to the depth of one-eighth inch,
as illustrated in the following figure:

Stamp Ji yp Jszn, tamp s

Then, with a pair of scissors, separate the stamps,

and trim the adhering portion of
should look like the following:

the strip, when it

Fold the strip backward upon itself, and by the
application of a little water from a camel's-hair
brush, the stamp is ready to be placed in position.
The great advantage of this plan lies in the fact
that a stamp once mounted can be easily removed
from the page without injury to stamp or page, by
moistening the hinge, the paper being so thin that
a slight touch of water will loosen the hinge from
the page.
A word or two on the subject of counterfeits may
not be amiss. Stamp-dealing is quite a lucrative
pursuit, and the profits are certainly large enough
to induce the dealer to sell only genuine stamps;
it is a sad fact, however, that many persons counter-
feit nearly every rare stamp, and palm off their
cheat upon the young collector, and even upon
the experienced amateur, as a valuable original.
Young collectors should be careful to collect none
but genuine postage-stamps, and to have no deal-
ings except with respectable and honest persons.

TRIP AND TOM.

BY J. B L.

LET'S do it," said Trip. ure, and six-year-old Tom had listened ad -in iin gl
Let's," said Tom; and two little white figures to her narrations and entered heartily into her
popped out of bed. plans.
What could they be up to? Not ten minutes An early and secret leaving of the paternal roof,
before, they had repeated Now I lay me down to in search of personal adventure, was the project
sleep," and received mamma's good-night kisses, with which Trip's busy brain had teemed all day.
Yet now here they were, drawing on stockings and To accomplish this more successfully, they had de-
shoes, aprons and coats, and acting decidedly as if cided to re-dress.
"to sleep was the last thing they had lain down When mamma looked in upon them before re-
to do. tiring, instead of two white-robed children, -tlere
The Swiss Family Robinson" was at the bot- was Tom in his top-boots, trousers, and coat; Trip
tom of the mischief. Eight-year-old Miss Trip with her dress half-buttoned, her shoes on the
had just devoured that story of delightful advent- wrong feet, her apron fastened at the top; and

TRIP AND TOM.

over all, tightly clutched in four little hands, was
the bed-spread, drawn up to hide .from mamma's
prying eyes anything curious below. Mamma un-
derstood at a glance.
Let 'em go," said papa, in answer to a "what
shall I do ?" They wont go far, and they'll find
out for themselves how much fun there is in it."
So two uncomfortably dressed children tossed
and tumbled all night.
I've wondered all day what Trip was up to,"
said mamma.
She's been making preparations, I guess. We
shall find her provisions hidden away somewhere."
A little search brought to light, under the bed,
the family valise and market basket. In the valise
were a pillow, a blanket, a knife, two forks, one
plate, a teacup, a coffee-pot that had
suffered the loss of a -nose, a syrup
pitcher, a spoon, Trip's work-box,
" Mother Goose's Melodies," an old
jacket, two dolls, two aprons, and a
neck-ribbon. In the basket were some
cold corn-bread, a tiny bag of flour,
some salt, a huge paper of saleratus,
a parcel of sugar, two beets, a turnip,
a dozen raw potatoes, and a slice of
uncooked ham. if
On the floor lay Tom's agricultural
implements and weapons of war,-his '
spring-gun, his glittering sword of tin, '
a tiny hoe, a hatchet with a split clothes-
pin for a handle, and a four-bladed '
jack-knife (that is, one that had long I'
ago been four-bladed, but, as far back
as Tom's memory went, one very rusty,
very jagged, and very short blade was
all it could boast). X.
The early dawn found Trip and Tom
astir.
"It's dark," said Tom.
"Oh, come on !" said Trip.
"It's all smoky," said Tom, look-
ing dubiously out into the dull gray of
the early morning.
Oh, Tom Nelson If I would n't
be ashamed to back out Come You
take the basket, and I'll carry the bag," said Trip.
Clatter, clatter, bump, bump, and Trip and Tom,
basket and bag, were down-stairs, through thyehall,
out of doors.
Mamma cautiously peeped from her window and
saw two wretched little figures, in the mist of an
uncomfortable, drizzling morning, starting out to-
ward the great elm in the back-yard.
Trip staggered along under the weight of her
valise, dragging an umbrella behind her; while
Tom brought up the rear, his gun slung over his

shoulder, his sword dangling from a clothes-line
belt, his hoe and hatchet carried h la tomahawk,
and his precious knife in the deepest recess of his
deepest pocket.
Mamma Nelson dressed herself and two-year-old
Katie, who had not been taken into the conspiracy
on account of her inexperience and extreme youth,
and went down-stairs to be ready for developments.
"Rap, rap at the door.
Mum," said a small voice, making desperate
attempts to speak large, can you lend me a few
kindlings this morning?"
Certainly, sir, certainly," said mamma, briskly.
"Very happy to accommodate you. You are
moving, I see "
Shipwrecked," said Tom in a deep bass, glanc-

ON THE DESERT ISLAND.

ing at the griddle-cake preparations for breakfast,
as if famine were added to the ordinary horrors of
shipwreck.
"An unpleasant morning for your furniture to
be exposed," said sympathetic mamma.
Goin' to build a house," said Tom, disappear-
ing with his kindlings.
Rap, rap "
"I would like to retain a few matches, if you
please, ma'am," said the smooth' voice of Trip,
whose curious mixing of the Queen's English was

[NOVEMBER,

TRIP AND TOM.

the family joke. "My stove don't draw well, and
I can't exceed in starting a fire."
I suppose you lost your flint and steel in the
wreck, and a sun-glass is a failure such a cloudy
morning."
"Yes, ma'am," said Trip, glancing at the grid-
dle-cakes.
Mamma slyly helped little Katie to an extra nice-
looking one, just as two hungry-looking black eyes
gave their last backward glance.
Trip put some more kindlings into or under her
primitive stove, which certainly bore much more
resemblance to the fire-places our great-grand-
mothers loved than to the cooking-stove in her
mother's kitchen.
Tom looked solemnly into the battered tin pail,
in which six grimy potatoes were supposed to be
cooking.
It's a nasty old thing! said Tom, crossly.
" They wont never cook 'n the world."
"Well, we can eat our brown bread if they
don't, and put lots of sugar on it, too," said Trip,
philosophically, her eight-year-old pride rebelling
against giving up her pet plan.
So the children spread their umbrella, and sat
down to wait for breakfast.
"Oh, Tommy! see these dear little incident
birds said Trip, vainly endeavoring to cheer the
drooping spirits of her fellow-adventurer. "Aint
they pretty ? "
"No, they aint," said Tom, snappishly. "Their
backs are all humped up, and they can't walk,-
they just hop, hop "
"Let's tell stories," said Trip, beginning with-
out waiting for Tom's assent: Once there was a
beautiful princess, and she lived in a beautiful pal-
ace, and a wicked witch did n't like it, and she put
some dreadful stuff into the water that the minister
sprinkled on her, and she could n't walk on the
ground, but they had to fly her, just like a kite."
"Oh, what a stor-ee, Trip Nelson Now I shall
tell mamma !" said Tom, with virtuous indigna-
tion.
No you wont, either! 'T aint a story. Mam-
ma's book said so said Trip, whose good-nature,
like many an older housekeeper's, was not quite
proof against the combined misfortunes of domestic
experience and the growling masculine element in
the domestic atmosphere.
My feet are all wetted, and my froat 's sore,"
said Tom, beginning to whimper, "and I want
some griddle-cakes, too."

Well, Tommy," said Trip, don't you cry.
We '11 play there's a ship in sight, coming to take
us off, and then we '11 run home, and s'prise mam-
ma, and get some breakfast, too. I '11 shake my
apron, to make 'em see us, and you scream 'Ship
ahoy !' just as loud as you can."
But, alas what solitary, uninhabited corner of
the globe ever was free from some dangerous mon-
ster ? Lions prowl around, tigers spring upon their
unwary prey, and terrible cannibals silently ap-
proach.
So just behind our little adventurers stood a
threatening foe. Old Billy, the neighbor's goat,
had passed some minutes in quiet examination of
that strange object under the elm.
All of a sudden-rush, whang !-and two fright-
ened children were tumbled over on their faces,
while poor Billy and the umbrella had it all to
themselves.
Tom screamed lustily, according to the pro-
gramme, and Trip stopped signaling and joined
in the screaming. In a moment, mamma hove in
view, bearing down gallantly to the rescue of the
distressed family.
Soon after, two little children, with dry shoes
and stockings, very happy faces, and very empty
stomachs, might have been seen stowing away a
sufficient quantity of provision, in the form of
smoking and well-buttered griddle-cakes, to last
through any ordinary experience of shipwreck and
famine.
Here is Tom's letter to his dear friend Winches-
ter Hardy, telling what he thought about his recent
dangerous experience:

A V D M Ce e T f T TH
TA T 2 SD/I r$A A
%+)ae WAY S U11h 1 /7 1 R
1 SEEXT KA M
We WAfkESXTJDE

To/ .NE LS
,/s V-, D /D/vTTu[, y
He- WAS A 7 T"E
T AI NT U H F U/AN
yrUDEi &TN, T fvTT
7)/ o J ,

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

.J. .AIN -. HH -1'U ..
JACK-IN-1 HE1-I'ULPIIT.

A NEW VOLUME OF ST. NICHOLAS !
Now this very morning I heard the pretty school-
mistress speak of thunder as a volume of sound,"
and a few moments afterward she remarked that
the new volume of ST. NICHOLAS would be, in
many ways, the most fascinating and wonderful
that had yet been issued. So, my children, if a
volume of sound is thunder, you may well imagine
that a third volume of ST. NICHOLAS will be some-
thing tremendous. How is your Jack to make
himself heard in all the delightful commotion, I
wonder?
That reminds me: Am I a real Jack-in-the-
Pulpit? you have asked-a true plant, growing and
preaching out in the sunshine ? Well, perhaps no.
Perhaps yes. This much is certain: I do live in
the sunshine; I do try to grow; and I do love to
talk to the boys and girls of ST. NICHOLAS-to
open their eyes and their minds by pointing out
all sorts of queer truths here, there, and yonder-
and to put into their hearts grateful, loving thoughts
toward the Giver of all good.
So, my darlings, if you 're satisfied with this
explanation, I am. Now we '11 talk about
PROLONGING LIFE.
IT can't be done," said Deacon Green, in Jack's
hearing, one morning. "There is n't a man liv-
ing, doctor or no doctor, who can prolong his life
for a single day. The most that can be done is not
to shorten it Let 'em look out not to do that,
sir Let every man, woman and child take care
not to do :'. ..l 1;. to shorten life, and their days
will lengthen out, in God's good providence-
hearty, happy days, and just as many of 'em as is
right and possible."
Deacon Green always hits the nail on the head,
I'm told,--though, never having seen him when

he's hammering, I can't speak from any positive
knowledge. But he's a right, smart good man,
I'm sure, and knows what he's talking about. He
is a new-comer in my neighborhood, and he lives
in the red cottage across the road from the school-
house, a little toward the west. If I hear him say
anything more, I'11 let you know.

JACK MAKES AN OFFER.
Now, my chicks, I warn you that I'm about to
tell you an absurd story-" just for larks," some
of you would say; but I don't say it, for I have n't
the slightest idea of amusing the larks at this mo-
ment. Now listen sharply:

One day a brown thrush was resting on top of a
post-and-rail fence, enjoying the cool morning air.
Pretty soon a crow came hopping along the same
fence, and the thrush quickly flew away. A beauti-
ful pigeon, that was calmly hopping about in a
neighboring door-yard, picking up crumbs, did not
see the crow, or he, too, would have hastened to
take his departure.
Not so with a busy little sparrow in a maple
tree on the other side of the field. He, too, saw
the crow, but not being in the least afraid, he soon
sought the cool grass at the maple's roots, and
walked about as unconcernedly as possible. Soon
he was joined by a fine young robin, and, strange
to say, the crow, after eying them curiously for a
moment as they walked about together, soared
into the air and was seen no more."

A simple story enough, is n't it ? And yet there
are four mistakes of fact in it-mistakes which
almost any really observing boy or girl should
be able to detect at once. What are they? No
grammarians or spelling-matches need apply.
This, as I have said, is simply a question of fact.
The first boy or girl who writes me a letter (in care
of Editor of ST. NICHOLAS), correctly pointing out
my four mistakes, shall have a book-yes, the
pretty schoolma'am shall send that clever chick a
book as wise and pretty as herself I

THE AUTHOR OF 'ALICE IN WONDERLAND."
Two little girls sat in my meadow the other day,
reading "Alice in Wonderland." And how they
laughed It must be a very funny book, thought
I, and its author must be a jolly, rollicksome sort
of fellow One of the little girls had just told the
other that he was an Englishman who had been
called Lewis Carroll, but that nobody knew his
real name. Now, as I 'd seen Englishmen before,
I could see this one in my mind's eye very clearly.
Yes, there he stood, plain as day (though he was n't
there at all, you understand), a great, florid, jolly,
portly Englishman, with plaid trousers, and red
side-whiskers-Mr. Anonymous Carroll, author of
"Alice in Wonderland."
But dear, dear! how mistaken one can be! In
less than ten minutes, and while the little girls still
sat reading and laughing, the pretty schoolma'am
came along. Both children jumped up eagerly-

[NOVEMBER,

875.l JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 55

She had once visited England. Had she ever
seen the author of "Alice in Wonderland" ? they
asked.
"Oh, yes, indeed."
Oh, do, do tell us all about him cried the
little girls in a breath.
"I can't quite do that," said the pretty school-
ma'am, laughing, "but I can tell you a little. His
name is Dodgson-Rev. Charles Ludwig Dodgson.
He is a youngish-looking man, with a very pleas-
ant, earnest face, and a kind, gentle voice. He is
rather small and thin, and so shy and modest that
if his own Alice had met him in Wonderland, she
would have said, in her simple way: 'Oh, don't
stay here, sir; everything and everybody are so
very strange that you '11 be quite uncomfortable.
You wont understand them at all, sir, I'm sure
you wont.'"
EARLY BIRDS.

THERE'S an early morning song, I 'm told, that
belongs especially to cities and factory-towns. It
is not a bird song exactly, but it is high and shrill
and early birds with tools and aprons and kettles
gather at its call. They are not yellow birds, nor
blue birds, these early ones,-they have grimy faces
and hard hands,-but they are strong and cheery,
knowing well enough that fine feathers don't always
make fine birds.
Have ever you heard this morning song? And
do you not honor the early birds who flock at its
call, and do so much of the world's work ?

LIVE POTATO-BUGS WASHED IN BY THE SEA.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Let me tell you of a wonderful thing.
Yesterday some ladies and gentlemen went to Rockaway, on the
shores of Long Island. They took me with them, because one of the
ladies was my aunt.
We enjoyed it very much. It was great fun to see the big waves
come rolling up the beach, but the most astonishing thing was to see
great quanuties of potato-bugs all in a broad line along the beach,
just as they had been washed in by the sea. They were alive, and
as we took up great handfuls of them, we had very good evidence of
the fact, though potato-bugs are not as lively as crickets. One of the
gentlemen of our party is called an agriculturist, and he cultivates a
large farm. He said they certainly were potato-bugs. I can't tell
you how many thousands of them we saw. I picked some up myself
from the top of the water. The agriculturist said he had read many
accounts of dead potato-bugs lately being found on the sea-shore; but
these were alive. Water did n't even seem to wet them.
Now, dear Mr. Jack, I'd like to know if any other of your boys
have seen a sight just like this.-Your affectionate friend,
Newark, August 25th, x875. HIRAM G- .

FORBIDDEN LEAVES.

A KIND, good soul, who evidently has your in-
terest at heart, sends a letter, my chicks, which she
begs me to give you, so here it is. You should
have seen it earlier, but as this number of ST.
NICHOLAS will appear about the aoth of October,
many of you may yet profit by its good advice:

DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS: Every year I hear of somebody who is
dreadfully poisoned while gathering the beautiful Autumn leaves.
Let me tell you, then, how to avoid this danger. You may gather
the long, pointed, serrate (or saw-edged) leaves of the sumach that
has velvety-hairy stalks, and great bunches of purple-black berries
sour to the taste. The berries are used by country people sometimes
for making a dye for woolen cloth or yam. The leaves of this sumach
are very handsome, and it is perfectly harmless.
But you must not touch or go near (since its very effluvium is dan-

gerous) the poison sumach, or dogwood. 1-, u;1, its leaves are far
more brilliant in scarlet and yellow than 1 .. 1 the harmless kind
that they so closely resemble. You may know it by its loose clusters
of yellowish-white fruit. It generally grows in swampy grounds,
while the harmless sumach is oftenest found on rich hill-sides. It is
a !:; i ; .., -.,... E-. .i i ever have been called dogwood,
-e .-i .' .. -. high tree with very large and
I. .: bl .: ... ....", -d with lovely purple leaves in
Autumn, is perfectly harmless.
You may gather the crimson five-cleft leaves of the Virginian
creeper, or American ivy, that has small blackish berries, and that
climbs by fixing the ends of its tendrils like little suckers to its sup-
ports; but beware of the poison ivy, that has three leaflets, and that
climbs by loose, thread-like rootlets. It is very beautiful, but very
poisonous. You may know it by some one of its several other names:
poison elder, poison oak, or mercury vine. The latter name is ap-
plied to several other poisonous vines, in various parts of the United
States. Let them all alone.
The beautiful Autumnal woods are offering you such variety in
form, color, and shade, that you need not gather leaves of these two
forbidden sorts. M. B. C. SLADE.

BLUE JAYS TAKING PILLS.

JACK has received a letter from an old lady in
South Carolina, in which she tells a true story for
the benefit of my boys and girls. She says that'
she had been making some "home-made pills,"
and after they were all nicely shaped she put them
out on the window-sill to dry. Pretty soon some
blue jays came along, and not having anything;
better to do they swallowed every pill. The old lady
went to the window just in time to see the last dose
disappear, and so, as she says, she just had to make
the best of it. Watching the jays, and wondering
what effect the pills would have upon them, she
saw them tumble about in a sort of confused state,
and finally hide themselves away as best they could.
In the morning they were found dead in her gar-
den. The old lady felt very sorry for them, but
she says she could n't help thinking that perhaps
it was all for the best, as the pills contained opium,
and may be there was something wrong about
them."
Jack thinks so too. There is apt to be some-
thing wrong about home-made things that contain
opium. Better, however, to lose a few blue jays
than to have a nice old lady killed in that way.

HOW CERTAIN WOODPECKERS PACK THEIR TRUNKS.
Nordhoff, Ventura Co., California.
DEAR JACK: Do you realize how many little persons in all parts
of the country eageny read your sermons of life and nature ? Have
any of your messengers ever told you how the thrifty woodpecker
ofCalifornia stores away his food? His favorite diet seems to be
acorns. He selects his tree, I think preferring a redwood or white-
oak; then bores or pecks the bark full of holes of the size or the
acorn. When his harvest is ready, he immediately brings an acorn
and tries until he finds a place where it will fit in nicely (if not put in
tightly it would drop out), inserts the smaller end, then pounds it in
with his bill. It is interesting to watch him. His little red cap bobs
to and fro until his store is safely packed.
We have a very large white-oak in our yard, which is inhabited by
a colony I should think. The body or trunk and every large limb are
perforated with these holes, the most of which are now full.
Yours, with good wishes, JENNIE LANNER.
SHIP AHOY!
NEXT month, I 'm told, ST. NICHOLAS is to
have a high-popolorum, full-rigged, double-decker
of some sort by the Little School-mistress herself.
And there's sharp work expected from you, my
youngsters There 's a prize, too. Deacon Green
has a hand in it, I have n't the slightest shadow of
a doubt.

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.

AN ALPHABET FROM ENGLAND.

BY CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

A is
A is

the Alphabet, A at its head;
an Antelope, agile to run.

B is the Baker Boy bringing the bread,
Or black Bear and brown Bear, both begging for bun.

C is a Cornflower come with the corn;
C is a Cat with a comical look.

is a dinner which Dahlias adorn;
is a Duchess who dines with a
Duke.

is an elegant, eloquent Earl;
is an Egg whence an Eaglet emerges.

is a Falcon, with feathers to furl;
is a Fountain of full foaming surges.

THE COMICAL CAT.

THE ELOQUENT EARL.

[NOVEMBER,

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 57

S s,..rW, 1I' 4,, G is the Gander, the Gosling,
S'. .. "' the Goose;
-~G 'is a Garnet in girdle of
gold.

THE GANDER, THE GOSLING, THE GOOSE.

H is a Heartsease, harmonious of hues;
H is a huge Hammer, heavy to hold.

I is an Idler who idles on ice;
I am I-who will say I am not I ?

Jacinth, a jewel of price;
Jay, full of joy in July.

K is a King,
higher;
K is a Kitten,
aroo.

or a Kaiser still

or quaint Kang-

A HAMMER HEAVY TO HOLD.

is a Lute or a lovely-toned Lyre;
is a Lily all laden with dew.

M is a Meadow where
blows;
M is a Mountain made

Meadow-sweet

dim by a mist.

N is a nut-in a nutshell it grows;
Or a Nest full of Nightingales singing
-oh, list!

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.

is an Opal, with only one
spark;
is an Olive, with oil on its
skin.

A PONVY A PET IN THE PARK.

a Pony, a pet in a park;
the Point of a Pen or a Pin.

a Quail, quick chirping at morn;
a Quince quite ripe and near dropping.

A RED-BREASTED ROBIN.

a Rose, rosy red on a thorn;
a red-breasted Robin come hopping.

a Snow-storm that sweeps o'er the Sea;
the Song that the swift Swallows sing.

T is the Tea-table set out for tea;
T is a Tiger with terrible spring.

U, the Umbrella, went up in a shower;
Or Unit is useful with ten to unite.

58

I' ,I Iii

THE IY1IBIELLA .

[NovEMBER,

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.

POLICEMAN X EXERCISED.

V is a Violet veined in the flower;
V is a Viper of venomous bite.

W stands for the water-bred Whale;
Stands for the wonderful Wax-work so gay.

X, or XX, or XXX is ale,
Or Policeman X, exercised day after day.

Y is a yellow Yacht, yellow its boat;
Y is the Yucca, the Yam, or the Yew.

Z is a Zebra, zigzagged his coat,
Or Zebu, or Zo6phyte, seen at the Zoo.

"SEEN AT THE ZOO."

THE LETTER-BOX.

THE LETTER-BOX.

LIBRARIAN.-" The Pretty School-mistress," to whom we referred
your letter, writes in reply:

There is good authority for Mr. Jack-in-the-Pulpit's remark that
Leonardo da Vinci invented the wheelbarrow. 1 found the same
statement in an Italian Life of this great painter, published in Milan
in 1872, the author ofwhich had the privilege of examining Leonardo's
own manuscripts. Also, a writer in the Edinburgk Revmz~i, in an
article on the "Lives" of this painter, after naming many useful things
invented by Leonardo da Vinci, designs for and descriptions of which
are found among his still existing manuscripts, adds-" And finally,
last but not least, among the many things moved by wheel, the com-
mon wheelbarrow."
To be sure, the honor of this invention has been claimed for others.
Some authorities give it to a certain Sieur Dupin, in 1669; others
claim it for Pascal, somewhere in the middle of the same century;
and a surprising statement is to be found in the "Dictionnaire de
Mobilier." In this work Viollet-le-Duc gives afac-simile, as "Libra-
rian" truly says, of a picture taken from a manuscript of the end of
the thirteenth century, representing an odd-looking man wheeling
what appears to be the bust of a king in a wheelbarrow !
The only way in which we can explain this matter, without directly
doubting the evidence of Leonardo himself, is by supposing that in
the old days, before telegraphs and rapid transits of any kind were
known, a wheelbarrow, or any other needed thing, may have been
invented and used in one place for even a century before it was heard
of three hundred miles away. So there may have been half-a-dozen
worthy and honest inventors of this useful implement; in fact, it
would hardly surprise me to find the wheelbarrow trundled back
through the ages till it reached the workshop of the earliest inventor
known to men-the "cunning worker," Tubal Cain.

THns beautiful poem, written by Mrs. Browning as a tribute to
Hans Christian Andersen, cannot fail to interest all lovers of the
noble old poet, and is therefore republished here. It has also another
claim upon us, that it is the last poem written by the great poetess:

THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH.

"Now give us lands where olives grow,"
Cried the North to the South,
Where the sun with a golden mouth can blow
Blue bubbles of grapes down a vineyard row!"
Cried the North to the South.
"Now give us men from the sunless plain,"
Cried the South to the North,
By need of work in the snow and the rain
Made strong, and brave by familiar pain!"
Cried the South to the North.
I5.
Give lucider hills and intense seas,"
Said the North to the South,
Since ever by symbols and bright degrees,
Art, child-like, climbs to the dear Lord's knees!"
Said the North to the South.
Give strenuous souls for belief and prayer,"
Said the South to the North,
That stand in the dark on the lowest stair,
While affirming of God, He is certainly there! '"
Said the South to the North.
sIt.
"Yet, oh, for the skies that are softer and higher!"
Sighed the North to the South,
For the flowers that blaze, and the trees that aspire,
And the insects made of a song or a fire!"
Sighed the North to the South.
And, oh, for a seer to discern the same!"
Sighed the South to the North,
For a poet's tongue of baptismal flame,
To call the tree and the flower by its name!"
Sighed the South to the North.
Iv.
The North sent, therefore, a man of men
As a grace to the South;
And thus to Rome came Andersen,-
"Alas, but must you take him again ?'"
Said the South to the North..

NEXT month we shall publish in the "Riddle-box a beautiful and
original prize-puzzle. The prize will be something that our boys
and girls will consider splendid, and we may print a picture of it.
Full announcements will be made in our next number.

THE following answers have been received to the question in the
September number regarding the course of a ship from New York to
Liverpool:
Lansingburgh, N. Y., August 3oth, x875.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My sister sends the answer to-Why does
a ship crossing the Atlantic, and sailing in a straight line from New
York to Liverpool, sail a hundred miles further than a ship sailing
from New York to Liverpool on a curved line up toward the north?
Because you cannot go direct, as you have to go around Ireland;
therefore it would be nearer to go on a curved line than on a straight
line. LAURA S. BENEDICT.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A ship sailing from New York to Liverpool
in a straight line would sail farther than in a line curving toward the
north, because the are of a great circle between two points is greater
than the are of a small circle between the same points.
DARLiN L. AMEs.

Parkersburg, W. Va., August 3xst, 1875.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: James S. m the September number of ST.
NICHOLAS, wishes to know why Baltimore was so named, and if there
be any city of the same name m the Old World ? I do not know of
any Baltimore in the Old World. About 1624, Sir George Calvert, a
Roman Catholic nobleman, whose title was Lord Baltimore, wishing
to provide an asylum for the Catholics then persecuted in England,
asked for a grant of land in America upon which to establish a colony.
Charles L, the king, readily agreed to grant his request; but before
the papers received the royal seal, Calvert died. The charter was
then issued to his son Cecil, who, by the death of his father, succeeded
to the title of Lord Baltimore. The first immigrants came over in
1634, and commenced founding cities, one of which was called Balti-
more, after Lord Baltimore.-Yours respectfully,
HATTIE A. WELLES.
We have also received answers to Jamie's questions from Mabel
Hoskins, Mark W. C., "J. J.," J. C. Beardsley, "Namlig," and
"Comus," all of whom agree with Hattie as to the origin of the
name. But the second question must have been a hard one, for
almost all the answers to it are incorrect. Mabel Hoskins, Mark W.
C., and J. C. Beardsley assert that there is no Baltimore in the Old
World, while "Comus" adds, "unless it be a small village." But
that is just what it is,-a small seaport village in the south of Ireland.
The American city of Baltimore certainly received its name in the
manner described by Hattie, but the title of the peerage held by Sir
George Calvert may have been derived from the name of this little
Irish town.

HERE is a story by a very little girl:
MAGOR.
Magor was a large dog. He had a kind little master, so Magor
was ever well off. He knew Merry every since he was a puppy.
One day Merry and he were.at play near the pond. Merry had qute
forgotten what mama had told him not to go near the pond. Magor
thout it would be nice to have a swim; m he went. The little boy
thought Magor was going to get very damp and cold. He was
standing on the very edge of the pond, saying Come back." He
put out one fat hand. He gave a little cry-a splash. Merry had
fallen. He had rose frist time when Magor caught him. Carried
him home to mama. What do you think she did? Why, she took
Merry, did him up in blankets, put him in her own soft bed, and
kissed his pale face many times. It was one week before Merry was
himslfe agn. Six times Magor saved the little boy's life. Doyou
not think Magor ought to be loved for what he did ?-MARME L. L.

HERE is something for young mathematicians and logicians:
To THE ErDTOR OF ST. NICHOLAS Allow me herewith to send
you the following arithmetical puzzle, communicated to me by my
father, and said to have originated with Moses Mendelssohn :
Question.-How can you prove that there must be in the world at
least two trees of the same number of leaves ?
Solution.-It is certain that the number of trees in the world exceed

[NOVEMBER,

THE LETTER-BOX.

the greatest number of leaves on any one tree. Call the greatest
number of leaves r, and the number of trees x plus y, and suppose
all the trees have different numbers from r to -. Then, the tree
z plus r must have a number of leaves ranging between I and z, for
x is the greatest number of leaves on a tree. Therefore it must
equal in the number of leaves one of the trees between I and ., and
therefore there are two trees in the world which have the same num-
ber of leaves.
To make it plainer, let the greatest number of leaves on any one
tree be ,000,00ooo, and the greatest number of trees 1,ooo,oor; and
suppose all the trees have different number of leaves-the first having
one leaf, the second two, the third three, &c.; and as no one tree can
have more than i,ooo,oco leaves, therefore the first tree over one
million must have an equal number of leaves with one tree between
I and i,ooo,ooo, because it cannot have more than 1,o0o,o0o, and as
all the number of leaves between I and ,00oo,ooo have been given
away, one of these numbers must be repeated. Therefore there are
at least two trees in the world which have an equal number of leaves.
-Respectfully yours, MORRIS JASTROW.

IT is not often that the boys receive such a decidedly practical
question as is put to them this month by Bruce F. Johnson. He
asks "if any boy can tell him the length of railroad in the United
States, in America, in Great Britain, in Europe, in Asia, in Africa."
He even includes Australia also, and closes with a request for the
total length of all the railroads in the world!" '
We will answer the last question ourselves. At the close of 1874
there were, in the whole world, 172,930 miles of railroad, on which
56,7o0 locomotives were employed to draw 103,700 passenger cars
and 1,356,6oo freight cars.

San Francisco, August I8.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in California. I am nine years old.
I live on Dolores Street I think it is called so because there is an
old Mission church on it, with graves round it-some of them more
than a hundred years old. The church is a queer-looking old thing.
It is made of adobe.
I have thought ofjoining the Bird-defenders, but I cannot get my
cat to join with me. I have a little paraquet, too. My cat is afraid
to kill my paraquet, because it squeaks so but if it can get hold of a
little chicken, it will kill it in a minute. What would you do with
such a cat ? GODFREY BIRDSALL.
You had better join yourself, Godfrey, and, after awhile, you may
be able to reform your cat.

EFFIE VANVOLKENBERG AND OTHERS.-Yes, you are right.
Franklin was born in Boston. Jack either made a mistake, for once,
or his statement was an ingenious device for waking his young
hearers out of their August doze.

DEAR EDITOR: The following riddle has been in our family for at
least fifty years, and no one has been able to solve it Some of the
most intelligent have tried it, and have failed. I thought I would
submit the riddle to you, thinking that, through the pages of your
magazine, you might find some one smart enough to name the
ancient cty of no small renown."
Hoping I may have my curiosity gratified, I shall look earnestly
for an answer to the riddle.-Respectfully, SARAH B. WILSON.
RIDDLE.
The noblest object in the works of art,
The brightest gem that nature doth impart,
The point essential in the lawyer's case,
The well-known signal in the time of peace,
The plowman's prompter when he drives the plow,
The soldier's duty and the lover's vow,
The planet seen between the earth and sun,
The prize which merit never yet has won,
The miser's treasure and the badge of Jews,
The wit's ambition, and the parson's dues.
Now, if your noble spirit can divine
A corresponding word for every line,
By all these various lessons will be shown
An ancient city of no small renown.

Luzerne, August 2ist
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw a nice story in your September num-
ber to-day from Fanme Hunt, about chickens and turkeys, so I
thought I would write you about what happened at our house.
Well, once a silky hen had a brood of chicks, and she took care of
them awhile and left them; and then two other hens that had wanted
to set-but my father didn't want them to--took charge of the chicks
aI-. .-:..:--, them up together. Well, those chickens could not tell
i:h i I. three hens was their mother. Will you please tell me?
-Yours truly. ANNIE T. BROWN.

August 23d, 1875.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Yesterday, as I was going to Sunday-
school, I met Sam Dogan, and he had four robins in a cage, that he
was going to give to his cat. I teased him to let them go, but he
pushed me away and said Shut up," I teased him some more, and
by and by he let them go. I am a Bird-defender, and am going to
make Sam be one. My brother Harmon is six years old. I am
eight He wants his name put down for a Bird-defender. Is he too
little? I got a few Bird-defenders; they are my cousins though, all
but Harmon. OB R. SHERMAN.
No boy can be too little to be a Bird-defender-if he "wants" his
name put down-nor too big.

SCHOOL-TIME.
ALWAYS be early to school,
Both in good and bad weather,
And go according to rule,
And then you'll be good altogether.
Then when your lessons are done,
You'll be free from all sorrow and care;
Away to the fields you can run,
And be just as free as the air.
But first be sure, of all things,
Whatever you do or say,
To hear the bell when it rings,
For then you must give up your play.
Your lessons should always be good,
You should do as your teacher asks,
Then when you've learned all you could,
You will be glad you have finished your tasks.
When school-time's at an end,
Then you '11 enjoy your play;
But that will all depend
On your conduct for that day.
Now this advice I freely give,
And if you follow it well,
In happiness you then will live,
As your future life will tell. ALLIE REICH.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : In the August number of your paper there
was a piece telling how to make a sea-weed album. I would like to
know if I could put leaves on paper in the same way ?-Yours truly,
HARRY GRIFFITH.
Yes, if your paper is not too thin.

San Francisco, August ist, :875.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you give the same presents next year,
for the same number of subscribers, to those getting up clubs, that
you printed last year? And when I get up a club, shall I count
myself as one ? If I get four subscribers, and take the magazine my-
self, would you give me a present for a club of five, or not ? I do
not understand. Will you please answer, and oblige your friend and
subscriber, NELLIE.
Yes, the premiums will continue the same as last year, and you
can count yourself in your club.

BIRD-DEFENDERS.
Belpre, Ohio, sends the following names: Mary Mackey, Ella Gar-
loch, Flora Rarick, lone Henderson, Mary Clark, Willie Rounds,
Eddie Hutchison, Willie O'Neal, Hugh Drain, Hattie Davis, Mina
Cunninghaim, Mary Morgan, Lewis Gettle, Sallie Cawood, Anna
Krebs, Laura Furnell, Harry Davis, Kate Browning, Chas. Parker;
Joseph Lee, Jessie Henderson, Eddie Porter, Bradley Stone, Ettie
Parker, Harry Ellenwood, Willie Seavelle, Charlie Dunbarger, Stone-
wall Henderson, N. P. Armstrong, Johnson Garloch, Laura Smith,
Mary Harrison, Nellie Price, Mattie Williams, Alden Williams,
Mamie Gettle, Lonnie Hutchison, Odie Brown, Samuel Nuzum,
Jennie Hunter, Morris Rarick, Madge Cunningham, Jennie Palmer,
Clara Moore, Edna Rarick, Frank Hytton, Virgia Downer, Dorus
Alderman, Willie Patton, Laura Woodward, Maggie Hadley, Jimmie
Perry, Willie Jackson, Tillie Garloch, and Edward Rarick.
Fannie Madison, of Cleveland, Ohio, sends this long list: Fannie
Madison, Charlie Madison, Eddie Douglass, Carrie Nevins, Irene
Corey, Fanny Doty, Ida Hoyt, Lula Fleming, Hattie Berrington,
Laura Jasmer, Emily Sheppard, Mattie Mayberry, Maggie Cowle,
Katie Boegy, Jennie Turton, Fannie Hutton, Dasie Donahue, Ida
Schuler, Mary Clark, Mary Mills, Lille Gerloch, Mary Gallagher,
Annie Savoy, Nellie Parmalee, Fanny Shafer, David Kimberley,
Henry Hollis, Tiltie Nieber Harry Isbister, Charlie Jackson, Frank
Bartholomew, William Davis, Henry Bower, Frank Cooke, Fred
Wakefield, Charlie Taber, Charlie Lewis, Charley Danert, Lewis

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

Presley, George Aastrup, Jason Thomas, Jimmie Crawford, Johnnie
Hutchinson, Frank Sweeney, George Davis, Grant Donaldson, Katie
Klaus, John Gillson, George Clark, Michael McKeon, Nellie Monk-
man, Lewis Coe, and Katie Douglass.
Josie Louis, of Centralia, Ill., sends the following list: Josie Louis,
Bertie Louis, Ella Louis, Alice Louis, Minnie Louis, Mamie Louis,
Della Louis, Moneta Louis, Susy Louis, Florence Louis, Ollie Louis.
Gussie Louis, Fannie Louis, Laura Louis, Amanda Louis, Mamie
Louis, Rachel Louis, Rebecca Louis, Addie Louis, Lottie Louis,
Rosy Gregg, Jerome Louis, Willie Louis, Alvin Louis, Walter Louis,
Julius Louis, Herbert Louis, Uria Louis, Riley Louis, Charlie Louis,
Clarence Louis, Bobbie Louis, Percy Louis, Allie Louis, Jessie Louis,
Ludwig Louis, Milton'Gregg, Charlie Gregg, and Maria Louis.
Thomas McGehan, of Hamilton, 0., sends this list: Walter Kum-
ler, Horace Belden, Lou Beauchamp, Harry Hay, Dan McGlynn,
Will Roberts, John Hall, Nelly Phillips, Milt Traber, Harry Traber,
Charlie Traber, Oliver Traber, John Traber, Web Fitton, Scott
Symmes, Chas. Cooch, Jim Durrough, Oliver Crow, Dode Hargitt,
Alice Hankins, Nell Miller, Alex. M. Hall, Edward Shaffer, Vicky
Smith, Thomas Collins, Cyrus Falconer, Ella Gilbert, Dave Howell,
J. B. Ousley, L. B Dilakort, J. W. Meckley, Tom Hodder, Laura
Porter, Albion Dyer, Ed Flenner, Will Moore, Robert Peck, Charley
Heiser, Ed Beardsley, Frank Skinner, Frank Whitehead, Charlie
Mixer, and Harry McElwee.
Herbert Dean sends the following list: Herbert Dean, John Scanm-
mon, John Keefe, Charles Kelley, Minnie Smith, Lucy Peabody,
Mary Peabody, Jennie Littlefield, Hattie Warsaw, Mary Taylor,
Bell Odell, Lillia Brewster, Alice Healey, Katie Keefe, Nettie Hoag,
Hattie Hoag, Fred Jewell, Fred Fadden, and Lizzie Young.
Fannie O. Newton sends this list: Miss Selina C. Barrett, Miss
Bertha Keeshorn, Lulu White, Fannie Stinde, Letitia Rogers, Abbie
Sanford, Teresa Stall, Chartie Sanford, Fannie Rowland, Addie Stall,
Lucy Thomas, Fannie Thomas, Katie Thomas, Miss Lucy Barrett,
and Dorcas Carr.

F. L. Chase, of Wobur, sends the following names: Effie C.
Sweetser, Nettle H. Fiske, Kittie Rose Fiske, Eddie H. Fiske,
Florence L. Chase, Georgie H. Green, Georgie Hamlin, Charles F.
Hamlin, and Lothrop Chase.
Two Friends Hattie Johnsonr and E. Louise Tibbetts--send
these names: Fannie Wilder, Gracie Brooks, Carrie Johnson, Mamie
Damon, Mrs. S. F. Damon, Miss Annie Damon, Hattie Johnson,
E. Louise Tibbetts, and Frank Tibbetts.
Max Ulrich, of San Antonio, Texas, sends these names: Mrs.
Lewis, Mrs. Liffrieng, Mrs. Ulrich, Mr. Ulrich, Lewis Ulrich, and
Max Ulrich.
Rob R. Sherman sends his own and the following names: Harmon
R. Sherman, Belle S. Howard, Walter Smith, and John A. Buck.
Will E. B., of North Adams, Mass., sends this list: Lottie A. Mil-
lard, Blanche C. Brayton, Hattie F. Brooks, and Hattie S. Brayton.
Estelle Riley, of Columbus, Texas, sends her own and the follow-
ing names: Ida Riley, Katie Moore, and Emma Delany.
Lester Woodbridge sends this list: Irene E. Woodbridge, Bessy
Woodbridge, Charley Woodbridge, and Lester Woodbridge.
The following names also have been received: Walter H. Morrison,
Charlie Morrison, Marian C. Morrison, Emilie Neville, Anita Hen-
drie, Mary Ella Bakewell, Effie Bakewell, Mary B. Smith, Charles
Willcox, Mamie Locke, Willie F. Morgan, Ida E. Kidd, Gertrude
Gunn, L. H. Branch, Geo. Holden, Inez Simons, W. C. Houghton,
and Herbie Houghton.

ANSWERS by the following boys and girls to puzzles in the August
number were received too late for acknowledgment in the October
number: Charlie and Frankie Rupert, H. Wigmore, Belle Gibson,
Hattie Gibson, Lizzie Bloomfield, William M. Northrup, Edward
Broome, Allie Anthony, Mary F. Crane, E. L. Tibbetts, Hattie F.
Johnson, William C. Delanoy, Mark W. Collett, Le Roy and Coy
Youmans, Alice Morrow.

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

EASY ENIGMA.
I AM composed of forty-two letters. My 6, 19, 42, 16
is a part of the head. My 40, 35, 14 is a cover for the
head. My 5, 24, 2 is a quadruped. My 39, I, 18 is
another. My 15, 21, 17 is a pronoun. My 20, 41, 34
is an insect. My 36, 26, 7 is a foreign product. My
27, 9, II, 28 is constructed by birds. My 8, 3, 4, 31 is
seen at night. My 37, 38, 32 is a covering. My 12, 1o,
22, 29 is wealthy. My 30, 25, 23 is a kind of tree. My
33, 13 is a musical note. My whole is a proverb.
BODINE.
PREFIX PUZZLE.

I.b

BURIED PLACES.
i. June, July, and August are Summer months. 2.
But I came when you called. 3. She sings in grand
style. 4. How slow Ellen's movements are. 5. Let
Royce go with us to the store. 6. Lady Franklin sends
Kane a telescope. F. J. and M. P.

DIAGONAL PUZZLE.
I. A CONSONANT. 2. A personal pronoun. 3. A
writing instrument. 4. A fairy. 5. A prank. 6. A bad
man. 7. A term in music. 8. A musical instrument.
9. A terrible disease. Io. Weariness, The diagonals
form a household sunbeam. L. o.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
THE missing words in the following stanzas being
supplied, the initials and finals will give the names of-
(I) A great poet; (2) A great composer:

1. Windy with its frolic gales,
Filling the woods with their musical roar;
While over the water scud wet white sails,
And the foam breaks fast on a rough lee-shore."

2. "Now the goat may climb and crop
The soft grass on Mount --'s top."

3. "Moonshine and -- are left to bury the dead."
4. Which like the ugly and venomous,
Bears yet a precious jewel in its head."

5. The silvery green of the shade
Hung dim o'er fount and bower."

6. "And, by all the world forsaken,
Sees he how with zealous care,
At the ruthless of iron,
A little bird is striving there."

H. H. H.

[NOVEMBER,

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

EASY METAGRAM.
FIRST, I am a bird. Change my head, I am part of a
ship; again, I am to pull; again, and I am dim; again,
I am replete; again, and L am to quiet. c. c.

CHARADE, No. 1.
FIRST.
To greet the morning sun I rise,
And trill my gladness through the skies.
SECOND.
I guard the fowl, yet the noble horse
I torture oft without remorse.
WHOLE.
In pink and white and blue I dress-
What am I? Children, can you guess?
A. O'N.
PICTORIAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

ENIGMA, No. 2.
I AM composed of twelve letters. My 5, 8, 3, 12 is
the name of a tree. My 10, 1, I, 2 is food for the
sick. My 7, 5, 6, I is the name of a queen. My 2, 9,
4, 11 is what every boy would like to be. My whole
is a part of ST. NICHOLAS. S. C. M.

A FLOWER ACROSTIC.
CONTENTMENT'S simple, smiling flower,
Fair blossoms that at twilight sleep,
Bright, golden cups from Spring's glad bower,
And bells that-through the snow-rifts peep;
Rich Autumn clusters, full and gay,
Devotion's loveliest, rarest bloom,
Then, "for remembrance," here's the spray
And tendrils from the ruins' gloom.
We 've gentlest sprigs of fragile white,
And waxy buds, intensely sweet,
And flag-like flowers, both fair and bright,
With blooms immortelle, here we meet.
The trophy flower" we gladly bind;
The wind's frail love has, too, a place;
And now a spicy twig we find
To mingle with the Daystar's grace.

From Summer woods we cull the pride,
And from the porch meek springs we bring,
Spring's sweetest scented buds beside
We lay the Flow'ret poets sing;
And last of all, with fragrance mild
We place the streamlet's radiant child.
These flowers, from garden, wood and dell,
A gay and perfumed garland make;
To enshrine a name you '11 surely tell,
If you the pains will only take.
The name is one all children loved-
A name first known in snow-clad climes;
But now well-known in every land,-
See can you find it in these rhymes.

SPORTIVE ANAGRAMS.
FILL one blank with the name of some game, and
the other with the same name transposed.
I. The game of -- often occasions --- 2. A
challenge to play a game of was 3.
Never cheat as -- 4. I have passed
pleasant -- the game of -- 5. Charlie thinks
Mary silly, would n't play at her age.
6. He -- disconsolately, having lost his 7.
Strength must be playing 8. Little
children, older ones, like to play 9.
- --- is an excellent sort of game. 10. The
only game was a little on -- CHARL.

CHARADE, No. 2.

IF my first is my second,
'T is sure to be fleet;
If my second's my first,
It is not fit to eat;
And what is my whole
Will depend upon whether
My second and first
You fit rightly together.
If my second comes first,
'T is an animal; but
If my second comes second,
Why, then, 't is a nut.
So if it's an animal,
Then you may back it;
But supposing it is n't-
I leave you to crack it.

L. H.

DIAMOND PUZZLE.
I. A CONSONANT. 2. To place anything. 3. An ac-
count. 4. A wild animal. 5. To mark out. 6. Before.
7. A consonant. L. o.
ELLIPSES.
FILL the blanks in each sentence with the same word,
one meaning of which is a boy's name :
I. helped to raise the weight by holding the
- 2. -- rode to the seaside in a 3. -
wheeled the coal to the pit in a 4. The only thing
- noticed in the church was the -- which hung
from the ceiling. 5. loved to be in all his
assertions. 6. was fond of the bark of the .
7. ornamented his box with a border of -- 8.
- lifted the stone to its place with a -- 9. -
gave his pennies for a o1. gathered a bunch
of -- for a friend. I threw a toy boat into the
- to watch it whirl. 12. refused to join the
boys who thought it sport to the rabbit. 13. --
lighted his pipe with a -- 14. plucked a flower
of the in the woods. B.

1875.1

kt
IF,

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

PICTORIAL ENIGMA.
(The central picture indicates the whole word from the letters of which the words represented by the other design are to be formed.)

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it,

At~1

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---4
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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN OCTOBER NUMBER.

PREFIX PUZZLE.-(Prefix "Sp.")- Splash, Spoil, Spun, Spring, TRANSPOSITIONS--i. Churl-lurch. 2. Shoot-hoots. 3. Braved
Spurn, Sparrow, Spade, Spear, Spice, Spell, Spy, Sprite, Space, -adverb. 4. Yufts-fusty. 5. Below-elbow. 6. Quills-squill.
Spleen, Spoke, Spark, Sphere, Sprinkle, Spend. 7. Eglantine-inelegant 8. Rescind- discern.
DOUBLE ACRosTIC.-Foundation-words: Andersen-Children.- REVERSALs.-The answer to this puzzle is held over until next
., Arabic. 2. Noah. 3. Delhi. 4. Evil. 5. Richard. 6. Silver. month.
7. Eve. 8. Napoleon. SQUARE-WORD.-I. Pearl. a. Eyrie. 3. Aroma. 4. Rimed. 5.
EASY CROss-WoRD.-Mabel. Leads.
TRANSMUTATIONS.-- Effaces. 2. Fi... r...I: i Er.signs. 4. HIDDEN COUNTRIES.-I. Chili. 2. Peru. 3. Utah. 4. China. 5.
United. 5. Elbow. 6. Embarks. 7. Ci ,n'. :'U..:r 9. Arti- Palestine.
cles. so. Calashes. PICTORIAL ENIGMA.-(Landscape.)-x. Seal. 2. Scale. 3. Plan.
PYRAMID PUZZLE.-i. A. 2. Tug. 3. Larva. 4. Alkanet. 5. 4. Pan. 5.Ape. 6. Cape. 7.Sea. 8. Den. 9. Lad. o1. Leap.
Sandstone. Spade. 12. End. 13. Lace.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, previous to September r8, from Edwin E. De Vinne, Willie Dibblee,
G. E. M., Florence and Helen Gardiner, N. A. H., P. C. K., Alice Dudley, A. E. J., Ella and Edith," "Nimble Dick," Warren E. Thomas,
"Fun See," Katie T. Hughes, Gertrude Gunn, "Allie," Julia Sanford and Mollie Willett, Mollie Donohue, Flora and Ada," L. M. Berke-
ley, Maggie Shanahan, Arthur Collier, "Peanuts," A. G. Cameron, Laurens T. Postell, "Virgil," Arthur E. Smith, "Henry and Maddie,"
Josie R. Ingalls, Clelia D. Mlosher, Charles Coleman, Henry J. Warren, Fanny Eaton, Mary J. Tilghman, "Howard and Gussie," W. H.
Rowe, P. H. Wigmore, Charles W. Hornor, Jr., Minnie M. Tooker, Lester Woodbndge, Lizzie Merrill, Reinette Ford, and Stella Jones.
[Other names will be credited next month. j

'II

-I;

7j~

' i ] .- :.-

(NOVEMBER.

----

I

	Front Cover
	About the painter of little...
	The boy emigrants
	Hans Christian Andersen
	A few alligators
	A doll's wedding
	The kind turkey-man
	Nikolina
	Arneld and his violin
	Fifth of November: Guy Fawkes'...
	"Mother's boy" at sea
	Great expectations - In the pond...
	The "Miss Muffett" series
	A dark bit of history
	Bass Cove sketches: Young Joe and...
	Ten little country boys
	The fortunes of a saucer-pie
	To a young girl - A famous...
	The reformer
	Postage-stamp collecting
	Trip and Tom
	Jack in the pulpit
	An alphabet from England
	The letter-box
	The riddle-box
	Back Cover
	Spine

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