Front Cover
 Hans Christian Andersen
 The legend of St. Nicholas
 The boy emigrants
 Something about railroads
 Dorothy Grey
 Frank and the toad
 Sandy, the hunchback
 St. Nicholas' day in Germany
 One hundred Christmas presents,...
 Off to the island
 The dead doll
 A play for the holidays
 Going to London
 Out of grandmamma's tea-cup
 To the "Bouquet club"
 Jack in the pulpit
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00029
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
Subject: Children's literature
Literature for Children
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00029
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Hans Christian Andersen
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
    The legend of St. Nicholas
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    The boy emigrants
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Something about railroads
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    Dorothy Grey
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Frank and the toad
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
    Sandy, the hunchback
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
    St. Nicholas' day in Germany
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
    One hundred Christmas presents, and how to make them
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    Off to the island
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
    The dead doll
        Page 121
        Page 122
    A play for the holidays
        Page 123
    Going to London
        Page 124
    Out of grandmamma's tea-cup
        Page 125
        Page 126
    To the "Bouquet club"
        Page 127
    Jack in the pulpit
        Page 130
        Page 131
    The letter-box
        Page 132
        Page 133
    The riddle-box
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


DECEMBER,- 1875.



"MY life is a beautiful fairy-tale," says HTans
Christian Andersen ; happy and full of incident."
And, indeed, if you had read his own account of it,
you would think it was as good a fairy-tale'as was
ever written. :
There was very little difference to him between
a real story j and a fairy-tale; for his own fairy-tales
were always very real to him, and, as I once heard
him say, "'Every man's life is a fairy-tale written
by God's finger."
This was, indeed, the strain in which he always
spoke whenever he told the wonderful story of his
childhood in the little city of Odense, his journey
to Copenhagen, and his rise-not to fortune and
power, but to what is far better than fortune
and power-to a place Lin the hearts of all little
boys and girls all over the wide world; for his
stories are, p.:-.lap., the only books except the
Bible that have been translated, not only into
English and .French aiid German, but even into
Japanese and Hiridostanee, and all manner of
strange languages. Little brown-cheeked Hindoo
children, sitting under the broad-leafed palm-trees
on the banks of the Ganges, read the tales of
"The Little Match-Girl," "The Ice-Maiden," and
"The Elder-Tree's Mother." Little Chinese boys,
with yellow skin and sloping eyes, and with queer
names like Fu-Sing-Ho and Ching-Chang-Chuck
(a sort of monosyllabic beads strung together with
hyphens), laugh until the tears run down their
cheeks at the adventures of The Tin Soldier"
and the councilor in "The Slippers of Fortune."
Dark-eyed Spanish and Italian mothers tell these
VOL. III.--5.

same stories to their children, sitting at their bed-
sides before kissing them good-night. And in the
North-in- Denmark and -England and Norway
and Sweden-there is hardly a child who has not
rejoiced in the good fortune of Little Tuk who
learned his geography lesson in his sleep, and cried
over the unhappy: fate of Knud in "Under the
Willow-Tree." And at night, when the old-Chil-
dren's Poet sat at his table, and the student-lamp
with the green shade threw a large ring of-light
around it, while a sort of greenish dlusk seemed to
fill the rest of the room, then all these children
came from all parts of the earth,.and their curly
heads and chubby faces thronged around their old
poet,-for then he was writing a,story for them,
and they were eager to. see what it might be:
When he had written something which was very
funny, all the little boys and girls laughed, and
their bright laughter filled the room; but when
the poet had gone to bed and was asleep, the
laughter followed him in his dreams,.and it grew
and grew, rippling onward from land to land, until
all the children in Germany, England, Asia and
America laughed at the funny thing he had written.
But if it-was something sad, then their eyes grew
big with tears, and the tear went from land to land
as the laughter had done.
Hans Christian Andersen was born in the city
of Odense, on the island of Funen, April 2d, 1805,
and he died in Copenhagen, August 4th, 1875.
His father was a poor shoemaker, and lived with
his wife and child in a small room, which had to
serve them as parlor, bedroom, nursery, and


No. 2.


kitchen. The bed in which the whole family slept
the shoemaker had himself made out of the cata-
falque of a deceased nobleman, and the funeral
trappings of black cloth, which the father no doubt
thought very ornamental, were still attached to the
frame. While Hans Christian was a child, he
mostly amused himself with sewing dolls' clothes
and arranging puppet theaters; and his mother,
who fancied that it would be a great thing if in
time he could become a tailor, gave him all the
rags and paper she could spare. But he did not
like the idea of being a tailor; he would much
prefer to be a prince or a noble, or perhaps a king,
who could wear fine gold-embroidered clothes and
ride in a gilt carriage of his own, drawn by six
beautiful horses. But as there was little prospect
of his being made king in any ordinary way, he
thought of all sorts of extraordinary ways; and it
was on this account that he took such pleasure in
his theater, because there he could make himself
king or general, or even emperor, and in fact any-
thing he chose, and even believe in it himself for
the moment. Indeed, there was nothing too in-
credible for him to believe. One day, for instance,
an old woman who washed clothes told him that
the empire of China was situated under the river
of Odense. "And," says Andersen in" The Story
of My Life," "I did not find it at all impossible
that a Chinese prince, some moonlight night when
I was sitting there, might dig himself through the
earth up to us, hear me sing, and tLen take me
with him to his kingdom, make me rich and noble,
and finally let me visit Odense, where I would live
and build me a castle. Many an evening did I
occupy myself with tracing and making ground-
plans for it."
You see, then, that fairy-stories came very natu-
ral to Andersen, for he was hardly five years old
when he had made a fairy prince of himself, and
imagined himself living in a palace. And ever
since then has he been continuing that fairy-tale;
it had a great many chapters, each one of which
was always brighter and prettier than the one
before. The first you have already heard; it was
about a poor shoemaker's child in Odense who
sewed dolls' clothes and wished he were a prince;
the last was sent by telegraph across the Atlantic
Ocean only a few months ago, and that too, although
it brought tears to many eyes, was not altogether a
message of sorrow. It told that a great poet, whom
all children loved, was dead; but I shall tell you
about that presently.
When Andersen vas only five or six years old
he lost his father, and his mother had to take in
washing to support herself and her son. Like many
other poor children, he was sent to a factory where
he was to work; but the laborers there teased him

and made sport of him, and, as he was not a brave
boy, he ran home to his mother and said that he
would never go back again; and his mother petted
him, and yielded to his wish. In school he hardly
fared much better; the school-mistress, who sat
with a long rod in her hand at the end of the table,
once happened to hit him, and again he ran away,
and, as usual, his mother indulged him. In the
house of an old lady, Mrs. Bunkeflod, he now got
hold of a translation of Shakespeare, and imme-
diately began to write a tragedy of his own, in
which everybody killed himself or was killed by
somebody else.
In Denmark every boy and girl must spend a
year in preparing for confirmation, and during this
time they receive religious instruction once or twice
a week from the pastor of the parish. Andersen
went with a great many other children to such a
black-robed pastor, and was at last confirmed.
But because his parents were poor, and his clothes
were a great deal too large for him, the boys would
have nothing to do with him, and only a little girl
now and then addressed a kind word to him, for
which he was very grateful. He was a regular
girl's boy," his companions" said; .he cried when
you hit him, and never struck again, and he cared
neither for leap-frog,nor marbles. But.he was very
fond of books, and sat at home reading when other
boys were at play.
When he was confirmed, his mother tried with
all her might to persuade him to learn the tailor's
trade; but instead of that, he wanted to go to
Copenhagen and become famous. And as she
could not induce him to do as she wished, she
yielded and allowed him to do as he pleased. So
she gave him all the money she had, which was
about five dollars, and with this in his pocket he
started out for Copenhagen. There he called upon
an actress, in the hope of getting a situation at the
theater; he told her, with child-like openness, the
whole history of his life, and, to prove his efficiency
as an actor, began to declaim poetry to her, and at
last to dance, until she was quite frightened, and
thought that he was out of his mind. His money
was soon spent, and he walked about the streets,
not knowing what to do; but in his distress, it
occurred to him to appeal for aid to the Italian
singer Siboni, whose name he had once seen in a
newspaper; and Siboni received him kindly, and
heed him until he caught a severe cold and lost
his voice. Other kind people, however, gradually
became interested in the gentle,.warm-hearted lad,
and some even offered to instruct him gratuitously
in German, Danish and Latin. It was at this time
that he became acquainted with the councilor
Collin (a man well known in Danish history), who
interested himself sincerely in his welfare, and in



whose family he was henceforth received as a son.
The King, at Collin's suggestion, granted an annual
sum for his education, and he was sent to the Latin
school at Slagelse, where he was to prepare for the
University. The principal of this school (or rector,
as he was called in Denmark) was a harsh and hot-
tempered man, who hardly understood how to deal
with a timid and sensitive boy like Andersen; so
he made a scapegoat of him, and held him up to
ridicule before the school, and, considering the
usual pitilessness of boys toward a less favored
comrade, it is almost a wonder that the scholars
did not imitate the teacher's example. Imagine a
tall, lank, pale-faced lad of sixteen, with a very
large nose, light curly hair, stooping shoulders,
and very long arms, which he seemed never .to
know what to do with; add to this that he belonged'
to the very lowest class, where he loomed up above
the heads of all the rest, and that he never was
known to return a blow, and it does seem strange
that nobody except the teacher tried to take advan-
tage of him. In order to console himself in the
midst of his loneliness, he wrote poems, and, during
a visit in the Christmas vacation to the Collin
family, was induced to read some of them aloud at
an evening party. The principal, on learning this,
took him severely to task, declared his poems to be
miserable trash, and forbade him writing any more
in future.
At last, after many years of arduous study,
Andersen entered the University of Copenhagen,
--or became a student, as the Danes call it,-and
now, at last, his life began to turn up its brighter
pages before him. It is a great thing to be a civis
academics, or a student, in Denmark; the Uni-
versity, with its graduates and under-graduates,
forms, as it were, a world by itself, in sharp con-
trast to the Philistines, or merchants, artisans, and
trades-people, who have not had the advantage of
a collegiate education. No man can hold an office
under the Government without being a graduate
of the University or one of the military academies,
and the so-called best society consists almost ex-
clusively .of Government officials, army officers,
and still unemployed University people. To this
society the young poet was now admitted,-no
longer by grace, but by virtue of his position and
his own merit. He immediately turned his atten-
tion earnestly to writing, and in a short time
finished his first book, "A Journey on Foot*to
Amager." He had evidently learned from his
rector in Slagelse that his own traits of character-
his maidenly shyness and his readiness to weep
over everything-had its ludicrous side, and in this
book he shows himself as quite a different man.
You hardly recognize the lachrymose, sentimental
youth you knew at Slagelse; here he tries his best

to make fun of everything, and as there is nothing
which people like better than fun, his book had a
large sale, and soon everybody talked about it and
the newspapers were full of it. Encouraged by his
success, he published an edition of his collected
poems, which also was received with great favor;
and with the money which this brought him, he
started on a journey through Zealand, Funen, and
Jutland. It was on this journey that he met a
young girl with whom he fell deeply in love, but
who, unfortunately, at the time was engaged to
another man, and as Andersen never met another
woman whom he could love as he loved this girl,
he remained unmarried all his life. Many years
later, a peasant girl, who had heard about him as
a. great and world-renowned poet, whom all men
honored,-and who, I believe, had also read some
of his stories,-took it into her head that he was
the one man she wanted to marry. So she started
out for Copenhagen, where Andersen was then
living, went to his house, and told him her errand.
You can imagine how astonished he must have
been at being told by a young, handsome girl that
she wished to marry him.
I should be so very good to you," said she,
and always take good care of you."
"But, my dear girl, I don't wish to be married,"
answered he; and she departed as suddenly as she
had come.
After his return from his journey, he published
a small book containing a description of The
West Coast of Jutland," and then went to Ger-
many, where he became acquainted with the famous
German authors Tieck and Chamisso. He had now
no longer any royal stipend, and had to write con-
stantly in order to support himself; and as no kind
of writings are so profitable as dramas and com-
edies, he undertook to adapt Walter Scott's "'Bride
of Lammermoor and Kenilworth to the stage,
receiving the assistance of two musicians, Weyse
and Harttmann, who composed the music. But
the Danes are very fond of their own little country,
and believe that there is no literature in the world
equal to their own. Therefore they ridiculed this
attempt of Andersen's to introduce a foreign novel-
writer upon their stage. The critics all turned
against him; people, whether they knew him or
not, had the impudence to lecture him, and some
even made wry faces at him in the street. Even
his previous works were now condemned. Once it
even happened that a clergyman attacked his
poems at an evening party where Andersen him-
self was present, passing over everything that was
good, and only counting, for instance, how many
times the word "beautiful" was repeated on every
page. At last, a little girl, six years old, who had
been following in the book, and had found that



almost every word had been attacked, turned to
the clergyman and said, quite innocently: There
is one word yet which you.have not scolded about.
It is 'and.'"
To be attacked at an evening party may be bad
enough; but, according to Danish notions, there
is one thing which is still worse, and that is to be
attacked in print. And at this time the now de-
ceased poet Henrik Hertz published, without his
name, a series of poems called Letters from the
Dead," in which he makes a Danish author,
Baggesen, amuse himself in Paradise by ridiculing
Andersen and many other living men. The poems
were very wittily written, and had a great success.
Andersen felt completely crushed, and the Danes
thought that now, at last, he was demolished for-
ever. Meanwhile, his true friend, Collin, who saw
how very unhappy he was, advised him to ask the
King for a stipend for foreign travel; and the
King, on the recommendation of a great many dis-
tinguished men, granted the stipend, and Ander-
sen once more hastened out into the wide world.
After a slow and tedious journey through Ger-
many, he reached Paris, where a number of young
Danes were at that time studying; but, as foreign-
ers are very apt to do, they kept constantly together
and spoke only their own language. Thus, at the
end of three months, our poet knew hardly any
more of French than he did at his arrival. He,
therefore, hastened away from Paris, and in the
month of August took up his residence in the little
village Le Locle, in the Jura Mountains, where all
the houses are filled with watches and all the in-
habitants are watchmakers. Here he finished a
poem, "Agnete .and the Merman," which he had
commenced in Paris, and sent it home to Copen-
hagen to be printed. And printed it was, and
very cruelly ridiculed and attacked on all sides.
Andersen felt that if he was to maintain his posi-
tion as an author, he would have to produce some
larger work, the merit of which would be beyond
dispute, and which should compel his countrymen
to recognize the genius which he knew he pos-
sessed. Therefore, during his stay in Italy, where
he went during the following Winter, he began his
great romance, The Improvisatore," which you
must be sure to read some time in your life, if you
have not read it already. In Rome, Andersen met
the great Danish sculptor Thorwaldsen, who was
born on the ocean between Iceland and Denmark,
and who descended from Snorre Thorfinsen, accord-
ing to the Norse Sagas the first white man born
on the American continent.' Thorwaldsen was a
most noble and kind-hearted man, who encouraged
Andersen by his hearty praise, and remained a

good friend to him as long as he lived. "The
Improvisatore," although the hero of the book is
an Italian and not a Dane, describes the author's
own struggles and sufferings in his efforts to obtain
recognition for himself as a poet. And if Ander-
sen had not suffered so much, and been so sensitive
to suffering, he could hardly have described with
such truthfulness the u- L ti' ii of another. The
book is, at the same time, perfectly Italian in senti-
ment, and is a most beautiful account of the life,
scenery, and traditions of that beautiful land.
Now followed, in quick succession, two more
novels,-"Only a Fiddler" and "0. T.,"-both
interesting narratives of popular life in Denmark.
The letters O. T." mean "Odense Tugthus (the
penitentiary of Odense), where the hero happens
to be born, and, according to custom, he has these
two letters burned into his arm, like any other
criminal. When he is old enough, he leaves the
penitentiary; but the dreadful mark still clings to
him, and, of course, it leads to many strange ad-
ventures, which I shall not tell you, but leave you
to find out by yourselves, if you care to get the
The success of these novels made a great change
in Andersen's fortunes. The Count Conrad of
Rantzau-Breitenburg (all nobles, you know, have
very long and hard names, and the nobler they are
the longer their names are), who was then Prime
Minister of the kingdom, had read The Impro-
visatore," and now went to find the author in his
little lonely garret, high up under the roof. He
invited him to come and visit him in his great
castle in Holstein, and offered him his friendship;
and by means of that friendship, the poor poet,
who hitherto, in spite of the great sale of his books,
had hardly had money enough to buy his clothes,
obtained an annual salary from the Government,
which was continued to his death. And this may
be the reason why those who have read The
Story of My Life," have got the idea that Andersen
was a snob. He did certainly adore rank and
royalty-not, perhaps, because he considered kings
and nobles to be better than other people, but
because they always stood by him when he was in
trouble, and were his friends when the critics and
the whole public of the. capital treated him with
Some time later appeared a drama called The
Mulatto," which was brought out in the Theater
Royal of Copenhagen, and added to the fame of
the author. His works now began to appear in
translations in English, German, French, Swedish,
Russian, Bohemian, and, in fact, in all European
languages. Favorable criticisms appeared in for-

Snorre Thorfinsen was born in the year 1oo8, when, according to the Sagas, the Norsemen for the second time discovered America.
(See R. B. Andersen's book, "America Not Discovered by Columbus." Griggs & Co., Chicago. 1874.)




eign journals, and Andersen was hailed everywhere
as Denmark's greatest poet. The Danes them-
selves shook their heads doubtfully, and long re-
fused to listen to the strange rumors from abroad,
until at last the beautiful" Wonder-Stories began
to appear, and they, too, had to open their eyes
and acknowledge that they had been mistaken in
their judgment.
After that time Andersen went abroad almost
every year, and wherever he came everybody
flocked to see him; collegians came in torchlight
processions to serenade him, and kings and princes
invited him to their palaces, made him costly pres-
ents, and asked him to read his own stories to
them,-for Andersen had a most beautiful and
sympathetic voice, and read his own works wonder-
fully well. I can speak here from my own experi-
ence, for I once heard him read "The Ugly
Duckling," and I shall never forget it. There was
something so strangely soft and sweet and child-
like in his manner of pronouncing his own soft
language. English he understood, but spoke it
very poorly; he was hardly much more proficient
in French, but spoke German with great fluency,
although with a decidedly foreign accent.
Of his later works, The Wonder-Stories," which
you all know; the novel, "The Two Baronesses;"
and the biographies, The Story of My Life and
"A Poet's Bazaar," may be worthy of-mention.-
Besides these, he has written a great many dramas,
which had their day of success, but are now nearly
It was in September, 1873, now two years ago,
that I met Andersen. He was then very sick, and
sat in a large easy-chair, wrapped in a flowered
dressing-gown. He always held my hands in his
while I sat at his side talking with him, and I saw
the tears coming into his eyes when I told him how
much the children in America loved him, how well
they knew his stories, and how happy they would
be if he would come over here and let them see
"Ah, yes," he said, "I have thought of that
many times. But now I am too old and stiff in my
legs. If you could .telegraph me across to the
American children, I should start to-morrow. I
am never very well on the ocean. But if you write
anything about me, as you say you are going to do,
you may give my love to all the little boys and girls
who know my stories, and tell them that I would
have come if I had not been so old and sick."
His hair was quite white then, for he was sixty-
eight years old; his face was very pale, as it always
was, but there was a beautiful, gentle, and affec-
tionate expression in his gray eyes, which made
one quite forget that he was really a homely man.
He was fully six feet tall, but stooped heavily when

he walked; and somehow, even in his old age, he
seemed to prefer coats and pantaloons that were
too large for him, and as far removed from the
reigning fashion as possible. Wherever he went
in the quaint old city of Copenhagen, the children
flocked about him, climbed up on his knees, and
even on his shoulders, ir order to listen to his
stories. And when he heard of a little boy or girl
who was sick, he was sure to come and sit at his or
her bedside, and tell the most charming fairy-tales
about storks, and princes, and plants, and all kinds
of animals, until the child quite forgot that it was
sick, and only seemed to see the beautiful things
which he told. In the streets the boys always took
off their hats to him,-for all boys knew him,-
and the little girls curtseyed, while he stopped to
pat their cheeks.
A friend of mine, who was quite ..an old boy
when this happened, once came very near losing
his eyesight. He was brought to the hospital,
where nobody knew him, and the room was dark-
ened, so that he could see nothing, not even'his
own hand when he held it up before his eyes. He
had lain in this way for a whole week, and almost
wished he were dead, when one evening there
came a gentle tap on the door, and a man entered
and sat down on the bedside. My friend did not
know the man; and even if he had known him, it
would have been too dark to see his face.
I am Hans Christian Andersen," said the man.
"I heard that you were sick, and I have been sick
myself, and know what it is. Would you allow me
to sit down and talk to you, and .tell you some
stories ?"
My friend, naturally enough, was very grateful,
and did not object to being entertained. And
almost every night for two weeks Andersen re-
turned. When the thick curtains could be drawn
aside from the windows, he read aloud, mostly his
own writings, for he liked better to read his own
stories and poems than those of others. This is
only one of a hundred incidents of the same kind
which the people in Copenhagen tell of him; and
no one will wonder that, with all his peculiarities
and odd habits, they could not help loving him.
He was a dear and beloved friend in every house-
hold; from the King down to the poorest artisan,
every one knew and honored him. Every door
and every heart was open to,him. They no longer
lectured and criticised him; every page that he
wrote was eagerly grasped by young and old, and
read with pleasure and gratitude.
At his death all the kingdom mourned; and not
only Denmark, but Norway, Sweden, and Ger-
many sent wreaths of the most precious flowers to
adorn his coffin. The royal family, the officers of
the army, the students and professors of the Uni-



versity, guilds of artisans, all the literary men of
the city, and, in fact, all who could throng into the
large church of Our Lady, were present at the
funeral and followed in a long procession to his
grave. Subscriptions have now been taken up to
erect a statue to him, and from everywhere-from
city and country-contributions have been pour-
ing in.
One thing more. You remember the. story of
"The Ugly Duckling," which the hens and chick-
ens were always pecking at because he was not like
them; and the ducks hated him because he was not

quite like them either. For a long time it was a
very unhappy kind of life he led there in the
poultry-yard. But at last there came two large,
majestic birds sailing down the stream. The ugly
duckling suddenly spread his wings and flew toward
them. He felt that he was one of them-and three
swans rose high in the air.
That ugly duckling (I know it on the very best
authority) was the poet himself. He suffered long
among the hens and ducks, but at last he rose
high above them, and now they all see that he was
a swan-a great poet.

[In the frontispiece, in the center of which is an entirely new portrait of Andersen, you will see in the upper left hand corner a picture
of The Ugly Duckling." Under this is the "Elder-Tree Mother," and in the lower left hand corner we see the good Councilor Knapp.
In the upper right hand corner is Little Tuk," and under it "The Little Match-Seller." In the lower right hand corner you see a scene in
"Under the Willow-Tree." At the top, in the middle, is "The Brave Tin Soldier," and at the bottom we have a scene from "The Ice


BY H. H.

THE tales of good St. Nicholas
Are known in every clime;
Told in painting, and in statues,
And in the poet's rhyme.
For centuries they've worshiped him,
In churches, east and west;
Of all the saints we read about
He is beloved the best.
Because he was the saint of all
The wretched and the poor,
And never sent a little child
Unsuccored from his door.
In England's isle, alone, to-day,
Four hundred churches stand
Which bear his name, and keep it well
Remembered through the land.
And all the little children
In England know full well
This tale of good St. Nicholas,
Which I am now to tell.
The sweetest tale, I think, of all
The tales they tell of him;
I never read it but my eyes
With tears begin to swim.

There was a heathen king who roved
About with cruel bands,
And waged a fierce and wicked war
On all the Christian lands.
And once he took as captive
A little fair-haired boy,
A Christian merchant's only son,
His mother's pride and joy.
He decked him in apparel gay,
And said, "You 're just the age
To serve behind my chair at meat,
A dainty Christian page."
Oh, with a sore and aching heart,
The lonely captive child
Roamed through the palace, big and grand,
And wept and never smiled.
And all the heathen jeered at him
And called him Christian dog,
And when the king was angry
He kicked him like a log,
And spat upon his face, and said:
"Now, by my beard, thy gods
Are poor to leave their worshipers
At such unequal odds."




One day, just as the cruel king
Had sat him down to dine,
And in his jeweled cup of gold
The page was pouring wine,

The little fellow's heart ran o'er
In tears he could not stay,
For he remembered suddenly,
It was the very day




On which the yearly feast was kept
Of good St. Nicholas,
And at his home that very hour
Were dancing on the grass,
With music, and with feasting, all
The children of the town.
The king looked up, and saw his tears;
His face began to frown:
"How now, thou dog! thy sniveling tears
Are running in my cup;
'T was not with these, but with good wine,
I bade thee fill it up.
Why weeps the hound?" The child replied:
I weep, because to-day,
In name of good St. Nicholas,
All Christian children play;
And all my kindred gather home,
From greatest unto least,
And keep to good St. Nicholas
A merry banquet feast."
The heathen king laughed scornfully:
If he be saint indeed,
Thy famous great St..Nicholas,
Why does he not take heed
To thee to-day, and bear thee back
To thy own native land?
Ha well I wot, he cannot take
One slave from out my hand!"

Scarce left the boastful words his tongue
When, with astonished eyes,
The cruel king a giant form
Saw swooping from the skies.
A whirlwind shook the palace walls,
The doors flew open wide,
And lo! the good St. Nicholas
Came in with mighty stride.
Right past the guards, as they were not,
Close to the king's gold chair,
With striding steps the good Saint came,
And seizing by his hair
The frightened little page, he bore
Him, in a twinkling, high
Above the palace topmost roof,
And vanished in the sky.

Now at that very hour was spread
A banquet rich and dear,
Within the little page's home,
To which, from far and near,
The page's mourning parents called
All poor to come and pray

With them, to good St. Nicholas,
Upon his sacred day.
Thinking, perhaps, that he would heal
Their anguish and their pain,
And at poor people's prayers might give
Their child to them again.'

Now what a sight was there to see,
When flying through the air,
The Saint came carrying the boy,
Still by his curly hair!
And set him on his mother's knee,
Too frightened yet to stand,
And holding still the king's gold cup
Fast in his little hand..
And what glad sounds were these to hear,
What sobs and joyful cries,
And calls for good St. Nicholas,
To come back from the skies!
But swift he soared, and only smiled,
And vanished in the blue;
Mqst likely he was hurrying
Some other good to do.
But I wonder if he did not stop
To take a passing look
Where still the cruel heathen king
In terror crouched ard shook;
While from the palace all his guards
In coward haste had fled,
And told the people in his chair
The king was sitting dead.

Hurrah for good St. IN'ic-:..li !
The friend of all the poor,
Who never sent a little child
Unsuccored from his door.
We do not pray to saints to-day,
But still we hold them dear,
And the stories of their holy lives
Are stories good to hear.
They are a sort of parable,
And if we ponder well,
We shall not find it hard to read
'The lesson which they tell.
We do not pray to saints to-day,
Yet who knows but they hear
Our mention of them, and are glad
We hold their memory dear?
Hurrah for good St. Nicholas,
.The friend of all the poor,
Who never sent a little child
Unsuccored from his door!






IOWA was not a thickly settled State in those
days, and a journey across it was not so very differ-
ent from the progress of a caravan across the conti-
nent. But there were farm-houses along the road
where the emigrants could procure milk, fresh
vegetables, and bread. They had little money,
and only bought such things as would help them
economize their stock of provisions. By and by
they would be out of the reach of all other sup-
plies. Camping out was, at first, great fun. Their
tent was new, fresh and clean. It was big enough
for six people, and a man could stand upright in
the middle where the ridge-pole sustained the roof.
This roof was in the shape of the letter V turned
upside down. About two feet from the bottom,
the canvas came straight down and was fastened by
wooden pins driven into the ground. The main
body of the tent was kept up by ropes, secured
at the lower edge of the roof and stretched out
to large wooden pins driven into the ground two
or three feet off. Then, guy ropes, extending
from each end of the ridge-pole and made fast to
other stakes, kept the whole structure steady when
the wind blew. So the house of this migrating
party was dry and strong enough for most occa-
sions, and it was easily packed in a small space.
When the tent was pitched at the end of a day's
march, the two upright poles were held up, with
the ridge-pole laid on top and secured at each end
by an iron pin, which passed through a hole at
each end of the pole.. Two boys held this frail
house-frame together while another threw the can-
vas over it and fastened it in two or three places to
keep it from tumbling over. Then all hands
stretched out the ropes, pinned the cloth at the
bottom, and, in a few minutes, the house was ready
for the night. While traveling, the tent, with its
ropes and pins, was stuffed into a stout sack. The
door had no hinges, nor name-plate, nor door-bell;
it was a slit in the canvas and fastened with strings,
instead of lock and key. Under shelter of this
canvas mansion, the emigrants spread their blank-
ets and buffalo-robes, and slept soundly and well.
But the cooking was a dreadful burden. Barnard
had taken some lessons in bread-making from his
mother before starting, and he made the first batch
of bread. No, it was not exactly bread, either.

First, he carefully put some flour, salt and yeast
powder into a pan and mixed them thoroughly with.
a big spoon, the others looking on with admira-
tion. Then he poured in boiling water until he
had a thick paste, which he stirred round and round
as before. It was very
sticky, but Barney bravely
S put his hands into it and
'- attempted to mold the
--. .mass into biscuits. It
would not be molded;
THE TENT. such obstinate dough was
never before seen. When poor Barney tried to
pick it off from one hand it would stick to another.
He rubbed in more flour to make it dryer, and
then the lumps of dough all wasted away into
"chicken feed," as Hiram satirically called it, and
there was no consistence to it; and when they
added water to it the stuff became again just like
"You want to pat -the cakes round and round in
your hands-so," said Arthur. "That's the way
mother does."
"Pat 'em yourself, if you know so much about
it," said Barnard angrily; and he sat down in the
grass, and tried to rub his bothered head with his
elbows, his hands being helpless wads of dough.
Arthur, rolling up his sleeves, dipped into the pan
and succeeded in sticking his fingers together so
fast that each hand looked like a very big and very
badly shaped duck's foot-web-fingered, in fact.
Hang the bread! he exclaimed; and the rest
of the family rolled over and over in the grass roar-
ing at the comical figure he cut. He was daubed
with dough up to the elbows and unable to use his
hands; a mosquito had lighted on his face, and, in-
voluntarily slapping at him, Arthur had left a huge
blotch of paste on his forehead, completely closing
his left eye. Poor Arthur rested his helpless paws
on the edge of the pan and said, "I give it up."
Oh, dump her into the baking-pan and let her
flicker !" said Hiram, as soon as he could get his
breath again. "We don't care for biscuits; its
the bread we want. This is camping out, boys,
you know."
So the mass was tumbled into the baking-pan
and put into the oven of their tidy little sheet-iron
camp-stove. For a table they used a wide, short
piece of pine board, which, laid across a couple of
gold-pans turned bottom up, answered as well as





"real mahogany," as Arthur said. On this occa-
sion, however, the tin plates and cups, the smoking
coffee-pot, and even the fried meat were on the
board long before that obstinate bread showed
signs of being baked. It would not rise up light
"like mother's," and when a straw was run cau-
tiously into it, the inside seemed as raw as ever.
An hour's baking seemed to make no impression
on it, and the boys finally supplied its place with
dry crackers and supped as merrily as if they had
inot made their first great failure.
They tried to throw away the provoking mess of
dough that would not bake, but it stuck in the pan
as obstinately as it had refused to be cooked. They
scraped away at it with all sorts of tools, but the
stuff, which now resembled a small bed of mortar,
adhered to the pan with determination.
Did you grease that pan? demanded Arthur.
"No," said Barney, with a sudden flush. Who
ever heard of such a thing."
There was another shout of laughter, for every-
body at once recollected that the pan should have
had flour, or some kind of grease, put in it to keep
the dough from sticking. While they laughed, a
farm-wagon, in which rode an old man and a young
woman, came jogging along the road by which
they were camped. The girl wore a faded red
calico frock, which hung straight down from her
waist to her bare brown feet. A huge gingham
sun-bonnet with a cape protected her head and
Arthur ran down to the edge of the road, and
heard the old man say, Them's Californey emi-
grants." It was the first time the boy had ever
heard himself called an emigrant, and he did not
like it. But suddenly remembering that he was
one, he checked his rising glow of indignation and
said, Say, miss, will you tell us what's the mat-
ter with this bread ? "
The girl-looked at her father, who looked at the
queer group by the tent, then at Arthur's flushed
and honest face, and said, Go, Nance." So
Nance, declining Arthur's proffered hand, leaped
to the ground, and wading through the grass, went
up and cast a critical glance at the objectionable
How d' ye make this yere ?" she asked, point-
ing her elbow at the bread. Barnard described
the process by which he had compounded this
famous preparation of flour and other things,
"What sort of water did ye put into it?" she
next demanded.
"Why, good spring water, of course?" was the
"Cold or hot?"
"Oh, boiling hot, to be sure."
The girl suddenly clasped her hands to her

stomach, sat down in the grass and doubled her-
self up like a jackknife. Then, sitting up again,
she pushed back her sun-bonnet, and, as if ad-
dressing herself to the camp-stove, she said:
"My goodness, gracious me! if these ornery
fellers have n't been and gone and scalded their
flour! Oh, my! oh, my! I'm just fit to bust!"
And she doubled herself up again.
So we should not have scalded the bread, Miss
Sunbonnet, should we ? asked Barnard, who felt
ridiculed and was somewhat nettled.
The girl wiped her eyes on her sleeve and said:
"Bread It aint bread; it's flour paste."
Good-naturedly recovering herself, Nance ex-
plained that cold water or milk should be used in
mixing the flour; and, adding some other general
instructions, she strode off through the grass to the
wagon. As she climbed up and rode away, the
boys saw her double herself up once more, and
they thought she said, Scalded his flour, the
ornery critter!"
Though this was a severe lesson in housekeep-
ing, it was not the only one of their mortifying fail-
ures. Even when they learned to make bread
with cold water, it was not until they had spoiled
much good flour that they were able to make bread
which was even eatable. And it was not in Iowa
that they succeeded well enough to satisfy them-
selves. After they had crossed the Missouri, long
after, and were well out in Nebraska, Arthur made
the first bread of which the others proudly said
that it was good enough for anybody."
Cooking beans was another perplexity. They
baked them dry with a piece of pork, and when
they were "done," they rolled out of the baking
kettle like gravel stones, harder than when they
went into it. Then, when they discovered that the
beans should have been soaked and boiled, or par-
boiled, before baking, they took two quarts and
soaked and boiled them. The beans swelled and
swelled until the big camp kettle ran over. They
were put into other dishes, but would not stop
swelling, and before those beans were ready to
bake, every dish in camp was full and overflowing.
A satirical wood-chopper, loafing up to their camp
in the midst of the crisis, inquisitively asked:
"Be you fellows peddlin' beans across to Cali-
forney ?"
But, notwithstanding all these drawbacks, the
boys began to enjoy themselves very much. Some
days it was hot and tedious tramping along in
the dusty road, especially when they reflected that
they were so far from the end of their journey.
Even though days of travel were behind them, be-
fore them the road stretched out for more than a
thousand miles. They seemed to have been on
the journey a good while, but they knew that




months must pass before they could reach the end
of it.
"This is awful slow work," Barney would say,
when they reckoned upon the day's progress.
" Only twenty-one miles to-day, and a couple thou-
sand, more or less, to get over."
Hiram, however, a patient and plodding fellow,
"allowed" that it took so many steps less for next
day's tramp, because those of to-day had been
taken, one by one. And Arthur used to look
back at their camping-place when they had moved
on for an hour or so, and blithely say:
"Now I am two miles nearer California than I
was this morning."
"Two miles aint much, especially when a chap
has got the dishes to wash at the end of every
twenty miles," once said Tom. Washing dishes
was a very disagreeable part of camp duty. It was
a continual subject of contention. Nobody wanted
to wash dishes. To be sure, the whole camp
equipage did not amount to more than four or five
tin plates and as many cups, and knives and forks.
An active kitchen-maid would have disposed of the
whole lot in a few minutes. But the boys were not
kitchen-maids, and, what was more, they were de-
termined that they would not appear as though
they were. Hiram thought that as long as he was
responsible for fire-wood and water, dish-washing
should not be included in his duties. Barnard
usually drove the team, and had general charge of
that important branch of the service. Tom and
Arthur attended to pitching the tent at night, un-
loading the wagon of things needed during camp-
ing time, and taking down the tent, packing up
and collecting camp furniture in the morning pre-
paratory to a start. All hands, with equal unsuc-
cess, tried the cooking; and all hands, though
ready to find fault with each other's cooking, de-
clared that they would do anything but cook-un-
less it was to wash dishes.
Perhaps you had better hire a girl to go along
and wash dishes, Arty," said Barnard, reproach-
"I don't care, Barney; I did n't ship to wash
dishes, and I wont; so there," was Arthur's invari-
able reply, which Barnard as invariably met with
"Who did ship to wash dishes? "
Obviously nobody did. So the dishes went un-
washed, sometimes for days together. One morn-
ing, Hiram, taking up his plate, said: "I wonder
what was in this plate last? There 's bacon fat
and corn-dodger crumbs, boiled rice, molasses, and
I allow that that gray streak in that nor'-nor'-west
corner is chicken. Tell yer what, boys, I don't
allow that I 'm agoin' to drive horses, chop wood,
or lug water for fellers that wont wash dishes for
decency's sake. I 'm willing' to carry my share of

the cooking turn and turn about. You two boys
ought to wash the dishes regular. I 'm the oldest
feller in this yer camp, and if you, Tom and Ar-
thur, don't find some way of doin' up those yer
dishes between ye, before we git to the Bluffs, ye
may as well make up yer minds to go back from
This was a long speech for Hiram, who always
meant what he said. Barnard supported him in
this decision; and the younger boys, though feel-
ing very much "put upon," agreed to take turns
at playing house-maid.
The first experiment was attended by a serious
disaster. They drew lots for the first week's duty,
and Arthur was "stuck," as he expressed it, for
the service. Sitting somewhat morosely on the
ground, one evening, at work on this unwelcome
job of dish-washing, he turned the only crockery
plate of, the establishment about in his hands,
scolding to himself. Tom, who was not a little
elated that he was exempt from this service, at least
for one week, stood by, and, aggravatingly pointing
with his foot at the plate, said:
Be careful of that yer crockery, Arty, it's Hi's
favorite dish. He '11 dress ye down if ye smash it."
Arthur, with a gust of rage, cracked Tom over
his toe with the plate, breaking it into pieces.,
"There, now! I- "
But before Tom could say any further, Hiram,
who had watched the whole proceeding, seized both
boys by the collar and hustled them toward a creek
which flowed near camp.
"Where are you going with those boys?"
shouted Barnard, amazed and laughing as he saw
stout Hiram wrestling with the two squirming
I'm going to drown 'em, like I would a pair of
quarrelsome cats," said Hiram, manfully strug-
gling with the youngsters.
No you don't, though," said Tom, dexterously
twisting one of his legs in between Hiram's feet.
The young man staggered a little, and, in his
effort to save himself from falling into the creek,
let both boys go loose. They stood a little way
off, looking defiantly at each other and at Hiram.
Your family government does not seem to
work well," said Barnard. I guess we 'll have. to
send the boys back from Council Bluffs. They
never '11 go through this way."
Arthur, who still held in his hand a bit of the
plate that had been the innocent cause of this out-
burst, said :
"Well, Tom pestered me; but I'm willing to
fry it again, Give us a fair trial, Barney."
Tom was sulky, but admitted that he should not
have provoked Arthur.
Tom, I '11 tell ye what I '11 do with you," said



Hiram. If ye don't behave herself, I '11 take
away yer revolver and put ye dn the first boat
bound down, after we get to the Bluffs."
"That will be binding him over to keep the
peace," said Barnard.
"No," added Arthur, opening his hand and
showing, with a blush, the fragment of Hiram's
pet plate, I'm going to keep the piece."
And he did.

A CITY of tents covered the flat banks of the
Missouri, below Council Bluffs, when our party

cooking in the open air, repairing their tents or
clothes, trading off some part of their outfit, or
otherwise making ready for the final start across
the plains.
Looking across the flat bottom land, one could
barely catch a glimpse of the Big Muddy, as the
people called the Missouri River. A fringe of
low trees showed where the stream flowed by; and
occasionally a huge three-story steamboat went
gliding down in the distance, looking exactly as if
it were moving through the meadows. Beyond,
the western side of the river was somewhat bluffy
and broken. A few wooden shanties were grouped
about the ferry landing,-a huge scow being the
means of transit. On one eminence stood a


-- --= _-w_ ----- --- = -- --- .-

---J----- --- O

I ...irr.


reached the river. In those days, Council Bluffs
was a scattered and rough-looking town, about
four miles from the Missouri River; and, where its
edges were frayed out toward the south,-was a
long level strip of land, extending to the broad
sweep of the stream. Westward, this plain was
dotted with thousands of cattle, belonging to emi-
grants; and in that part of it which was nearest the
town were the carts and wagons of those whose
faces were now turned toward California. It was
a novel sight. Here were men mending wagons,

weather-beaten structure, partially boarded over.
This was designed to be the capital when the
country should be erected into the Territory of
Nebraska. The groups of shanties scattered about
over the hills had no name. Omaha has since
arisen on that site. Then, however, the whole
country was one of great expectations.
With eyes wide open, scanning the curious sight
on every side, the boys drove their team down the
river road, in search of a good camping-place.
Their experience in traveling through Iowa had




~--~---;--~ -~-~-~-~~~

-1 .

I *


taught them that they must find a dry, smooth spot
for their tent, water for the camp, and grass for
the horses. On the edge of this strange city of
tents they found all of these, and there they en-
But they were not allowed to do this unnoticed.
Although people were continually going and com-
ing, there were enough idle fellows to watch the
new-comers and make remarks upon them, -
"Here's more candidates for California fortunes."
"Going to the Pacific with that raw-boned hoss?"
" Oh, get out of that wagon and walk to the dig-
gings." "What are you going to do with that
gold-pan? Say, sonny, does yer mammy know
you're out? These were some of the rude salu-
tations which greeted the party as they drove stur-
dily down through the city of tents.
Arthur's eyes snapped a little, and his cheeks
burned; but Hiram, perched in the wagon, flung
back the rude observations with cheerful readiness.
One kindly-faced man, who walked along beside
the boys, said:
You mustn't mind these chaps; they're rough,
but good-natured; and if you should happen to
get into difficulty, they would help you readily
Their new acquaintance showed them where par-
ties from various parts of the Western States were
encamped; and they pitched their tent near that
of some men from Hancock County, Illinois, and
soon made themselves at home.
They felt that they had reached "the jumping-
off place."
Beyond, across the river, was nothing but that
vast unbroken stretch of country which used to
be laid down in the school maps as "Unexplored
Regions." Even now it was unexplored except by
a few people who had gone over to Oregon, Utah,
or California. Contradictory reports about the
value of the gold diggings were coming into this
canvas city of emigrants. The very day that they
arrived, there ran a rumor through the camp that
two men had just come in from California with
very discouraging news. It was said that they had
come through in. twenty-eight days, riding their
mules all the way; had had narrow escapes from
Indians, and were so far back on their way to "the
States," as everybody called the country east of
the Missouri.
After the boys had settled their camp for the
night, they went out and hunted up these bearers
of ill tidings. Pressing into a little knot of men
near the camp of some New Englanders, who had
fitted out at Council Bluffs, they saw a rough-
bearded, ragged and seedy-looking man, sitting on
a wagon-tongue. He was smoking a short pipe
with great enjoyment, and he occasionally dropped

a word by way of answer to the questions that were
showered upon him.
Gold! no!" he replied, with great scorn,
"thar's no gold in the hull country. How do I
know? Why, I was thar a week; that's how I
Where were you ?" asked one of the by-
I was on the Yuba, jest whar it jines into the
American. That's whar I war."
"But I did n't know the Yuba emptied into the
American; the Yuba is further north," said Barn-
ard, impulsively, and before he thought.
B'en thar ?" growled the returned Californian.
No," said Barnard, with a blush.
Wal, I have, you bet yer," rejoined the other.
" And its no use o' yer talking men; I have mined
it more nor a week in them diggins; never got so
much as a color."
Did you hear of anybody who did find gold ?"
somebody asked.
Here and thar war a man who said as how he
had seed some other feller as had seed another who
had heerd tell on some other chap as had found
something' that looked like gold. I don't put no
trust into any on 'em."
"You look as if you 'd.had a hard time," said a
sympathizing visitor.
"Misery in my bones; wust way; I aint been
so powerful bad in my life afore. Fever 'n ager
wuss than in Arkansaw. You bet yer."
Why did n't you keep on down the Yuba, pros-
pecting? "
Keep on replied the veteran, with infinite
scorn. "We war nigh out of grub. No gold in
sight. We'd rastled with our luck long enough,
me and my pard. So we jist lighted out 'n that
'tween two days. Powerful glad we are to be yar,
too, you bet.yer."
"You look it," said one of the emigrants, who
seemed to regard this dampening report as a sort
of personal injury.
Younkins, for this was the name of the returned
prospector, told the same story all through the
camps. No gold in California, but much sickness;
cholera, fever and ague, and plenty of men glad to
get away, if they could only find the means to travel
with. Some of the emigrants did not believe these
reports. Some said: "Oh, these chaps are dis-
couraging emigration to the diggings. They want
it all themselves. They can't fool us that way."
But others were downright discouraged.
A day or two after, four men crossed the river
from the Nebraska side, driving an ox-team with a
shabby wagon. They had gone as far west as Fort
Laramie, where they heard bad news and had
turned back. The boys sought out this party, and



heard their story. They had lost a comrade, who
had died on the way to Laramie. They were
gloomy, down-hearted and out of spirits. They
met people coming back. Some had been through
to California; or they said they had. Others had
turned their faces homeward after hearing the re-
ports of others.
This bad news had its effect in the camps. "The
mines have given out," was the cry around many
of the camp-fires; and not a few wagons were
packed up for home, or sold out at auction, and the
disheartened owners returned to "the States," out
of pocket as well as out of luck. In a few days out-
fits were to be had for low prices. The weekly
newspaper at Council Bluffs vainly tried to.keep up
the excitement. Reports from California were dis-
couraging. If there ever had been any gold there,
it was exhausted. It was useless to say that there
never was any of the preciot-s stuff found in the
mines. Many of the emigrants had seen some that
had been brought to their own homes. Arthur
and Barney had touched and handled Gates' golden
ore. But the mines had given out, and that was
the end of the matter.
I don't believe any such yarn," said Barnard,
stoutly. "I don't want to influence the rest of
you, boys; but I'm going through. For one, I
shall not turn back."
Nor I said Arthur, with a burst of enthu-
Nor I," added Tom.
It's Californy or bust, with me," said Hiram,
So they were agreed.
But things looked rather blue at times; and
when those who had turned back drove slowly up
the road and disappeared among the bluffs, Arthur
looked after them with some misgivings, and with
a touch of homesickness in his heart. Then he
turned his eyes westward where the sun dipped be-
low the western hills. As at one glance, he saw
the long trail stretching over the unknown land.
It was a mysterious and untried way. The boy
hesitated only for a moment, and, stretching out
his arms toward the setting sun, said to himself,
I'm bound to go through "
After all; however, there were very few who
turned back, compared with the number remaining
at the Bluffs; and every steamboat that came up
the river brought fresh recruits from the towns and
cities below. These people had'only part of their
outfit with them; some of them bought out the
entire equipment of those who were returning, and
so stepped at once into possession of all that was
needed to take them through. In a few days, the
city of tents grew a great deal; and, on the west-
ern side of the river, where the bottom land

spread out, as on the Iowa side, there was a con-
siderable encampment. These, like the camps
across the river, were changing all the while.
Every day a train of wagons would roll out over
the hills, bound at last for California; and new
additions were immediately made. This was the
place where emigrants to California found what
was yet to be added to their equipment. Supplies
were plenty, and sold at reasonable prices. Peo-
ple who, like our boys, had traveled across the
country by team, had consumed some of their pro-
visions before reaching the Bluffs; and their brief
experience in camping out and traveling showed
them where their outfits were imperfect. Many
parties came up the river on steamers, and here
bought a great portion of their stores. Council
Bluffs was a busy place ; everybody had something
to sell; and the citizens of that thriving town
strolled among the canvas tents of the emigrants
with calm satisfaction.
There was much hunting to and fro for people
who had come across the country, by their com-
rades who had followed after by the speedier tran-
sit of railroad and steamboat. Some of these
parties were never made up again. It often hap-
pened that those who arrived first grew tired of
waiting for those who were to come after. Although
there was much delay at the Bluffs, everybody was
feverish and excited. If they were going on to the
land of gold, they were in a hurry to start. If they
had decided to return, they had no time to waste at
the river. So little companies broke up, some
going on and some turning back. Friends, neigh-
bors and families were thus dispersed, never to
meet again; and, wandering around from camp
to camp, were those who expected to find their
comrades, but who too often learned that they had
gone on before. Some of these belated ones were
disheartened, and went no farther; but most of
them joined themselves to other parties, and so
pushed on to California.
Our boys began to think that their two-horse
team was hardly heavy enough to draw their wagon
across the continent. They saw that most people
had at least two spare horses; and more oxen
than horses were used by the emigrants whom they
had met.
Oxen is the things, I allow, after all, boys,"
said Hiram, who had studied the subject carefully
while coming through Iowa. "Just suppose one
of these horses should up and die ; where'd ye
be then? We'd have to haul through with one
"But suppose we were chased by Indians,"
remonstrated Arthur. "We could n't get away
with oxen, could we ?"
"Indians! pshaw!" said Hiram; "there aint




no Indians, so far as heerd from. And if there
was, losses won't save us, you may bet on that."
We might trade off our horses for oxen," said
Barnard, but we couldn't expect to get two yoke
of oxen for a pair of horses; and unless we had
two yoke we should be no better off than we are
Cattle are cheap," explained Hiram. "W'e
can buy a yoke fer fifty or sixty dollars. Old Jim's
worth that much money, and my Jenny could sell
fer more 'n the cost of another yoke. The farmers
'round here are bringing' in their cattle."
Golly! how it rains," broke in Tom, who had
been trying to keep the beating current out of the
tent. The water flowed in under the edge of the
canvas from the sloping ground inrthe rear. Arthur
jumped up in consternation. He had been sitting
in a little pool of water.
All hands out to dig trenches shouted Bar-
nard. The night was pitch dark, and the boys
seized their lantern, shovels and ax, and sallied out
to dig a narrow ditch about the tent. The water
poured into this, and so was carried off on each
side, and their canvas-house stood on a little island
of its own. But the rain fell in torrents, and the
tent flapped wildly in the wind.
Tell you what, fellers," said Hiram, shaking
the water from him, as they crouched inside again,
" this aint what it's cracked up to be. Camping,
in a rain storm aint great fun; hey, Arty ? "
Arthur was just going to say that they might be
worse off before they got across the plains, when a
pair of very thin hands were thrust in at the open-
ing of the tent, now tied together for the night,
and a thin voice said : Please may I come in ?"
Sartin, sartin," said Hiram heartily. "Walk
in and make yourself to hum, whoever you be."
Arthur unfastened the tent-curtain, and a boyish
figure, slender and woe-begone, struggled into the
The stranger might have been about thirteen
years old. He looked as if he had lived about forty
years. He wore'a pair of trousers made of striped
jean, resembling bed-ticking; and his jacket of
linsey-woolsey homespun, and dyed with butternut
juice, was much too short at the wrists. His face
was pale, but sweet and pleasant, and he had mild
blue eyes. Under his arm he carried a large bun-
dle. He wore a very seedy coon-skin cap, wet and
dripping with the rain. He put his bundle care-
fully on the ground, and tied -the tent together
again; then, turning about, he surveyed the little
party in the tent with mild inquiry, but without a
S"What mought yer name be ?" asked Hiram,
when nobody else had broken silence.

Hiram paused. He knew that the boy's name
was not, after all, of much consequence to any-
body; but to ask for it was one way to begin a
conversation. And he had not got far. "Johnny"
was rather vague.
"Johnny what?" spoke up Tom.
"That's all. Only just Johnny," was the reply.
Oh, don't bother the boy about his name,"
broke in Barnard. Where are your folks? Are
you going to California? "
"Yes, I'm going to California; and I don't
know where my folks are. Perhaps you've seen
'em, sir. There's a tall one with red hair, and a
short one with a harelip, and another one with a
game leg. Oh, sir, have n't you seen 'em no-
where ?" and the poor boy's eyes filled with tears
as he spoke. *
"A game leg?" repeated Hiram. "Boys, don't
you remember that thar mean skunk as stole Josh
Davis's ox-chain over on the west side of the river ?
He mought have been the chap. Did he wear a
red shirt, with a blue handkercher around his
waist ?" he asked of Johnny.
"Yes," said the boy; "and his name was
Bunce,-Bill Bunce,-and we are from Vermillion
County, Illinois."
"I allow he and his partners have gone on
ahead," said Hiram.
I was over on the Omaha side when they drove
out," added Tom; "and they had a big yaller
dog named Pete with them. Golly but that dog
was a master-hand to hunt chipmunks How he
would "
"Oh, "you talk too much with your mouth,"
interrupted Hiram, impatiently. Johnny showed
signs of breaking into tears. He sat down and
told his story. He had lived in Vermillion County
with a man who was called a doctor, he said.
Evidently he had been hardly used, and had never
known father or mother. A drudge in a country
doctor's house, he had been kept in ignorance of
the world outside, of his own friends, and of his
family. He had never even been told his own
name. How did he get here? That was simple
enough. Three or four of the doctor's neigh-
bors were going to California. They offered, or
pretended to offer, to take the boy along. He
was too glad to get away from the brutal and
quick-tempered doctor, to wait for a second hint.
They had journeyed on together to Quincy, on the
Mississippi, where the men left Johnny to follow
them by steamer, while they went another way,"
as they said. They promised to write to him when
to start for Council Bluffs. He waited several
weeks at the miserable little boarding-house where
they had lodged him. Alarmed at the long delay,
he had started off by himself, and here he was.



Probably their letters miscarried," said Arthur,
with sympathy in his eyes. .
More likely they never wrote," added his wiser
The youngster looked distressed, but spoke up
Perhaps they have n't gone. They said they
would wait here for me."
But Hiram was sure about the man with the'
game leg "; he was not positive as to the others.
Both Arthur and Tom remembered the lame man
with the big yellow dog, especially the dog; but
nobody was sure whether the tall man with him
had red hair or not.
"Well, you can bunk down with us to-night,"
said Hiram, and in the morning we'll take a hunt
through the camps, and if your thaps have n't
lighted out, we '11 find 'em."
The next morning broke fair and bright. The
rain had ceased during the night, and great drops
were shining on the grass and on the bushes that
bordered the plain. With a great bound of exhil-
aration, Arthur sprang from his damp blankets and
began to make ready for breakfast. Johnny crept
out into the sunshine, and, having followed Arthur's
example by taking a wash from the tin wash-hand
basin which was produced from the wagon, he sat
watching the preparations about the camp-stove.
May I stay to breakfast with you? he asked.
I've got money enough to pay for it."
"I don't know," said Arthur, doubtfully. "You
will have to ask Barney. Well, yes, you shall
stop too," he added, as he saw the boy's face fall.
You shall have my breakfast, anyhow."
"But I can pay for it. I've got some money
sewed into my jacket."

How much ? demanded Tom, who was split-
ting up a fence-rail for fire-wood.
Eighty dollars," said Johnny, simply.
"Jerusalem crickets !" exclaimed Tom. "Where
did you get so much? "
"Dr. Jenness gave it to me before I left. He
said it was mine, and that he had been keeping it
fdr me."
Before any more talk could be made, a bright-
faced, handsome young fellow, with a cityfied and
jaunty air, walked up to the group, and asked,
" Can you tell me where I can find the Lee County
boys, as they call them ? "
That's us," said Tom, with a good-natured
"Well, I'm in luck; and where's the captain ?"
Barnard, who had come out of the tent with an
armful of bedding, said: "We have no captain.
What's your will ?"
"I hear you want a yoke of cattle. I have a
yoke which I should like to turn in as part of my
outfit, if you will take another partner. I'm going
Barnard eyed him suspiciously, and said, Where
from ?"
Well, I'm from Boston last; born in Vermont,
though; have been in the dry-goods trade; got
tired of selling goods over the counter. I'm going
The boys looked curiously on the Boston dry-
goods salesman, who had come all the way to
Council Bluffs to find a chance to go to California.
He said his party had broken up and gone back.
"We'll think it over," said Barnard.
"All right," said the Boston man. My name
is Montague Morse.".

(To be continued.)


PITY the beiis in the steeple,
Calling afar to the people:
"Good-night-ding, dong-good night!"
While close to your bed, as they're ringing,
Your own loving mother is singing:
"Good-night, dear one, good-night!"





ONCE an American lady in Baalbec, in Syria, saw
a native at work on one of the mud-built houses,
for though the ancient city of Baalbec was so splen-
did that it was called "the City of the Sun," the
modern town is built mainly of mud. The lady
asked the native why he did not build grand tenm-
ples and splendid columns, like those in ruins.
The man shook his head, and replied that such
work could not be done
by men.
"Why not ? asked the
lady. Those temples .-
were built by men."
"Oh, no," said the Sy-
rian; "by the genii." .,
"The genii! exclaim-
.ed the lady, laughing.
"Why, are the genii idle '
now ? "
"They have gone," re-
plied the Syrian, serious-
ly. "They have gone '.
toward the setting sun,
where they build greater
houses than these, bridge
streams, bore through
mountains, run through :
water and fly over the
land, carrying people as
swift as the wind, and let-
ters as quick as light-
The lady smiled at the
singular idea of the poor
native, though there was
much more to reflect upon .
than to laugh at in what .,'-.
he had said.
One of the great, good
genii of this age is certainly the Civil Engineer.
I often wonder if the children who cease work or
play to watch a passing railway-train, ever think of
the great changes which have been brought about
by the building of railways.
George Stephenson, who is now justly called the
"father of railways," was the child of poor parents
in England. Unable to send him to school, they
employed him at home as a nurse for the younger
children until he was eight years old. His chief
duty as nurse was to keep his little brothers and
sisters from under the hoofs of the horses which

drew the coal-cars on the tram-way"-a wooden
railroad leading from a coal-mine, which ran near
his father's door. At this early age, while watch-
ing the coal-trains passing, he conceived the idea
that iron would make better rails than wood, and
that if he could put upon wheels the steam-engine
which his father tended as fireman at the coal-pit,
it could be made to draw as heavy a train of coal-

_- .
- -.~a


cars as could, be moved by a great team of fifty
The idea did not pass away from the brain of
George Stephenson when he was removed from his
home at nine years of age, and hired out, at four
cents a day, to tend the cows of a neighboring
farmer. He had enough of leisure while watching
the herd in the field to think over the subject. He
even built him an engine of clay, with hemlock
branches for steam pipes. I suspect that, like Little
Boy Blue, he sometimes let the cows stray into for-
bidden meadows while he sat thinking about en-

VOL. III.--6.



gines on wheels and roads of iron. He could not
study about them in books for two very good rea-
sons. In the first place, no books about railroads
and locomotives had been printed, since neither
had been built. The other reason was that George
Stephenson could n't read at all. He did not know
his alphabet until he was nineteen years old.
Little George, or Geordy," as the common
people nicknamed. him, was next employed to
drive the horse which turned the winding machine,
or "gin," as the colliers called it, at the coal-pit


where his father worked. He then began to think
of a plan for making the steam do the work of the
horse, and one day astonished the colliers bybuild-
ing on a bench, in front of his father's cottage, a
model in clay of an engine which turned the gin "
and lifted the coal. He was at this time so young
and small that his father made him hide when the
owner of the coal-mine went "the rounds" to pay
his hands, for fear he should think him too small
to receive sixteen cents a day wages !
It was not until he was nineteen years old, and
was set to watch an engine, that he found time to
attend school and learn to read and write. He
worked steadily at his old idea for twenty-five years.

He made the first locomotive with smooth driving-
wheels. It had been thought necessary by some
engineers to construct locomotives with cogged
driving-wheels, and a corresponding rack on the
rail, to prevent the wheels from slipping. But
Stephenson successfully set aside all these con-
trivances. He was nearly fifty years old before
he found men willing to risk their money in con-
structing an iron railroad to test his locomotive.
When, at length, the first railroad was completed,
between Stockton and Darlington (two English


towns only twelve miles apart), the procession with
which the day was celebrated was headed by a man
on horseback, to keep the road clear for Stephen-
son's locomotive and car, and ladies and gentlemen
on horseback and in carriages kept pace with the
train by riding by the side of the track. But after
the procession had proceeded a short distance,
Stephenson, who was running his own engine, im-
patiently called to the horseman to get out of the
way, and, putting steam on, he ran his locomotive
the rest of the distance at the terrible pace of twelve
miles an hour !
Stephenson had been called a lunatic when he
had said that his locomotive could run twelve miles




an hour. One very distinguished officer of the
English Government, whose duty it was to see
that the mails were carried as rapidly as possible,
laughed at the idea, and said that if ever a loco-
motive ran ten miles an hour with a mail-bag
behind it, he would eat a stewed engine-wheel for
his breakfast."
There was some little excuse for this disbelief, for
the first locomotive was a very clumsy machine. It
was called the "Locomotion." Stephenson, when
he built it, was the only man besides his son Robert
who believed it would go at all; and some of the
learned members of the English Parliament de-
clared that it could not run against a strong wind !
It was a small, clumsy affair, weighing not more
than one-fifth as much as an engine of the present
The first improvement on it-the "Rocket"-
was even more ridiculous in appearance; but it
was found to be faster and stronger. Before it was
accepted by the railroad company, it was put in
a race with three other engines manufactured by
other engineers; and of the judges and thousands
of persons who witnessed the race, nine-tenths
were against the 'Rocket,' because of its appear-
ance." But Stephenson.received the prize over the
other competitors, one of whom was Captain John
Ericsson. His locomotive could run fifteen miles
an hour, and once actually drew thirteen tons at a
speed of twenty-nine miles an hour. That perform-
ance decided the fate of locomotives, and engineers
at once went to work to improve the new motive
The first railroad passenger-car was simply an
old box on wheels, with seats running along the
sides, a door at the rear end, and a seat in front for
the driver, like the box of an omnibus. It was
called by Stephenson, who invented it, the "Ex-
periment," because it was not generally believed
that people would travel on the railway. In r825,
about the time the first line was finished, one of
the principal papers of England said that nothing
could be "more ridiculous than the prospect of loco-
motives traveling twice as fast as stage-coaches "
And it added that people would as soon "suffer
themselves to be fired off upon one of Congreve's
rockets as trust themselves to the mercy of such a
machine going at such a rate." Stephenson, how-
ever, firm in his belief that passengers would travel
by rail, declared that the time would come, and he
hoped to live to see it, when it would be cheaper
for a poor man to ride than to walk. This prophecy
threatens to be more than fulfilled in a few years.
It is proposed in England to send passengers by
rail at ordinary English letter-rates, and under a
system of tickets like postage-stamps-a six-cent
stamp entitling the holder to go by any route to

any part of Great Britain. But George Stephenson
was not believed then, and the people continued
to call him Daft Geordy," which means Crazy
George." It was not long after the Stockton and
Darlington road was opened that more passenger-
cars were needed. The first improvement on the
" Experiment" was a double car, made out of two
"mourning-coaches." This car was lighted at
night by a single candle.
Of Course the owners and drivers of the stage-
coaches and road-wagons bitterly opposed the
building of the railway. They claimed that stage-
coaches were not only safer but swifter than the
cars, and often tried to prove it by racing. One
day a race came off between Stephenson's loco-
motive, drawing a passenger-train, and one of the
old stage-coaches which ran between Stockton and
Darlington. They ran for a distance of twelve
miles, and the locomotive beat the stage-coach by
about one hundred yards. After this the pro-
prietors of the stage-coaches were ruined, and their
coaches were sold to the railroad company, who
put new wheels on the old bodies and made rail-
way passenger-cars of them. The English railway-
cars are still much like several stage-coaches com-
bined in a long carriage, each being a separate
room of itself. These cars, as well as those in use
in America, are very elegantly furnished. When
the first passenger-cars were placed on the Stock-
ton and Darlington road, the travelers bought their
seats, and their names were entered on the pas-
sengers' list. But instead of there being "nobody
to travel behind a locomotive," everybody wanted
to ride in that way, and it was soon found that no
list of passengers could be kept; thus tickets came
into use.
In these very early' days of railway travel the
passenger-cars were like the old stage-coaches in
another respect,-a trumpeter accompanied each
train and blew his bugle until the cars were out of
the depot and through the town. It was not until
the bell and steam-whistle came into use that the
trumpeter and his horn were abolished.
It is only about fifty years since this first loco-
motive puffed along the first railway, dragging this
first clumsy passenger-car. During each of those
fifty years more than two thousand miles of rails
have been laid, an'd in England and the United
States every day of those fifty years has seen the
completion of one locomotive and two passenger-
cars. Immense workshops are kept busy build-
ing locomotives and cars. They are generally
near the principal depots of the great railway lines,
and I know of no more interesting place where one
can spend a part of his day in the depot. Each
and every part of a locomotive must be made with
the greatest precision and delicacy, and great




machines are employed for hammering and cutting
and punching and planing the iron into shape.
You will find in these railway works, as the English
say, or "locomotive works," as they are called in
America, immense machines, possessing almost re-
sistless power, yet driving only a little steel-pointed
instrument like a chisel not bigger than one's little
finger. It seems almost a waste of power to use
such a giant to drive so slight a tool. But this
delicate chisel digs its way little by little through
the hardest of cold iron or steel, and planes it as
smooth as ever the carpenter's plane trims wood,
and it produces, too, shavings of iron as delicate as

Al: ,: 1

.-- P

those of soft pine. Little shears, hardly bigger than
a tailor's, cut through iron as easily as through
paper; and delicate steel punches drive their way
through iron plates. In most of these works you
will see also the Nasmyth steam-hammer, a mighty
giant in power, but as docile as a lamb under the
touch of a master hand. It is an immense shaft of
iron, sliding up and down in a great wooden frame,
and regulated in its movements so that it can strike
a hard or soft, a quick or slow blow, as the engineer
who directs it may wish. A heated shaft of iron a
foot thick can be crushed, or a tack may be driven,
by its blows. About twenty years ago, the Prime
Minister of England, Lord John Russell, visiting
the railway works at Manchester, was invited to
eat a boiled egg for luncheon. Before giving him

the egg, the master of the works put it in a small
wine-glass and placed both under the great steam-
hammer. The engineer set the giant at work;
down rushed the shaft with the rapidity of a light-
ning flash and struck the egg, but so perfectly was
the hammer regulated that the blow merely chipped
the shell, crushing neither glass nor egg.
Among the first results of the success of the rail-
way was the stop which was put to the digging of
canals. Tens of thousands of men had been em-
ployed in Great Britain in canal-digging; they
were known as navigators," but called navvies"
for short. These, thinking their work would be
gone if railroads succeeded, made great efforts to
oppose them. But it was soon found that the dig-
ging of deep railway cuts, the building of great
bridges, and the boring of long tunnels, gave
employment to more men than canal digging,
and the navvies at once became railway builders.
One-half of the great Pacific Railway-the Missis-
sippi side-was built by Irish navvies; the other
half-on the Pacific side of the Rocky Mountains
-was mainly the work of Chinamen, who were
brought over from China by the ship-load to work
on the railroad, although they had never seen one
in their lives. The English navvies were a curious
class twenty-five or thirty years ag. They went
about from road to road in gangs of ten or twelve,
with a headman or captain, who made bargains or
contracts, and under whose direction they worked.
They generally built at each point where they
found employment a mud house, roofed with tufts
of grass, in which the whole gang ate and slept,
doing hard work and living hard lives. When a
lazy fellow attached himself to the gang and shirked
work, the others beat and cast him out, refusing
him a share of the profits of the work. Along rail-
roads nowadays the workmen build entire villages
of log or slab huts, which they leave standing when
they go away. Those who lay the track live in cars
fitted up for sleeping and cooking, and called
"caboose" or "construction trains." When the
Pacific Railway was being built, the twenty thou-
sand workmen on the Plains removed their villages
from place to place every week; for on that road a
rail was laid every fifteen seconds, and over a mile
of track was completed during every hour of track-
There were workmen on the Pacific Railway even
more curious than the Irish or Chinese navvies.
During the Summer of 1868, the Laramie River
became very low, much to the distress of a' con-
tractor who had cut a great many thousand cross-
ties-the timbers on which the rails are laid-and
which he expected to float down to the point where
the railroad was to cross. He was at first at a loss
to know what to do, but resolved, finally, to build





dams across the river at various points, and, when
the stream was thus made high enough, set his
rafts afloat. Large parties of men, therefore, went
to work building the dams. No sooner would the
men leave off work at night, than thousands of
beavers would begin, and work hard at the dam

from the track. These patrols and the signal and
switch men are armed during the day-time with
flags, which they wave as a direction to the engi-
neer of the train. At night they use colored lamps,
which can be seen for many hundreds of yards;
and great calcium lights, which are visible for many

during the whole night. miles.
Water is always as necessary to the comfort, of It is not at the ends of a great railroad that the
beavers as on this occasion it was to the welfare of switch-tenders and signal-men are to be seen in
the contractor; and it was probably for this reason, their greatest activity, but at some point where
and not because they wished to see the railroad several tracks cross each other. At Newark, New
finished, that the beaver community joined in the Jersey, near the city of New York, two great lines
labor of building the dams. of railway cross, each having a double track. Trains
Near every large depot at the end of a line of on these roads are so numerous that they pass each
railway, but not at the small stations along the other at this place every ten minutes in the day
route, you will find a curious workshop, different and night. You would naturally suppose that the
from the "locomotive works," and hardly less in- switch-men were kept very busy; they are con-
teresting. It is always circular or semicircular in stantly at their posts and on the look-out, but the
shape, and for this reason is called the round- labor, though responsible, is not hard.. A single
house." In the early days of railroads, the repair- signal-man in a small station-house directs the
shop-which the round-house really and simply trains, regulating their coming and going, and their
is-was called the hospital." It is not a name speed, with his i ;-. which is moved by machinery.
without meaning, for to the round-house, as to an At the Clapham Junction, near London, 700
hospital, the iron horses" who may have been trains pass daily,-that is one every two minutes
worn out in service, with broken limbs or wheezy and a-half,-so rapidly, indeed, that it looks to a
lungs, are sent to be doctored," as the engineers stranger as if one continuous train was passing, and
say-or repaired," as we would call it. In the then :1.! off in different directions. Yet it is all
center of the round-house is always a movable done, day after day, without noise or confusion to
table, large and strong enough to hold the biggest these signal and switch men, who control the move-
and heaviest locomotive. It is called a turn-table. ments of the trains. Here one signal-man directs
Across its diameter run two rails; and from its the whole (there is a small army of switch-tenders),
outer edge or circumference run other rails to all and he does it by an instrument called a signal-
parts of the round-house, spreading from the table box, on which he plays as on a great piano.
like the spokes of a wheel from its hub. The dis- The signal-box used in England is an elevated
abled locomotives are run into this hospital, and tower, which overlooks the railway for several hun-
upon the turn-table, which is then turned until the dred yards around the depots. In the top of it are
locomotive can be run upon the side-tracks, to be the handles of the various signals, some of which
taken to pieces, repaired, painted and polished up, may be more than a mile distant. In some of the
then to come forth renewed for the race again, bbxes there are as many as seventy handles, each
A train of cars is in some respects like a ship. connecting with a .:; : i. ,-1 : or post at greater or
The engineer or driver of the engine is the pilot, less distance, and each near a switch, by the side
the brakemen are the crew, and the conductor is of which there always stands a switch-tender, who
the captain of the craft. But these are not all the is guided in all he does by the signal-master in the
persons necessary to the work. Of equal impor- signal-box. By I..Ii.- a handle of his box, the
tance to the safe running of every train are the signal-master displays a flag or lantern; the switch-
guides-the signal-men and switch-tenders. These tender, at the point where the signal is set, knows
are not only among the most important, but the its meaning, and alters his switch to agree with it;
most interesting of the servants of the locomotive, the engineer of the approaching train also reads
On all well-regulated railways the signal-men and the signal, and dashes ahead or stops as it directs
switch-tenders are stationed at every depot, switch, him. If it were not for the signal-master in his
crossing, bridge and tunnel; and on all roads in box, the trains at these busy stations would become
Europe, and on several in this country, guards are confused and block the way.
stationed at every mile-post. There are patrols But the quickest and safest of the agents which
who pass over the road-each taking a mile of it direct the running of trains is one you never see
as his beat-just before a train is to pass, and nor hear. He does his work swiftly and silently.
examine every foot of the track, looking for loose He runs ahead of each train and keeps the track
bolts and broken rails, and removing little stones clear, and when accidents occur, it is -.....i ,1,




found that it is because he is disabled or neglectful
of his duty. His name, as you will guess, is The
Telegraph. Every railroad has its telegraph line,
and at every station an operator to mark the prin-
cipal movements of the, trains. In this way the
trains are prevented from overtaking or running
into each other. The telegraph is the signal-agent
who does this; and no matter how fast the trains
may run, electricity will outstrip them.
Not the least interesting feature of a depot, as
you will find if you spend a day in one, is the dif-
ference in the character of the trains. You will
find trains for day and trains for night travel; fast
trains, making few stoppages, for persons going
great distances, and called express" trains ; and
slower trains, making many stops, for the conveni-
ence of persons going only a short distance, and
called "accommodation" trains. Then there are
various kinds of freight trains, such as cattle and
hog trains; and on all the roads near great cities
like Boston, New York and Philadelphia, there are
even milk and egg trains. These reach the cities at
an early hour of the morning, with the fresh milk
and eggs collected the evening before in the coun-
try, that they may be distributed by the milk-men
and grocers at their customers' doors before break-
fast. It is only fifteen or twenty years ago that
most of the milk used in large cities was obtained
from cows fed in city pens, instead of in wide,
green pastures of the country; and then it was the
" cow with the iron tail," as the old-fashioned
pumps were called, that gave the most of the sup-
ply. Now, long trains of cars, loaded with great
tin cans or jars almost large enough to drown one
in, carry to the cities the best milk of the finest
cows in the richest meadows of the country.
Trains are now run at about the rate of forty
miles an hour,-sometimes much faster, and gen-

erally somewhat slower. The fastest trains in
England run at sixty miles an hour. To run at
this rate, the piston or driving-rod of the locomo-
tive must travel at. the speed of 800 feet per min-
ute, or so rapidly that it cannot be seen to move at
all. George Stephenson, the first to claim that the
locomotive could run at twelve miles an hour, was
called insane until he proved it. It was but a few
years after this that prominent engineers said that
railway trains could be regularly run at the rate of
ioo miles an hour; and Stephenson was again
called insane because he said. that fifty miles an
hour was as fast as trains could be regularly and
safely run. But it is now discovered that he was
nearly right, and locomotive-makers are no longer
building engines to run faster than at this rate.
But they are trying, instead, to save the time lost
in taking coal and water for supplying the engines.
On some lines a long open trough, forty feet long,
is laid between the rails. This is filled with water.
As the locomotive passes at the speed of fifty miles
an hour, a pipe or scoop is lowered from it into this
trough; the water is thus dipped up and placed in
the water-box for use by the engine. Another in-
vention is a huge box raised above the road and
filled with coal. As the locomotive passes, it
touches a spring, the box turns instantly upside
down, and the coal drops into the tender, which
runs behind the locomotive. The time which is
thus saved will of course make the trips shorter,
without calling for an increase of speed. It may
be that when you are grown, railway trains will
not be run any faster than they are now; but, in
spite of what George Stephenson has prophesied,
I suspect some future American engineer, who is
now a boy, will find means of running them twice
as fast as they are now run, and I hope with
greater safety to the passengers.






!ND that 's all the crow said that
Afternoon the sparrow went to visit
I sat under the willow-tree and
heard the whole conversation.
"How do you do?" began the
sparrow. "What a lovely Spring
Swe have had !-such bright sun-
shine, such pleasant -showers, and
so many cherries Don't you think
so ? "
Caw said the crow.
"The bluebird has three sweet
little ones," began the sparrow
again, putting her head on one side. "They 're
just as cunning as can be, though their mouths
are rather large. Is n't it queer that birds' mouths
grow small as the birds grow large? Did you
ever notice it ? "
Caw said the crow.
"I know a garden where there are hundreds of
peas. I love young peas; I could eat them for-

ever-breakfast, dinner, and supper-and never get
tired of them. They are so sugary and juicy "
Caw said the crow.
The pretty gray pigeon that lives over at the
big white house had a quarrel with his cousin this
morning, and pushed him off the window-sill. I
do think cousins should try to agree, and above all
things not push each other off window-sills."
Caw !" said the crow.
"0 dear! the sun has gone down behind the
hill. I did n't dream it was so late," said the spar-
row, hopping first on one foot and then on the
other. If my husband gets home before I do, he
will say I'm always gadding. But when one is in
your company, one forgets that time is passing-
you are so clever and witty. You must be sure to
come to the next party I give; my friends will be
delighted to meet you. Good-bye "
Caw! said the crow-not another word.
And yet that silly sparrow went about the next
day, telling all the birds she knew, that the crow
was the most entertaining fellow she had ever met.


BY T. E. D.

" WHERE 'S Dorothy, mother?" asked bluff Farmer Grey,
As he entered the kitchen one morning in May,
SWith despair in his tone, and a frown on his brow,
And he growled: Oh, that girl, what's become of her now?
I told her to mend me those bags, hours ago,
And here I 've been waiting, I'd have her to know.
'T is seldom that I with the children find fault;
But sorely she tries me,-she don't earn her salt."
The mother looked troubled,-" Wait, father, '1 call,"-
And "Dorothy!" sounded through chamber and hall.

In a wide, roomy garret, weather-beaten and old,
Where the spiders triumphant their banners unroll'd,
And the small, narrow window half stinted the ray
Which fell on the form of sweet Dorothy Grey,
She sat by a chest filled with pieces and rolls-
The odds and the ends dear to housekeepers' souls;




The bags, worn and dusty, around her were tossed
Unheeded, forgotten-in dreams she was lost.
One hand propped lser forehead, half hid by her hair,
While the other held tightly a fairy-book rare.
O the wonderful pictures the glories untold !
That arose on her vision, all glitt'ring with gold!
The brown rafters vanished, and vanished the hoard
Of cast-offs and may-wants her mother had stored;
Dried bunches of herbs, old clothes past repair,
Heaps of carpet rags, saddle bags, spider-webbed stair.


i ,'* .

a '-~ '';


In their place was a ceiling, resplendent and high,
All studded with stars, and as blue as the sky.
Around it hung banners, ahid garlands so gay!
And wax-lights made everything bright as the day;
While strains of sweet music came soft on the air,
And light feet were dancing right joyously there.
O the beautiful ladies that swept through the rooms,
With dresses like rainbows, and high nodding plumes.
And the princes and lords, all in gallant attire,
How they danced as the music rose higher and higher!
Then the fair Cinderella,-a lady at last !
With the Prince so resplendent, tripped smilingly past.
O the exquisite story it held her in thrall,
As she poured o'er the scenes of that wonderful ball;
Her red lips half parted with joy and surprise,
,While beaming and dancing with light were her eyes.








Hist! a step on the stair-her dreaming is o'er!
As "Dorothy!" comes through the half-opened door,
She starts as though guilty, poor child of a sin,
And down goes the chest-lid, her treasure within.
" Yes, mother, I 'm coming !" and smiling she goes
Down the worm-eaten stairs-to be scolded, she knows.
But chide her and scold her as long as they may,
Still that beautiful vision hath Dorothy Grey.



THERE was a little boy named Frank. He was
a noble little fellow, but now and then he would
forget what his good mother had told him. One
day he was playing in the back-yard, when he dis-
covered a toad hopping through the grass. The
sight of this toad seemed to amuse him very much.
He jumped about him laughing and chuckling in
such a manner, that the poor reptile presently
stopped in his way, and with an air of much humil-
ity waited to see what would come next.
Now Frank was n't a cruel boy, but like most
little boys he was apt to be thoughtless. When
the toad stood still, he cried out to it, Go 'long !
go 'long, or me whip you !" at the same time flour-
ishing a stick with which he had been playing.
But the toad did not move; so what did our boy
do but bring the stick down upon its back with
such force that it gave a hop of pain.
Then occurred something exceedingly amazing.
Looking up into the boy's face, the toad opened
its mouth and said,
"My little man, you ought not to have done
Frank, who had never heard an animal speak
before, started back with his stick held aloft, his
eyes staring, and his mouth wide open.
The toad never for a moment withdrew its own
bright eye from Frank's, but seemed to penetrate
his heart with its glance.
Presently a kitten crept out from a great hole
under the rear of the house, and being struck by
so odd a picture, approached, and with a sort of
introductory cough, followed by a little mew, ex-
claimed: What's the matter?"
Frank was well nigh petrified by this speech on
the part of the kitten, and all the motion he made

was to turn one of his wide-open eyes toward the
new speaker, while the other seemed still held by
the toad's glance.
SFrank just did a wicked turn," said the toad,
without removing its glance from the boy.
How so ?" asked the kitten.
"He struck me a hard blow with that stick,

I. rV

,* l ,I .". ---

r V ':

SC !1r I '


which you see him holding in the air," returned
the toad.
At this instant a mouse put out its head from a
small hole under the house.
Kitty's fur began to rise at this, and she gave a
growl, and she spit a little too. But somehow
there seemed to be an extraordinary influence
about, for the mouse paid no attention to these
threatening signs from Miss Grimalkin, but out it




.- I the ox raised his head, and awaited their arrival
Si with the utmost gravity.
S. .When within about a yard of the ox, the toad
said :
i' -' "Your honor, I have just been struck in a griev-
1 ous manner by this little boy."
S- ,' ____ "Assault and battery with intent to kill," uttered
the ox in a deep voice, at the same time turning a
;. calm, dignified glance on Frank. "Let him be
considered under arrest without more ado."
Frank began now to tremble violently.
"Let the case be presented to the grand jury
S immediately," continued the ox. "We do not de-
lay," he added, with a severe look, "as men are
wont to do."
A grasshopper, heretofore unobserved, now step-
ped forward, carrying a staff, which was only a
S. _- straw, and led the toad, the kitten and the mouse

came, and running up to the group, squeaked:'..-
"What does all this mean?" -
Pussy, whose impulse to eat up the mouse seemed
to pass away, replied: -
"This naughty little fellow has just now given a ,_
hard blow on friend Toad's back with that stick."
O, ho cried the mouse, "what's best to be -
done with him?"
"To Judge Ox," said the toad; and nodding its '-
head to Frank, it hopped toward the gate, still
keeping its bright eye on our little boy. -
Frank moved after the toad as if something drew '
him that he could n't resist. The kitten and the
mouse fell in behind, making a sort of rear guard
to this strange procession.
The toad led the way into a field near by, in -- -
which an ox was grazing. As the train approached, .
S ---- ",. away. Frank watched them furtively until they
Sr -- were out of sight, and then, on a motion from the
.-. ox, he sat down on a stone, while a grandfather-
S. longlegs held him in custody.
'- i' The grasshopper led the toad, the kitten, and the
mouse to a secluded spot, where sat twenty-three
.. beetles, who composed the grand jury, and in the
midst of them was a ram, who was the district
What passed here it would be improper'for
us to tell, for grand juries are very secret in
S- their doings. It did leak out, however, that the
Skitten and mouse testified that they saw the blow
S-- given by Frank. They probably thought they did,
S but they did n't, which my little readers will find
to be like a good deal of evidence that is given
-- "in the courts.
GOING TO JUDGE ox. To make the story short, an indictment was




found by this grand jury against our little boy,
and duly presented.
The ox now stopped chewing a cud he had in his


mouth, and again declared that he could permit
no delays such as were indulged in by men.
"Choose," said he to poor Frank, "whom you
would have for counsel."
Our little boy did n't understand what the ox
meant by this speech; but Grandfather-Longlegs
explained that as he must be put on trial for the ox
to find out whether he was guilty or not, he cer-
tainly needed some one to work and talk for him
as counsel.
At that moment, Frank, who was all of a flut-
ter, heard a bleating calf just coming on the
ground; and thinking him a fine talker, he de-
clared to the court, in a voice that was almost
inaudible, that he would take this calf to be his
The ox bowed to the calf, and so did the ram,
who you know was the district attorney, and there-
fore, as counsel for government, was to contend
against the calf. A jury of twelve frogs was im-
paneled, and the indictment was read, setting forth
in very learned terms that Frank had assaulted
the toad vi et armis, &c., maliciously and fel-
oniously, with intent to kill. To all this Frank,
under the instructions of his counsel, pleaded "Not
guilty," and the trial commenced, the process being
a little different from the course in some of the
courts of men.
Alas for poor Frank! at the very first objection
put in by his counsel, with a very loud voice, the
ram bent both his brows and his head with such a
terrible air, that the calf, losing all presence of
mind, blurted out something nobody could under-

stand, and ingloriously turned tail and ran for a
clump of bushes near by.
The ram made a dash for him, but the ox com-
manded him to return to his place; and then, in
great disgust at the conduct of the calf, he asked
the prisoner in a severe voice if he had anything to
offer in his defense.
Poor Frank was so terrified by the flight of the
calf, the severe look of the ox, and the threatening
horns of the ram, that he could not say a word,
and so the ox said he could waste no more time.
The case was given to the jury on the evidence of
the toad, and they returned a verdict of Guilty"
without leaving their seats.
Frank now thought something terrible was com-
ing, and nearly fainted away. But Judge Ox bade
Grandfather-Longlegs to help him stand up for
sentence; then a kindly smile stole over his sober
look, and this is the sentence he pronounced:
The prisoner is sentenced to think over every
night, when he goes to bed, how often he has been
cruel to animals of any kind; and when he recol-
lects of abusing any, even if it be but a fly, to say
to himself, I'm very sorry, and will try very hard
not to do so again.' "
0 cried Frank, gaining courage, I-will do
that I will do that !"
Then the ox nodded his head, and Frank was
led back home by Grandfather-Longlegs and the
ram, the toad, the kitten and the mouse following
behind. When they arrived at the house the ram
and Grandfather-Longlegs made a bow and left,
the toad hopped into the yard, and the kitten and


mouse made for their holes. But just as the mouse
was going into his, pussy made a dart for him.
Mousey was too quick for her, however, for giving



his tail a whisk almost in pussy's face, he ran into and he kept his promise to Judge Ox so well, that
his hole safe and sound. the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani-
As for Frank, the lesson impressed upon him in mals took occasion, not long afterward, to mention
so wonderful a way had such an excellent effect, him with honor.



AT the far end of the one little straggling street
of the village of Glenburn, lived the widow Mac-
Pherson and her son Sandy, the hunchback," as
he was always called by the neighbors. At the
other end stood the little kirk, under whose shadow
lay her husband and five children; and now this
one cripple boy was all that was left to remind her
of long years of toil and loving service. Of all
the bonnie lads and lasses, there remained but
one-her poor deformed child. But the faithful
mother's heart went out to him in double love and
tenderness, and longed to shield him from every
jeer and mocking laugh that stung his sensitive
Sandy was no ideal character such as is often
found in books, whose bodily deformity was more
than balanced by the beauty of his face or the
brilliancy of his genius. No, Sandy was not
formed to be a hero of romance; he was only a
shrewd Scotch boy, whose wits were exercised more
than would have been the case had he been able
to race over the moor, or wade the brooks fishing
for trout, or climb the heather sides of the hills
after birds' nests, as did his more fortunate com-
His round, freckled face was crowned by a shock
of light hair, and his bright blue eyes were more
keen than beautiful. However, to his mother he
was all in all; and, to do him justice, his love for
her was unbounded. He helped to cultivate her
little patch of garden, hobbling about on his crutch,
and he also contrived to eke out their scanty in-
come by plaiting straw into mats and little fancy
baskets, which found sale during the Summer
months, when the neighboring town was much fre-
quented by tourists, who were glad to carry away
pretty mementos of their visit to the rugged Scot-
tish hills.
To most of the simple villagers Sandy was an
object of compassion, and also a quiet sort of liking.
He's a douce lad." one gossip would say to

another; "but eh! my he'rt's just sair for his
puir mither."
And douce Sandy generally was, unless when
his naturally quiet temper was aggravated by taunts
or mocking allusions to his misfortune, and then
his hands would clench themselves hard together,
and his blue eyes blaze into sudden wrath,-while,
like any other wounded animal, he would hobble
as swiftly as possible to his lowly home, sure of
shelter and a loving welcome there.
"Eh, mither, what ba'e I dune," he would say
sometimes, "that I s'uld be made sic a deform-
ity ?"
Then his mother would take his hand gently in
hers, stroking it softly as she said:
It's the Lord's will, my lamb, an' ye must just
bear it, for His sake."
But it's no richt o' Him," he answered once,
"to mak' a body sae, an' then no' keep others frae
flytin' them. I'd rather dee an' ha'e dune wi' it."
Then the tears rolled suddenly down the pale,
patient face of his mother.
"Oh, my bonnie lamb, ye maunna' say sic things;
ye brak' my he'rt wi' yer wull words. An' eh I
Sanny, to think ye 'd like to dee an' leave yer puir
auld minny, that wad just spill ilka drap o' her
he'rt's bluid for ye gin it war ony guid "
Weel, weel, mither, I winna dee gin I can help
it," Sandy answered with a queer grimace; "but I
canna' see why ye s'uld be sae ower fond o' sic a
crooked stick."
Eh, Sandy, ye're no' a mither," said the widow,
with a tearful smile; and as she moved about her
work, she would pause often to give a nod or a
word to Sandy, who sat whistling at his work under
the old gnarled apple-tree which shaded the door.
To do them justice, the boys in the village were
almost all of them ready to render Sandy any help
they could, as he made his toilsome way about the
place, or in his expeditions after the mosses and
lichens with which he filled the baskets which he



made for sale; but there were two, of about his
own age, who were Sandy's special aversion. One,
I am bound to confess, was the minister's son;
and the other, his constant companion, Robert
Allison, the son of "the laird," whose handsome
abode was just in sight from the door of Sandy's
Robert Allison and William Burton were insepa-
rable; when the one was not at the Manse, the
other was sure to be ranging through the wild park
which extended for some distance around The
Towers." Every morning Robert rode into Glen-
burn on his little white pony, to recite his lessons
at the Manse, and at those times Sandy generally
contrived to be invisible, for many was the taunt
and cruel, thoughtless gibe which Robert had
aimed at his pitiable misfortune. Once he had al-
most ridden him down, and then laughed as Sandy
shook his crutch threateningly after him, and in
all his jokes and witticisms he was ably seconded
by his friend and crony, Will Burton.
The boys were not naturally bad; they were
only thoughtless and cruel in their strength and
prosperity,-unable to understand that the boy, so
unlike them in every respect, had feelings keener
and far more easily wounded than were theirs. Is
it any wonder that the feeling which Sandy enter-
tained for them closely bordered on hate, and that
sometimes, as he sat at his work brooding over
his wrongs, a longing for revenge rose in his
One day in the early Summer, Sandy sat at his
work as usual, whistling one of the many old bal-
lads which his mother had taught him, when all at
once a clatter of horse's feet made him look up,
and presently Robert Allison reined in his pony in
front of the door.
Well, Sandy," he said at length, as Sandy took
no notice of his approach.
Weel, sir."
Canna' you say anything to-day, Sandy? "
Hoo can I ken when I hae naething to say?"
was the dry retort.
Robert laughed. Ye 're no' in a blithe humor
to-day, my lad. Now, I'm as gay as a laverock.
The minister's gone to the town, and we've a
whole holiday-Will and me; though he, poor
fellow, has a cold, and his mither winna' let him
go out with me."
Sandy made no reply. He was suspicious of all
advances on the part of his tormentors, so took
refuge in silence. Robert smiled mischievously.
"It's surly, my lad, no' to say a word to a
Sandy looked up keenly. There are some o'
my fr'en's, as ye ca' them, that I 'm no' just weel
acquainted wi' yet."

Well, Sandy, I'm off for the moor; it's bon-
nie there to-day."
Then, suddenly stooping, he switched Sandy's
basket of mosses off the stone on which he had
placed it, with his riding-whip, and rode off, laugh-
ing heartily at the abusive epithets which Sandy
hurled after him.
Noo I'11 ha'e just to gang efter more," sighed
Sandy ruefully, as he examined his scattered treas-
ures. The bonnie red cups are a' broken, an'
the baskets maun be ready by the morn's morn.
The ne'er do weel!" and he looked scowlingly
down the road.
Mither he called in at the door, I've to
gang to the moor again."
Eh, laddie what for?"
Sandy pointed to his broken moss, and gave a
short but graphic account of the occurrence, add-
ing, with a frown:
The day's no' dune yet. I 'll mebbe gar him
rue his wark yet."
Sandy, Sandy !" said his mother earnestly,
" gin ye wer' to turn yer han' to do ill, my he'rt
wad be clean brakkit. Ye 're a' I ha'e got, an'
ye maunna' gar me greet sauter tears than I ha'e
Sandy gazed at the ground for a minute, and
then looking up with a sudden bright smile, he
said, quaintly :
Weel, mither, ye 're just ane o' the angels frae
heaven, an' ye 've stoppit the mouth o' the roarin'
Then, taking his cap, he started down the road
which Robert Allison had taken, stopping at the
turn to wave his hand to his mother, who stood in
the door-way looking fondly after him.
Sandy was unusually successful that afternoon in
finding the dried gray moss with its fairy-like cups
of red, which he was seeking, and so occupied was
he that the shadows were beginning to darken
around him before he started for home.
The moor stretched out for miles around him,
and the little foot-path amongst the heather was
almost hidden. However, he pressed on, and was
nearing th6 cart track which led to Glenburn, when
he thought he heard a shout, and then the barking
of a dog.
He stopped and listened intently. Before him
swept away the long reach of heather; to his left,
at some distance, was a "peat moss," and from
this the sound appeared to come. As Sandy list-
ened, the cry was repeated.
"It's ane o' the boggles auld Janet tells o', or
else some puir body's no' sae weel aff as he wad
like to be," he muttered. Weel, I maun gang
an' see aboot it." And, setting his basket carefully
down, he went in the direction of the sound.




He had not gone far when a dog sprang quickly
up from the heather, and began to fawn on him
with eager caresses. It was a little Scotch terrier,
and Sandy immediately recognized it as the prop-
erty of Robert Allison.
Eh, puir doggie, what ha'e ye to tell me ? he
said, stooping to pat the animal's head. "Sae it
was ye I heard, was it ?"
The dog wagged its tail, and ran on a little way,
always stopping to see if Sandy was following.
Eh, sae we're to gang that gate, are we ?" he
said coolly, following the dog's leadership.
Presently he stopped.
Ye 'II gar us fa' into the peat-moss, if ye gang
ony further, my lad," he said, addressing the dog,
which had come back to his side.
A low whining bark was the reply.
Sandy reflected a minute. Noo, my lad, ye be
still a bit." Then, putting his fingers in his mouth,
he blew a long shrill whistle.
He was answered by a call which sounded quite
near by.
Wha are ye, an' hoo cam' ye there ?" shouted
"Robert Allison," said the voice, weakly.
Sandy, carefully picking his steps, contrived to
come in sight of his old enemy, who, he now saw,
had fallen into one of the holes in the peat-moss,
and was unable to extricate himself.
Robert's countenance fell as he caught sight of
Sandy, who, leaning both arms on his crutch, stood
quietly looking at him.
Sandy, I canna' get out," he said presently.
"I could ha'e tauld ye that, Maister Robert,"
was the cool retort.
Tears of vexation started to the boy's eyes.
Eh, man," he exclaimed, falling naturally into
the common dialect, dinna' stand there glowerin'
at me. Canna' ye help me oot ? "
"An' why s'uld I help ye oot? I'm nae sae
mickle obleeged to ye for anything ye ha'e dune,
that I s'uld risk my ain neck to serve ye."
"Weel, then, I maun just stay here," was the
sullen reply. I'm tired wi' struggling an' I can-
na' get oot-so good-niight to ye."
This dogged courage pleased Sandy, who chuck-
led a little.
"Na, Maister Robert, I didna' say I wad na'
help ye. Hoo did ye fa' in ?"
I saw a bonnie birdie fly in here, an' I thought
mebbe I wad find its nest, and I forgot about the
holes, and so I fell in."
"Ay, an' noo hoo are ye to get oot again?
Eh, doggie, doggie, winna' ye be still, an' lat me
think ?" said Sandy, pushing the little terrier gently
It was a dreary place. All around were the

holes, like great open graves, from which the peat
had been dug; many of them half full of water as
black as ink. The dim, weird light made it seem
doubly lonely and terrible. Every here and there
were tufts of coarse grass, which afforded a footing,
insecure enough, but still the only way of crossing
the moss with safety. Sandy stood on one of these,
musing over the situation.
Robert began to get impatient. The hole into
which he had fallen was luckily less full of water
than were many of the others; but it was deep, and
the sides were slimy to the touch and altogether
unable to afford a foothold; so his efforts to free
himself had only brought him fatigue of body and
vexation of spirit.
Sandy, man," he exclaimed, canna' ye leap
on the turfs an' gi'e me yer hand?"
Weel, I'm nae ower gude at leapin'. I ha'e
na' practeeced it much, ye see," retorted Sandy,
Robert's face flushed hotly, and he prudently
said nothing further.
By and by, Sandy began to advance slowly and
cautiously, feeling the ground with his crutch be-
fore venturing on it. By this means he proceeded
safely till within a few feet of Robert Allison, who
watched his progress with eager interest.
"Noo, Maister Robert," he said, pausing, "I
ha'e ane word to say to ye. I ha'e often wished
for the chance to do ye an ill turn, an' mebbe I
wad ha'e dune it noo gin it had na' been for my
mither. An' I just want ye to reflect that ye micht
-ha'e staid where ye are the haill nicht, if Sandy
had had an ill min' as weel as an ill skin."
Robert hung his head. Sandy, I'm sorry,"
he said presently.
Weel, there's naething mair to be said. Tak'
a grip o' my stick, an' I'll try to pull ye oot."
Robert was heavy, and the strain on Sandy's
back hurt him cruelly; but still he persevered, and
after some time he had the satisfaction of seeing
the other on firm ground again.
Eh, Maister Robert, sic a plight as ye 're in "
and Sandy looked at him in unfeigned dismay.
The black mud had clung to his garments, and
even besmirched his face.
Noo be careful' hoo ye walk," he said, leading
the way back to the road.
Robert would have liked to offer thanks, but did
not dare to do it, so followed on silently. When
they had nearly reached the cart track, Sandy
I canna' gang on, Maister Robert," he said
faintly; then a sudden pallor overspread his face,
and he fell heavily to the ground.
Robert uttered a cry of alarm, and, springing
forward, tried anxiously to raise him; but he was




forced to give up the attempt, and, sitting down
beside him, he resolved to wait, in hopes of some
one coming. His dog lay down at his side, howl-
ing mournfully from one to the other.
The minutes passed like hours, and still Sandy
lay unconscious. Robert was almost giving way.
to despair, when he heard the creaking of wheels,
and to his great joy a cart soon came in sight.

fore the kirk, ye maun run on, Maister Robert,
an' tell the lad's mither, an' we '11 com' slowly
efter ye."
"Oh, I canna'!" said Robert, huskily.
Maister Robert, ye maun just do it; we've all
to do things we dinna' like, whiles."
And Robert, with downcast eyes and wildly-
beating heart, started on his mission. The mother


The two men who were in it both jumped out
when they saw the melancholy little group by the
"Aye, but this is ill news for his puir mither,"
said one, compassionately, as they lifted the boy
tenderly into the cart.
Noo, Maister Robert, get in wi' yer doggie,
an' we '11 take ye hame."
Sandy's little basket of moss was still where he
had left it, and Robert, with a sudden rush of bitter
recollections, took it up carefully, and climbed into
the cart.
"Noo," said one of the men, as he stopped be-

made no outcry; her face grew a shade paler, that
was all.
Is he deid, laddie ?" she asked, as Robert fin-
ished his rather incoherent account.
No, no," said the boy, eagerly; and then the
cart stopped at the door, and Sandy was carried in
and laid on the bed.
There's a great London doctor up at 'The
Towers,' seeing my mother. I 'll fetch him."
And Robert dashed out of the house and up the
*street, not pausing even to notice his crony, Will
Burton, who called after him to know what was the



SHe soon returned with the doctor, who remained
a very long time in the little inner room where
Sandy was lying.
By and by, Sandy's mother came out, and
Robert caught her dress as she passed, not seeing
him in the dusky gloom.
Will he die ? he asked.
Na, na, laddie; he 'll no' die," she answered,
gently ; an' the doctor says he '11 mebbe be able
to do something for the lad's back yet,-he'll no'
be like either folk, but -he '11 mebbe walk wi'oot his
And Robert, dropping his face in his hands,
burst into sudden tears.
Eh, laddie, ye maunna' greet; ye '11 ha'e both
gotten a lesson the day ye '11 no' forget," she said,
tenderly. Then, with true delicacy, she left him
to himself.
Sandy opened his eyes, when she again bent over
Weel, either," he said, faintly.
Weel, Sandy."
What was it ye read aboot the crooked things
bein' made straight ? Mebbe I'm ane of the crooked
things that He'll be making' straight up there."
"Aye, Sandy, my lamb; but no' yet. Ye're to

stay wi' yer puir auld mither noo," she answered,
He smiled contentedly.
Weel, mither, I could na' stay wi' onyane bet-
ter, except the Ane that's above us a'."
The next few weeks were calm and peaceful
ones. Sandy was soon able to sit up, and, under
the new treatment prescribed by the doctor, grew
rapidly better. He soon began to work at his
baskets again, and his new friend Robert was never
so happy as when scouring the country in search
of curious mosses wherewith to fill them. And
when Will Burton ventured a remonstrance, he
was told plainly that only by kindness and courtesy
to the poor cripple could he retain the liking of
his former constant companion; and he, always
accustomed to be led by the bolder spirit, consented
now to let it lead him in the paths of kindness and
Robert's devotion was not a mere impulse; he
became more and more attached to his humble
friend; and for years after the happy day when the
invalid was able to go about again in the pleasant
sunshine, there were no firmer friends in the little
SI i -,.. of Glenburn than.Robert Allison, the laird's
son, and Sandy, the hunchback.


HAVE you
A baby as

IS' 01J



-' ,, ,^ ,
_ -' '.- .',
"IL~ . --- L r',- .:

heard of a baby far over the sea-
pretty as pretty can be?
Florence they call her. To Florence she came
When sent to this earth,-that gave her the name.
A Yankee papa and mamma she doth bless-
Our Florentine baby's a Yankee no less;
And one of these days we '11 unfurl to her view
The flag of her country-the red, white and blue!
The pretty signoras oft stop on the street,
Delighted the beautiful baby to meet.
Birds hover about her, and baby says "Coo!"
As they warble and trill her a sweet "How d'ye do?"
Even the doggies that come in her way
Wag, in Italian, a merry "Good-day!"
Lilies nod softly, and roses would screen her-
Everything smiles at the wee signorina.
Never a blossom so pretty as she-
Florence, our baby-girl over the sea!






WELL, here I am in this little old-fashioned Ger-
man village of Kaiserwerth, on the east bank of
the beautiful Rhine, in the midst of flat meadows
and fields, intersected by broad roads bordered
with Lombardy poplars. Far off against the hori-
Eon we can see the spires of the city of Dusseldorf,
and the old town of Ratingen; and still further off
is a line of low, blue hills. These are the foot-hills
of the Sauerland Mountains, which fill a great part
of Westphalia, the next province to ours, with beau-
tiful highlands and valleys.
Passing along the cleanly swept streets of the
village of Kaiserwerth, on the 5th December last,
I noticed that groups of wooden-shod children
kept gathering with great interest around the win-
dow of the "conditorei," that is, the confectioner's
shop. Wishing to see what attracted them so par-
ticularly, or, as the Germans say, what was loose
there," I went to the window too, and stood among
the little Germans, looking over their heads.
Such a store of cakes but not cakes like those
usually in the shop-window. Oh no, indeed!
These were something quite out of the common
way; they were all picture-cakes. Here was a
great big brown rooster with a flowing tail, and
a lordly crest; here was a lady in a ruff and splen-
did garments, and here a knight in armor with
.sword and lance. But especially prominent among
these and many other smaller figures, were great
big figures, nearly two feet long, representing a
bishop with his crosier in his hand, his initer on
his head, and his ornamental robes flowing in gin-
ger-cake around him. Of course I went in-for I
am quite well acquainted at the confectioner's-to
ask "what was loose" there; and whether they
had not made a mistake and begun to have Christ-
mas three weeks too soon. But myfriend the con-
fectioner's blond-haired daughter, who takes a great
interest in enlightening me as an ignorant foreigner,
informed me that the next day, the 6th, would be
St. Nicholas' Day, and that all these things, and
many others upstairs, would be purchased by their
customers for its celebration. Now, I had been
very well acquainted with St. Nicholas in America,
and had believed that I knew everything about
him, from his personal appearance to the names of
his team of' "tiny reindeer; but then, in America,
it was always on Christmas night that
"Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound,"
-and this seemed to be something different. So I
VOL. 111.-7.

determined to find out all I could about the habits
of St. Nicholas in Germany, and very gladly ac-
cepted Gretchen's invitation to walk upstairs and
see the exhibition or show-room fitted up in his
honor. Here, on a counter running around three
sides of it, were more piles and piles of picture-
cakes; many of the large ones such as I had seen
down-stairs, and heaps of smaller ones to be sold
by the pound. Then there was one counter filled
with all sorts of little candy figures; the most com-
mon ones were little babies whose heads alone could
be seen; their hands and all the rest of the figure
being enveloped in candy folds and narrow ribbons
crossed around and around them and tied fast.
Now, you may think the Germans very irreverent
when I tell you that these candy babies represent
the Child-Jesus, the Christ-kind, as they call him,
in his swaddling bands; but we must not judge
uncharitably of the habits of other countries; they
have their ideas as to what is right and wrong, and
we have ours; I will only tell you what they do,
without giving any opinion.
Then there were candy figures of an old man,
with gray beard and hair, which represented St.
Nicholas himself; then all sorts of pretty little fancy
candies, such as we see in America; and especially
plentiful were little candy shoes, for the most part
made of brown chocolate, with white rosettes and
trimmings. Gretchen was very kind in showing
me everything, and explaining it all to me; she
even brought in from the kitchen some of the
wooden molds in which the cakes are shaped.
These are thick, square blocks of wood, with the
figure to be made deeply cut into them; the dough
is pressed firmly into this cutting until it takes its
shape, and it is then taken out and baked.
Of course I asked a great many questions, both
there and after I returned to my German home;
and I will tell you now what I learned.
St. Nicholas, whose image I had seen both in
cake and candy, was a real person, and a very good,
holy man; he lived about 300 years after the birth
of Christ, in Syria, a province of Asia Minor, where
Paul himself first preached Christianity to the
heathen inhabitants. (Look at your map, girls.)
There he was Bishop of the city of Myra. I cannot
tell you all about his good and holy life in this let-
ter; I will only mention that he was very fond of
the children of his congregation, and took great
pleasure in teaching them and talking to them;
and always so lovingly and gently, .that all the




children of the city loved very dearly their good
Father Nicholas. When he died, he was called a
saint. In those old times people liked to fancy
what particular work for their Lord was given in
their new life to the good men who had been de-
voted to good deeds in this world; so they chose
for St. Nicholas, as best suited to his character, the
care of all the little children of earth, and loved to
think that he was still watching over and helping
the little ones he had loved.
Many curious legends are related of him, one of
which, you may remember, was finely told in the
Letter-Box of this magazine a year ago.
While the little ones of the city still remembered
the lovely, kind old man, with the silver hair and
beard, who had talked so lovingly to them of the
Good Shepherd, whose little lambs they were, their
mothers could always persuade them to try to be
good, by reminding them of what their dear old
friend had said to them. On each anniversary
of his death, the people of the city in which he
had spent his life met together in the churches
to hold a service in memory of his virtues, and at
nightfall mothers would' give to their good children,
with words of praise and encouragement, such little
gifts as their kind old bishop had been wont to give
them when he met them in his walks. So the chil-
dren came to feel as if their dear old Father Nicho-
las was still watching lovingly over them, and com-
ing to see them once every year to bring them
tokens of his love and approbation; and they formed
the habit of saying that the gifts which they received
on this day were from St. Nicholas.
As time passed on, much was forgotten of his
history, and much was added to it, as will always
be the case with a story that travels around among
nurses and children. For example, the children
grew to believe that St. Nicholas came in the night
on a beautiful shining white horse, and put their
presents for them on the table beside their beds ;
and as they wanted to do something to show how
much they thanked him, they began to put some-
thing for his horse to eat after his long journey, on
the plate which they stationed by the bedside to
receive the goodies which St. Nicholas brought.
Now here comes the difficult point; nobody that I
have seen in Germany can tell me why it is that
the food for St. Nicholas' horse must always be
put in a little shoe For this purpose the little
chocolate shoes I have mentioned are intended;
the children buy them always on St. Nicholas' Eve.
Whatever the legend or the story was that caused
this use of the little shoe, it seems to be entirely
lost, even in Germany.
I have tried all the more earnestly to find out the
origin of this custom, because, I think, it must be
connected in some way with our custom of hanging

up a stocking for St. Nicholas; how the good saint
came to have his shoes in Germany and his stock-
ings in America, I should very much like to know.
A young German girl, on hearing me speak of my
young country folk hanging up their stockings on
Christmas eve, said, "Oh! I remember, that Ameri-
can custom is mentioned in the descriptions of
Christmas-day in the Vite, Vite Vurld." You
see the German girls love Miss Warner's book just
as much as you do, and read it over and over again,
sometimes in German, but often in English; for
nearly all well-taught German children read Eng-
lish. Instead of learning Latin and algebra, as.
you do, they give a great deal of time to learning
to read and speak the modern languages. I really
cannot say which is the wiser plan, but both have
.their advantages.
One of the deaconesses, good and wise Sister Els-
peth, "meine liebe mutter schwester," told me how
they celebrated St. Nicholas' day at her sister's
house, and in a great many other German families:
Late in the evening, on the day before, just about
the time when the children are usually sent to bed,.
a loud knocking is heard at the door; the mother,
or auntie, goes out to let the stranger in, and comes.
running back, with:
Oh! children! children! what do you think?
here is St. Nicholas coming in; the Christ-kind has
sent him to ask about you all, that he may know
whether to bring you any presents at Christmas or
not?" The children all become very much ex-
cited. Little Hiinschen pulls his apron straight;
Karl smooths down his hair with his hand; little
Meta turns out her toes, as auntie is reminding
her to do all day long; and as they are all on tip-
toe with expectation, the door opens and in walks
St. Nicholas. A great big bag hangs by his side;
long, snow white hair falls from under his bishop's
cap; and so much long silvery beard covers his
face, that the children can hardly see anything but
his eyes. These, however, look so kind and good,
and twinkle so pleasantly, that little HI.nschen lets
go the mother's dress and ventures a step nearer
to the new guest. The latter bows very politely tos
mother and auntie, and says that as Christmas is
very near, the Christ-kind has sent him to all the
houses of the village to find out to what children
the Christ-kind must bring presents at Christmas,
when he comes in his little well-filled wagon. Then
the saint makes very particular inquiries about each
child. Has Meta learned to turn out her toes
when she walks, better than she did last Christmas ?
Meta's toes turn wider and wider apart as he speaks,
and auntie says: I think Meta is trying very hard
to learn to walk like a graceful little lady." Meta
smiles with pleasure, and St. Nicholas gives a nodl
of satisfaction. "And does Karl eat all his soup




every day before he asks for anything else, and
never grumble about anything that is put on his
plate ?" "Yes, Karl has learned not to be a baby
about his dinner," says the mother, and is getting
ready to be a brave soldier some day, by thanking
God for whatever He gives, and eating it without
ever thinking about it." Sch6n sch6n says
St. Nicholas, which means "Good i good !" "And
has Hanschen been a diligent little boy, and learned
by heart some little Christmas hymns to sing under
the Christmas-tree?" And little Hinschen, the
youngest of them all, his face as red as fire with ex-
citement, and his blue eyes as wide open as he can
stretch them, before the mother can answer, opens
his mouth, and bursts out just as loud as he can
sing, with his new Christmas hymn:
"Holy night! silent night!
Darkness all, save yon light
Shining o'er the stable where
Watch the worshiping, blessed pair,
By the Heavenly Child."
"Well done," says St. Nicholas, "I will ask the
Christ-kind on Christmas-day to bring a very full
wagon to this house; and now, to show what very
nice things He is going to bring with Him, He has
sent you beforehand a few specimens of what He
will have in His wagon."
So he opens the big bag that hangs by his side
and brings out apples and nuts, candy, Christkind-
chens, and all sorts of cakes, especially big figures
of himself, and gives some to each one of the de-
lighted children; tells them to be as good as they
have been, and, if possible, better, until Christmas
comes, and they shall have still more beautiful
gifts. Then he shakes hands with the children,
makes a low bow to the mother and auntie, and
says he must hurry off, as he has to visit every house
in the village and inquire about all his children.
Sometimes, instead of St. Nicholas coming in per-
son, the father goes to the door when the knock is
heard, and comes back with a great bag of good
things, and tells the children all that St. Nicholas
asked him, and what he answered before receiving
this foretaste of Christmas for them.
On this last St. Nicholas' day, I heard great
laughing, mingled with delighted exclamations,
and a good deal of scampering about, in the Orphan
Home, which is next door to our seminary. In this
home about forty little orphans are receiving a
Christian education, under the loving, tender care
of the good deaconesses: I learned afterward that
it was a visit from St. Nicholas which had caused
the excitement; and that the saint was, this time,
no less a person than one of the three pastors of
the "Anstalt," as this whole group of institutions
is called. It was Pastor George Hiedner, the son
of the great and good Pastor Hiedner, who founded

the Anstalt, and did so many other blessed works
of mercy for Germany and the world. I wish we
had one such man in our country. But was n't it
kind in young Pastor George Hiedner to take so
much interest in amusing and pleasing the little
orphans? I think it was as good as if he had
preached a sermon to them; for it showed his love
and his interest in a way that even the youngest
could understand and enjoy.
Sometimes, when the poorer people have no
spare room in which to set up and dress a Christ-
mas-tree, St. Nicholas is supposed to come in the
night, on his shining white horse, and leave pres-
ents for the children on the table by their beds
while they are all asleep; and if the children have
not a groschen to buy a candy shoe, in which to
put the food for his horse, they cut one out of a
potato and put the oats and bread in that; but a
shoe it must be. I am sorry there are any children
in Germany too poor to have a Christmas-tree; for
a Christmas-tree in this far country is-oh I can't
tell you how charming that and everything else
about a German Christmas is, unless I write you
a whole letter about nothing else.
Now, should you like to hear a little story about
St. Nicholas' day? Yes? Well, here is


Once upon a time there was a very rich German
merchant, who had a very beautiful daughter. She
did not have two envious elder sisters, like the mer-
chant's daughter Beauty, in the fairy-tale. On the
contrary, she had no elder sisters at all; but a
whole crowd of merry, romping younger brothers
and sisters, who loved her dearly. In fact, they
could not help doing so, for Bertha was as good as
she was beautiful.
Now this charming young lady had many lovers,
but none of them had won her heart. She was
gentle and merry with them all, granting special
favor to none. Of course there was a reason for
this, as there generally is in such cases. There was
a very -quiet, modest young man, who lived in
Bertha's home as tutor to her little brothers and
sisters. He was what they call in Germany a can-
didate; that is, he had studied to be a minister,
but had not yet been given the charge of a con-
Bertha had met him as a stranger a few years
before, when both were visiting in Holland. She
was skating one day on one of the frozen canals
near Amsterdam, and in stooping to tighten her
skate-strap she had dropped a pretty trinket. This
young'man had found it, had given it to her with
a courteous "It is yours, Fraulein! She had



thanked him and passed on. That was all, but
neither of them forgot the moment, and neither
tried to hide a bright look of recognition when in
time the good merchant formally introduced the
new tutor to his daughter.
At first he had been very happy in his new
capacity, and had helped to make everybody else

the world; and that they believed a good, true-
hearted man, like the young candidate, was the
very person to make her so.
I can give her money enough," said her father,
" but money alone cannot bring her happiness, and
that is what I want for her."
The good mother assented; and they came to


so, by his pleasant, sunny temper, and his merry
plans. But for the last few months he had been
grave and silent, and, though the children loved
him dearly still, they could not find his company as
amusing as it once was.
Fraulein Bertha, too, had lost a great deal of
her pretty color, and often looked very absent and
sad when she thought no one was watching her.
The good father and mother soon saw what was
the matter, and spoke to one another about it.
They agreed that they would rather see their dear
daughter happy than to have any other blessing in

the conclusion that they need only be quiet, and
things would soon come right of themselves. But
months passed away, and things did not seem to
be coming right at all. The young candidate
grew graver and paler, and his eyes began to look
quite sunken and hollow. Bertha could not eat
any of the nice things that her anxious father piled
up on her platter each day, in the hope of tempt-
ing her appetite; and she was so nervous that the
slightest thing startled her. One day her mother
begged her to say all that was on her heart. The
pretty Bertha burst into tears, and, bowing her




head on her mother's shoulder, told her trouble.
It was not much to tell-only that she knew that
the candidate loved her dearly, and was too proud
to tell her so, because he was so poor.
And how about my Bertha," said the mother;
but Bertha only clasped her more tightly and
sobbed harder than before. It is nothing to be
ashamed of that my dear little daughter should
have learned to love a good and noble man, who
for months has evidently loved her better than any-
thing in the world; and it is better that we should
talk of the matter reasonably together."
So at last Bertha was quiet and calm, and looked
happier than she had done for months, as her
mamma talked in the pleasantest possible way to
her about the many virtues of the young can-
Still matters remained at a stand-still; the father
showed as much friendship as possible to the young
man, and the mother had long motherly talks
with him about his health, and scolded him in the
most affectionate way for not taking better care of
But the kinder they were to him, the more
determined he became in his own mind that it
would be a very mean thing for him to take advan-
tage of this confidence and friendship by trying to
persuade their daughter to be the wife of a poor
young minister. So the whole family was very
uncomfortable indeed, and all because one young
man was too modest to see what everybody else
saw very plainly.
At last, when the good mother could not bear
any longer to see so many people made uncomfort-
able without reason, she told Fraulein Berthfa that
she must really set her woman's wits to work and
find some way out of the difficulty, else it would
end in a very painful way for them all, by the
lover's dying of a broken heart.
It was the fifth of December-St. Nicholas' Eve-
and all the little brothers and sisters were gathered
around the table in the sitting-room, in a great
state of excitement preparing for the expected visit
of the Saint in the coming night, on his silver-
white steed.
Besides the little ornamented shoes, which hold
the forage for the horse, the children in a great
many houses set out their own shoes also-on this
night, just as you hang up your stocking; in
fact, in some parts of Germany the children do
that too, but it is not a common custom. The
Saint is very apt to leave a little gift in each of the
little leather shoes, if he finds them very neat and
shining; not the great handsome presents which
the Christ-kind brings at Christmas, but a pretty
little something to keep them in mind that Christ-
mas is coming-a half-dozen marbles, a little pin-

cushion, or a little box of bon-bons. The children
take great pride in having their shoes in the best
possible condition at this time; and instead of
trusting Hans to black and polish them as usual,
there is a great borrowing of blacking-brushes from
the kitchen, and so much polishing and brushing
takes place in the nursery that the nurse declares
they make the floors and their aprons blacker than
their shoes.
This time the little leather shoes had been
polished till the little owners could almost see
themselves in them ; and nurse had washed hands
and faces, and put clean aprons on all that still
wore this nursery-badge; and now they were very
busy arranging the forage for the beautiful white
horse. Kind sister Bertha was helping them, and
trying to laugh with them at their merry chatter.
See, sister Bertha," said little Fritz, I am
going to put rye for the Saint's horse in my candy-
shoe, and Max is going to put water in his; so
there will be both food and water there for the good
horsy, and he will be well refreshed before he goes
on to the next house."
"I will put sugar for him in mine," said little
"No, indeed, Kitchen, I would not do that.
St. Nicholas' horse can always get sugar enough,
for his master carries a great bag full of sugar
things on his back. He would much rather have
some rye, and some good fresh water," said wise
little Wilhelm. "Is not that true, Herr Dreifuss?"
he added, appealing to the grave young teacher,
who sat quietly by, and who now nodded assent.
"You did not see St. Nicholas to-day," said
Bertha upon this, turning to him. "Did you
know he came this afternoon, between dinner and
coffee, while you were taking your solitary walk?
He was in a great hurry, but he got news of all the
children for the Christ-kind, left a bag of apples
and nuts for them, and promised to come again
to-night to bring us all another foretaste of Christ-
"I am sorry I did not see him," said the young
teacher, trying to be interested in the pleasures of
his little pupils.
However, he inquired especially about you,"
said Bertha, "and we gave him such a good
account that he left word you must be sure to put
your very largest pair of shoes before the door of
your room to-night for him to fill for you."
"Oh, Herr Dreifuss," said little KItchen, eagerly,
you must make a shoe for the good Saint. You
can cut .. Il,;. so nicely with your knife. See,
*here is a great big lump of sugar. Cut a shoe all
out of sugar, and I will give you some rye to put
in it. Then, when the horse has eaten the rye, he
can eat the shoe too."



Herr Dreifuss thanked the helpful little maiden,
and, to the great pleasure of the children, began
to carve a shoe out of the big lump of sugar,
while Bertha silently looked on.
Usually Herr Dreifuss was very skillful in such
matters, and had made many a piece of doll furni-
ture for the little folks ; but to-day his hands trem-
bled, the knife slipped, and, in short, everything
seemed to conspire to make him look clumsy and
stupid in the eyes of Fraulein Bertha. So he hur-
ried through with his task at last without caring
much how it succeeded.
It looks more like a heart than a shoe! cried
Fritz. Does n't it, sister Bertha ? "
And so it did-like a great, irregularly-shaped
heart; and the place where the foot should go in
looked as if it were the rent where this big heart
was beginning to break asunder.
The candidate saw that Fritz was right, and won-
dered at his own awkwardness.
"Yes, it is a very poor shoe," he said; "we
will not set it out for St. Nicholas; he will have so
many prettier ones."
I think it does very nicely," said Bertha, and
I am sure St. Nicholas will think so too. You
must be sure to put it on your table, and your
largest pair of shoes before your door, just as the
children do."
"Well, I will certainly obey you," said Herr
Dreifuss, trying to smile cheerfully in response to
her kindness.
He went to his room, as usual, with a heavy
"Yes, it is just like her angelic sweetness," he
thought. She sees my hopeless love, and pities
it; and now she has made some little token to give
me, to show me that she is sorry for me, and will
be my friend. Ah! I ought to be happy that
she is willing to be even this much to me, since
I know that she never, never can be anything
And this very stupid young man-stupid only on
this subject-after setting his big slippers outside
his door, went to bed and dreamed all night long,
as usual, of golden hair and kind blue eyes. In
the morning he woke with a slight feeling of
pleasant expectation, and the first thing he did was
to open his door to get his slippers. But-no
slippers were to be seen !
It was all a jest, in order to hide my slippers,"
he thought, "but it is not a kind or pleasant jest.
However, she could not have meant it unkindly-
that would be too unlike her; so I must take it as
she meant it."
And with his yesterday's heavy heart he went
down to the breakfast-room. All the children were
already there around the table, chattering like so

many blackbirds, showing the mother and the
father the Christkindchens, and big cake images
of himself, which St. Nicholas had laid on their
tables and dropped into the shining shoes before
their doors.
And his horse ate all the rye I put in the candy
shoe," said delighted little Fritz.
"And drank all my water cried Neas.
And ate my sugar, too," said Kitchen, and
left a great big cake-rooster, almost as big as the
one in the poultry-yard, on my table."
"And what did he bring you, dear Herr Drei-
fuss?" said the little pet, running up to her teacher,
and taking his hand. Did he really have some-
thing large and beautiful to put in your shoes?
and was it a cake rooster ? "
"No, little Kiltchen, he did not put anything
in my slippers. On the contrary, he carried
them off with him. I think he must have wanted
them to make a new pair of saddle-bags for his
Little Katchen opened her blue eyes very wide,
and looked as if she felt very doubtful as to the
propriety of such conduct on the part of a Saint.
However, just then the conversation was brought
to a full stop by the entrance of sister Bertha;
everybody looked curiously at her as she came
in; for instead of her usual light-springing step,
she came slipping and sliding along in the most
extraordinary manner, as if she were suddenly
"What is the matter, sister Bertha? cried all
the children together; but the father and. mother
did not say a word, and Bertha did not answer any
of the others. She only came quietly slipping
along. The young candidate looked, too, to see
what was the matter; and there, on her pretty
little feet-even over her own dainty shoes-were
his great slippers Bertha did not say a word, but
came and stood quietly, with clasped hands and
downcast eyes, right before the candidate Yes,
blushing, but very brave and steady-for were not
her father and mother by, and did not they ap-
prove ?-she stood waiting for him to take her.
But the candidate what could he think? He
felt as if the room were whirling around him. All
was mystery. He looked at the slippers; but that
did not help him-this stupid young man; then
he looked at the little white hands clasped loosely
together, but they did not explain the matter either;
then he looked at the sweet, downcast face, with
the soft blushes coming and going upon it, and
Bertha raised her eyes and looked into his. Then
he understood it all-right off-without a word;
and jumped up and clasped the little hands in his
and kissed them a hundred times. Then he gave
a hearty kiss to the good mother, and then, as they




were both Germans, gave the father also a hearty Certainly they did. And now, girls, remember
embrace and kiss. I do not relate this story as an example to any of
"So Bertha and the young man got married, my girls in America. I merely "tell the tale as it
and lived happily ever afterward? was told to me."


A Chapterfor Girls, Little and Big (with a few
Useful Hints for Boys).

WHEN the red and yellow leaves have fallen,
and boughs are brown and bare; when the katy-
did's noisy chirp is hushed, and the last bird has
flown away, then the brave, stalwart evergreens
seem to stand forward and take possession of the
deserted woods. Their very look is suggestive.
They make us think of Christmas merry-makings,
lighted tapers, crackling fires,-all the pleasant
things of the friendly winter; for winter is not a
foe, as some think, but a friend, and if you meet
him kindly, a very good friend, too. Perhaps it is
the sight of the Christmas-trees which at this time
of the year sets little people (and big ones also) to
thinking "What shall I make for Christmas ? I
want a present for mamma, and one for father, and
something for Jack and for Ethel, something pretty,
but not too hard for me to make. Oh, dear, how
few things there are which boys like, and how I
wish some one would just come along and give me
an idea."
Now, knowing that several thousands of his read-
ers are likely to be talking or thinking in this way,
St. Nicholas has sent us "along" for this very pur-
pose, to discuss the matter of Christmas presents,
and give an idea of the way to make them. We
will begin with a few easy suggestions for little tots
of six or seven, who have but/lately learned to sew,
and will need help from older sisters to finish their
gifts nicely. Then we will suggest some ideas a
little more difficult, for workers of ten and twelve,
and, lastly, some, more elaborate still, for those of
you who are graduates of the needle, and not afraid
to risk spoiling nice materials. Of course we can-
not in one article mention a tenth part of the many
things that can be made, for the world is crammed
with pretty and ingenious devices of all sorts. Also,
of those we do mention, some maybe already famil-

iar to many of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS. But
such must recollect that what is old to them will be
new to others, and vice versa, so that it is to be
hoped that there will be something for everybody,
something which can be turned to account for the
coming Christmas, with its stockings, and laden
trees, and pretty surprises. You often will find
many and various articles given under one head-
ing. Now we will begin with our first division:

Easy Presents to be Made by Little Girls of Six
or Seven.
For these scent-cases it will be necessary to
buy an ounce of sachet powder (heliotrope, mille
fleur, violet, or Florentine orris-root). Cut out two
layers of thin cotton wadding three inches square,
sprinkle the powder between them, and tack the
edges together. Make a little bag of blue or crim-
son silk of the same size, run it round the edges,
leaving one end open; tack the scented wadding
smoothly in, and sew the open end over and over.
Trim around the case with a narrow plaited ribbon,
and catch it through in four or five places with tiny
ribbon bows of the same color.

Cut some bits of an old blanket or quilt, or other
thick material, into pieces eight inches square, and
tack them together with strong stitches. Cover
them with a case of scarlet flannel of the same
size, and sew a red worsted cord round the edges,
leaving a loop in one corner to hang the holder
by. The loop must not be very long.
Ask sister to draw you the shape of a tea-kettle
on paper; lay this down on a piece of black cloth
and cut the cloth neatly after the pattern. Put this
black cloth tea-kettle on the middle of the red flan-
nel square, and hem it down nicely. If you have




learned to do marking letters, you might work the
words "Polly put" in black worsted above the
kettle, and the word "on" below it. This would
puzzle people; and when they found that it meant
"Polly put the kettle on," they would laugh.

These are easy presents, and very nice ones.
You must cut out of soft chamois leather, two per-
fectly round pieces an inch and a half across, and
bind the edges neatly with narrow ribbon of any
color you like. Fasten the circles together at the
side with a small bow. This is all, but you will
find that grandpapa will like it very much. It
takes almost no room in his pocket, and is always
at hand when he wishes to wipe his glasses, which
he is sure to do several times a day.

This is a nice thing to make for papas and grown-
up brothers.
For a pattern take a grape leaf, lay it down on
card-board, draw round its edges with pencil, and
cut the paper in the same shape. Buy half-a-dozen
sheets of tissue-paper, red, blue, white, green and
yellow; fold them over four or eight times, accord-
ing to size, lay your card-board pattern down over
them and cut the shape round with sharp scissors.
It is on these soft sheets of thin paper that the
razor is to be wiped clean. Make the cover of the
same form, in 'green silk, or cloth, or Japanese
canvas. Overcast the edge, or bind it with ribbon,
and imitate the veins of the leaf with long stitches
of green sewing-silk. The tissue-paper grape-
leaves are inserted between the outside leaf-covers.
There must be a loop of ribbon at the stem end of
the leaf to hang it up by.

The directions for making a shaving-paper case
will enable you also to make a leaf pen-wiper, ex-
cept that you now require a smaller leaf for your
pattern (say an oak or a maple leaf), and you put
leaves of black cloth instead of tissue-paper between
the two outside leaves. These outside leaves should
be of the color of the leaf whose pattern is chosen-
red or yellow for maple, and brown for an oak,
unless you prefer green.

The materials for these pretty, useful things, are
a yard and a quarter of plain or figured white mus-
lin, a yard and an eighth of tape, and a yard of
ribbon two inches wide, of any color you prefer.
Cut the muslin into two breadths, sew them to-
.i'. and make a hem two inches wide on both
edges. Run a thread all across one end, half an

inch below the hem; into this put the tape, and
draw up the frill, leaving a knot in the tape at each
end. The ruffle is to be nailed to the wall through
these knots, above the wash-stand, where the wall-
paper is in danger of being spattered when persons
are washing. Make two pretty bows of the ribbon
and pin them over the tape-ends. You can draw
up the lower part of the muslin piece also, if you
wish, so as to make the top and bottom just alike.
These frills are easy things to make, and they look
very neat and pretty when they are on the wall.

This bag may be made of merino or cloth or
Java canvas (embroidered), or crochet-work lined
with cloth of a bright color. Let it be of an oblong
shape, just large enough to allow the slipper to go
in and out easily; and put a ribbon or cord loop
at each of the top corners, so that it may be hung
conveniently for every-day use.

For little girls who can knit, there are few things
nicer to make than a pair of garters. They are
prettiest of bright scarlet or blue yarn. Set up one
stitch on the needles, widen till you get to twenty,
and knit regularly till the garter is twelve inches
long. Slip ten of the stitches off on a third needle,
and knit for twenty rows on the remaining ten, then
take up the left-behind stitches and knit twenty
rows on them, which forms a loop. Slip all the
stitches again off on one needle, knit twenty rows
and bind off. These garters are also pretty knit
with fine white tidy-cotton, bound all round with
narrow red ribbon. Many persons prefer them to
any other kind.

Take a baby's shoe of red kid. Then cut out
four round pieces of black cloth, each three inches
in diameter; pink the edges, fold and fasten them
together as described in paragraph headed "Bead
Pen-wipers," and push the pointed ends into the
toe part of the shoe, so that the pinked edges of
the cloth may project at the top. One pair of baby's
shoes (price forty cents) will make two of these
pen-wipers. Papa would be glad to have one on
his library-table.
Now we pass to our second division:

Things which can be Made by Girls from Ten to
Fourteen who are expert with their needles.

We will begin with a novel and pretty needle-
book, for the idea of which we are indebted to Mrs.
Annie Pho-bus, who has suggested other ingenious
devices in fancy-work for ST. NICHOLAS:





The needle-book from which this illustration is
copied was made of lead-colored merino. By the
by, girls, we would recommend you to save all the

an inch in diameter and cover them like the others,.
making an awl-hole in the middle of each for the
wire on which the wheels are hung. This wire
must be covered wire, of the kind which milliners.


scraps of prettily colored merino, flannel and silk
that mayhappen to fall in your way. They are
sure to prove useful. And, another hint, lay aside
all the old postal-cards, instead of tossing them into
the waste basket. You will find them much better
for lining purposes than stiff paper.
Here are diagrams which show the parts of the
wheelbarrow needle-book. A is the bottom. Cut
it out in pasteboard, and as each part is double
you must cut out two of each. Cover both parts
smoothly with merino, turn the edges in, basting
them down firmly; lay them together and over-
seam them all round. B is the shape for the sides.


They must be covered exactly like the bottom;
only, as there are two sides to a wheelbarrow, you
will require four pieces of pasteboard. c is the
back. When the parts are all covered, join them



use in bonnets. Half a yard will be needed, and
it must be bent as in the diagram D.
First allow an inch for the handle. Then bend
the wire down and up for the front leg. Next
extend it the length of the barrow, stitching it
firmly into place. At the corner bend down and
up again for one back leg, allow two inches'for the
wheel, thread the wheel upon it, bend the second_


2 2

/ /

back leg, and return along the other side of the-
barrow, forming leg and handle as before.
Lastly, cut out three small leaves of flannel, but-
ton-hole them round the edges or point with a-
scissors, and fasten them on the back at I. The
pins are stuck in across the front between the
rounds of pasteboard, and a thimble-case and small
pair of scissors may form the load of the wheel-
barrow, which will then be complete.

A useful footstool for grandmamma, especially
in sickness, or when she drives out on a cold day,




together, being guided by the figures on the dia- is a bag, twelve inches square, filled with sand.
grams: I to I, 2 to 2, etc. This can be heated in the oven, and will retain its:
For the wheels, cut two rounds of pasteboard warmth for hours. Make it of strong unbleached-





sheeting. Then make a slip-cover of bright-colored
rep or merino, bordered with fringe or a ruffling of
the same; or you may embroider a canvas cover,

weiitk "..ut o th oven.
-- -
_- \ ,, .' "'-,

.... .......-
S --. ,- .


if you please. One side of this case should be left
open, so that the bag of sand (or salt) can easily be
slipped out when it is to be heated, and secured in
its place again, by means of loops and buttons,
when it is taken out of the oven.

The material of the sleigh is very thick white
card-board. Below is a diagram of it before it is
put together.
The black lines indicate the place where the card-
board is to be cut through. The dotted lines show
where the penknife must only half cut through the
board, so that it may bend easily. The parts
marked up are all to be turned in one direction.
They make the back, front and sides of the sleigh
body. The parts marked down must be turned in
the opposite direction, to form the runners. Lap
the corners marked respectively AA, BB, CC, DD, a
little, and fasten them with a small brass manu-


script clip, such as you can buy at any stationer's
shop; or, if you like, take the clamps from an old

hoop petticoat. If the runners do not stand firmly,
stay them with pasteboard, which can be neatly
pasted on.
The sleigh will be prettier if you paint bands of
bright color around it with a camel's-hair pencil
and water paints. You can easily put a little
cushioned seat inside, if you wish.

These are made of black broadcloth. Cut
eighteen small circles, a little larger than a silver
dollar. Overcast the edge of each with long
stitches of sewing-silk, and upon each stitch thread
eight beads of any color you like. Blue, green
and opal beads are preferable to gilt or silver,
because these tarnish. When the circles are
trimmed, bend each into lialf, and then into half
again (see diagram), and fasten all together at the
points A, so as to form a ball with the beaded
edges outside. You will find this pretty pen-wiper


precisely the thing to lay on papa's writing-table
as a Christmas surprise.

The materials required for these bags are half a
yard of dimity or pique, and a white cotton cord
and tassel. Cut the stuff into two pieces, nine
inches wide. One should be eleven inches long
and the other fifteen. Shape one end of the
longer piece into a point like the flap of a pocket-
book. Sew the two pieces together with a strong
seam, leaving the end with a flap open, and trim
all round with the cord, passing it across so as to
leave a tassel on either side, and form a double
loop by which to hang the bag. An embroidered
monogram or initials in scarlet will add to the pret-
tiness of the effect, and the whole can be thrown
into the common wash and done up as often as
desired, which is an advantage always in the case
of articles used on journeys.
Other useful fancy articles can be made of white
dimity ; a set of table-mats, round or oval, of four
or six different sizes, each scalloped around the
edge with linen floss or colored worsted; or wash-
stand-mats or tray-covers, scalloped in the same
way; or square flat cases for papa's cuffs.




When goblets or wine glasses break at the stem,
as they usually do, the tops can be put to use for '
hanging-baskets, as shown in these pictures. '"
Crochet a cover to fit the glass, in silk or worst- .
ed, with long crochet stitch, and a little looped or .- ,. '.
pointed border. This will not be a difficult thing '""

bottom, and fasten on three ball-tassels of the
worsted. Hang with cords, or with balls strung on
cord, as in No. I. Then fill the glass with water
S- or wet moss, and stick in tiny ferns or flowers, and
Syou will have a very pretty effect at small trouble
and almost no expense.

/,, Almost the most useful things in crochet are
TI mats for wash-stands, and any girl who understands
common and long crochet can make them. Two
balls of white tidy-cotton, No. 8, will make a set.
There should be a large round mat for the wash-
bowl to stand upon, a small one for the little
pitcher, one smaller yet for the mug, and two,
either round or oval, for the soap-dish and brush-
tray. Set up a chain of five stitches, loop it, and
crochet round, widening enough to keep it flat.
When the mat is large enough, finish with a
border of loops, in three rows of long crochet,
arranged in groups with a dividing loop. The
first row should have three stitches in a group, the
second four, and the third five. The mats must
be done up," whitened, and starched stiff.

Table-mats crocheted in a similar manner, of
white tidy-cotton, make excellent and useful pres-
ents. They are improved by being crocheted over
GLASS-LINED HANGING-BASKET, NO. lamp-wicking, which makes them doubly thick.
to do for any of you who are practiced in simple The set consists of two large oval mats for the
crochet. Make a small scalloped circle for the meat-platters, and four smaller ones for vegetable



dishes. An initial, embroidered in scarlet cotton in
the middle of each mat, makes them prettier.
They should be starched very stiff.

For these bright little affairs two large fair
Madeira-nuts or English walnuts are required.
Halve them carefully by forcing the points of
your scissors into the soft end. Scrape the inside
perfectly clean, heat a hair-pin red-hot in a candle-
blaze or gas-jet, and with it bore two small holes
opposite each other at each end of the shell; var-
nish with gum shellac dissolved in alcohol, then set
them in a warm place till perfectly dry. Make a
bright-colored silk bag three inches and a half
square, with a hem at one end and a place for a
drawing-string. Sew on the nuts, at equal dis-
tances, a little way above the unhemmed end; run
a thread round that edge, draw it up tight, and
finish with a little bow. Form the other end into
a bag by running a narrow ribbon into a drawing
hem. Last of all, set a tiny bow at the top of each
shell, and fill the bag with cotton-wool sprinkled
thickly with sachet-powder.
A tiny glove or bon-bon case can be made by
using two half shells of a Madeira-nut, treated in a
similar manner, piercing them with holes in the
middle as well as top, and tying them together
with very narrow colored ribbon. Of course they


~_ ,-.. -- .
-j, j ,,jy 4 ~


hold only a very small pair of gloves. They are
pretty objects to hang upon a Christmas-tree.

These are very pretty for Christmas-trees, and
they delight little folks. Take a half shell, glue a
slender mast in it, and put in a sail of gilt or silver
paper. They will sail nicely.


Three-quarters of a yard of white Java canvas
will make four of these mats. Cut it into halves,
and one of these halves into three small squares.
Leave a margin all round to be raveled out for a
fringe, and work just above this margin a simple
border pattern in worsted, of any color you please
-blue, rose, or crimson. The three smaller mats
will hold the pincushion and toilet bottles, and the
long one is laid across the front of the bureau, to
receive brushes, combs and hair-pins.
If you wish, you can easily make a cover to
match, for laying over the top of a pincushion.
This may have the additional ornament of a mono-
gram, or initials, embroidered in the center. Pretty
border and initial patterns can be bought at a low
price, if you have no designs at hand.

Cut a paper pattern of a tiny glove and of a
little gauntlet-cuff to correspond. Cut the glove
pattern out in thick cloth, and the gauntlet-cuff in
thinner cloth, and line the latter with bright silk.
Stitch the cuff to the glove with silk of the same
color as the lining, and also make three rows of
stitches on the back of the glove to imitate those
in real gloves. Lastly cut out three or four pieces
of cloth like the gauntlet, over-hand or point the
edges with a scissors, and fasten them to the glove
in under the gauntlet, to form the pen-wiper.
This is a tidy little affair for a portfolio or traveling
A very pretty pen-wiper can be made in the form
of a closed parasol. Sharpen a thin wooden lead
pencil that has an ivory tip. Cut a circle of silk,
and another, somewhat smaller, of thin black cloth.
Point or scallop the edges all around, pierce a hole
in the center of each circle and run the point of
the pencil through, leaving the silk circle on top.
By a little ingenuity you can now crease, fold and
secure these circles close to the handle, so that the
whole will look precisely like a closed parasol; by
experimenting first with a piece of paper you can
best get the size of the circle required to suit your
For this pincushion you will require a small bit
of bright yellow silk, and another bit of deep pur-
ple velvet or silk. Cut the shape in pasteboard
twice over, and cover each side with the silk, the
upper half (A) being the purple, and the lower (B)
the yellow. The purple silk must be lapped under
a good way, so that the stitches may not part and
show the seam. Overseam the edges together,




leaving a small open space, and stuff the cushion
full of worsted, ramming down to make it as hard
and firm as possible. The outside is ornamented
with stitches of black and yellow silks, which can
be varied to taste. In the illustration, cc, are long
stitches in yellow floss; D is a diamond-shaped


group of black stitches, crossed at E with white
floss, and F are long black stitches, three on each
side. Some people add a tiny black velvet tip to
the lower leaf of the pansy. There is an oppor-
tunity for displaying taste in the arrangement of
these stitches. Better than to follow any descrip-
tion would be to take a real pansy, study it well,
and arrange the stitches to imitate the flower as
closely as possible.
The materials for these work-cases are, a piece
of yellow or gray Japanese canvas, twelve inches
long and seven broad; a bit of silk of the same size
and color for lining, and -six skeins of worsted, of
any shade which you happen to fancy.
Work a border down both sides of the canvas
and across one end, leaving space to turn the edge
of the material neatly in. This border may be as
simple as you please. Four rows of cross-stitch in
blue or cherry will answer for little girls not versed
in embroidery. When the border is done, baste on
the lining, turn the edges neatly in, and sew over
and over. Then turn the lower third of this lined
strip up to form a bag, and sew the edges together
firmly. The embroidered end folds over to form a
flap like a pocket-book, and must have two small
buttons and loops to fasten it down.

These are nice presents to make for grandpapas
and grandmammas. Cut out a piece of card-board

a little longer than the spectacles are when shut
up, and of the shape which you see in the picture.
Then cut another piece an inch shorter than the
other and one-third wider. At the lower end of
,this second piece, cut three slits an inch and a half
long, lap them, baste firmly, and trim off so as to
make the end fit to the bottom of the back-piece.
Cover both pieces with kid, velvet, silk, chamois
leather, or Java canvas, and ornament with floss
silk, beads, or embroidery braid. Lastly, sew the
two pieces together at sides and bottom, stitch a
fine cord round the edge, and your case is done.
The front-piece, being a little wider, will stand out
from the back just enough to allow the spectacles to
slide in and out easily. For grandma, it may be
well to have a long loop of ribbon attached to each
top corner of the case so that she may hang it from
her belt.
For, those of you who have spent your Sum-
mer in the country, and brought home a store of
birch-bark, there are numberless pretty things to
make. Handkerchief-cases, scissor-cases, glove-
cases, spectacle-cases, wall-baskets, watch-pockets,
toilet-boxes, table-mats, portfolios, book-marks,
napkin-rings, needle-cases,-I cannot enumerate
half. The rules for making one apply to nearly
all. The shape of the article chosen is cut out in
stiff pasteboard; the bark, made very thin and
smooth, is cut to match, and divided into long nar-


row strips of equal width, attached to each other at
one end, which is left uncut for a short distance.
These strips are braided in and out with ribbon of
any chosen shade, each end of the ribbon being
carefully fastened down. When the braiding is




thus secured to the pattern, the whole is lined with
silk, and the edges are trimmed with plaited ribbon
or narrow silk cord. The glove and mouchoir cases
are made square, and the corners are bent over to
the middle and tied with ribbons. A little scent-bag
is laid in each. Birch-bark articles can also be
made by simply covering the card-board pattern
with a plain piece of bark and binding the edges
with ribbon or velvet.

For this amusing toy, suggested by Miss Don-
levy, the following materials are needed. Four
feathers, a long cork, half a yard of wire, two square
inches of gilt paper, two black beads, some red or
yellow sewing-silk, a couple of bits of card-board, a
wooden spool, four round pieces of tin with a hole
in the middle, a piece of red sealing-wax, and a
small quantity of gum arabic.
The body of the circle-fly is made of the cork,
and it is into this that the long wire is fastened.



The horns are short bits of wire fastened securely
into the head, and tipped with sealing-wax. The
black beads form the eyes; they are sewed into the
cork head. Wind red or yellow sewing-silk round
the body at regular intervals to form ornamental
stripes, as seen in the picture. For the wings, cut
out four pieces of pasteboard, two of white paper
and two of gilt paper. Put each feather between
two pieces of pasteboard, and glue with thick melted
gum arabic. When perfectly dry, cover each paste-
board on one side with gilt paper. When this is
dry, cover the other side of each with white paper.
After the wings are for the second time perfectly
dry, sew over the edges of the pasteboard part of
the wings with colored silk, which will both orna-
ment and strengthen them. To fasten the wings,
run a wire not quite two inches long into the cork
body, slip on each end one of the round pieces of
tin, and bend the wire so that it stands perpendicu-
lar to the body. The bend must be half an inch
high. Now give the wire another bend, making it
parallel to the body, run it through the pasteboard
part of the wing, put another round piece of tin on
the outer side, and fasten by bending the wire over

the tin. Whittle the wooden spool down till it is
quite thin, run the wire through its middle and
bend as in the picture, to form a handle. The wire
must end by a round bend to hold the spool in
As its name suggests, the circle-fly flies only in a
circle, but it flies so fast that it will amuse a nursery
full of little folks for a long time.
Now we will begin our third division :

Christmas Presents a little more elaborate in con-
struction, which can be made by Girls from
Fourteen and wardr, who are skillful with
their needles.

Pen-trays, wall-pockets, traveling-satchels, cases
for holding rolls of music, flower-pot holders, and
a great many other pretty and useful things can
be made from cotton crochet-work,
stiffened with colored starch, allowed to
dry in the desired form, and varnished
according to the directions on next page.
Baskets, boxes, watch-cases, chair seats
and backs, mats, footstool-covers, when
made in this way, are as durable as
cane or rattan work, and infinitely more

Of which we wish more particularly to speak, are
intended to be placed over a wash-stand. The
shield is oblong in shape, as wide as the stand, and
has a pointed top. The pockets, of which there
are two, one for sponges, and the other for nail-
brush, tooth-brush, etc., hang against the wall at
either end of the shield. If an open pattern is
selected for the shield, it will be pretty to line it
with a bit of bright-colored silk or cambric. The
front of the pocket is crocheted separately from the
back, starched, and dried over a wooden form.
The end of a wooden molding-dish, such as is used
in butter-making, answers this purpose admirably.
The form must be laid face down on a soft pine
board, so that the crocheted piece may be stretched
over it and pinned evenly to the board all round.
When dry it is sewed to the back-piece and var-
nished. The back may be lined with oiled cloth
or silk, if desired, but the meshes of the front-piece
should be left open to secure ventilation for any
wet article placed inside the pocket. The edges
of these articles can readily be crocheted in points
or fancy scallops. If desired, the sponge-pockets
may be made directly on the wall-shield.




The method of treatment is the same for all
articles: the covering is crocheted in strong white
tidy-cotton, a size smaller than the thing to be
covered, so as to admit of stretching tightly. A
monogram or other ornament is then worked on
the cover, which is stretched over its frame and
secured; a coating of thick boiled starch is rubbed
in, and when this is dry another coating is applied.
Lastly, the whole is treated to a coat of shellac
varnish, which, used over white cotton, gives a tint
like cane or bamboo; if a darker color is desired,
the starch is boiled with strained coffee instead of
water. A basket made in this manner will out-,
wear two ordinary straw ones, and there is this
advantage, that if at any time a portion of the work
is worn through or cut, it can be softened with
alcohol, mended with tidy-cotton, and stiffened
and varnished as before.

The materials required for this cushion are, half
a yard of fine white silk canvas, a yard and a half
of thick satin ribbon three inches wide, blue or rose
colored, a few skeins of floss silk, and a silk cord
and tassels.
Cut the ribbon into three pieces, to be basted
at equal distances on the canvas, one in the middle,
the others at either side half way between the mid-
dle and the edge. Feather stitch the ribbon down
on both sides with pale yellow floss. In the spaces
left between the ribbon stripes, embroider a grace-
ful little pattern in flosses which harmonize with
the shade of the ribbon. Make up the cushion
with a lining of plain silk or satin, and trim the
edge with the cord and tassels.
This is an easy cushion to make, but the effect
is really charming, and we recommend some of
you to try it. The cushion from which our descrip-
tion is taken comes from England, and we have
never seen a similar one in this country. Black
satin ribbon and brilliant embroidery would be an
effective combination.

Here is a Christmas present which either a boy
or girl can make. All the materials needed are
paper patterns of the forms to be used (which can
be obtained from almost any carved open-work
bracket), a sharp penknife, and an old cigar-box.
The paper patterns must be pasted or gummed to
the wood, so that the lines may be closely followed
and cut through by the knife, leaving the desired
open-work shapes. Then the paper can be soaked
off with a damp sponge. If the bracket is only
meant to hold light articles, the parts can be,glued

together merely, but it is better still to use the
small brads which you will find in the sides of the
cigar-box. When it is done, rub it with boiled
linseed oil, or, if you prefer, coat with shellac var-
A pretty box can be made by cutting open-work
designs (as described above) on the separated parts
of a cigar-box; then putting them together as be-
fore, varnishing them, and lining the open-work
sides and cover with bright-colored silk or paper..

This basket is made of straw and ribbon. Choose
a number of perfectly smooth fair straws. Cut in
pasteboard a half-circle, nine inches in diameter,
and with a stiletto or pinking-punch make a series
of small holes round the edge, half an inch apart.
Measure a strip of pasteboard a little less than half



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an inch wide, and nine inches long, and pierce it
regularly with holes of the same size, making them
one inch apart. Take a second strip of the same
width, sixteen inches long, and repeat the process.
Now measure a straw twelve inches in length, and
insert one end into the middle hole of the shorter
strip, and the other end into the middle hole of the
straight side of the half-circle (which forms the bot-
tom of the basket), letting the lower edge of the
straw project about two inches below the bottom
of the circle. On either side of this insert a straw
three-quarters of an inch shorter, and so proceed
till the holes are filled and all the straws of the
pointed back in position. The holes must be small
enough to hold the straws firmly in place without
any stitches. Next cut a number of straws six



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j14 -- War.

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inches in length, and insert them into the longer to the middle of the back near the top. This is
strip of pasteboard, slipping the lower ends through a graceful and novel wall-basket, and looks very
the holes in the round of the half-cirple, and fast- pretty when heaped up with Berlin wools and other
ening the two ends of the pasteboard strip firmly light articles, for which it serves as a catch-all.
to the back-strip. Cover the edges of the bottom
and top circles with blue chenille, and lace blue SPATTER-WORK.
ribbon in and out among the straw of the front- The first essential for successful spatter-work is a
piece to form the basket. Tack it firmly to the graceful pattern. To secure this, you must select
wall at either end, and fasten a bow of blue ribbon and carefully press all manner of tiny leaves and
: .' __:':.:' ," "- t . , .-" " "# : : -' "-,, :." '. .' '
....~ ~~ ~~ .: .. _ : : '. ,., '. .

and to circles wihbu ceil, n ae leSATE-O
ribbo in' an ou mn hesrwo hefot hefs setilfrsccsflsate-oki
:piee t fom th baket Tac itfirnly o te gaceul ptten. o seurethi, yo mut slec
-val at : eihe enadfsenabwo le ibnadcreul rs almne ftiylae n


ferns, bits of strawberry vine, ivy sprays, and other
wood treasures. For further materials you will
want Bristol board, India-ink, a fine-toothed comb,
a tooth-brush, some small pins, a tack-hammer,
and a smooth board on which to fasten your paper
while at work.
After the paper is firmly pinned to the board,
lay your pattern upon it-the cross or basket form,
if either is used, in the center-the leaves and ferns
grouped about it, and pin each down very carefully,
so that the ink may not spatter under them.
Put a table-spoonful of water into a small saucer,
and rub India ink in it till the mixture is thick as
cream. If you like a design in purple, the best
violet ink can be substituted for this with good
effect. Dip the tooth-brush (which should be one
with long stiff bristles), lightly into the ink, and,
holding it over the paper, rub it gently with the
comb, so as to send out a fine spray of ink. Some
persons reverse this process, and, dipping the comb
into the ink, pass the brush over it to produce the
same result. This is gradually repeated till the
background is shaded to your wishes. Some parts
are made darker than the rest to give the idea of
perspective, but be careful not to make them too
dark, as the ink will appear much blacker when dry.
Take the pins out carefully, and remove the
leaves. The space beneath will now appear in
white on a gray background. Now begins the
artistic part of the performance, for the leaves must
be veined with a camel's-hair brush, and lightly
shaded here and there, and the central ornament
must also be shaded in spatter-work, to give it
roundness and effect. When all is done, and the
ink perfectly dry, iron the paper on the wrong side
with a slightly warmed iron.
A great many beautiful things can be contrived
with this spatter-work. Wall-baskets, portfolios,
glove and handkerchief cases, cigar-stands, and so
on, cut from Bristol board, spattered, lined with
silk and bound with narrow ribbons, are extremely
pretty. Tidies, mats, aprons, hanging side-pockets,
pillow-covers, and cushion-covers of Swiss muslin,
spattered with a graceful pattern, are certainly
"lovely." And, a newer idea still, we have lately
seen work-boxes, table-tops, book-covers and paper-
knives in white hollywood, spattered with very dark
brown (burnt umber being used instead of ink),
and highly varnished, which had a really beautiful
appearance, the varnish changing the light parts of
the wood to a pale yellow which precisely har-
monized with the rich brown of the background.

One of the knitting novelties of the season is the
use of alternate rows of double zephyr and of
Shetland and split zephyr worsteds, using common
VOL. III.--8.

garter stitch and large needles. It is effective for
hoods, nubis, baby cloaks, affghans for cribs, and
other articles of that kind.

There are few choicer presents than a cover for
a friend's favorite Bible. The material for these
covers is soft chamois leather, cut exactly the size
of the open Bible, with a narrow piece sewed on at
each end to fold under, and so hold the cover.
Snip the larger piece all round into minute points.
Stitch the end-pieces on wrong side out, a little
way from edge, and turn over, leaving the points
on big piece to project and form an edge. A
monogram, or any appropriate motto, may be em-
broidered in the middle. These covers are simple
things, but they require exquisite sewing and fitting
to look well. Don't forget that, girls.

These are not necessarily Christmas gifts, but if
any friend happens to be taking a voyage in win-
ter, a cabin bag is the very thing, for no lady
traveler can be really comfortable at sea without
one. They are made of linen or crash or chintz,
after the manner of shoe-bags, with a row of pock-
ets below and another above, stitched to a stout
back-piece, bound round with braid, and furnished
with loops to hang up by, and a small square pin-
cushion in the middle of the top. They should be
nailed firmly to the wall of the state-room within
reach of the sofa or berth, and are invaluable for
holding handkerchiefs, brushes, hair-pins, watch,
and the thousand and one little things which, with-
out such a place of refuge, are soon hopelessly
shaken together and lost in the confused tumble
and toss of a voyage.

Another gift for a traveler is a large silk or
muslin case matte to fit the top of her trunk, and
quilted with orris-root or sachet-powder. Clothing
kept for a long time in trunks is apt to con-
tract a smell of leather, and this daintily scented
cover, which tucks in all round, will be more and
more appreciated as time goes on, by the friend to
whom you present it. Some persons do not like
perfumes of any kind, and these may prefer the
smell of leather to that of sachet-powder. Beware
of presenting a scent-case to them.
These covers are made of that coarse gray linen
which is bought for kitchen table-cloths. One of
the best patterns to choose is that very common
one which is lined off into diamonds with a star in
the middle of each diamond. Divide these stars



into groups of four, six, or eight, and work each
star over with Berlin worsted of a different color,
taking care that your colors harmonize with each
other and make a good general effect. When all
the stars are embroidered, sew narrow black velvet
ribbon over the lines which form the diamonds.
If for a table-cover, trim the edge with a row of
black velvet ribbon, a fringe or a cord with tassels
in the corners.

Many pretty and useful articles, such as pin-
cushions, tidies, watch-cases, flower-pot covers,

once learned, it becomes hard to look at the trees
any longer as trees; they seem, instead, repositories
of easels, picture-frames, and other dainty devices,
and we go out, scissors in hand, with all the confi-
dence with which we enter a shop to order what is
wanted. No initiated person, however, will ever
cut the wood recklessly; that would be killing the
golden goose indeed. No, the pieces chosen, which
are from three to eighteen inches long, should be
taken from the leaders or latest growth of the
branches; judicious pruning will rather benefit the
tree than injure it.
The wood obtained, it is to be heated a little, to


table-mats, floor-mats, wall-shields, screens, brush-
and-comb bags, skate-bags, and school-satchels,
can be made of gray crash, with fancy bits of col-
ored cloth laid on and neatly secured around the
edge by herring-bone stitch. Canvas may be thus
" inlaid" with bright velvets, and the intervening
spaces filled with gray, white or black cross-stitch.

Any one lucky enough to possess a large Norway
spruce-tree, or more than one, has material at hand
for a host of pretty objects which will be just the
thing for Christmas presents. When this secret is

dry it quickly, and then with a dull knife scraped
clean of its leaves (in the direction of the foliage),
taking care not to destroy the wood-buds. For
other materials you will need glue, a varnishing
brush, a little copper wire, penknife, tack-hammer,
and a scissors or pliers for cutting the wire. Flat
pieces of soft pine board are also needed, on which
the whole can be laid and pinned into shape; also
bracket frames of pine formed like a T, with a
shelf top. These brackets can be made of half a
salt-box lid covered with spruce sticks, with a back
and front of fanciful lattice-work, meeting in a
cluster of leaf-buds at the bottom of the T.






The desired size and shape of the frame must be
penciled on the board, so that the work may be

perfectly true. and even. Then the wood is ar-
ranged, guided by the drawing, till the general
outline is complete, and glued with tiny drops care-
fully applied, or pinned deftly with tiny tape-pins.
The outline being perfect, it is enriched with small
twigs and clusters of wood-buds glued, or, better
still, pinned, here and there, in places which need
ornament or shaping. When the glue is stiff, dis-
engage the frame from the board by inserting a
paper-cutter between them, and, pushing the heads
of the pins well in, cut off all the points projecting
through at the back with a pair of scissors. Next,
laying the frame face down, fasten an extra spruce
stick all round, to give stiffness to the back; and

lastly; varnish the whole with gum-shellac varnish,
which gives a soft and firm luster to the wood,
preferable to the shiny effect of other varnish.

Easels are constructed in very much the same
way as the frames, using a penciled diagram as a
guide in forming the parts, and taking care that
the projecting ledge on which the picture rests is
straight and firm. The bands and hinges are of
copper wire, which matches the color of the spruce.

The directions already given for spruce-wooa
work will suffice for making this wall-pocket. It
should have a high arched back, and a portfolio
pocket as wide as the back, and reaching half way
up, lined with crimson silk or satin. This article
has a beautiful effect when hung on the wall.

Use the picture as a guide. A square of paste-
board braces the back. The frame of the box is

made of pasteboard or of wood. This is fancifully
covered with spruce sticks. An interlining of
bright silk improves the effect.
Pasteboard cuff-boxes, covered with gay silk and
ornamented with spruce-work, make pretty cigar-

Summer is the harvest-time with phantom flower
makers, but even at this late season some leaves



and flowers can be found adapted for the purpose,
and for the benefit of those who are desirous of
trying their hand at this pretty manufacture, we
will mention a method of getting rid of the leaf
tissues without the long delay and disagreeable
details of the usual process. The green leaves
and seed vessels are laid upon small sheets of tin
and covered tightly with lace or thin muslin.
These are placed in a vessel of cold water, and
allowed to boil slowly for several hours. When
taken out, the upper sheet of tin is removed, and
the leaves are deprived of their tissues by means
of a fine camel's-hair brush, after which they are
bleached, wired and mounted in the usual manner.
Any one desirous of a full description of the
science of desiccating leaves and plants, will find it
in "A Treatise on the Art of Producing Phantom
Flowers," published by Tilton & Co. of Boston.

These are of the same size and shape as the
simple work-case described in the earlier part of
this article. The stitch used is the double cross
stitch, which takes up four threads of the canvas.
Work a row in pale tinted worsted, blue, rose or
pearl, round three sides of the canvas, leaving one
end plain, and a second row sixteen threads from
the first one. Between these rows work in clear
glass beads a Grecian pattern, filling in with worst-
ed. There must be two lines of beads, to corre-
spond with the double stitch which occupies that
space on the canvas. Fill the middle with an
alternate stitch of worsted, little squares containing
four beads each, line with silk, fold the pocket,
sew on the edges over and over, threading a bead
on each stitch, and fasten with silk loops and two
small clear glass buttons.

White or yellow Turkish toweling is the material
for these bags. They are made in four pieces,
each a foot long, pointed at top and bottom, and
slightly curved toward the middle on both sides.
The pieces are embroidered in silk or worsted with
some simple pattern in bright colors, bound with
narrow ribbon to match, and sewed together with
a tassel to finish the bottom, and a drawing ribbon
at the top. They are convenient little articles to
hang on the back of a chair and receive an old
lady's knitting when she lays it aside.

These are made like any other apron, secured
with a band around the waist, except that it is cut
about ten inches longer. This extra ten inches of
length is to be turned up from the bottom and

divided off by stitching, so as to form four or more
oblong pockets, open at the top. These pockets
are handy for holding balls of worsted, and pat-
terns, and the unfinished work in hand.


Boys with sharp knives, and a fair amount of
good taste and ingenuity, can make very nice
presents out of smoothed cocoa-nut shells. Three-
quarter shells, supported on legs of rustic-work,
and pierced with a few small holes at the bottom,
make very pretty flower-pots; water-pails with
wire handles, baskets with twisted grape-vine han-
dles, card-receivers on rustic standards-all are
very pretty. With sister's aid, bright silk or satin
secured to the inside of the shell, and projecting a
few inches beyond the opening, may be shirred
with a drawing-string at the top, forming a pretty
These cocoa-nut shell articles should be oiled, or
have a coating of shellac varnish.

ST. NICHOLAS already has given hints and direc-
tions for making things which would serve ad-
mirably as Christmas presents for young friends.
Among these we may refer to:
CHRISTMAS CITY (how to make a card-board
city), Vol. I., p. 405.
WOOD-CARVING, Vol. I., pp. 84, 215, 346, 592.
HOLIDAY HARBOR (giving directions for making
mimic public buildings and vessels of pasteboard),
December number of Vol. II., p. 112.
EAST INDIAN TOYs-baby-doll, lady-doll, and
cow (telling how to make them), November num-
ber of Vol. II., p. 52.
TURTLE CLOVES, Letter-Box for January, Vol.
II., p. 196.
Box for April, Vol. II., p. 389.

And now we must bring this long chapter to a
close, with ST. NICHOLAS' compliments, and the
hope that some of his girls, and boys too for that
matter, who have been puzzling their heads over
Christmas presents, may find just what they want
in it. More than a hundred useful and tasteful
articles can be made from the suggestions given.
A good deal of work and a good deal of care are
required for the making of anything really pretty.
But remember, dears, that these gifts, into which
love, thought, and patience are wrought with in-
numerable fine stitches or touches, will be worth
more to the friends who care for you, a dozen times
over than the finest thing which can be bought in a
shop, and which costs you nothing but-money.





"BLESS my heart !" said Mr. L.,:.. ,_ amazed
at the huge rollers that came tumbling in. How
are we ever going to get a boat outside of them
without swamping her?"
I'll show ye," said Joe.
The dory was dragged down to the edge of the
surf. Then Joe put in the guns. Then he gave
the skiff another gentle shove, into a receding
wave. Then he told Mr. Bonwig to get aboard.
I've a wife and children at home !" murmured
that affectionate husband and father. "If any-
thing should happen !"
What in sixty ye think is goin' to happen?"
cried Joe, impatiently.
"I am very heavy said Augustus.
So much the better; you '11 make splendid
ballast," grinned Joe.
You are going, too ?"
Of course I am; I ha'nt got no wife and chil-
dren-not much I "
There was something in Joe that inspired confi-
dence, and Mr. Bonwig resolved to stand the risk.
He seated himself in the boat. Joe stood on the
beach, holding the bow, and waiting. The waves
were out.
"You never can shove me off in the world !."
said Mr. Bonwig, painfully conscious of his own
"You'll see," said Joe. The next moment the
waves were in. A heavy swell lifted the dory, bal-
last and all. The ballast uttered a scream, and
made a motion as if to jump overboard. Keep
yer seat. All right! "-screamed Joe, pushing off.
As the next breaker lifted the stern, he gave
another shove, and jumped aboard. Before the
third breaker came, he had the oars in his hands,
ready to meet it.
"Well, well! said Mr. Bonwig. I am sur-
prised !" And well he might be; for, you see, this
embarking in the breakers is a business that calls
for no little skill and experience; you must take
advantage of them, and see that they don't get the
advantage of you. They have no mercy; and if
they ever strike your skiff sideways, over she goes
in an instant, and there she rolls to and fro in the
foaming jaws until they crunch her to pieces, un-
less some strong hand at the right moment seizes
and drags her out. .
Young Joe, first by skillfully pushing off, then
by prompt management of the oars, kept the dory

straight across the rollers, and soon had her safe
outside of them. Then he commenced rowing
strongly and steadily toward a rocky island, two or
three miles off, over the ends of which the sea was
dashing high and white.
Mr. Bonwig was seated in the stern, which he
freighted so heavily that the bow stuck up ludi-
crously high out of the water. He had now quite
recovered his equanimity.
"Well! I enjoy this said he, and lighted a
cigar. How easy this boat rows !"
It does, to look on," said Joe.
"I am surprised said Mr. Bonwig. I'd no
idea one of these little skiffs pulled so easy and
he smoked complacently.
How good that cigar tastes said Joe, with a
grin. I had no idee cigars tasted so good "
Young man," replied Augustus, laughing, "I
see the force of your remark. Perhaps you think I
might offer to row. But I want to keep my nerves
steady for the ducks. I '11 row coming back, and
that will be a good deal harder, for we shall have a
load of game, you know."
"All right," said Joe. "No, I thank ye"-as
Bonwig offered him a cigar. But if you happen
to have any more of that 'ere sweet stuff about
ye --"
Oh, to be sure and Augustus had the pleas-
ure of filling the young man's mouth with candy.
" What sort of ducks do we get at the island ?"
Coots and black ducks, mostly," said Joe (and
I wish I could make the words sound as sweet on
paper as they did coming from his candied lips).
"Black ducks go along, the shore to feed, when
the tide is low. They find all sorts of little live
things on the rocks and in the moss, and in them
little basins the tide leaves in holler places. They
never dive deep ; they only jest tip up, like com-
mon ducks. But coots will feed where the water
is thirty feet deep; they go to the bottom, and
pick up all sorts of insects and little critters. They
pick young mussels off the rocks, and smaller 'em
whole, shell and all, and grind 'em up in their
Do they catch fish ?"
"No; loons ketch fish, but ducks and coots
don't. A loon has got short wings that help him
swim under water, -or fly under water, for that's
what it is. He'll go faster 'n some fishes. But he
can't walk; and he can't rise on the wing very



well. He has to flop along the water, against the
wind, a little while, 'fore he can rise. He can't rise
goin' with the wind, any more 'n a kite can; and
sometimes, when he lights in a small pond, he's
pestered to git out at all. I ketched one in Bemis's
pond last Spring. He was just as well and spry as
any loon ye ever see, but there was n't room foi
him to git a good start, and no wind to help him;
and he could n't run on the land, nor fly up from
the land; and there was n't any good chance to
dive. A loon'll go down in deep water, and like
as not ye wont see anything more of him till
by-'m-by he comes up a quarter of a mile off, or
mabby ye wont never see him agin,-for he can
swim with jest a little speck of his body out of
water, so that it takes a perty sharp eye to git sight
of him. But this loon in Bemis's pond couldn't
come none o' them tricks, and I jest stoned him
till he could n't dive, then I in arter him, and
ketched him. He was a fat feller, I tell ye "
That's a good loon story," observed Mr. Bon-
I can tell ye a better one than that," said Joe.
"My father went a-fishin' off the end of that island
once, and as the fish would n't bite, and the sea
was calm, he jest put his lines out and laid down
in the bottom of the dory, and spread a tarpaulin
over him, and thought he'd go to sleep. That's a
nice way to sleep,-have your boat at anchor, and
it 'll rock ye like a cradle, only ye must be careful
a storm don't come up all of a sudden and rock ye
over. Ye can wind yer line around yer wrist, so's't
if a cod does come and give it a yank, you '11 wake
up. That's the way my father did. And he'd
had a nice long nap, when all at oncet-yank!
suthin' had holt. Off went the tarpaulin, and up
he jumped, and he thought he'd got a whopper,
by the way it run off with his line. But before
he'd begun to pull, the line slacked, as if nothing'
was on it; and the next minute up come a loon
close alongside the boat, and looked at him, and
my father looked at the loon, and thought he
noticed suthin' queer hangin' out of his bill. Then
the loon dove, and then my father felt a whopper
on his line ag'in, and he began to pull, and, by
sixty! if he did n't pull up that loon and bring
him into the boat! He had dove I don't know
how many fathom for the bait, and got hooked jest
like a fish."
That is a good story said Mr. Bonwig, who
had a sportsman's relish for such things. What
makes folks say crazy as a loon ? "
I d'n' know," Joe replied, without it's 'cause
they holler so. Did n't ye never hear a loon hol-
ler ? You'd think 't was a crazy feller, if ye did n't
know. I s'pose loonatics are named after 'em."
"Not exactly," said Mr. Bonwig. "Lunatics

are named after Luna; that's the Latin name for
the moon, which affects people's brains, some-
I would n't give much for such brains said
Joe, contemptuously. "Moon never hurt mine
none Hence he argued that his own were of a
superior quality. You must have been to school
to learn so much Latin !" he said, regarding Mr.
Bonwig with fresh admiration.
Augustus nodded with dignity.
What's the Latin for dory ?" Joe asked, think-
ing he would begin at once to acquire that useful
Augustus was obliged to own that he did n't
know. Thereupon Joe's admiration changed to
"What's the use of Latin," said he, "if ye can't
tell the Latin for dory?" And Mr. Bonwig was
sorry he had not said doribus, and so have still
retained a hold upon Joe's respect.
Why do folks say silly coot?" he asked, to
change the subject.
"Wal, a coot is a silly bird-jest like some
folks," said Joe. Sometimes you may shoot one
out of a flock, and the rest will fly right up to you,
or jest stay right around, till you've killed 'em
all." Augustus thought he would like to fall in
with such a flock. There's some now!" said
Joe. They're goin' to the island. The sea runs
so, we can't shoot very well from the boat, and I
guess \e'd better land."
Landing was easy under the lee of the island,
and the boat was hauled up on the beach. Then
Joe set out to guide his friend to the best point for
getting a shot.
There said he, stopping suddenly near the
summit of a ledge, ye can see 'em down there,
about three rods from shore. Don't stir, for if they
see us we shall lose 'em."
But we must get nearer than this said Mr.
Bonwig, for even my gun wont do execution at
this distance."
Don't you know? Joe said. They're feed-
in'. When you come acrost a flock of coots feedin'
like that, you '11 notice they all dive together, and
stay under water as much as a minute ; then they
all come up to breathe agin. Now, when they
dive, do as I do. There goes one down there
they all go Now !" cried Joe.
He clambered over the ledge as nimbly as a lad
could very well do, with an old Queen's-arm" in
each hand, and ran down rapidly toward the shore,
off which the water-fowl were feeding. He was
light of foot, and familiar with every rock. Not so
Mr. Augustus Bonwig: he was very heavy of foot,
and unacquainted with the rocks.
"Bl-e-hess m-y-hy hea-ah-rt !" he exclaimed,




jolting his voice terribly, as he followed Joe down
the steep, rough way.
Here quick !" cried Joe, dropping behind
another ledge.
Poor Mr. Bonwig plunged like a porpoise, and
tumbled with a groan at the boy's side.
Flat flat whispered Joe.
I can't make myself .,'i. i 1 1, 1.- !" panted Augus-
tus, pressing his corpulence close to the ground.

his feet, Joe was safe in the shelter of the rocks,
and the birds were coming to the surface again.
It required no very fine eyesight to see Mr. Bon-
wig; he was, in fact, a quite conspicuous object,
clumsily running down the craggy slope, with both
arms extended,-the better to preserve his balance,
-I suppose, although they gave him the appearance
of a man making unwieldy and futile efforts to fly.
The coots saw him, and rose at once upon the wing.




..... .


"I 've scraped off two buttons, and skinned my
shins, already."
"You a'nt quite so flat as a :1 .i ,.i-, be ye?"
said Joe. Never mind. We're all right." He
peeped cautiously over the ledge, cap in hand.
" There comes one of'em up agin There they
all come Now look; be careful! Bonwig put
up his head. Next time they go down we'll run
for them big rocks close by the shore; then we
shall be near enough."
"Is that the way you do? Well, I am sur-
prised !" said Bonwig. "As your father said, it
requires a knack."
There they go cried Joe, and started to run.
Augustus started too, but stumbled on some stones
and fell. When with difficulty he had regained

Bang Bang !" spoke Joe's old flint-locks,
one after the other; for, having fired the first as
the flock started, he dropped that and leveled and
fired the second, almost before the last bird had
cleared the surface of the water.
Bang bang answered Bonwig's smart two-
barreled piece from the hill-side; and the startled
Joe had the pleasure of hearing a shower of shot
rattle on the rocks all around him. The enthu-
siastic sportsman, seeing the coots rise and Joe fire,
and thinking this his only chance at them, had let
off his barrels at a dozen rods, as he would very
likely have done at a quarter of a mile, so great was
his excitement on the occasion.
He came running down to the shore. Hello !
hel-lo /" said he, I've saved these look there !"



.*1r A..I



And he pointed triumphantly at some birds which,
sure enough, had been left behind out of the
"By sixty !" grumbled Joe, "you come perty
nigh savin' me Your shot peppered these rocks
-I could hear 'em scatter like peas "
Do you mean to say," cried Bonwig, that I.
did n't kill those ducks ?"
"All I mean to say is, they are the ones I fired
at," said Joe, and I seen 'em turn and drop 'fore
ever you fired. Your gun did n't carry to the water
at all. I'll show ye."
Joe began to hunt, and had soon picked up a
number of shots of the size used by his friend
Bless my heart! Now I am surprised The
wind must have blown them back!" said Augus-
If that's the case," muttered Joe, I shall look
out how I git 'tween you. and the wind another
time By sixty ye might have filled me as full
of holes as a nutmeg-grater And I rather guess
there 's nicer sounds in the world than to have two
big charges o' shot come rattlin' about your ears
that fashion And he rubbed his ears, as if to
make sure that they were all right.
"Well, well, well said the wondering Augus-
tus, picking up more shot. I am-surprised
aint the word ; I 'm astonished Well, well,
well! "
You wait here," said Joe, while I hurry and
pick up them coots. There's an eddy of wind
takin' 'em right out to sea."
He disappeared, and soon Mr. Bonwig saw him
paddling around the curve of the shore in his dory.
Having taken the coots out of the water, he brought
them to land, and showed them to the admiring
Now which way ? said the sportsman, filled
with fresh zeal, for I 'm bound to have luck next
We '11 haul the dory up here, and go over on
the other side of the island, and see what we can
find there," said Joe.
What a desolate place this is said Mr. Bon-
wig, as they crossed the bleak ledges. "All rocks
and stones; not a tree, not a bush even; only
here and there a little patch of grass He struck
a schoolboy's attitude, on one of the topmost
ledges, and began to declaim :
"'I 'm monarch of all I survey,.
My right there is none to dispute;
From the center all round to the sea,
I'm lord of the -
Plenty of fowls, but there don't seem to be any
brutes here," he commented, as he came down
from his elevation.

Guess ye learnt that to school, too, did n't
ye ?" said Joe.
Young friend, I did," said Augustus. And he
proceeded to apostrophize the salt water:
"'Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!
Ten thousand -'

Thunder and blazes! who 'd have thought that
rock was so slippery?" he said, finding himself
suddenly and quite unexpectedly in a sitting post-
ure. Speaking of fleets, what are all those sails,
Joe ?"
Fishermen. Sometimes for days you wont see
scarcely one; then there 'l1 come a morning' with a
fair wind, like this, and they '11 all put out of port
Hello hel-lo/ said Augustus. Who ever
expected to see a house on this island ? What
little building is that ?"
"It's one of the Humane Society's houses;
house of refuge they call it. They have 'em scat-
tered along the coast where ships are most likely
to be wrecked and there's no other shelter handy."
Nobody lives in it, of course ?"
"I guess not, if they can help it," said Joe.
" But more 'n one good ship has gone to pieces on
this island. I remember one that struck here eight
year ago. She struck in the night, and the next
morning' we could see her, bows up, on the reef
yender, where the tide had left her; but the sea
was so rough there was no gittin' at her in boats,
and the next night she broke up, and the day after
nary spar of her was to be seen, except the pieces
of the wreck that begun to come ashore to the
mainland, along 'ith the dead bodies. About
half the crew was drowned; the rest managed to
git to the island, but there wa' n't no house here
then, .and they 'most froze to death, for it was
Winter, and awful cold. Since then this little hut
has been tucked in here among the rocks, where
the wind can't very well git at it, to blow it away;
and come when ye will, Summer or Winter, you '11
always find straw in the bunks, and wood in the
box, and matches in a tin case, and a barrel of
hard bread, and a cask of fresh water. Only the
wood and hard bread are apt to git used up perty
close, sometimes. You see, fellers that come off
here a-fishin' know about it, and so when they git
hungry, they pull ashore with their fish, and come
to the house to make a chowder. But I would n't,"
said Joe, assuming a highly moral tone, without
there was a barrel chock full of crackers For,
s'pose a ship should be wrecked, and the crew and
Passengers should git ashore here, wet and hungry
and cold, and should find the house, and the box
where the wood should be, and the barrel where
the crackers should be, and there should n't be




neither wood nor crackers, on account of some
plaguy fellers and their chowder No, by sixty !"
said Joe, I would n't be so mean "
It looks naked and gloomy enough in here !"
said Augustus, as they entered.
It would n't seem so bad, though, to wet and
hungry sailors, some wild night in Janewary, after
they'd been cast away," said Joe. Just imagine
'em crawlin' in here out of the rain and cold, and
starting' up a good, nice fire in the chimbly, and
setting' down afore it, eatin' the crackers "
How are the provisions supplied ? "
Oh, one of the Humane Society's boats comes
around here once in a while, and leaves things. I

don't believe but what it would be fun to live here,"
Joe added, romantically, like Robinson Crusoe
and his Man Friday."
Suppose we try it ?" said Mr. Bonwig. I '11
be Crusoe, and you may be t' other fellow."
And we 'll shoot ducks for a livin' said Fri-
day. Come on, Mr. Crusoe !"
They left the hut, and went in pursuit of game,
little 1i;i1:.,_ that accident might soon compel
them to commence living the life that was so pleas-
ant to joke about, more in earnest than either
dreamed of doing now. But the story of how that
came to pass will have to be related in another



You need n't be trying to comfort me-I tell you my dolly is dead!
There's no use in saying she is n't, with a crack like that in her head.
It's just like you said it would n't hurt much to have my tooth out, that day;
And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off, you had n't a word to say.

And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue!
As if I did n't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you?
You might make her look all mended-but what do I care for looks?
Why, glue 's for chairs and tables, and toys, and the backs of books !




My dolly I my own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfulest crack!
It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack
Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf.
Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself!

I think you must be crazy-you '11 get her another head !
What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead !
And to think I had n't quite finished her elegant new Spring hat!
And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat !

When my mamma gave me that ribbon-I was playing out in the yard-
She said to me, most expressly, "Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde."
And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it;
But I said to myself, Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it!"

,. ,., .. -
.. .. ,,, ,0 1_



But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do,
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too.
Oh, my baby! my little baby I wish my head had been hit!
For I've hit it over and over, and it has n't cracked a bit.

But since the darling is dead, she '11 want to be buried, of course;
We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall be the horse;
And I'11 walk behind and cry; and we'll put her in this, you see-
This dear little box-and we'll bury her then under the maple-tree.

And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird;
And he '11 put what I tell him on it-yes, every single word !
I shall say: Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll, who is dead;
She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head."






HERE is the good old story of the JOLLY ABBOT OF CANTERBURY,
told by Hezekiah Butterworth in ST. NICHOLAS for January last,
arranged for parlor representation. Some of our young folks may be
glad to learn it, and prepare their costumes, in time for the coming
holidays. Mr. Stephens' pictures (in our January number, 1874) may
be of use in giving hints for the costumes, or our boys may prefer to
study up the matter elsewhere for themselves. To add to the effect,
both boys and girls may take parts as nobles and attendants.


Characters. King John, Nobles, Abbot of Can-
terbury, Shepherd, and Attendants.

King seated on his throne. Enter Noble, bowing.

Noble. Good King, do you know how many
servants the Abbot of Canterbury keeps in his
King. No.
Noble. A hundred !
King. That is more than I keep in my palace !
Noble. Do you know how many gold chains the
Abbot has to hang over his coats of velvet.?
King. No.
Noble. Fifty!
S... That is more than can be found among
the jewels of the Crown I will visit the Abbot of
Canterbury. He has lived so long in luxury that
he has lived long enough. Bring me my royal
steed; I will visit him at once.
[Exit Noble as curtain falls.

Abbot, elegantly dressed, seated in arm-chair.
Enter King, attended by Nobles.

King. How now, Father Abbot? I hear that
thou keepest a better house than I. That, sir, is
treason-high treason against the Crown.
Abbot. My liege, I never spend anything but
what is my own. I trust that your.Grace would do
me no hurt for using for the comfort of others what
I myself have earned.
King. Yes, Father Abbot, thy offense is great.
The safety of the kingdom demands thy death,
and thou shalt die. Still, as thou art esteemed a
man of wit, and thy learning is great, I will give
thee one chance of saving thy life.
Abbot. Name it, my liege.
King. Thou shalt, when I come again to this
place, and stand among my nobles, answer me
three questions.

Abbot. Name them, my liege.
King. Thou shalt tell me, first, how much I am
worth, and that to a single penny. Thou shalt tell
me, secondly, how long a time it would require for
me to ride around the whole world. Thou shalt
tell me, thirdly, what I am thinking.
Abbot. Oh, these are hard questions-hard ques-
tions for my shallow wit! But if you will give me
three weeks to consider them, I think I may answer
your Grace.
King. I give thee three weeks' space ; that is the
longest thou hast to live. If then thou canst not
answer well these questions three, thy lands and
thy livings shall become the Crown's.
[Exit King as curtain falls.

Abbot walking to and fro, apparently in deep
thought. Enter Shepherd, staff in hand.

Shepherd. How now, my Lord Abbot? What
news do you bring from the King ?
Abbot. Sad, sad news, Shepherd. I have but
three weeks more to live, if I do not answer him
three questions.
Shepherd. And what are these questions three?
Abbot. First, to tell him, as he stands among his
nobles, with his gold crown on his head, how much
he is worth, and that to a single penny. Secondly,
to tell him how long it would take him to ride
around the world. Thirdly, to tell him what he is
Shepherd Then cheer up, cheer up, my Lord
Abbot. Did you never hear that a wise man may
learn wit of a fool ? They say I much resemble
you. Lend me your gown and a serving-man, and
I will stand in your place, and will answer the
King's questions.
Abbot. Serving-man thou shalt have, and sump-
tuous apparel, with crosier and miter, and rochet
and cope, fit to appear before the Roman Pontiff
himself. Go, and thou shalt have thy reward if
thou canst save my life.
"Exit Shepherd as curtain falls.

Curtain rises, and discovers the King and his
Nobles, apparently awaiting the arrival of
some one. Enter Shepherd, dressed as the
King. Now welcome, Sir Abbot. Thou dost
faithfully keep the appointed day. Now answer



correctly my questions three, and thou shalt save
both thy life and thy livings.
Shzefperd. Well, my liege, but to answer cor-
rectly I must speak the truth.
King. And thou shalt. Now tell me how much
I am worth, and that within a single penny.
Shiepferd. Twenty-nine pence. Judas betrayed
his Lord for thirty; and since thou art willing to
betray the Church, I think that thou must be one
penny the worse than he.
King [laughing]. Why, why, my Father Abbot,
I did not think that I was worth so little And
now, jolly priest, tell me just how long it would
take me to ride around the world.
Shefpkerd. You must rise with the sun, and ride
with the same until it riseth on the next morning,

when you will have ridden the circuit of the world
in just twenty-four hours.
King [laughing]. I did not think I could do it
so soon. But now comes the question that will put
thy wits to the test. What do I think ?
Shefherd. You think I am the Abbot of Canter-
bury, but I am not. I am a poor shepherd, and
that you may see [throwing off is cloak], and I
have come to beg pardon for the Abbot and
King .. ]. And thou shalt have
it. Tell the Abbot that thou hast brought him a
full and free pardon from the King. And as for
thyself, I will give thee four nobles each week, for
the merry jest thou hast shown me.
[Curtain drops.]


UP, down Up, down !
All the way to London town-
Here we go with baby!
-.-.- I'm the papa,
You're the ma'ma,
You're the pretty lady!

Up, down Up, down
All the way to London town-
S See how fast we're going!
Feel the jar
Of the car?
Feel the wind a-blowing?

Up, down! Up, down!
-. All the way to London town-
Here we are this minute 1
Rock a chair

When we two are in it




(A Centennial Tea Story.)


IT was strange that we should all see an Indian
in grandmamma's tea-cup on the night of 'Decem-
ber 16th, 18-, Emily and George, and little Dan
and I. I am Godfrey.
A lone Indian, with a bow in his hand, shaped
in the tea-leaves on one side of the cup, and on the
other side, some scrawling writing, like this:

Emily read it Fra Drake," and grandmamma was
Now tell us a story about the old house on the
wharf, grandmamma," Emily .said, "and let me
sit on the rug with my back close to your knees,
for I shiver so at Indian stories."
We knew it was to be an Indian story, because
grandmamma always took her text from some of
the shapes that we children saw in the tea-leaves,
and on that night we saw only the figure of an In-
dian and the writing.
"Let me get into your lap," said little Dan,
for my efelant is so tired."
Little Dan is only three years and a half; but he
owns a very large, lead-colored canton flannel ele-
phant. He sleeps with it, generally lying on his
stomach with the beast under him, and keeps it
on the nursery-table near him when he eats his
George popped it into the soup-tureen one day
at dinner, while Dan was gazing at the pudding;
in consequence, there was a feud between George
and Dan for two days, and a coolness for a week,
although George allowed Dan to kick him, and
good-naturedly assisted in bathing the elephant's
feet and legs, which were greasy with chicken-
I'll tell you the story that my mamma told me
when I was a little girl and lived in the old house
on the wharf," said grandmamma. "I have re-
membered the 16th of December ever since. I
suppose you children don't know what happened
on that night, Anno Domini 1773 ?"
"Efelants ?" asked Dan, gravely.
He always entered into the conversation with
solemnity, especially when about to fall asleep.
It was n't Sir Francis Drake's return from his

voyage round the world, was it," George asked,
Sit on him for a gaby," Emily whispered.
Grandmamma merely looked at him until he
begged her pardon, and laughed nervously.
It was not that she was so intolerant of ignor-
ance, but George had such a talent for exposing
Emily and I were afraid to guess. I had the Re-
peal of the Stamp Act on the tip of my tongue,
but I turned it into a cough, seeing George so dis-
"The old house," grandmamma began, "was
like most other houses of its day. The second
story overhung the first, the rooms were built
around a huge stone chimney in the middle, the
garden was paled in, and my grandfather was per-
mitted to wharf before his door, and to make a
'causey' ten feet square from his wharf to low-
water mark, to be free of access. When our
whaler returned from a voyage, she came into our
own wharf; and next to it but one was Griffin's
"In the winter season the family lived down-
stairs-grandmamma and grandpapa and Uncle
Godfrey and my mamma, who was the only girl.
"On the night of my story-December 16th,
1773-my mamma had a bad cold and hoarseness,
and her mother had to put her to bed quite early
in the afternoon.
I have slept in the same little truckle bed, when
I was a child, in a small wainscoted room just off
the sitting-room in which the family lived in win-
ter. Lying in bed with the door open, one could
see the huge fire-place, and the doors on either
side, which opened into Uncle Godfrey's bed-
chamber and grandmamma's. The sitting-room
extended nearly all across the back of the house.
Grandfather came into the sitting-room by the
back door just as grandmamma was pouring some
hot water into a little china tea-pot from the tea-
kettle that always hung from the crane.
'Not making tea, I suppose, Maria?' he said,
with a smile.
"'Yes, I am, Oliver, for the child; she needs
something hot for her cold, and I think it a shame
to throw away real good tea,' grandmamma re-
Do you not know,' said grandfather, that the
word tea ought not so much as to be once named




by the friends of American liberty, and here you
are openly using it before me, a Son of Liberty,
and a selectman.'
He picked up the beautiful little china tea-pot
and flung it behind the back-log, a cloud of steam
and ashes arising; then he turned to grandmamma
and said:
'I ask your pardon if I have been too hasty;
but I am just from the assembly in the old South
Meeting-house, and we are waiting there for Rotch's
answer from the Governor. His time is up, and he
must sail with the tea to-night.'
Grandmamma did not answer. She was, with
the poker, carefully lifting the tea-pot by the han-
dle out of the ashes. There was a small piece
nicked out of the spout, which seemed to pain her.
"Grandfather went out of the house and shut
the front door with a heavy slam. Dear mamma
closed her eyes then, to make her mother think she
had been asleep during this little domestic scene.
Grandmamma came and listened to her breathing,
and tucked the bed-clothes in about her.
'God bless you, my child,' she said, 'and help
us all.' Then she took down her gray cloak and
hurried out of the house.
"Poor mamma sat up in bed and wondered
what it all meant.
"She knew a little about Rotch and the ship
Dartmouth; that Mr. Rotch was the owner of the
Dartmouth, which ship had come in to Griffin's
wharf one Sunday morning, laden with one hun-
dred and fourteen chests of the East India Com-
pany's tea; that, Sunday as it was, the selectmen
had held a meeting, and that it was decided that
the tea should not be landed.
"The school-children had come down to grand-
father's wharf one Saturday morning to see the
Dartmouth lying at Griffin's wharf, with two other
tea-ships that were anchored there under guard,
and mamma had joined in all their ceremonies that
meant independence and liberty, except spitting
upon a stamp which one of the boys had; that
mamma declined to do, because she said it was a
nasty trick. She had sacrificed her only doll when
an effigy of George Grenville was needed for hang-
ing upon a miniature Liberty Tree, and had joined
in a feast under this tree (a barberry-bush in Cof-
fin's field near the school-house) to celebrate the
repeal of the Stamp Act.
She had contributed liberally toward a testi-
monial of sassafras candy which was presented to
the son of Edward Proctor, captain of the guard
of the tea-ships; and yet the whole thing was a sad
puzzle to her little brain, and it made her very un-
.happy to think that the end of it all was that her
father had nearly broken the pretty china tea-pot,
and her mother had left her alone in the house.

"Well, mamma, from her little bed, watched
the bright flames of the wood fire in the sitting-
room until it burned low and the tea-kettle stopped
singing. It was quite dark outside and very still.
"Mamma crept out of bed and stole into the
sitting-room with a blanket wrapped around her,
and sat down on her little stool on the hearth. She
wished herself back in bed a; soon as she was
seated upon the hearth; for the flickering fire-light
made strange shadows on the wall, and the dark-
ness in the corners of the room was so dense that
it seemed to her miles deep, and she did not dare
to turn her back to it, or return to her bedroom,
for it was creeping toward her slowly. All the
familiar objects in the room were shrouded in dark-
ness except the strings of dried apples hanging
from the center beam, and grinning like monster
teeth, and the flitches of bacon that stretched and
humped into wicked shapes to her terrified eyes.
Then (he darkness seemed to be infolding her,
and the stillness hummed drearily in her head, and
she tried to scream for her mother, but her voice
would not come."
"Oh, don't let the Indian come now; I can't
bear it," said Emily.
"He must come when he did come," said
George; "must n't he, grandma?"
"Yes," answered grandmamma, "and he did
come just as mamma was trying to scream; the
shed door opened, and the back door into the sit-
ting-room opened, and a very tall Indian strode
in up to the chimney-place and lighted his pipe
with a coal from the fire. Mamma tried to say,
' Don't kill me !' but her voice failed; ahd then a
ray of hope came to her, that the Indian would go
away without seeing her, and then he spoke to her.
"'Why, child, you'11 perish with cold,' he said.
Go back to bed. Where's your mother? "
He stooped and picked her up and carried her
to her bed, and was heaping some extra coverings
upon her when a wild war-whoop resounded out-
side, and was echoed from various parts of the
'That's the signal,' he said, and rushed out of
the back door.
"After that mamma could only remember a
whirlpool of noises, war-whoops, and splitting
sounds. Then a dead silence, and then her father
and mother came in with the Indian, and threw on
more logs and warmed themselves at the sitting-
room fire.
'I found the. child sitting on the hearth, when
I came home to light my pipe,'. said the Indian,
with the voice of Uncle Godfrey. I must see if
she is awake.'
"Poor little mamma's voice came back then;
she put her arms around his neck as he stooped



'575.1 TO THE "BOUQUET CLUB. 127

over her, and sobbed out 'Are you a friendly In-
dian ?'
He burst out laughing with Uncle Godfrey's
laugh, and carried her into the sitting-room, where,
in her mother's lap, she told her unhappy story as
well as she could for laughing and crying and kiss-
ing them all.
Uncle Godfrey took off his crown of feathers,
and knelt to mamma- to pass her fingers through
his soft fair hair.
Whatever did you do it for, Uncle Godfrey?'
she cried, and then her father tried to explain to her
what had happened in Boston harbor that night."
"What had happened, George? asked grand-
"A party of men disguised as Indians, at a con-
certed signal, had gone on board the tea ships, and
splitting open the chests of tea, had emptied their
contents into the water. Three hundred and forty-
two chests."
Why had they done this, Godfrey?"
"Because it had been resolved in the colonies
not to use any articles taxed by the crown, and the
consignees of the tea would not order the ships to
sail back with their cargo, and a clearance was de-

nied Mr. Rotch, and this was the only way to prove
that we were in earnest."
"And we were in earnest," said grandma, with
kindling eyes. Our country's future might have
been foretold that night, looking into those dark
waters where the tea-leaves were unfolding.
We now know the shapes they took: Lexing-
ton, Ticonderoga, Crown Point, Bunker's Hill,
Long Island, White Plains, Trenton, Brandywine,
Germantown, the war on the ocean, and York-
town, when Lord Cornwallis delivered up his sword.
"Eight years after the battle of Lexington
Washington issued a proclamation of peace."
"You look like a statue of Liberty when you
say Washington, grandmamma," said George.
Grandmamma smiled, and little Dan cried out
in his sleep, his nose was flattened against his ele-
"I wish Dan would not make those startling
noises," said Emily, whose back was still close to
grandmamma's knees; "ringforhisnurse, George."
No, I want to carry the little rascal myself,"
said George.
So we all bade good night and thanked grand-
ma for her tea-cup story.



O ROSEBUD garland of girls!
Who ask for a song from me,
To what sweet air shall I set my lay?
What shall its key-note be ?
The flowers have gone from wood and hill;
The rippling river lies white and still;
And the bird that sang on the maple bough,
Afar in the southland singeth now !

O Rosebud garland of girls !
If the whole glad year were May;
If winds sang low in the clustering leaves,
And roses bloomed always;

If youth were all that there is of life,
If the years brought nothing of care or strife,
Nor even a cloud to the ether blue,
It were easy to sing a song for you I

Yet, 0 my garland of girls !
Is there nothing better than May?
The golden glow of the harvest-time !
The rest of the Autumn day!
This thought I give to you all to keep:
Who soweth good seed shall surely reap;
The year grows rich as it growth old,
And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!





-, ,- '- l -


; .- -r .
_*'.,. i '-' ;'-

X\1 I
i :",, .', :" ....

j C i1N 1 -i I ULI i Ti.

No time for the usual compliments to-day, my
chicks. Jack has news for you A little bird
tells him that Deacon Green thinks there ought to
be a "Young Contributor's" department to ST.
NICHOLAS, and that it will not do the children
one bit of harm, provided the vanity of unfledged
authors is not fed by printing their names. Hurrah
for the deacon He's written a letter to the editor
about this matter, and Jack would n't be one bit
surprised if something should come of it Per-
haps next month--who knows ?

"The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will our Jack do then ?-poor thing

writes a dear little boy. Bless his heart! Jack
does n't mind the snow one bit. In this respect he
differs from others of his race.
Ah what wonderful folks these Scribners are,
to be able to make a Jack-in-the-Pulpit blossom all
Winter! This reminds me, strange to say, of

WELL. Wonders never cease. You 'll excuse
my bringing forward a dried up old adage, my
chicks, as I wish to apply it strictly to something
the birds told me-which is, .that certain creatures
of the worm and small fry order can be dried up
completely, kept in that state for years, and then
be brought to life again Now it's bad enough to
be a worm any way, but just conceive the state of
mind a worm must be in who is brought to life after
having been dried up for a dozen years The pretty
schoolmistress and Deacon Green were talking on
this subject in the twilight last evening. Speaking
of a minute sort of worms known as vinegar eels,
she said that it was known to the botanist Linnaeus

that these worms could be dried up and then re-
vived. Also, that she had read that somebody
named Baker, in 1775, found that the young of
A .'- tritici, inclosed in diseased grains of
wheat, could be revived, even after a desiccation
of twenty-seven years, by being moistened with
water; and other naturalists observed the same fact
for shorter periods.
Ah! the school-mistress is a wonderful little
woman. She brought out that Anguillula tritici
so glibly that it made Deacon Green fairly blink.

WHAT a world this is Hearing some persons
mention the British Broad Arrow, I naturally in-
quired of the birds about it, knowing that they are
specially interested, poor things in arrows and in
all sorts of weapons.
Now, what do you think they told me ?
Why, the English Broad Arrow is n't an arrow
at all. That is, it's not an arrow that you can fire
from a bow at a mark, but it is a mark itself. Yet
not a mark to be fired at. It is a mark stamped
or cut upon wood and iron and certain other ma-
terials which belong to the British Government
and are used about its naval ships or dock-yards.
The Broad Arrow looks very little like an arrow,
and very much like the print which a hen's foot
leaves in the mud.

"IT'S amazing," said Deacon Green, "how
stupid we human beings are, little and big; what
worthless things we strive for, and what blessings
we carelessly cast away. In some parts of Japan,
when you go home from a dinner, a servant is sent
after you with a box containing everything that
was offered to you at table and that you refused.
Ah! what if some day an angel comes after us to
show us all the blessings that were offered to us on
earth, that we were too stupid or too obstinate or
too proud to take !

As Jack wishes me to give .. .-... ...,: the "Crooked
Story," printed on page 775 of-i. '-'. i. .... .. -T.. NICHOLAS,
I comply with pleasure. Here is the first correct rendering (received
Sept. 22d):
A right sweet little boy, the son of a great colonel, with a ruff
about his neck, flew up the road swift as a deer. After a time he had
stopped at a new house and rung the bell. His toe hurt him, and he
needed rest He was too tired to raise his fair, pale face. A faint
moan of pain rose from his lips.
The maid who heard the bell was about to pare a pear, but she
threw it down and ran with all her might, for fear her guest would
not wait.
But when she saw the little one, tears stood in her eyes at the
sight. "You poor dear! Why do you lie here ? Are you dying?"
No," he sighed, "I am faint to the core."
She bore him in her arms, as she ought, to a room where he might
be quiet, gave him bread and meat, held scent under his nose, tied
1}, 11 ,. i' I .1 1.:.. war l -. hiim some sweet dram from'a
,' i.-.,,i, ,ii .i I sthe ..' i ,i. hale as a young horse. His
.1... I, ,.1 vas red as a flower, and e gamboled a whole
hour. SARAH M. GALLAUDET (aged rT).
The sam -l1" t-r-l,-h i n equally .- .. 1 ... by Nessie E.
Stevens, w -. I.. .. i. the .. I. .. F. F E. C.'s
rendering i ..i. of all (Sept. 2ist), but she failed to



change the words drachmm" and "shown." R. A.'s came in with
Sarah's, but he had wrongly changed "side (sighed) to said. The
following girls and boys have straightened the story perfectly, falling
behind Sarah and Nessie only in point of time:

F. C. Doubleday, Bertha W. Young, Charles D. Rhodes, "Rose,"
Anna Jerenson, Sallie C. Schofield, H. L. Brown, Mary Troxell,
Laurie T. Sanders, Addle Lawrence, Lily Graves, V i ..
"Pigeon," Helen F. Mackintosh, Harry G. _~..i... .' .i
i 1 sie H. Van Cleef, James E i..r... Belle Peck,
i. i i hn C. Williams, Lenora Louise Crowell, "Hamlet,"
.. .... .. J... Katie H., Jessil M. Metcalf, A F...... P;lings,
Jenme Carman, Lulu Van Eaton, Theodore W. I ..: ..... Lee
' .. -i.. Mamie A. Johnson, Harry C. Powers, Annie E. West-
S;I. i. Leiper, Poblito Herberto, Nellie .. _- Helen W.
S.. .. ie F. Elliott, ii. i ... i i. M amie
i !,'.. ..i Florence M .. -,. ii .. ... I ...i .
i..I,. -. W illiam J. H .... .. ... ... ..
A, White, and Stevie B. Frankhn.

l any other "straightenings" of the "Crooked Story" have been
received, but i each contain one or more errors. Every effort,
however, is .--..' appreciated, and I hope to hear from all the
writers again on the next similar occasion.
In praising one and all for trying to straighten the crooked story, I
I i I,. ... ,. ,,, i ,, I
words as when and .wen, are and ah,, arms and alms, sore and saw
'"Fll-- n1 t*~ -.1- the too common pronunciations); but now
-' I [..- I ** i i ., we all must be doubly careful to sound our
r's and h's, and give each word its full value.

HAVE you ever heard of sea-horses? I have.
The birds tell me there are plenty of them in the
sea. If it's so, I'll thank the editors of ST.


NICHOLAS to show you a picture of one, and then,
may be, you '1 be able to find out further particu-
lars for yourselves.


"RESPECT your teachers, boys," said Deacon
Green to two smart young fellows from town who
were just now walking "across lots" with him.
" Respect your teachers. I don't mean only that
you should treat them with outward deference,

but I want you to truly honor them. If you try to
do it and can't-why, go to another school. Honor
the man who teaches you, who preaches you, who
reaches you, say I."
The boys laughed at the deacon's funny rhyming,
but I noticed that they straightened up as he spoke,
and, from the bright look in their eyes, it was evi-
dent that they took his idea.


MONKEYS and boys, as a general rule, take hold
of things most naturally with the right hand; but
nearly all other animals may be said to be left-
handed; that is, whenever their claws, paws, or
feet serve the purpose of hands, the left is used
instead of the right. I am told that Dr. Living-
stone, the celebrated traveler, who had sharp eyes
of his own, gave it out as a fact that lions, tigers
and leopards always strike their prey with the left
paw, and that, so far as his observations went, all
quadrupeds could be called left-handed. Even
parrots extend their left claw when they wish to
take anything from your hand; and in gnawing a
bone, a dog almost invariably steadies it with his
left paw.
What is your experience, my pets? Do pigs
generally put their left foot in the trough, or not ?


"DON'T carry eggs and stones in the same bas-
That's all I heard-a mere passing remark of
the deacon's. Can my boys and girls make any-
thing out of it? It strikes me that often when
things go wrong in every-day affairs, it may be be-
cause somebody has tried to carry eggs and stones
in the same basket. Persons of tact never do this.


HERE is a letter that will amuse the chicks who
have been prying into cows' mouths of late; though
I hope they will not admire the cute farmer too
much. There are some kinds of shrewdness which
Jack does n't by any means hold up as good ex-
DEAR JACK: Your Item concerning "Cows' Upper Teeth," re-
minds me of an incident which occurred in an adjoining town.
A city gentleman who had just purchased, a farm in t.. .
wished to buy some cattle with which to stock it. He II.. ..
tended an auction where cows were to be sold. One of them, a re-
markably fine animal, soon attracted his attention, and he '....
her at a fair price. He was examining his purchase, when a ...... :.
who unfortunately had arrived too late to buy the cow himself as he
had intended, drove up, and thus accosted him:
I say, friend, did you bid off that cow? "
"I did," was the reply.
Well, did you know that she had no front teeth in the upper
jaw ? "
"No," ..1:.1 ... ... indignantly. "Is that so?"
You c ... ...
The gentleman examined the mouth of the cow, and finding no
upper teeth, immediately went to the auctioneer and requested him
to sell the cow again.
"What's the trouble ?" asked the auctioneer.
"Shehasn't .. .!, i. .. .-l." the reply.
i I '... ..... ... .. l. a smile, "I 'II put her up
He did so, and the shrewd farmer who had given the information
to the city gentleman, bid her off at the same price.




THE model schooner-yacht which is to be given as a prize to the
boy or girl who shall best work out the Prize Puzzle," in this
month's Riddle-Box, is a very handsome vessel of first-rate sailing
qualities. The hull is two feet and a half long, and the whole length
from tip of bowsprit to the end of the boom is four feet eight inches.
Height from keel to top of mainmast three feet four inches. It is not
only a good boat to look at, but it is a good fast vessel to sail, and
all its sails and rigging "work" just as if it were a real schooner. It
was built by Fitch of Broadway, who makes so many of the model
vachts which sail in the races on the lakes in Prospect Park,
Brooklyn, and in Central Park, New York. It is clipper-built and
is a fast sailer. It has six sails: a jib and a flying-jib, a foresail and
a.foretopsail, a mainsail and a maintopsail. All the necessary
"sheets" and ropes will be found in their places and in working
order. It is a good vessel, a handsome vessel, and a fast vessel, and
its name is ST. NICHOLAS. Any boy who gets this little schooner-
yacht ought to be a happy fellow, if there is any water near his home
where he can sail it. And any girl who gets it ought to be happy
too, if she has a brother or a boy friend who can help her sail it. It
is a very different boat from the awkward affairs we grown folks used
to sail when we were young. No such beautiful fast-sailing miniature
yachts were made in those days.

C. McL.-You will find in the iLth verse of the o2th chapter of
Proverbs a better reply to your letter than any we can give you.
May it encourage and inspire you as it should.

Syracuse, N. Y.
DEAR EDITOR: In the October number of the ST. NICHOLAS a
little girl speaks of cows' teeth, -nd Jack said that it was a matter of
dispute between naturalists whether cows have upper teeth or not. I
thought I would find out yesterday, so I went to the butcher and
asked him if cows had upper front teeth, and he said they had none,
but way back in their mouths they had some large teeth called
grinders. Good bye.-Yours, truly, ROSA DICKINSON.

Jack did not say there was any dispute among natnraists in regard
to this matter, for naturalists and scientific men know all about it, of
course. But he will be very glad, we know, to hear that a little girl
has gone to work and investigated this matter herself.

Stratford, Conn.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Please be kind enough to tell me from what
S:.... ... .. .: quotation is taken: "I was mounted higher in
:..: i-...;-. I I. and the moon was under my feet."--Yours,
The source of the quotation referred to is Charles Wesley's hymn
on the happiness of the convert, beginning
"0, ho- it. t I.. ,
Who .
The last stanza reads:
"I rode .. .
Freely i" I i
Nor envied Elijah his seat;
My soul mounted higher,
In a chariot of fire,
And the moon it was under my feet."

BiRD-DsEENDERS.-Another Grand Muster-Roll" of Bird-de-
fenders will be printed in the Spring, and will contain all the names
received by us from October ist to the date of its publication.

EMMA T. writes that as her uncle has promised her, at Christmas,
a bound volume of ST. NICHOLAS for this year, she would like to
know how best to dispose of her monthly numbers, after she has
read them. It's of no use to keep them," she says, "if I am going
to have a fresh, new, bound volume anyway."
We will tell you. Emma, and all other girls, and boys too, who
may have back numbers which they do not intend to bind, what is
the very best thing thai can be done with them. If you know any

boys or girls who are too poor to buy ST. NICHOLAS, or who do not
for any other reason get the magazine, send your back numbers to
such children and tell them, when they have read them to pass them
on to other boys and girls who may not have them. Then, if the num-
bers are passed on from these to others, and so on as long as they
last, which will be a good while if they are not too carelessly handled,
each number may give delight and instruction to a great many chil-
dren who otherwise would never see the magazine at all. This plan
is not only a generous one, but it is very easy and costs no money.
Some of our readers who bind their magazines may also know
poor girls and boys to whom they would like to give back numbers
of ST. NICHOLAS. if they had them to spare. To these we would
say that Scribner & Co. are willing to send six back numbers for fifty
cents, to any boy or girl who will write, enclosing the money, and
stating that the numbers are to be given away to poor children who
will pass them on. But if you do not know any boys and girls to
whom you can give yourback numbers, send them to some institution
for poor or suffering children. There are establishments of this kind
in nearly every large city, and you may feel sure that the numbers of
ST. NICHOLAS will be most gladly welcomed by the little inmates.
Among the institutions of the kind in New York are Dr. Knight's
Hospital for Crippled Children, Forty-second Street and Lexington
Avenue, and the children's department of Bellevue Hospital.

NEXT month, Jack-m-the-Pulpit will report on the answers to the
crow and pigeon story.

HIRAM, N. C.-"Epizo'ic" is a word of five syllables-ep-i-zo-
ot-ic, the two o's being distinctly sounded. It is compounded of two
Greek works, elpi, upon, and zoos, an animal. The word which
means a murrain or pestilence among animals is properly the noun
ep-i-zo-a-ty-epizootic being an adjective, corresponding with the
word epidemic as applied to human diseases. For instance, it is
right to say, "My horse has the ep-i-zo-o-ty," or "my horse has the
epizootic disease." But if you refer to the disease among animals as'
you would to a general epidemic among men, you may say the epi-
zootic is raging. In this case the noun disease is understood.

MADELINE PALMER asks if it is "right for a Bird-defender to chase
a peacock, in hope that some of its feathers may drop out during the
chase ? "
We believe that Madeline has reference to a boy Bird-defender. Let
her ask him this question: Suppose a big, cross old peacock were
to see you put a piece of cake in your pocket, and in order to make
the piece of cake bounce out of your pocket, that peacock were to
chase you around the yard, and over the fence, and up the road, and
through the bushes, and into the briars, and across mud puddles;
every now and then giving you a nip in the legs, or a punch in the
back, nearly scaring the life out of you, until at last the cake was
jolted out of your pocket, and then the peacock should stop and eat
it up,-how would you like that ? "
If he says he would not like it, then tell him that he ought not to
chase peacocks to make them drop some of their possessions.
If he says lie would like such treatment, then you can tell him that
he has not as much feeling as a peacock.

IIERE is an account from H. R. C. of the trials of a young printer:
We have in our office a boy, whose duties are to copy letters, go to
the post-office and bank, run on errands, and do anything else of an
unimportant and trifling nature that is to be done. He is fourteen
years old, and is very bright. Almost his only fault is that he is
always in an attitude of restless longing for lunch-time to arrive, and
is also somewhat too fluent in conversation. His name is Albert
Jenkins, familiarly contracted to Jinks.
Last Christmas somebody gave him a copy of the Life of Benjamin
Franklin, and a perusal i i., i..ii .. ., ;..., I ..r ... .
mi d an ardent desire to i. 1,-. .- .i .1 .. .' .. .- .. -i
worthy of ti. r. i. n to hoard up a large portion of his
iveekly was.. I. ,.. ..I, .. of purchasing a printing-press. He
even cut down his usual daily pie allowance one-half, and sometimes




did n't cat a sandwich a-week. After practicing this heroic self-denial
for several months, Jinks rushed insanely into the office one morning,
and, dragging me to a corer of the room, stated in a breathless man-
ner that a person up-town had an "Inimitable" foot-power press,
with furniture, ink-roller, composing-stick, and everything else com-
plete, not to mention numerous fonts of appropriate type. The man,
having wearied of amateur printing, was anxious to sell out, and had
offered the establishment to Jinks for the insignificant sum of fifteen
dollars. Jinks possessed eleven dollars and ninety cents, and his
business with me was to borrow the remainder of the purchase money.
I yielded to his wishes, and he went off as happy as a boy whose
teacher is taken suddenly ill and breaks ip school.
He bought that press, and, taking it home, placed it beside his bed,
so that it might be the last object upon which his eves should gaze at
night, and the first :, .i 1 .1 :.. The dreams of affluence and
luxury which are "- -. .. i. absorbingg work the "Arabian
Nights," were cold and dull realities when compared to the gorgeous
visions of future wealth which floated through Jinks's wind in con-
nection with his press. He was unchangeably convinced that the
reputation of Guttenberg, Faust, Caxton, and other printers of not
: .. ..1 .1. l -, would be entirely eclipsed by the typographical

He at once proceeded to set up some type, choosing as his experi-
SMALL PROFITS." This is the way the "proof" looked when it was
struck off:

Even the partial and prejudiced eyes of Jinks could not regard this
as a success. In fact, he was a good deal mortified, and began to
I ..1 1: 1.... .. :..1.- ...;. -. ;...:- :,. :ablenotoriety,
S .. .. .. .. i the blunders,
and took another impression. In this the types were all right, but he
had applied the ink with a ft- rr^-l;- h-1 n-l, instead of a clear
and well-defined line of d. ... ..-.. i. ., dto his admiring
eyes, the job looked like ; -.. I I .... I Then, after this
was remedied, his "form" tumbled down, and the types fell into
what is technically called pi," which was not at all to Jinks's taste.
Anybody but a boy would have become discouraged at these repeated
disasters but h-r- 'rrir; n- eternal in the boyish breast; and Jinks,
....1 ,,,..l.... 11 difficulties, was able to turn out quite a
1.* ,ii. 1 I ....,, Then he became a nuisance to the house-
hold. He printed names, mottoes, and short moral apothegms all
,-, he could lay his hands on-not sparing his shirts,
i' i n upon which his name appeared in every variety of
type. His clothes were saturated with a mixture of printers' ink and
benzine; and by reason of getting his I.-,.1 ...r ;:h painful
frequency in the press, his fingers were ".. :...l- ... I in linen
-.-- and looked like a row .r.. 1 .
!. unanimous sentiment j,.. 1 .mily that he ought to
have his printing done by a regular printer, and dispose of his press
at auction ; but rl :. 1-r.I:. I : Jinks persists in his career of paper-
smearing and i.......I... I. md it is to be hoped that his per-
severance will -.1.... .1 [I i .i him in the front rank of American

THE following names of boys and girls who sent answers to puzzles
in the September number, were unavoidably crowded out of the No-
vember issue, and are therefore inserted here: Mamie A. Johnson,
" Mena, Nina and Tina," Fannie M. Harris, Etta B. Singleton,
Charley Gartrell, Alma Sterling, "Jenny Wren," George H. Eager,
B. G. B., Mark W. C., F. Sykes, Claire de Figanierc, Laura S.
Benedict, "Hollyhock and Sunflower," Marion A. Coombs, Hattie
F. Johnson and E. Louise Tibbetts, Eugenia C. Pratt, A. B. E.,
Rachael Hutchins, Rudolph Matz, "Scamp and Nero," George F.
Wanger, Esq., C. E. Wickes, Amory Prescott Folwell, William C.
Delanoy, Belle E. Gibson, Hattie Gibson, Charles H. Delanoy,
Eleanor N. Hughes, "Phil A. Tely."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought some of your readers might like
to hear about our three rather queer pets.
The first we got was a young hawk. He was covered with down
that looked like lambs' wool. He is now all feathered and nearly
grown, but has never tried to fly, but sits out in the yard and hops
around a little. We feed him with beef principally, but he is very
fond of mice. We call him Abe.
Our next pI? -- -'m fl--n-~ squirrel. We found it with our
little kitten, ... -.' -.. ._I. I... ,, was large enough to play some,
and -1. i.... .. .. : ..... ...... .: 1..y seemed to think as
much i l 1 1 I .,, .. i. I yesterday. We had
taken him away from the cats and gone to feeding him milk; we
think that was what was the matter with him. He was nearly full-
grown. We think that the cats brought him in. We all felt very
badly on -.... i.; ;... I .. : was so soft, and pretty, and 'cute.
Our thi: i ,i. i. ... .. I ill, I think. He is a little mulatto
boy. Th.. I I I ... children brought here to be dis-

tribute, and I took him. He is about nine years old, and a real nice
little fellow. He is perfectly contented and often tells us that he likes
us, and we are very fond of him. I am only sixteen, and I suppose
it was a rather long venture; but, then, there are only my mother and
me at home. His name is Georgie Newton. F. J. KELLOGG.

WE are sure our boys and girls will be interested in the following
little poem when they know that it is the last work of their friend
Hans Christian Andersen. Soon after he had written this he died:

Like to the leaf which falleth from the tree,
0 God, such only is my ....i.i life.
Lord, I am ready when 1 ... :allest me,
Lo! Thou canst see my heart's most bitter strife-
'T is Thou alone canst know the load of sin
Which this my aching breast doth hold within.
Shorten the pains of death, shake off my fear,
Give me the courage of a trusting child.
Father of Love, I fain would see Thee near.
In pity judge each thought and act defilcd-
Mlercy, I cry! dear Lord, Thy will be done,
Save me, I pray, through Jesus Christ Thy Son."

A FRIEND of ST. NICHOLAS writes: A few days ago we were at
the Indian pueblo of San Domingo, and a very pleasant old warrior
came to camp to see us, bringing some water-melons with him
which he graciously bestowed on our mess. In return I gave him a
copy of ST. NICHOLAS, which he carefully examined upside down in
front of my tent, not showing much interest until he came to a pic-
ture of a mountain sheep. And then his brown old face was cov-
ered with a broad grin, and he poured out his ecstasy in a series of
exclamations in his own language and Spanish that lasted the greater
part of the afternoon. "Ah, cimarron cimarron cimarron bueno !
bueno! bueno! Cimarron was his name for mountain sheep, and
bueno, as you know, of course, is Spanish for good. Here was some-
thing that he knew, and he danced the book up and down to give an
idea of the sheep's motion, and imitated the noise of a gun, whereat
he let the page fall over to indicate death. He skipped about with
more liveliness than any one would have believed his poor old legs to
be capable of; kissed the picture again and again, pressed it against
his breast, brought us more melons in the fullness of his gratitude,
and eventually went away murmuring, "muchas gracias, senor,
much gracias meaning many thanks.

Clinton, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Iread in the October number of the ST.
NICHOLAS your answer to Nora Abbott's question: "Why does corn
pop when placed over the fire ? "
I have heard another explanation. Corn contains air, and when
placed over the fire the heat causes it to expand, and that breaks the
skin. Apples and potatoes when placed in an oven will often "pop "
open for the same reason.-Yours truly, FLORA HOLT.

Cuba, Mo
DEAR JACK: our cow has got upper back grinders and so has our
calf, but they have n't got upper front teath. our cow and calf is
called Devon and they have everything all right as God means them
to have. I read in ST. NICHOLAS every month since the first num-
ber came out, and think its the jolliest book in the 'world. I am a
printer and am a good speller, I believe, and can read well to myself
but not out loud, but am a bad writer; but I can knock center with
my rifle three times out of five. JOHNNY R.

Lynn, Mass.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The great elm-tree that Jack spoke of in
the September number is in our yard; and besides the currant-bush,
there is a young maple in it.-Yours very truly,

A WOun to you, boys and girls If you intend renewing your
subscription to ST. NICHOLAS, or if you intend to subscribe, do it
novw. If you wait until the busy days just before the holidays, you
may be subjected to some delay in getting your numbers. Last year
over twenty thousand people waited almost until Christmas-time
before sending in their subscriptions, and the consequence was, that
even with their strongforce ofclerks, itwas impossible for the publishers
to get all the subscriptions entered and the magazines mailed in time.
And many people grumbled very much because they had to wait. It
costs no more to attend to these business matters promptly thap to
put them off until the last minute, and in this case promptness will
not only save Scribner & Co. a great deal of trouble, but may save
yourselves some watching and waiting. Talk to your father and
mother about this.





-- .
.. .. ~ ~ r :"[' '" a,, ,,,,,,,: -- =---

9.. ,, _- .... < --' -7. .
-"-a-.: :--. ,L :

The Race of the Pilots.
Explanation.-Each of these pilot-boats represents a
noted character in the world's history, described in the
table below. Boat No. I, near by, is of the present
century; No. 15 1.. 1 ...: to ancient times; and all the
boats between are ranged accordingly, in chronological
order. The bow of a boat extending in advance of an-
other signifies that its representative was born later.
When bows are on a line, you are to understand that
the characters they represent were born in the same
year ; and when a boat sails quite clear of those before
and after it, you may know that the man it represents
lived and died during a period when neither of the
others was in existence.

Now, girls and boys, who can give the right name to
each of the pilot-boats ?
Send in your answers, young friends, carefully written
on one side of the paper, giving the number of each
boat, with the name of the distinguished person it repre-
sents, and the date of his birth and death, with not over
thirty additional words concerning him. Sign yourname
to your answer, and write your notes on a separate sheet.
An answer must comprise all of the fifteen boats.
All correct answers received before January I5th shall
.. 1 ... 1 .1 .- 1 ;,i the March number of ST. NICHOLAS,
.... ,I ..: I..,r of the very best answer shall be
awarded a prize, namely :
described in Letter-Box on page 132 of present number.
Neatness, careful penmanship, correctness of spelling,

and promptness shall also be taken into account. In
case of a tie as to.the merit of the best answers, the
prize must be awarded by lot, and a second prize of
beautifully bound, will be awarded.

I. An eminent and noble-hearted American, a native
of Kentucky, of whom Ralph Waldo Emerson said:
" He is the true history of the American people of his
time." He died from violence, forty-three years after
the death of No. 2.
2. A Hanoverian; the son of a musician. Though
a distinguished organist in early life, he did not begin
until the age of thirty the scientific study that made him
one of the most eminent men of the century. He was a
great discoverer of things that have never been on
earth. His son bears a distinguished rank in his father's
3. A great musical composer. He wrote sonatas at
the age of ten. In his prime, he produced i 1 1.. .. .lI
what is known as sacred music. His oratorios give him
his highest fame. He was blind for several years before
his death. He lies in Westminster Abbey, though he
was born in Prussian Saxony.
4. A celebrated Flemish painter. He was once an
ambassador to England, and was knighted by a king of
England and by a king of Spain. His most famous
picture is in Antwerp. He was a superb colorist.
5. An Italian mathematician and natural philosopher.
Also an inventor and world-renowned discoverer. He



= 2.2 ,.'=



was cast into prison on account of his teachings. You
can find one of the signs of the zodiac in his name.
6. The greatest man in his own calling the world has
ever seen. His wife was older than himself. The year
of his death is the repetition of two numerals, and the
request made from his grave has been honored for
7. A great German reformer, the son of a miner.
Among his many literary labors, a very important trans-
lation stands chief. His character was 1; r.;I,; I for
ardent zeal and unconquerable courage, combined with
generosity of heart and great prudence when occasion
demanded. Carlyle says of him: He was not only
the tongue, but the sword of his time."
8. An Italian statesman and diplomatist. He has
been considered the incarnation of ambition, craft, and
revenge. His name has been made odious by some
writers, while others, claiming that he has been misrep-
resented, defend him as a fine scholar and true patriot.
His masterpiece was a history of Florence.
9. An Italian poet of great renown. A lofty, solemn,
~rmn 1 .ni trrd man, whose poetry is a delight to scholars
,n I I!,-... Itii readers. His greatest poem was not
known to the world until after his death. He took an
active part in the politics of Florence, and finally was
banished from his native city for life.
o1. A noble and heroic character. An illustrious
knight and a commander in a sacred cause, he refused
to be made a king, saying "he would never accept a

THE initials and finals form the names of two Amer-
ican poets. I. An English clergyman celebrated for his
eccentricities and -.:1i: ... zeal. 2. A reiterated excla-
mation. 3. Estabhshed rules. 4. A dexterous move-
ment. 5. Ambiguous. 6. That which lives forever.
A. O'N.

ILT -* 0 E i -.
1 A ." i / i ..'

THE center, left side, and right side form a celebrated
message. Cross-words: I. A letter originally wanting.
2. One-third of a day's work. 3. A conjunction. 4.
Unworthy persons. KOIRER.

To be my first each tree can claim;
My next, a bird of noble name;
My third set people shiv'ring round;
My fourth the antelope is found;
My fifth, the brewer likes his beer
When ready customers appear. J. P. u.

THE blanks in each sentence are to be filled with words
pronounced alike but spelled differently. I. The -
tree grew by the 2. The had reference to
the 3. You will not -- if you wear 4.
The was fastened to a -- CYRIL DEANE.

crown of gold where his Savior had worn a crown of
thorns. He is the hero of one of the works of a cele-
brated Italian poet.
II. An emperor, a king of France, the founder of an
empire and also of a dynasty of kings. lie built a
cathedral especially for his own burial-place. He estab-
lished churches, monasteries, and schools, and promoted
learning, arts, and civilization. He was the most power-
ful monarch of his time, and he died thousands of years
after the flood.
12. Surnamed the Great." A famous Eastern city
is named after him. At his death he divided his empire
between his three sons, whose names all began with the
same letter.
13. A celebrated historian. One of the r'ntpe-t m-n
and ablest generals that ever lived. Six 7i I .. i
have become immortal. Three were written in his letter
to the Roman Senate, and three were uttered as his
murderers fell upon him.
14. A great general of ancient times. When le was
nine years old, his father took him to Spain, and made
him swear on the altar of the Gods eternal hostility to
the Romans. When over sixty years of age, he took
poison to escape the power of his enemies.
15. An illustrious Greek philosopher, and a man of
great culture. He received his surname from a Greek
word signifying broad, on account of the breadth of his
forehead, or, as some say, of his shoulders. He was
once sold as a slave, but was ransomed.

I. A CONSONANT. 2. Something with which to catch
fish. 3. A peculiar kind of puzzle. 4. A certain meas-
ure for liquids. 5. A consonant. T. w

(The name of a famous English author.)
MY first is in chair, but not in seat;
My second is in hot, and also in heat;
My third is in have, but not in hold;
My fourth is in brave, but not in bold;
My fifth is in lake, but not in pond;
My sixth is in -pledge, but not in bond;
My seventh is in sharp, but not in dull;
My eighth is in draw, but not in pull;
My ninth is in sin, and also in crime;
My tenth is in cent, but not in dime;
My eleventh is in knock, but not in hit;
My twelfth is in glove, but not in mit;
My thirteenth, is in pen, but not in quill;
My fourteenth is in sick, but not in ill.
THIs enigma is composed of five letters. The I, 5, 4,
2, 3 is to deserve. The 4, 5, I, 2, 3 is to send. The 3,
2, 1, 5, 4 is a watch or clock. The whole is worn by
high priests. CYRIL DEANE.





'- -. ,n .
~- 4



BEHEAD and curtail words having the following signi-
fications, and form a complete diamond: I. Part of an
animal. 2. Forms. 3. Necessary to boats. 4. Parts
of ships. 5. A cave.
The following form the diamond: I. A part of every
atlas. 2. A short poem. 3. To spoil. 4. A tree. 5.
A letter. c. D.
(Prefix a word to each of these designs and make a word of it.)
--- /arm

/- 7; ..

-- ;

....AT r --
_._ L_ --- -

I. ELLA, hav' --"' done that hem? 2. O, what have
you there? 3. %\ !! you ever finish that work ? 4. Come
to me, Rebecca. J. J. T.
I AM composed of three syllables, of which my first is
a little river in England that gave name to a celebrated
university; my second is always near; my third sounds
like several large bodies of water; and my whole is the
name of a Persian monarch, the neighing of whose horse
gave him a kingdom and a crown. F. R. F.


I AM composed of sixteen letters. My 7, 5, 2, 6, 8 is
a large man. My 8, 9, 15 is a weight. My 8, II, 1 is
a combination of metal. My 12, 2, 8 is a small ani-
mal. My 3, 2, 3, 4 is an article of ornament. My I,
14, 16 is what old people sometimes wear. My 13 is a
consonant. My whole is the name of an American
author. J. J. T.

I. BEHEAD, in eloquence, that part which tells,
And leave a class of snails that have no shells.

2. Behead an instrument for marking sound,
And leave a girl's name, with fair meaning found.

3. Behead a covering for the head in fight,
And leave a constellation large and bright.

4. Behead a kind of grief, and for the rest
Find a white bird who wears a handsome crest.


I. COME, men, to work. 2. This lance I entomb in
the earth. 3. Mr. Lucas has come home. 4. Give Bob
a lesson to learn. 5. Is Louise a selfish girl? 6. Do
you consider Otto talented ? 7. She rows a boat nicely.
Concealed in the above sentences are seven words hav-
ing the following significations: I. A keepsake. 2. Old.
3. Money. 4. To pack. 5. An artist's necessity. 6:
The whole amount. 7. A famed individual. These
words, written down in regular order, will form a double
acrostic, the initials and finals naming two Shakespearian


EASY ENIGMA.-"A good name is rather to be chosen than great
PREFIX PozzLE.-Prefix FORE. Forearm, Forecastle, Foreclosed,
Fore-horse, Forelock, Foreman, Forewheel, Foreside, Foresail, Fore-
BURIED PLACES.-r. Augusta. 2. Utica. 3. Sing Sing. 4. Low-
ell. 5. Troy. 6. Skaneateles.
DoUBLE ACROSTIC.-Milton, Handel.
I -d- A
L -io- N
T -oa D
0 -liv- E
N -ai L
EASY METAGRAM.-Gull, Hull, Pull, Dull, Full, Lull.
CHARADE, NO. i.-Larkspur.
B-us- T
S -al- E
H -ar- E

ENIGMA, No. 2.-The Riddle-Box.
A FLOWER ACROSTIC.-Hans Christian Andersen.-Heartsease.
Althea, Narcissus, Snowdrop, Chrysanthemum, Heliotrope, Rose-
mary, Ivy, Spirma, Tuberose, Iris, Amaranth, Nasturtium, Anemone,
Nigella, Daisy, Elder-blossom, Reseda (Mignonette), Syringa (Lilac),
Eglantine, Nymphcea (Water-lily).
SPORTIVE ANAGRAMS.-I. Draughts-hard tugs. 2. Tennis-sent
in. 3. Some do in dominoes. 4. Hours at-authors 5Or she-
horse. 6. Rambles-marbles. 7. Spent in-tenpins. 8. But not-
button. 9. Venison-in ovens. 1o Antelope-one plate.
CHARADE, No. 2.-Horse-chestnut.
ELLISES.-.Gy.Guy. 2. Clarence. 3. Dan. 4. Jesse 5. Frank.
6. Benjamin. 7. Joseph. 8. Lewis. 9. George. zo. Bertram. Ir.
Eddy 12. Harry. 13. Jonathan. 14. Robert.
PICTORIAL ENIGMA.-Central Picture: A Terrible Adventure.
Bird, Terrier, Arab, Nail, Rat, Vine, Tub, Rule, Tarn, Tavern,
Burnt, Beet, Turtle, Eel, Bat, Barn, Net, Nut, Tern, Bear, Tail,
Bridle, Barrel, Turret, Tent.
There was a mistake in the puzzle in the October number entitled
"Reversals." The only answers that could be given to the two final
clauses are: Snap-pans,' for No. 6, and Trip-pirt" for No. 7;
but the former is hardly admissible, and the latter, of course, incor-
rect. The answers to the first five are: i. Meet-teem. 2. Brag-
garb. 3. Bats-stab. 4. Deer-reed. 5. Spot-tops.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN OCTOBER NUMBER were received, previous to October I8, from Florence E. Hyde, "Gussie,' Willie P.
Dibblec, Lena Dibblee, Beammie Johnson, Beula Ingels, Lulu F. Potter, Hattie F. Johnson, E. Louise Tibbetts, Georgie Hays, Abbie N.
Gunnison Arnold Guyot Cameron, iladelaine Palmer, L. and N.," Bessie H. Van Cleef, "A Sunbeam," Charles W. Coleman, Sun-
flower and Hollyhock," Jessie G. Mackintosh, Julia Lathers, Pearl," Harry Wigmore, Mamie A. Johnson, Mayflower,"



I .

!u I ....

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