Front Cover
 The strawberry girl
 How a grizzly treed obed rollins;...
 The frog, the crab, and the limpsy...
 Cheery people
 A lake on fire
 The poor boy's "Astor house"
 The adventures of five ducks
 The education of the lion
 The boy emigrants
 The microscopic brick-maker
 The queen of the Orkney Island...
 The Graves's grandma
 Queer people
 Gilbert Stuart
 An Easter carol
 The ash-girl
 America's birthday-party
 Jack-in-the pulpit
 The old hen and her family
 Sippity sup (music and words)
 Young contributor's department
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00033
 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: VID00033
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
    The strawberry girl
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
        Page 348
    How a grizzly treed obed rollins; or, "Turn about is fair play"
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
        Page 352
        Page 353
    The frog, the crab, and the limpsy eel
        Page 354
    Cheery people
        Page 355
    A lake on fire
        Page 356
        Page 357
        Page 358
        Page 359
    The poor boy's "Astor house"
        Page 360
        Page 361
        Page 362
    The adventures of five ducks
        Page 363
    The education of the lion
        Page 364
        Page 365
    The boy emigrants
        Page 366
        Page 367
        Page 368
        Page 369
        Page 370
        Page 371
        Page 372
        Page 373
    The microscopic brick-maker
        Page 374
        Page 375
    The queen of the Orkney Islands
        Page 376
    The Graves's grandma
        Page 377
        Page 378
    Queer people
        Page 379
        Page 380
        Page 381
    Gilbert Stuart
        Page 382
        Page 383
        Page 384
    An Easter carol
        Page 385
    The ash-girl
        Page 386
        Page 387
        Page 388
        Page 389
        Page 390
        Page 391
    America's birthday-party
        Page 392
        Page 393
        Page 394
        Page 395
        Page 396
        Page 397
    Jack-in-the pulpit
        Page 398
        Page 399
    The old hen and her family
        Page 400
        Page 401
    Sippity sup (music and words)
        Page 402
    Young contributor's department
        Page 403
    The letter-box
        Page 404
        Page 405
    The riddle-box
        Page 406
        Page 407
        Page 408
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



APRIL, 1876.


BY R. H. D.

ABOUT fifteen years before Sir Joshua Reynolds
painted little Penelope Boothby, whose pitiful story
we told you in November, he sent one spring day
into the great London exhibition certain portraits
of a few famous and royal people. This exhibition
was -held in the magnificent hall of the Royal
Academy in Pall Mall; and I wish the boys and
girls who read this dull black and white page could
have a glimpse, instead, of the crowd that gath-
ered quickly before these pictures. For the little
Joshua who used to draw with charcoal on the
cellar walls of his father's school-house was now
President of this Royal Academy, and the people
who crowded up to see these pictures (one of which
he had said himself was his masterpiece) had all
been painted by him,-princes and dukes, and
noble "macaronies" splendid in velvet and lace
and great wigs of powdered hair and jewel-hilted
swords; and great ladies in their thin, scant dresses
and nodding plumes of feathers or straw a yard
You would have seen them all uncover and
bow to the ground as a fat, pretty boy of eleven,
dressed in crimson slashed with white satin, came
in under charge of his tutor. This was the little
Prince of Wales, afterward George IV., and.you
might have heard it whispered about that the boy,
with all the other royal children, was kept in strict
seclusion, with no play between lessons except
planting wheat, weeding, reaping, and thrashing
it, by which means the Queen proposed to make
them understand the lives of the common people.
VOL. III.-24.

In spite of all this care, the lad had already showed
that he cared for nothing beyond his fine clothes.
The "common people" never were to him of
more value than the pigs which chased each other
through dirty London gutters; useful animals,
perhaps, but not to be touched or smelled, by any
means. The little George was concerned on this
day about a new jeweled buckle on his shoe,-
and, indeed, the great George which he became,
whom you may hear called "the first gentleman
of Europe," was always more concerned about
buckles and wigs than anything else until the day
of his death.
There were at the exhibition,, among these
noblemen and ladies with their fine dress and bril-
liant talk and coarse lives, a few,of the common
people. One big, burly, stoop-shouldered, near-
sighted man, with slovenly coat and snuff-drab-
bled waistcoat, went about peering at the pictures
closely, and grunting out an answer when he was
spoken to. This was the great Dr. Johnson, in a
worse humor than usual. You may be sure the
macaronies and fine ladies gave 1.;, plenty of
room. Low birth and rough manner were crimes
they did not forgive. The man behind him, with
the quick, nervous eyes and red nose, is Mr.
There was there, too, a young, smooth-faced,
smooth-spoken young man with his hat on, who
was pointed out as Mr. West, the Quaker painter,
from Penn's colony in America, whom the King
had just taken into his own protection. The sight


No. 6.


of him brought up among the gentlemen the story
of the rumor which had just come from America
by a ship only ten weeks out, that there was likely
to be some trouble about the four shiploads'of tea
just sent over. They were all of opinion, however,
that it would be a little fire soon stamped out, as
the Americans were, with few exceptions, of the
paltry lower classes.
Sir Joshua himself comes in for a few minutes,-
a large, heavily built man, with a sincere and kindly
face, which a deep scar on his upper lip does not
hurt. He wears spectacles, and there is an ear-
trumpet hanging over his frilled shirt, and great
golden seals dangling below his embroidered waist-
coat, while the big rolled collar of his coat reaches
high behind his ears. He finds the crowd all
gathered about one of his pictures, and it is not
one of the famous or royal portraits either, but that
of a little girl in a coarse dress creeping down a
lane, glancing from side to side, her pottle of'straw-
berries on her arm. She is one of the "common
If the Earl of Carysfort, who is looking at the
picture with loud expressions of delight, had met
the little girl alive in one of the narrow streets, he
would, quite unmoved, have seen his coachman
crowd her to the wall as though she were a dog;
but now he declares his palace unfurnished and a
poor place without her, and whispers to Sir Joshua
to name his own price. 'Whereupon the painter
smiles quietly, and says that "it is given to no
man to accomplish more than three or four great
works in his life, and this is one of mine."
Since then, the Strawberry Girl has gone down
with her immortal beauty from one palace to an-
other; the last time she was sold, I,o000 dollars
were paid for her. Artists have learned from her
new conceptions of their divine art, and critics alike
have raved over the glowing golden tone of the
air that surrounds her, which breathes, say they,
"of purple vintage and the balmy south." Now
she has come into ST. NICHOLAS, to show us the
face with which a little innocent English girl met
the world a hundred years ago.
There is something in the eyes which is far alien
from palaces, and which tells us that England, as
she knew it, was by no means the merry England
of which we read in the histories of those who lived
in them. Very few of the children of the titled crowd
who crowded the exhibition could have met us with
a look so innocent and pure. The little sons of
noble and gentlemen not only dressed precisely as
their fathers did, but swaggered and swore like
them, and drew and flashed their tiny swords on
occasion. Boys of fourteen at school were carried
in sedan-chairs to masquerades at night, drank
their two glasses of port or four of claret for dinner,

at eighteen shut their books, made the grand tour
of Europe, and came home as ready as their
fathers, as we may believe, for all the follies of the
Girls of the same age finished their studies at
fifteen; and after that, if they too did not plunge
into the mad rout of fashion, gave themselves up
to embroidery and card-playing and the narrowest
of home lives. But little was known by them of
the great world outside of England, nothing of the
greater world of stars, trees, animals living about
them. There were but half a dozen books for chil-
dren then; but one or two readable novels, and
the little and ill-printed newspapers were filled with
dreary stories of the loves of Lady Amelia or Lord
John, news months old from other countries, and
dismal accounts of burglaries and highway rob-
beries. We do not believe our strawberry girl was
one of these well-born maidens; but neither will
we credit the story that Sir Joshua found her on
the street one day and paid her to sit as his
Innocent little girls were no plentier in the
hovels of London then than in the palaces. The
city was shut in by roads made impassable by mud
half the year, and blockaded by snows, sometimes
ten feet deep, the other half. The "common
people were wretchedly poor and weighed down
with taxes. They made gangs of "'Prentices" or
"Craftsmen," and at the cry of "Clubs!" were
ready to break each other's heads, or to follow any
leader like Lord George Gordon to burn the houses
of the rich or to open Newgate, and were quite
as ready to halloo when their leader' was hung.
Ladies could not drive abroad at noonday in the
streets without danger of footpads, who presented
masked faces and a pistol at the coach-window. In
return, the rich hung and quartered these poor
folks very much as we do sheep. Women were
hung for stealing a quarter loaf or a piece of cloth.
Men -
But why should we lift this black curtain any
higher ? The little strawberry girl has come from
behind it to say that even in that old time, as now,
there were pure and good mothers and happy chil-
dren who slept upon their bosoms. We are sure
Sir Joshua caught sight of the little girl peeping
out of some shady lane, when he made his annual
journey to his old village home at Plympton Mau-
rice; and carrying her face and sweet innocence
away in his memory, gave them to the wicked
world about him, and to us, as a perpetual lesson
and benison to us all. Meanwhile, the child, no
doubt, grew into a gentle, gracious-natured woman,
lived out her quiet life among the shady lanes, and
is dead, and never knew that her beauty and purity
had become a priceless possession to the world-an





immortal heritage to be handed down from genera-
tion to generation.
The little children who look at her may not all
have beautiful faces to give pleasure to others, and
no Sir Joshua to make them enduring if they had;
they may live in as obscure a corner of the world

as the nameless little strawberry girl, and die there
unknown; but they may be quite sure that there
is not a kindly word of theirs, nor an honest act,
nor a true, noble thought which will not go out
into the world as her innocence has done, to help
to make it:better and be like it-immortal.


(No. VI.)

[For the benefit, this time, of our readers who are learning French.l



PETITE Marie Martin,
En mangeant du pain,
D'un corbeau recoit une visit.
Dit-elle, Eh bien !
Je vous laiss'rai mon pain.
Au revoir Et elle sortit tr&s-vite.




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-: '-- -



" OH, how came you here,
You sweet, airy things-
Such troops and troops of you?
Had n't you wings ?
For here but yesterday
Snow lay cold,-
Who ever heard
Of babies so bold !"

"Wings ?-oh, not at all !
But down in our bed,
Under the leaves,
We heard overhead
The quick little feet
Of a robin run;
And a warm, soft ray
From the kind, great sun
Was sent that moment,
Just for our sake;
While a bluebird sang:
Wake, little dears, wake!'
Then the queer little bugs
That had cuddled up warm
In a moss-bed near,
Through the wind and storm
And some spry little ants,
Of a sudden stirred,
And were off on their travels,
Without one word.
So up through the leaves
All shining with rain,

We sprang back to life,
Right happy again
To see the green grass
And blue, blue skies,
The buds and the birds,
With our own bright eyes.
Some of us came
Ere the moon's pale light
Had faded away,
And are fair and white;
And some slept on
The still night through,
And caught in our faces
The day's warm blue.
Such a bright, glad world,
No matter what weather,
For in sunshine or shade
We're always together!
On us all alike
The rain must fall;
When the wind waves one
It waves us all.
Such a joy to breathe
The sweet, soft air!
To hear the music
That's everywhere !
To look far up
At the trees so high,
And watch the branches
Against the sky !
But when the children








~ 'Y






That love us well
Come through the meadow
And down the dell,
With merry laughter
And happy plays,
'T is the sweetest day
Of all our days."

Then the golden sun
Sank down to rest,
And the color faded
Out of the west.

And when I looked,
In the dim twilight,
For the tender innocents,
Blue and white,
Whose sweet, calm faces
To us seemed sent
To make us braver
And more content,-
With heads dropt low,
And folded eyes,
They were fast asleep
'Neath the brooding skies.





HE might ez well be'n struck by a grizzly; he's
stone dead," said Obed Rollins, as he bent over the
body of a small dog, just killed by an unlucky kick
from my mule.
I would n't hev took ten dollars for that dorg
this morning ; he waz the best one for b'ars inall
Truckee; an', ef he waz a yaller dorg, he could
whip twice his weight in wild cats any day.
"Jest ter think," continued he, that Pete should
hev be'n kicked ter de'th by a mule, after what
he's be'n through; I allers reckoned he knowed
too much tu git behind a mule. He's be'n knocked
over more 'n twenty times by b'ars, and it never
discouraged him a mite; but he's done for this
time sure 'n shooting ef he did hev more clean grit
then enny other yaller dorg I ever seed. I could tell
Pete's yelp two miles away, when he'd treed a b'ar,
an' yer mought bet you'd find him right at the foot
of the tree every time ; an' now he's be'n an' gone
an' got kicked ter de'th by a mule."
I expressed my regret for the accident that had
deprived its owner of so valuable a favorite, and
then, for the purpose of introducing the object of
my visit, inquired if Pete "had ever treed many
grizzlies? "
Treed grizzlies repeated Obed, with"a look
of supreme contempt; "why, grizzlies can't climb !
Pete's treed many a' other b'ar, but never no
And Obed cast upon me such a look of perfect
scorn, that I actually blushed at my own igno-

rance; for Obed Rollins, although the most shift-
less and improvident man in Truckee, bore the
reputation of being the most expert bear-hunter in
the settlement.
Like all frontiersmen; he believed implicitly in
his own powers, and if he failed to secure the game
of which he was in search to-day, was confident
that to-morrow would certainly bring him better
Careless, extravagant, jolly and ragged, he was
the very embodiment of good-natured laziness, and
would return empty-handed to his family, after a
week's absence in the mountains, with as much
complacency as though he brought with him a fine
fat buck or the carcass of a grizzly. Even the fret-
ting and scolding of his wife failed to ruffle his
invariable good temper, and he would turn from
her taunts and reproaches, to play with the dogs or
the children, with as much indifference and apathy
as though she did not exist, or the larder, instead
of being as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's cup-
board, was stocked with a month's provisions.
In despite of Obed's faults, his good nature made
him a great favorite in the settlement, and his ap-
pearance upon the street was generally regarded
as an invitation to listen to one of his famous bear-
Sometimes it was an an old gray-headed miner,
sometimes a neighbor or a stranger, who made
the request. Whoever it was, Obed 'was rarely
known to refuse. Nor was it an unfrequent sight to




see him, surrounded by his dogs, the center of a
group of boys and girls, lazily reposing under the
shade of some spreading oak, while he narrated for
their amusement some of his own thrilling advent-
ures or hair-breadth escapes.
Although a new-comer in Truckee, Obed's fame
as a bear-hunter had reached my ears; and on
that bright October morning, I had gone over to
confer with him regarding the chances of capturing
a troublesome grizzly that had recently been raid-
ing upon my corral.
While engaged in conversation, one of his dogs
that had, unwittingly, approached too near my
mule, had been instantly killed by a blow from the
animal's hind-foot. Hence Obed's lamentations.
After some time spent in condoling with him
over the untimely death of Pete, I succeeded in
enlisting his services, and a couple of hours later
saw us, accompanied by his dogs, en route for the
mountains in pursuit of the grizzly. While sitting
around our camp-fire that evening, Obed entertained
me with the following story, which I shall relate as
nearly as possible in his own words :
Five year ago, when I jest come ter Truckee,
a-minin' was pretty nigh played out; but the woods
round waz full of b'ars, so I took ter huntin' em.
It's a mighty onsartin' bizness, but I've been pretty
lucky; I haint lost no b'ars yit, nor haint got
'chawed up,' ez most b'ar-hunters do afore they've
be'n at it ez long ez me.
I got me a couple of bull-purps to start with,
but I soon found out thet blooded dorgs warn't no
account in a b'ar-hunt. You see they close right
in with a b'ar, and the konsiquens is, they don't
last no time. Mongrels is what yer want in a b'ar-
hunt; no account dorgs is the ones to worry a b'ar
powerful; snappin' and snarlin' and bitin' in the
rear is more 'n a b'ar can stan' by considerable.
You see it confuses 'em so, that they naturally take
to a tree, and then you hev got 'em. Why, Squire,
the hardest fight I ever had with a black b'ar was
right here, and the biggest one I ever killed I shot
on the crotch er that beech thar" (pointing to a
large tree close at hand). I '11 tell yer about it ef
yer like, ez soon ez I light my pipe."
The pipe being lighted, Obed commenced as
It was a morning' in November. I had n't slep'
much all night, and along jest afore daylight I
heerd Pete yelp.
I knowed from the sound thet he waz on their
track o' something so I got up and dressed and
went out ter see what it waz. Putty soon I heerc
him ag'in down in these woods, so I took old Kain-
tuck* and started.
"Jest after daylight, I struck a b'ar's trail in thet
same corn-field we come through this afternoon; I

see plenty of places, too, where he'd helped himself
to their corn. I follard the tracks till I got well inter
these woods, and then waited for Pete ter speak
again. In a little while I heerd him yelp, and I
know'd by the sound he'd got the b'ar treed, an'
he'd stay by it till I got thar. I stepped along
putty lively, though I did n't keer to hurry much,
and I got ter jest about where you're sitting' afore I
seed the dorgs. There old Pete was, a-standin'
straight up on his hind-legs, with his fore-paws
braced agin' the tree, looking' at the b'ar, and ev'ry
few minutes yellin' 'Obed!' ez plain ez anybody
could say it.
"Well, Squire, that waz the crossest-lookin' b'ar
I ever seed, an' I knowed thet I should hev trouble
with him ez soon ez I sot eyes on him; 'cause, yer
see, their dorgs had got him riled cl'ar through. He
waz so mad, he did n't seem ter take no notice o'
me, so I crep' round ter whar I could git a fair
shot. Yer see, in shooting' a b'ar, ef yer can put a
bullet right in behind the fore-shoulder, ten ter one
one shot's 'nuff. So I crep' round till I got jest the
position I wanted, and then I drew old Kaintuck on
He kinder looked round at me when I fired,
and then settled down on ter thet big limb thar, as
though he waz determined to stick thar. So I fired
once more; the critter jest give a low growl, and
hugged it all the closer.
"I hed to fire ag'in afore he dropped, and ez
quick as he struck the ground the dorgs made for
him; but, bless yer, quicker 'n I hev took ter tell
yer, three o' them dorgs waz dead. Pete waz the
only live one left. I never see a b'ar thet could
handle his paws as thet one did; they made me
think o' that wind-mill down in the Merced Valley,
more 'n ennything I ever seed afore.
"Pete knowed better 'ern ter tackle thet critter;
he jest sot and watched ev'ry motion-ez known'
ez enny man would 'a' done; and ef he seed the b'ar
look toward where he waz a-sittin', he'c ''ki-yi'
like all possest, and put inter the woods. Wal, I
seed I couldn't do nothing' with their dorg, so I
made up my mind to go for the critter myself. I
drawed my knife and started toward him; but afore
I got within six feet of him, he riz up an' hit me a
lick with one of his paws, thet knocked me more 'n
ten feet, and sent my knife whar I never hev seed
it ter this day. Nor I haint never found out how
he done it either, for 't was did so awful quick.
When I come to, the b'ar lay thar dead. I hunted
for mJ knife awhile, an' then went back ter the
settlement, an' got some of the boys ter come out
an' help me carry the critter home, for 't was the
biggest black b'ar ever killed in Truckee. My head
did n't get over akin' for a month arter thet, though
I never should hev got him ennyway, ef it had n't

* His rifle.




a be'n fur Pete;-an' ter think that a dorg thet
knowed ez much ez Pete should hev be'n and
gone an got kicked ter de'th by a mule at last!
Thet's what beats me; it do, sure," and Obed
shook his head as though he indeed failed to com-
prehend how it could possibly be. After some
further conversation upon bears, Obed replenished
our camp-fire for the night, and we both turned in.
I was wakened just after daylight in the morning
by the quick, sharp yelp of the dogs. Obed sprang
to his feet, and seizing his rifle, shouted, "It's a
deer," and a moment later had disappeared in the
forest. Thinking it but little use to follow him,
and supposing he would soon return, as I noticed
he had left his ammunition-belt behind, I composed
myself for another nap, and upon awaking an hour
or two later, was surprised to find that Obed was
still absent. However, I busied myself getting
breakfast and eating it; smoked my pipe, and
amused myself prospecting near the camp, indulg-
ing in a pleasant reverie of what might happen if I
should chance to discover a rich deposit of the pre-
cious metal, instead of the grizzly we were in search
of. Thus hour after hour passed, but no Obed ap-
I was alone, in the midst of a vast forest, whose
stillness was undisturbed save by the rustle of some
falling leaf, or the occasional notes of some deep-
wood songster," whose flute-like tones-now so
soft and low, and again so loud and shrill; a
moment since so far away, and now so very near
-startled me from my musings by their almost
unearthly sweetness. I knew that it must be nearly
noon, and Obed was still absent.
"What could have become of him?" I asked
myself the question many times over.
No sound disturbed the death-like stillness of the
vast solitude about me. Alarmed at Obed's long
absence, not knowing what to do, yet hardly daring
to do nothing, I determined to venture forth in
search of him.
Taking the direction in which I knew he had
started in the morning, I followed upon his trail,
using great care to so mark my course that I should
be enabled to find my way back to camp.
I walked for some time, anxiously watching for
the slightest trace that would help me solve the
mystery of Obed's absence, when my attention
was attracted by the print of an enormous foot in
the soft earth. My first impression was that it
must be the track, of some giant, so closely did it
resemble the print of a human foot in form and
size. By actual measurement I found it to be more
than eleven inches in length by seven in breadth.
I soon discovered other tracks, however, although
none were so well defined and distinct as the one
first seen. 'A little reflection convinced me that

they must be the tracks of a grizzly, or, judging
from their numbers, perhaps -half-a-dozen. The
prospect was not a pleasing one. What should I
The thought of my situation caused me to hesi-
tate some time before deciding. I remembered
stories I had heard old hunters tell of the habits of
the grizzly,-of their immense size and strength, as
well as the celerity of their movements,-and I
almost concluded to return to camp. But then,
would I be any better off? Might not Obed require
my services? The bare idea that so renowned a
bear-hunter should need the services of any person,
caused me to laugh so heartily that forthwith all
hesitation vanished, and I decided to go on until I
should find it necessary to retrace my steps in order
to reach camp before darkness should set in.
I had, perhaps, traveled three or four miles,
occasionally pausing to listen for the yelp of the
dogs, or perchance expecting to hear Obed's voice
in the distance, when, somewhat tired and fatigued,
I seated myself on a rock upon the side of a ledge,
for the purpose of taking a rest preparatory to my
return to camp, where I had, by this time, per-
suaded myself I should find Obed with a good sup-
ply of venison.
While thus resting, my attention was attracted
by a singular noise that appeared to come from the
other side of the ledge. What it was I could not
imagine, but determined to see for myself. Creep-
ing cautiously to the top of the bluff, I peered over.
Not twenty feet away was a huge bear and two
cubs, each as large as a small calf. I realized at
once, from the size of the mother, as well as from
her shaggy coat of dun-brown hair, thickly flecked
with gray, that she was a grizzly. My first impulse,
to quickly seek a safer locality, was overcome by
curiosity, and I decided to remain and watch the
animals for a few minutes. The cubs were having
a nice time, rolling over and over upon the pine-
cones, with which the ground was strewn, remind-
ing me, in their antics, of two great Newfoundland
dogs at -.i --i11- the mother was evidently en-
joying the scene quite as much as myself.
Occasionally, she would sit upright upon the
ground, and, rubbing her nose with her paws, cast
a glance upward, while she uttered the low wheez-
ing growl that had first attracted my attention.
Then, stretching herself at full length upon the
ground, she would playfully push with her paws
what, at first sight, I thought was a crooked stick,
but which, to my horror, I soon discovered was
the broken stock of a rifle. Instantly there flashed
across my mind a story that I once heard a trapper
tell of a comrade, who, being pursued by a grizzly
and finding escape impossible, threw himself on the
ground and feigned death, while the creature ab-




solutely dug a hole, and pushing him into it, covered
him over, intending to return at some future time
and devour him.
Was that Obed's fate, and was the broken rifle
his? The very thought frightened me half out of

position, I at length discovered through the thick
foliage the form of Obed perched high up in the
branches of a large birch, regarding, with a most
lugubrious countenance, the playful gambols of the
affectionate trio beneath him.

'' -'

I ,

i .


my senses, yet I was so fascinated by the scene that
I had no power to leave it. I noticed that the
cubs, like the old bear, appeared to be especially
attracted toward one particular tree, rubbing them-
selves against it, scratching it and reaching up to-
ward the top. By dint of repeatedly changing my

Nothing but the fear of attracting the attention
of the bears to myself prevented me from burst-
ing into a loud laugh at the sight of the unpleas-
ant predicament of the renowned bear-hunter of
Truckee. I knew that I must make no noise, and
I certainly did not dare to fire, lest I should only





wound the bear; and even if I were so fortunate as the exercise of the greatest caution, I managed to
to kill the old bear, how could I dispose of the cubs? reach the foot of the ledge, and no better time was
How could I give Obed information of my presence, ever made in the woods of Truckee than I made
without imparting the same to his enemies ? in reaching camp, where I immediately kindled a
What should I do? After much hesitation, I huge fire and seated myself, rifle in hand, with


I~i~- L f



decided to withdraw from the vicinity as quietly as
possible, trusting that Bruin would become tired of
keeping vigil, and leave Obed to descend from his
uncomfortable position.
I hardly dared to breathe, so careful was I of in-
terrupting the playful scene I had witnessed. By

eyes and ears wide on the alert, to wait the appear-
ance of Obed.
I waited through all the long hours of that night,
listening to the crackling of the burning wood, and
fancying that the rustle of every leaf, or the sway-
ing of a bough over my head, was the stealthy tread


V.1 V


of a grizzly or a panther. At last, toward morning,
with my rifle in my lap, I fell asleep, worn out with
excitement and fatigue. How long I slept I do not
know. When I sprang to my feet the, sun was
shining brightly, and the first object that met my
gaze was Obed, with his face buried in the water of
the spring by which we were encamped.
Involuntarily I uttered an exclamation of surprise
at the sight! Obed, raising his head, while the
water ran from his beard in streams, said, Don't
speak to me till I git through drinking, and im-
mediately plunged his head into the water once
more, declaring that "a drink of cold water waz
worth more'n all the whisky in Californy." I
finally succeeded in inducing him to narrate his
adventures after leaving the camp.
Yer see, when I started, Squire, I 'spected ter
find that deer close by; but them dorgs waz furder
away than I thought for. I follered 'em putty
lively though, until I turned the corner of a ledge,
and, blast my picter, ef I did n't come slap on ter a
grizzly ez big ez a ox, with two cubs. She was so
clus I could n't fire, so I jest fetched her one clip
on the nose (that's the tender part of a grizzly) with
my gun, and dim' a tree; fer yer see, Squire, I
did n't hev no time ter spare.
Well, ez soon ez she see I was out er her reach,
she went for that tree. She bit, an' scratched, an'
pawed, and rubbed it, till I thought, for the life of

me, she'd hev me down. All at once she spied
the gun lyin' on the ground, an', quicker 'n light-
nin', she grabbed it in her paws, broke it an' twisted
the barrel for all the world jest like a corkscrew.
'' Wal, sir, thet old b'ar and her cubs jest staid
at the foot of that tree, a-waitin' for me to come
down, all day an' all night; an' jest after daylight
this morning' they lit out, an' then I lit out, for I
knowed they'd gone for good. I would n't hev
minded the sitting' part so much, Squire, ef I'd hed
suthin' to take, 'cause yer see, Squire, I got power-
ful thirsty up thar; but after all, the most aggra-
vating part of it waz to see the old b'ar an' them
two cubs jest a-foolin' round the foot o' that tree, an'
no chance to get a shot at 'em."
I deemed it advisable not to acquaint Obed of
my visit to the scene of his discomfiture until after
a more successful attempt to capture the grizzly,
although I could not forbear rallying him some
upon his manner of hunting bears.
He bore my remarks with his usual good-nature,
until I referred to the loss of his rifle, when he
replied by saying:
Ef yer want me ter hunt b'ars with ye, the less
yer say 'bout old Kaintuck the better. 'Turn
about is fair play,' I reckon. I've treed many a
b'ar afore now, an' thet's the fust one thet ever
treed me. Nor he would n't hev done it, ef Pete
had n't gone an' got kicked ter de'th by a mule."


A FROG, a crab, and a limpsy eel
Agreed to run a race.
The frog leaped so far he lost his way,
And tumbled on his face.
The crab went .-II but quite forgot
To go ahead as he went,
And so crawled backward every step-
On winning the. race intent.
And the limpsy eel, he curled and curled,
And waved to left and right,
Till the crab came backing the other way,
And the frog jumped past them quite.
But when last I looked, the limpsy eel
Was curling himself apace,
The frog had tangled his two hind-legs,
And the crab had won the race !





BY H. H.

S H, the comfort of them There
,-*, ". is but one thing like them-that
-'. is sunshine. It is the fashion to
S '' state the comparison the other
-' f end foremost-i. e. to flatter the
.' cheery people by comparing
i them to the sun. I think it is
-the best way of praising the sun-
shine, to say that it is almost as
Bright and inspiring as the pres-
ence of cheery people.
That the cheery people are brighter and better
even than sunshine is very easily proved; for who
has not seen a cheery person make a room and a
day bright in spite of the sun's not shining at all-
in spite of clouds and rain and cold all doing their
very best to make it dismal? Therefore I say, the
fair way is to compare the sun to cheery people,
and not cheery people to the sun. However, which-
ever way we state the comparison, it is a true and
good one; and neither the cheery people nor the
sun need take offense. In fact, I believe they will
always be such good friends, and work so steadily
together for the same ends, that there is no danger
of either's grudging the other the credit of what
has been done. The more you think of it, the
more you see how wonderfully alike the two are in
their operation on the world. The sun on the fields
makes things grow-fruits and flowers and grains;
the cheery person in the house makes everybody
do his best-makes the one who can sing feel like
singing, and the one who has an ugly, hard job of
work to do, feel like shouldering it bravely and
having it over with. And the music and mirth
and work in the house, are they not like the flowers
and fruits and grains in the field ?
The sun makes everybody glad. Even the ani-
mals run and leap, and seem more joyous when it
shines out; and no human being can be so cross-
grained, or so ill, that he does not brighten up a
little when a great broad, warm sunbeam streams
over him and plays on his face. It is just so with
a cheery person. His simple presence makes even
animals happier. Dogs know the difference be-
tween him and a surly man. When he pats them
on the head and speaks to them, they jump and
gambol about him just as they do in the sunshine.
And when he comes into the room where people
are ill, or out of sorts, or dull and moping, they
brighten up, spite of themselves, just as they do
when a sudden sunbeam pours in-only more so;

for we often see people so ill they do not care
whether the sun shines or not, or so cross that they
do not even see whether the sun shines or not; but
I have never yet seen anybody so cross or so ill
that the voice and face of a cheery person would
not make them brighten up a little.
If there were only a sure and certain recipe for
making a cheery'person, how glad we would all be
to try it! How thankful we would all be to do
good like sunshine To cheer everybody up, and
help everybody along !-to have everybody's face
brighten the minute we came in' sight Why, it
seems to me that there cannot be in this life any
pleasure half so great as this would be. If we
looked at life only from a selfish point of view, it
would be worth while to be a cheery person, merely
because it would be such a satisfaction to have
everybody so glad to live with us, to see us, even
to meet us on the street.
People who have done things which have made
them famous, such as winning great battles or fill-
ing high offices, often have what are called ova-
tions." Hundreds of people get together and
make a procession, perhaps, or go into a great hall
and make speeches, all to show that they recognize
what the great man has done. After he is dead,
they build a stone monument to him, perhaps, and
celebrate his birthday for a few years. Men work
very hard sometimes for a whole life-time to earn a
few things of this sort. But how much greater a
thing it would be for a man to have every man,
woman, and child in his own town know and love
his face because it was full of kindly good cheer !
Such a man has a perpetual ovation," year in and
year out, whenever he walks on the street, when-
ever he enters a friend's house.
I jist likes to let her in at the door," said an
Irish servant one day, of a woman I know whose
face was always cheery and bright; "the face of
her does one good, shure "
I said if there were only a recipe-a sure and
certain recipe-for making a cheery person, we
would all be glad to try it. There is no such
recipe, and perhaps if there were, it is not quite
certain that we would all try it. It would take time
and trouble. Cheeriness cannot be taught like
writing, "in twenty lessons;" nor analyzed and
classified and set forth in a manual, such as "The
Art of Polite Conversation," or "Etiquette Made
Easy for Ladies and Gentlemen." It lies so deep
that no surface rules of behavior, no description



ever so minute of what it is or is not, does or does
not do, can ever enable a person to "take it up"
and "master" it, like a trade or a study. I believe
that it is, in the outset, a good gift from God at
one's birth, very much dependent on one's body,
and a thing to be more profoundly grateful for than
all that genius ever inspired, or talent ever accom-
plished. This is natural, spontaneous, inevitable
cheeriness. This, if we were not born with it, we
cannot have. But next best to this is deliberate,
intended, and persistent cheeriness, which we can
create, can cultivate, and can so foster and cherish,
that after a few years the world will never suspect
that it was not a hereditary gift handed down to us
from generations. To do this we have only to
watch the cheeriest people we know, and follow
their example. We shall see, first, that the cheery
person never minds-or if he minds, never says a
word about-small worries, vexations, perplexities.
Second, that he is brimful of sympathy in other
people's gladness; he is heartily, genuinely glad
of every bit of good luck or joy which comes to.
other people. Thirdly, he has a keen sense of
humor, and never lets any droll thing escape him;
he thinks it worth while to laugh, and to make
everybody about him laugh, at every amusing
thing; no matter how small, he has his laugh, and

a good hearty laugh too, and tries to make every-
body share it. Patience, sympathy, and humor-
these are the three most manifest traits in the
cheery person. But there is something else, which
is more an emotion than a trait, more a state of
feeling than a quality of mind. This is lovingness.
This is the secret, so far as there is a secret; this
is the real point of difference between the mirth of
the witty and sarcastic person, which does us no
good, and the mirth of the cheery person, which
" doeth good like a medicine."
Somebody once asked a great painter, whose
pictures were remarkable for their exquisite and
beautiful coloring: "Pray, Mr. how do you
mix your colors?"
With brains, madam-with brains," growled
the painter. His ill-nature spoke a truth. All
men had or might have the colors he used; but
no man produced the colors he produced.
So I would say of cheeriness. Patience, sym-
pathy, and humor are the colors; but patience
may be mere doggedness and reticence, sympathy
may be wordy and shallow and selfish, and humor
may be only a sharp perception of the ridiculous.
Only when they are mixed with love-love, three
times love-do we have the true good cheer of
genuine cheery people.



BOB and Nan live up among the icicles. What
there is between them and the North Pole is at
present of small account to anybody except the fur
traders. Just behind their house the woods begin,
and I do not believe they end very much this side
of that open Polar Sea, about which such a time
has been made during the last hundred years.
Bob is seven, Nan is five. She is not his own
sister, but a little motherless child that had drifted
into Bob's house with the pleasant sunlight one
summer's morning. She was warmly welcomed,
and so well cared for that by the time the autumn
days set in, the buttons on her waist began to pop
off like Peggotty's in Mr. Dickens's story, for she
grew as plump as the plovers Bob was following
over the wild hill-sides all those golden afternoons.
Early in November, Jack Frost came dashing
out of the woods on his way to the south, for like
many another fine gentleman, you know, Jack

travels toward the south in the winter, and takes
his diamonds with him.
How every one at Bob's house flew about when
they found Jack Frost's presents lavishly strewn
over the place in the morning, for he had entered
town by moonlight the night before. The little
lawn looked as though somebody had been shaking
a huge sugar-sifter over it, and here and there
were delicate ferns and crystallized snow-flakes upon
the panes, and to every one, old and young, had
been generously given a shiver and a red nose.
The truth is, nobody expected Jack so early, and
the whole household at once set to work to give
him awarm reception. Double windows and doors
went up, and warm blankets and coats came down,
and cotton went into cracks, and furs came out of
boxes, and men banked up the house with saw-
dust, and boxes of winter stores came from the
grocer's; and mamma, who liked winter, sang; and




papa, who liked summer, growled; and as for Bob
and Nan, they frisked from one end of the house
to the other, watching the snow-flakes from every
window, and thought it was the "most delight-
fulest" day they had ever experienced.
After a day or two, papa-who, as mamma said,
was fearfully "bundled up "-took Bob down town;
and the little fellow was bundled up too when he
came home. First, besides his warm stockings, he
had on a pair of German socks-curious cloth stock-
ings, lined with thick rows of tufted white wool,
reaching up to his short trousers-and drawn over
the feet of these were yellow moccasins.
Flannel wrappers, a flannel jacket, a thick coat,
a Cardigan jacket, an overcoat and cape, a thick
scarf, a heavy fur cap, and two pairs of mittens,
one of woolen and one of buckskin, so effectually


barricaded Bob's body from the cold that he de-
clared it was as "warm as toast out of doors,
when the thermometer was below zero.
Thus equipped, our muffled young gentleman
dragged behind him what every boy who wears
mittens expects to have-a beautiful sled. I often
think the people who sell boys mittens ought to
throw in sleds with them, for of what earthly use
would the mittens be if there were no sleds to drag?
Bob's was scarlet, and its name was Racer.
The snow came down day after day, silently in
large flakes, or noisily, sifted fine by the north wind,
and after awhile the clouds gathered up their skirts
and skipped away from the sky, and the sun shone
brilliantly in the clear blue.
"Did you ever see anything so beautiful?"
cried Bob's mamma, gazing out upon the snow
touched by rosy and golden hues, with rich colors
of delicate shades blending onthe opposite shore
of the bay, miles away.
Here, untie my shoes, quick !" cried Bob, rush-
ing in. I want to put on my moccasins, and
there 's a hard knot. I mean, please untie them-
please hurry, quick !"

"Do you expect the snow will melt away if you
wait long enough to be polite?" said mamma.
' We shall probably have one hundred and twenty-
one days for the sleds. I presume ninety pleasant
days like this are before us. Lake Superior win-
ters are famous for them, you know. Spelling
first, sir, sledding afterward. These are the two
we will attend to this winter."
Bob ran for his book, studied half a dozen
words with all his might, and then caught sight of
the cat and began to tease her. Nan sat down
promptly, studied each word slowly and patiently,
and in due time came with a perfect lesson, while
Bob was obliged to guess at half the words. He
was very much like the hare in the fable, and Nan
was steady, like the tortoise. He did not take
kindly to being outspelled by a girl.
"Where did you learn your letters?" he asked,
Here," answered Nan, innocently.
"Then, if you had n't come here, you'd have
been a dunce, I suppose?" said naughty Bob.
But I did come here," said practical Nan.
But if you had n't come, I say ?" persisted Bob.
But I did come, and so I'm not a dunce, you
see," answered Nan, triumphantly.
But if you hadn't? "
"But I did."
This dialogue might have gone on all day, but
just then mamma quietly put an end to the dispute
by advising the unhappy couple to go out and
play," a hint that was instantly accepted with great
The house in which Bob and Nan lived was built
upon the side of a hill. The woods began a little
way behind it, and the town ran in half a dozen
i. .. -i,, streets, bordered by frame houses and
stumps down the hill to the lake, with the bay far
to the right. From the back gate to the front'walk
was a very respectable sliding-place.
"Oh, Bob! look at the houses smoking up,"
cried Nan, as they turned for their first slide.
Not only the houses, but the whole lake was also
sending up soft, pearly vapor into the light blue
sky. Lake Superior does not get warm until the
last of the summer,, it is so deep and large, and then
it takes a good share of the winter to cool it off
again; so during the first weeks of December it
steams away like a great tub of warm water on a
cold day, and the sun shining upon this sometimes
has the effect of making the mist seem on fire.
I guess the lake's all afire, and the houses are
catching it," said Bob. "I wish I was down there;
don't you, Nan ? "
"Yes, I do-pretty much," answered Nan.
"Let's go; mother wont care," said Bob.
Let's go and ask her."




Oh, she wont care I don't want to go in.
Mother said it would wet my moccasins to go in by
the stove when they had snow on. I don't want
to wet my feet, do I ? "
There is n't a scrap of snow on your feet," said
Nan. The snow does n't stick, it only squeaks."


t ---


We '11 take the sled, you see, and slide down by
the church; and I'll draw you across the next
street, and then we 'll slide down that magnificent
hill by the printing-office, and then we '11 be there
-don't you see? That is n't much. Come on."
.Nan wanted to see the fire, she wanted to slide
down that magnificent hill," and she was always
ready to go down town. There were three temp-
tations all in one.
"I mostly guess I will," she said, reflectively,
and off they started.
All the way down they kept watching to see the
flames burst forth somewhere.
"The men are all so busy, they don't see it, I
s'pose," said Nan.
"We might tell somebody," said Bob.
They were passing a butcher's shop just then,
and Bob ran in and cried out:
'"The lake's all afire, and the engine does n't
know it."
Two fat Germans were cutting venison at the
counter. They gave a loud laugh, and one said
to Bob:
"Te lake pe purnt up, you say. Oh my dat
pe treatful. Tell de man vat stays at te engine-
house. Pe quick now, Bup."
I've got to go straight and tell the fireman,"

said Bob, coming out with a great air of importance.
"I say, Nan, you stay here and watch my sled,
while I run up street. I '11 be back'in a minute."
Oh! I dare n't stay, Bob. Come back," cried
Nan, bursting into tears. But Bob, who had
started off on a run, was already out of hearing.
The tears ran down her cheeks, and she tried to
rub them off with her mittens. But the woolen
mittens scratched her face, and the tears were only
kept by the salt in them from freezing the moment
they dropped out of her blue eyes, the air was so
Just then two very wicked-looking boys'came
across the street. One of them had the stump of
a cigar in his mouth, but he took' it out as he
crossed the street, and a sly smile took its place.
Now, Bill, a fellow could n't be to the oncon-
vanience of walking' round that sled," said he,
nudging his companion. That ud be jest a leetle
too much to ax of us. Too fur below the freezin'
p'int, ye know. Sis, we'd like to hev a slide. We'd
be obleeged to ye fur a turn or two on that sled o'
Before Nan could find her voice, or even get a
fair look at them through her tears, the miserable
little thieves were round a corner and safely beyond
capture. Then she cried harder than ever; but
being a lady-like little girl, she was very quiet
about it. However, Bob came back after a little
time, looking quite crest-fallen.
"The engineer laughed at me," said he, "and
said the lake was only 'drying up.' Said they
wanted to get a 'suction,' or something, more on
the town, and were going to make farms of it.
Don't stand there crying like a big baby, Nan.
Let's go home. Where's my sled ? "
"Some boys borrowed it," sobbed Nan.
Bob gave one blank look around the neighbor-
hood, in a vain search for the sled and the boys.
Then he set up a roar so astonishingly loud, that
Nan stopped crying from sheer surprise and meekly
stood watching him.
It was just noon, and, fortunately, his uncle was
obliged to pass that street on his way to dinner.
As Bob was in the midst of his wailing, his uncle
came along. The children did not know him at
first, for the gentlemen who passed were remarka-
bly like one another.
In fact, you can judge for yourselves, from the
exact picture of Bob's uncle on this page, how very
difficult it must have been for Bob to distinguish
him from any other boy's uncle.
What are you doing down here ? asked uncle.
"I don't know !" blurted out Bob.
You see, we thought the lake was burnin' up,"
explained Nan, "and we wanted to put it out."
Be quiet, can't you? cried mortified Bob.




Did you have permission to come ?"
"I believe not," said Nan, demurely. "We
slided, slided down, I mean."
Where's your sled?"
At this Bob's grief burst forth afresh.
Some boys came and took it off and have n't
come back," said Nan. "I guess they'll come
pretty soon, though."
Could you point out the boys if you should see
them again?"
"Course I could," answered Nan, promptly.
"I guess that's one of 'em, now," pointing to a
tall, slim lad not far off.
"Are you sure?"
"I think I'm sure. No, I don't believe 't was
that boy. I guess he looked zactly like this boy,"
as a fat little urchin trotted down the hill.


Bob's uncle smiled at Nan's very uncertain ideas.
"Bob," he said, solemnly, "I'm afraid your sled
is gone for good and all. There is no one who
can testify positively against the boys, and even if
you could find the sled, you could not prove that
some other boy had not bought one of the same
color and name. Children who run away from
good mothers must always expect to get the worst
of it. Now come home."
Mamma was very kind to her erring children,
for she thought their punishment had been suffi-
ciently severe. She even intimated to Bob that
Santa Claus might possibly bring another sled-
perhaps a red Racer-that is, if he were willing to
promise that he would always consult her before
he started out in search of adventure, or to quench
the lakes on fire.







DID you ever see a newsboy? He is a queer-
looking little fellow. His cap has n't any front,
and it is pulled down so as to hide his hair, which
is all tangled up so that you could almost make a
bird's-nest of it. He has no shirt, but his ragged
coat is buttoned up tightly to his neck, and his

|, ,, - -*
I|, 1. -'!

j .
N' I .- oi,. '

mister, there aint nothing like a box o' sand, 'cause
you can kind o' snuggle in and git warm all 'round;
but on course, the best is the Astor House, when
you aint stuck! "
The Astor House What's that? "
Why, don't you know that, sir ?-that big lodge


, I I i~'--



trousers seem likely to fall off, if they are not soon
sewn together. He has no shoes, and his toes
look half frozen this bitter weather.
But he does n't care ; he is the most light-hearted
youngster you ever saw. Suppose we consider our-
selves strangers in the city, and speak to him.
Where do you live, my boy ?"
Don't live nowhere, sir."
Well, where do you sleep?"
Oh, sometimes I sleeps in the hay-barge there
by Harrison Street, and sometimes we git'round the
steam gratin's there by Ann Street, and when the
M. P.'s drives us off, we finds a box o' sand. Oh,

there, which the kind gen'lemen have opened for
us bummers! "
"But, my boy, have n't you a father or moth-
er? "
"No, sir (the bright face looking a little more
serious). "You see, me mother was sent up (to
prison), and I niver seed her sence; and me father
-he licked me with a strap, and tould me for to
clear out; and I don't know where he is-I heerd
he was dead. But may be, sir, you'd like to see
the lodge, and I'11 show you my bank (with an
important air). I've got fifty-nine cents saved;
and I tell you, there 's a nice-what do you call it,





Jim ?-something there. I can whirl to the ceil-
ing, and go all'round the room on the bars!"
We follow our little guide to a large door in
Duane Street, near Chambers Street, on the south
side of a huge seven-story building, with a sign-
fireproof stair-way.
I see you can get out if there is a fire here."
"I tell you, sir, we would n't be many seconds
scootin' down them stairs."
We look into a large dining-hall, the ceiling
supported on pine columns, and finished off with
Georgia pine wainscoting. A comely matron is
setting tables for over a hundred boys, with tea,
mutton stew, and good bread. Everything is as
clean as a ship's deck.
"That's Mrs. O'Connor, sir; she's jist as good
as pie. But don't it smell good! We must go up-
stairs, or I wont be let in to supper."
We enter a large, handsome audience-room,
with school-desks and a piano; well lighted and
cheerful, and windows on three sides, and no

"institutional" smell, though a hundred or more
ragged little fellows, with washed faces and combed
VOL. III.-25.


hair, are waiting about before going down to sup-
per. The notices on the walls are worth reading:
At the door sits an elderly clerk behind a rail,
ing, with keys hanging around him. Our little
newsboy falls into a line of boys, till his turn
Three tickets, sir-lodgin', breakfast, and sup-
per. There's eighteen, sir, and twenty-five I owed
you when I was stuck "-i. e., when he could not
sell his papers.
"But, Johnnie, where were you last night ?"
"You see, sir, I was at the Bowery, and I got
to the door just one minit after twelve; and so, on
course, I had to turn in under the steps down at
Beekman Street."
Ah, there's where your money goes You '11
never get enough to buy that coat and go out
West. There's your key, but get your hair cut
and go to the bath before you come to supper."
Johnnie disappears in the ample bath-rooms.
We watch his operations. He has warm foot-
baths, wherein he plunges his dirty feet, but inge-
nious spikes on the edges prevent his sitting too
long in them; wash-basins and towels are in abun-
dance, and bath-rooms with hot and cold water.





---- --=-- r- .- -


For his hair, a large boy takes him in hand, and
soon shaves him close, rubbing his head with lark-
spur, for which operation Johnny rather reluctantly
pays his three cents.
Now he rushes out, a clean and decent-looking
boy, so far as his skin.
Is that clean shirt ready ? "
His wet, ragged coat is put in the drying-room,
and his valuables are hid away in the locker, for
which he has a key, and he puts on a clean, com-
fortable shirt, and soon enters the supper-room,
delivering his ticket for payment at the door, and
is deep in his stew and bowl of tea. Several boys
are hanging about in the upper room, looking rather
"Why don't you get your supper, boys ?"
"Have n't got no stamps, sir; we're stuck."
The Superintendent, a kind, firm-looking man,
Mr. O'Connor, comes forward and speaks to each:
"Jack, you know where your stamps went-it
was to the Bowery (theater); and, Pat, I told you
to let those policy (lottery) tickets alone; and you,
Dan, why did you eat all your money up yesterday
in that big dinner? As for you (to a quiet, de-
pressed-looking lad), I believe you were unlucky
you shall-have 'credit,' so go down! "

We pay the tickets of the others, and they all
rejoice in their mutton stew and overflowing bowls
of tea.
After supper, they all fly upstairs to the gym-
nasium, and there is a kind of athletic pandemo-
nium for awhile-boys in the air, boys jumping,
boys pulling, climbing, and tumbling-the large
room resounding with the laughter and shouts.
"You see," says Mr. O'Connor, "this is our
opposition to the low theaters and grog-shops."
Precisely at half-past seven, they all descend to
the school-room. We look in at the dormitories:
rooms some ninety feet long, filled with double
iron bedsteads; the beds of straw, and very com-
fortable; warm comforters and clean sheets over
"That's my bed," Johnny points; "number
six I There 's where a feller sleeps, I tell you "
But don't you ever fall out, or have a lark with
another boy?"
"No, sir! Griffith would catch us; besides, we
has to be called at five o'clock, and we sleeps like
tops! "
There is no smell about the rooms. Everything
is clean and pure as possible. We go below to
the audience-room.
"This is my bank, sir-number thirty-one,"
pointing with pride to a mysterious table near the
door, with slits in the top, and each slit num-
.bered. "Fifty-nine cents; but it's slow work.
Oh, I thank'ee, sir !-that makes just a dollar.
Two more, and I '11 have a Sunday-go-to-meetin'
coat and a b'iled shirt."
The teacher has already begun his evening work,
by reading some letters from boys who had made
fortunes at the West, and were writing back to
their old friends.
"Go West, young man!" whispers our guide,
and he seats himself demurely among the scholars.
Now they sing in excellent accord the sweet hymn,

! -I -- l!
/ "-- ,. ,

"If there's love at home." Perhaps here and
there a shadow falls across the young faces, as they
think of how little love at home," or anywhere





I 1


else, they have known; but they all are soon lively
and indifferent as ever-as ready for chaffing or
being chaffed.
Each boy goes at the lessons as vigorously as he
usually works at selling his papers. At the close,
a few earnest words are said by the teacher, of
" Him who sticketh closer than a brother; who
would befriend them though all others deserted,
and who feels for all human creatures; and the
more, the poorer and the more unhappy they are.
A dirty hand, here and there, slyly wipes away a
tear from some begrimed face, at the thought of

anybody's caring for them; and perhaps the dream
of that Happy Land which they sang about
crosses some child's mind, and he fancies a mother
whom he has never known on earth meeting him
there, and a father who never got drunk, or cursed
or beat him, at last welcoming him, and a place
where hunger or desertion and homelessness are
unknown; but before he can-think much about it,
school is out, and the boy next to him hits him a
lick with his ruler, and under a general scrimmage,
the stern words Order I order end the meeting
and our visit.

(Translation of French Story ilt ST. NICHOLAS for Janrtry.)

IT was a beautiful morning in spring; the sun
shone, the birds sang, the grass was all cov-.
ered with a fresh dew. In the brook which flows
through the garden--a pretty little brook which
flows quietly across fields enameled with flowers-
Madam Duck gave lessons in swimming to her
little ones. You know, of course, that the first
duty of a duck is to learn to swim well and natu-
rally. Madam Duck took good care of that branch
of the education of her children. She corrected
them when they did not swim well, made them
hold their heads straight, and, moreover, taught
the older ones to dive. The young ducklings were
not now at their first lesson, and already made a
good figure in the water. So, after having studied
for some time, the young scholars asked of their
mistress permission to go and have a little prome-
nade on the water. She gave permission, and soon
our ducklings were sailing gayly down the stream.
The two elder ones headed the march, and served
as advance guards; after them came the three
others. It was the first time they had been out
alone,.and they gazed at everything on the right
and on the left, because to them everything was
new and strange. As they swam on, the brook
grew larger; gay butterflies fluttered about among
the flowers, and beautiful birds sang on the
They had already swum for some time, when
suddenly a great noise was heard. The water was
agitated. The ducks, frightened, turned back just
in time to see the hind-foot of a great old frog dis-
appear under the water. Indeed, it was not worth
while to be frightened about such a little thing,"
said the largest of the ducks, who was called Nep-

tune; but he also had been well scared. They
laughed off their fear, and continued their course.
At this moment, their attention was attracted by
piteous cries from one of the three little ducks; he
had seen something on the bank of the stream
which he thought to be good to eat, and had thrust
his beak between two stones, and could not draw it
out again. He was beating himself about like a
madman when the others arrived. The two large
ones seized him, each by a wing; the two little
ones took him by the tail, and they pulled as hard
as they could. At length, by dint of pulling, they
succeeded in .i ---.... ,' their little brother, with
his beak half dislocated and a prey to a horrible
toothache. He wept bitterly, but his comrades
succeeded in consoling him, and he followed them
at a distance, but without laughing and joking with
them. Still swimming, they arrived before a house
where there was a little dog. As soon as he per-
ceived them, he rushed straight at them, barking
with all his might, as if he wished to swallow at
least two of them at a time. But, coming to the
bank of the stream, he stopped, undecided, not
having the courage to plunge in. When the duck-
lings saw how cowardly he was, they stopped,
looked at him with disdain, and joined their quacks
of defiance to his furious barking. At the noise
they made, the door of the house opened; a little
boy stepped out, and came running toward our
ducks. He had not a very agreeable look, and
when, instead of chasing away the little dog, he
commenced to pick up stones, the ducks began to
doubt his intentions. The advance-guard gave the
signal to retreat, and, turning about, they filed off
at full speed. It was time, for the little boy had




already begun to throw stones at them. But, hap-
pily, the more stones he threw the less he suc-
ceeded in hitting them. When they were out of
reach of his attacks, they turned to see what he
would do. The little rascal almost cried with rage,
and ran along the stream to get nearer to them;
but his anger hindered him from seeing where he
walked; he made a false step-plump and there
he was in the water. Hearing his cries of distress,
his mother ran and pulled him out of the water,

and giving him two good cuffs, sent him into the
house to dry himself. The fall of the angry little
fellow raised a wild laugh among the ducks; but
they thought it would not be prudent for them to
continue their explorations further on that day, so
they started to return to their mamma.
On their return nothing happened to them which
it would be worth while to record, and they passed
the rest of the day in talking of their adventures,
and in recounting them to Mamma Duck.

Translations of "Les Aventures des Cinq Canards" were received from Nellie S. Colby, J. D. Early, Clotilda A. Arban, Edgar
Francis Jordan, Isabel Tanes, Harry Forde, Belle Betts, Fred Eastman, Anne J. Thomas, Esther M. Turlay, Hattie A. Barstow, Edith
Monroe Pollard, Therise Mosenthal, Alice H. Popham, C. C. Bixby, Agnes L. Pollard, Philip Richardson, Sarah A. Huntington, Oliver
Everett, Mary M. Hoppin, Arthur C. Miller, Gertrude G. Porter, Josie Perry, Sallie C. Scofield, Aline M. Godfrey, Madelame Palmer,
L. W. Lewis, Henry F. Perry, M. T. A., Mary E. Blanchard, Kate St. Claire Dalton, A. G. D., Ella M. Darrell, J. Dorsey Ash, George
D. Dey, Pamela W. Mack, Lizzie B. Allen, Frank Taylor, and Gertrude Turner (who sends hers from Lausanne, Switzerland).

(A Russian Fable.)



THE lion had a son just twelve months old;
And lion-cubs-as everybody knows,
Unlike a royal child-are wise and bold,
Have got their teeth, and given up baby-clothes;
And so the lion-king, who destined him to rule,
Sought anxiously for some good teacher, or good school.

The fox applied the first. The lion thought:
"The fox is clever-clever is not wise;
Besides, those say who knowledge dearly bought,
His cleverness consists in telling lies.
A king is not a lawyer, that he must talk double;
And then a liar is perpetually in trouble."

The mole, methodical in all his ways,
Not taking any step without wise cares,
Put forth his claim. All gave him fullest praise
For being very great in small affairs.
His work that lay before his nose was perfect found-
But, then, a lion's kingdom is not underground!

Then said the panther: "Give the cub to me;
I'll make him brave, and teach him how to fight."
But panthers have contempt for policy
And civic principles of wrong or right.
A king who only fights is but a fighting fool;
He must be also fit to judge and wisely rule.

And sheep were good, but could not save their fleece;
In short, no beast, not even the elephant
(Revered in woods, as Plato was in Greece),
Could furnish.all the lion-cub did want.




But kings for kings can feel, and for the beast's content,
The eagle, king of birds, this royal message sent:

My brother! In these times it is not wise
Our. kingly brood to subjects' rule to trust;
Familiar grown, they next learn to despise,
And hold our royalty as common dust.
I '11 teach your son myself,-teaching's my forte."
And so the lion-cub went to the eagle's court.

Three years go by, but long before they 're past
All tongues are loud in the young lion's praise,
His wisdom and his wit; first thing and last,
The birds were singing through the woods his praise.
His coming home was one long scene of splendid feasts,
And the king called a parliament of beasts,

Embraced and kissed his son, and said: To-day
My scepter and my power to you I give;
But, first, your subjects want to hear you say
How far your learning will help them to live.
They would be glad to learn what knowledge you have gained,
And hear your future policy and plans explained."

SPapa," replied the prince, no beast but me
Can tell each bird that haunts the woods and lea;
From eagle unto wren, know where they brood,
Where they find water and each season's food.
When these beasts are my subjects, which are now my guests,
I shall at once instruct them how to build their nests!"

Could you have seen the council hang their heads,
And heard the mingled howl of shame and rage,
As hopes were torn into a thousand shreds,
You might have read as on a printed page:
He is a fool, if with strange knowledge all replete,
He knows not his own wants, and how those wants to meet.




WE are from Cedar Rapids, Iowa," was the
answer of the buffalo-ruined emigrant, when Mont
asked him about his company. "The way we
came to be here was this: My brother Jake here
and I wanted to hunt buffaloes, so we left the train
back at Crab Creek, and just scooted on ahead to
to get a crack at 'em. She wanted to come, and
as she would n't leave the children, we all bundled
into the wagon and allowed to stay here a couple
of days before the rest of the train came along."
How many teams are there in your train?"
asked Mont.
"Twenty-five teams, ten horses, and a hundred
and seventy-five head of cattle."
Oh, well," said Mont, "you will get along all
'" I aint so sure of that, stranger. The train's
getting short of grub already; and if we are able
to get to Salt Lake without being on allowance,
we '11 be lucky."
Well, ole man," put in the wife, "you 've lost
your wagon and all yer fixin's. How 'll ye get to
go back to the road ? Here's these young ones to
be toted somehow."
One of the men staid to look for the missing
oxen, which he never found; and the other, assisted
by Mont and Arthur, made his way to the emigrant
track with the children. They staid with our boys
until night, when the well-known Cedar Rapids
train, to which they belonged, came up and re-
ceived their unlucky comrades.
The country at this point grew more broken and
woody, and, for some reason, the emigrant trains
became more numerous. Feed for the cattle was
not always to be had, and there were many ani-
mals to be pastured on the short, bunchy buffalo
grass of the region. Each separate party drove its
oxen out among the hills when the camps were
pitched; but it was necessary to watch them at
night, and, for this purpose, many companies com-
bined, and so divided their burdens by standing
watch and watch with each other.
Mont was anxious about poor old Bally. His
foot grew continually worse, and it seemed cruel to
drive him in the team, but there was no help for
it. They must get on somehow, and Bally, lame
though he was, could not be spared from the yoke.

If we only had money enough now," said Arty,
"we could buy a steer from some of these droves.
There are cattle enough and to spare."
"But not money enough and to spare," re-
sponded Hi, gloomily. If Bally don't get shut
of his lameness, we shall have to leave him. And
I don't see no way of goin' through with one yoke
of oxen and a cow and one old hoss."
This was the first time the subject had been
openly discussed with such a despondent conclu-
sion. But each one of the party had thought it
over by himself. There was silence in the camp.
Every day they passed cattle and horses left by
their owners because they were unfit to travel.
Their dead bodies were common by the way. But
these were usually animals from large trains, or
from the teams of parties too weak to get along
alone, and who had joined forces with others.
"What could we do? asked Arthur to himself.
Then he said, almost in a whisper : If we have to
leave Bally, what shall we do next, Hi? "
Hi had no answer. But Mont said, decidedly:
I shall go on, if I have to walk or take passage
in Bush's go-cart."
I just believe you'd do it, Mont," said Hi, with
admiration. If the wust comes to the wust, we
can lighten our load and hitch up Jim ahead of
Tige and Bally's mate, and try that."
Lighten our load?" asked Tom. "How's that?
We've thrown out all the loose truck we could
Tommy, my boy," said Hi, with great solem-
nity, "there's heaps of fellers, this very minute,
agoin' on to Californy and livin' only on half-
rations, for the sake of getting' through. I seen a
man back at Buffalo Creek who allowed that he
had n't had a square meal since he left the Bluffs,
except when he had buffalo-meat, and that is not
to be got only just now. Bumbye, it'll be out of
So you mean to chuck out the flour and bacon,
do ye ? said Tom, with great disgust.
That's about it, sonny."
Then I'11 go back with the first feller we meet
bound for the States."
The others agreed that they would stay by each
other and get through somehow. Even little
Johnny was appalled at the bare idea of turning
back. There was nothing for him behind; his
world was all before him; his friends were here
with him.




But no such necessity overtook them.
They had looked forward with curiosity to Chim-
ney Rock, a singular pillar of stone, standing like a
round chimney on a cone-shaped mass of rock, on
the south bank of the Platte. This natural land-
mark, several hundred feet high, is seen long be-
fore it can be reached by the emigrants toiling
along the wagon-track by the river. The boys had
sighted its tall spire from afar, and when they
camped opposite it, one night, they felt as if they
had really got into the heart of the continent.


-"r : ---

They had long ago heard of this wonderful rock;
its strange shape, apparently sculptured by some
giant architect, towered before their eyes at last.
I reckon that there rock must have been pushed
up by a volcano," said a tall stranger, joining the
boys, as they were wondering at Chimney Rock,
after having camped.
Perhaps the soft rock and soil which once lay
around it have been cut away by the rains and
wind," said Barney, diffidently. "You see the
bluffs near by are still wasting away by the same
Like enough, like enough. But what's the
matter with that critter of your 'n ? 'Pears like he
was gone lame."
Hi explained the difficulty, and told their visitor

that they were traveling slowly for the purpose of
making the trip as easy as possible for poor Bally.
What! you don't drive that beast, do ye ?"
"We have to. We have only two yoke of cattle,
counting him."
Well, he'll never get well in the team. Take
him out and let him crawl on by himself, and
mebbe he'll mend. I've got one hundred and
fifty or sixty head over there,"-and the stranger
pointed to his camp on the other side of the road.
There were three wagons; two of them were
immense square-topped affairs, with openings at
the side, like a stage-coach door. The people lived
in these wagons and slept in them at night, having
several feather beds packed away in their depths.
One team was made up wholly of bulls, of which
there were four pair. Just now, the cattle were at
rest; and two hired men were herding them, while
the women, of whom there were several, prepared
My name's Rose," the stranger said, when
his offer of assistance had been gladly accepted.
"They call us 'The Roses' along the road. I
have my mother, father, and sister along with
me; then there's Scoofey and his wife and baby;
.and Al and Shanghai, they're working' their pas-
sage through."
"What part of the country are you from? "
"Sangamon County, Illinoy," replied Rose.
I've heerd tell of you boys. The Boston Boys'
they call you on the trail, don't they ? "
No, we are the Lee County boys," said Mont,
But," explained Arthur, we are called 'The
Boston Boys,' too; I've often heard that name,
lately. Mont here is from Boston, Captain Rose."
It don't make no difference how you are called,
boys, and I allow we'll get along together for a
spell. We're traveling the same road, and as long
as we are, you're welcome to the use of one of my
steers. I allow that you '11 be willing to take hold
and help us drive the herd now and then? "
The boys gladly consented to this arrangement,
and poor Bally, next morning, was taken out of
the yoke and allowed to go free in the drove of
the Roses. But the relief came too late. Each
day the ox traveled with more difficulty. Every
morning, before starting, and every noon, when
stopping for the usual rest, Bally was thrown down
and his foot re-shod and cleansed. It was of no
avail. Barney took him out of the herd and drove
him alone, ahead of the rest. But it was agony for
the poor creature; he could hardly limp along.
In a day or two the train, now quite a large one,
reached Ancient Ruins Bluffs, a wonderful rocky
formation resembling towers, walls, palaces, and





domes, worn by time and crumbling to decay.
Here the road became rough and stony, and the
way by the side of the beaten track was hard for
the lame ox. Barney and Arthur clung affection-
ately to Bally. He was an old friend, and, not-
withstanding his vicious manner of using his horns,
they did not like to leave him. Reluctantly, they
gave him up here. They must go on without him,
after all.
When they moved out of camp in the morning,
Bally, who had been lying down watching the
preparations for the day's march, got on his feet
with difficulty, as if ready to go on.
"Never mind, old fellow," said Mont. "You
need n't bother yourself. We will leave you here
to feed by yourself and get well, if you can."
"Good-bye, Bally," said Arthur, with a little
pang, as they moved off. The great creature
stopped chewing his cud and looked after his com-
rades with a mild surprise in his big brown eyes.
He stood on a little knoll, regarding the whole
proceeding as if it were an entirely novel turn of
Good-bye, Bally," again said Arty, this time
with a queer choking sensation in his throat. Hi
actually snuffled in his bandanna handkerchief.
Tom, by way of changing the subject, walked by
Tige's head, and, looking into the eyes of that
intelligent animal, said:
"Well! if there aint a tear on Tige's nose !
He's sorry to get shut of Bally, after all! "
"Oh, you talk too much," said Barney, testily.
So they left Bally looking after them as they
climbed the ridge and disappeared behind Ancient
Ruins Bluffs.
That very night, as if to supply the place of their
lost friend, a new acquaintance came to their camp.
-It was a large mongrel dog, yellow as to color,
compactly built, and with a fox-like head. Dogs
were not common on the plains. This waif had
been running along the road alone for some days
past. The boys had often seen him, and had sup-
posed that he belonged to some train behind them.
His feet were sore with travel, and he was evidently
Poor fellow !" said Mont, pityingly. Give
me the arnica out of the medicine-box, and I will
fix some buckskin socks on his feet."
The dog accepted these kind attentions, and, as
soon as he was let loose again, sat down and de-
liberately tore off his moccasins with his teeth.
While he was licking his sore feet, Johnny, who
had been out with Tom, gathering fuel on the
bluffs, came in with a load on his back. He
dropped his burden with an air of astonishment,
and exclaimed: Bill Bunce's dog "
"Sho! said Hi. "What's his name? "

Pete," replied the boy, who could hardly be-
lieve his eyes.
"Well, Pete," said Hi, "where's yer master?
'Cordin' to all accounts he's a bad egg. Pity that
there dog can't talk."
But Pete had nothing to say. He shyly accepted
Arthur's proffers of friendship, and from that mo-
ment became a regular member of the company.
"We've got such a lot of grub, I s'pose, we
must needs take in a yaller dog to divide with,"
privately grumbled Tom to his brother that night.
"Reckon Arthur'll want to pick up a jackass rab-
bit for a pet, next thing yer know."
If you don't like it, sonny, you can go back,
you know," replied Hi, who was cross and sleepy.
Pete's position in the camp was assured.
A few days after this, while near Fort Laramie,
they had a chance to dispose of their new friend.
Just as they were camping, a party of mounted
Indians, of the Brule Sioux band, came galloping
up to their tent. They were splendid fellows,
dressed in the fullest and gayest costume of the
Indian dandy. They wore their hair loosely knotted
behind and stuck full of brilliantly dyed feathers,
which hung down their backs. Their buckskin
leggings, moccasins and hunting-frocks were cov-
ered with embroidery in colored quills, the handi-
work of their squaws. Bright red blankets dangled
from their shoulders, and about their necks were
hung strings of shells, beads, and bears' claws, with
rude silver ornaments. Their faces were painted
with red and yellow ochre, and one of them, the
chief, wore a tortoise-shell plate over his decorated
forehead, like the visor of a cap.
These gorgeous visitors sat stately on their
horses, and regarded our young emigrants with an
air of lofty disdain.
How! said Mont, who had been taught good
manners if the Sioux had not. The chief grunted,
Ugh in reply to this customary salutation.
Then he happened to see Pete.
You sell him ?" pointing to the dog.
"No, no," said Arthur, in a whisper. "Don't
sell him, Mont. He wants to eat him, probably."
No sell him," promptly replied Mont. Good
dog. We keep him."
Thus rebuffed, the Indians unbent somewhat
from their dignity, and the chief, carefully extract-
ing from a bead-worked pouch a bit of paper,
handed it to Barnard with the remark, You read
The paper proved to be a certificate from Indian
Agent Thomans that the bearer was a peaceable
Indian, Big Partisan by name, and that he and
his band were not to be molested by white people
whom they meet. These dusky visitors, thus intro-
duced, dismounted and stalked through the camp,




saying nothing but looking at everything with stolid
gravity. While the rest were trying to engage in
conversation with the Indians, Arty climbed into
the wagon to get out some provisions. While
opening a flour-sack, he saw the lid of the feed-
box," at the rear end of the wagon, in which were
kept their small stores, cups and plates, raised from
the outside by an unseen hand. Wondering at
this, the boy softly worked his way toward the box,

ri o I ui:6- )-) I h li.d, Ir.d .i L r iI :i..,'._ .d
th ir i:.r.,n .- .-_: cq' ti !i' .: r,.i'r.nr .'." rlic
C..'. F 1 PA :..:ll h 1. 1 1.. ; -. ,,L llh h ,'1-. ,,I,,.. `l.I.* ,,:,l
[u 'll !I i I --."i. Ai l I .z .. a -odclil-:- 1.'1.111".i i clI b ro u l r
it down with a tremendous clatter. A superb-look-
ing Indian stood revealed, having barely snatched
his hands away as the box-cover slammed down.
"How!" he said, not in the least abashed.
Then, raising the lid again and curiously examining
the hinges, as if admiring their mechanism, he said:
" Heap good White man know everything."
The white man knows too much to let you hook
things out of his grub-box," said Arty, angrily.
The Indian smiled in the blandest manner and
joined his companions. The party staid about the
camp some time, as if waiting,an invitation to sup
with the thite men. But entertainment for Indians
was out of the question; there was not provision
enough to spare any for visitors.

When they went away, Arty said, grumblingly,
as he went on with his preparations for supper:
Now I suppose I can turn my back on the
wagon without something being stolen."
Pooh! Arty thinks he is the only one who
keeps watch," sneered Tom.
If it had n't been for me, that big dandy Indian
would have carried off everything in the grub-box,"
returned the boy, who was cross, tired and generally

out of sorts. He was making an antelope stew for
supper, and Barnard coming up, looked into the
"What no potatoes?" he said, with a tone of
No," replied Arthur, sharply. No potatoes.
We've only a precious few left. We've got to
make the most of them."
I would n't give a cent for a stew without pota-
toes," remonstrated Barnard.
"Nor I neither," joined in Tom, only too glad
to see a little unpleasantness between the brothers.
Well, you 'll have to eat a good many things




that you don't like, before we get through-'speci-
ally if I have to do the cooking. Barney Crogan
thinks too much of what he eats, anyhow." Arty
fired this last shot at his brother as Barney moved
away without a word.
On the plains, where men are by themselves,
little things like this sometimes seem to be very
important. Men have quarreled like wild animals
with each other over a dispute about flap-jacks.
Two old friends, on the emigrant trail, fought each
other with knives because one had twitted the other
with riding too often in the wagon.
Arthur went on with his cooking, feeling very
uncomfortable, as well as cross. They had had a
weary day's drive, and all hands were fagged.
The worst of it is, I have to work around this
plaguey camp-stove, while the others can lop down
and rest," grumbled poor Arty to himself, as he
became more and more heated.
Running to the wagon for a spoon, after awhile,
Arty stooped and looked into the tent, where the
bundles of blankets had been tumbled on the
ground and left. Barney was lying on the heap,
fast asleep, and with a tired, unhappy look on his
handsome face. Arty paused and gazed, with a
troubled feeling, at his brother lying there so un-
conscious, pale and still. Barney had been sick,
and the night before he had started up in his sleep
crying Mother much to Arty's alarm.
The boy regarded his brother for a moment with
pity, as his uneasy sleeping attitude recalled home
and its comforts. Then he went silently to the
wagon, took out six of their slender stock of pota-
toes, pared and sliced them, and put them into the
stew now bubbling in the camp-kettle. Nobody
but Hi noticed this; and he only grinned and said
to himself, Good boy "
Afterward, when they had squatted about their
rude supper-table, Barnard uncovered the pan con-
taining the stew, with an air of discontent. Glanc-
ing at Arty, with pleased surprise, he said:
Why, you put in potatoes, after all "
Arthur's cheeks reddened, and he said, as if by
way of apology :
Mont likes them, you know."
Mont laughed; and so did they all. After that,
there was good humor in the camp.



FORT Laramie was not a very interesting place
to the boys. It hardly repaid them for the trouble
they had in crossing the river to get to it. But
here they found a store kept by an army sutler,
and Mont said that he should really enjoy buying

something, by way of proving to himself that he
was in a spot where something besides Indian
manufactures were for sale. Arty looked longingly
on some dry, powdery figs and crumbly candy
which were among the sutler's stock in trade; but
he compromised with himself by buying ten cents'
worth of aged raisins, which he generously divided
with his comrades, Tom and Johnny.
They all very much admired the nicely dressed
officers, who put on as many airs" (as Bush said)
as if they lived among white folks. Then there
were houses-real houses-finished with siding and
painted white, and with stone chimneys. Some of
these were used for officers' quarters, and some
were barracks for the soldiers. These they ex-
amined with curious interest. They had seen no
houses for several weeks. This was a little village
in the wilderness.
At the crossing of the South Platte, a few days
after, the young emigrants found another trading-
post. It was in a rude log hut on the bank of the
stream; and a very.queer stock of goods was
crowded into it. There were pipes, mining tools,
playing-cards, flour, bacon, sugar, boots and shoes,
and even buttons, thread and needles. But the
prices! They were tremendous. Flour was twenty-
five cents a pound; pipes were a dollar each; and
a little glass tumbler of jam, which Tom very much
hankered after, was two dollars and a-half. Here,
too, was a sort of news exchange; there were no
newspapers, to be sure, except one well-worn paper
from St. Louis, now more than two months old,
carefully hung over a long string of buck-skin, and
not permitted to be handled by anybody. But the
rough-bearded, uncouth men who lounged about
the place picked up from the trader and half-breed
assistant such points of information as had been
left by those who had gone on ahead. They also
left here messages for friends and acquaintances
who were yet behind.
On the walls of this store in the heart of the
continent were stuck bits of paper containing rude
directions for emigrants. These were written by
men who had gone on ahead and had sent back
some report of their experience. For instance, one
scrap was:
35 miles from this post to Hoss Crik. Dont stop at Willer springs
which it is no springs and feed mighty pore.
Right under this was another bulletin, which
Nigh 60 miles to Sweetwater-powerful bad road till you get to
independence Rock-blacksmith shop and trading post-the traders a
Some charitable person had tried to rub "thief"
from this notice, and had written in good feller"
instead; but both titles staid there.
"You pays yer money and takes yer choice,"






said Bush, grimly, as he read this gazette. But
I '11 bet the fust man was right."
Here, too, they learned that the ferryman at
" Columbus," or the Loup Fork crossing, had been
When was that ?" asked Mont.
I allow it was about the middle of June. Me
and my pard, we crossed there June the ten, and

? 4 .


/ )

it was some time after that," explained a short,
thick-set fellow, whom the boys had met before
Well, we passed there on the fifth of June,"
said Barnard. "Did the thieves get away with
much money ?"
Nigh onto five hundred dollars, I 've heerd
tell; but thar's no knownn; it mought have been
five thousand. That mean skunk took in heaps of
coin at the ferry."
Does he suspect anybody ?"
"Could n't say; 't was after I war thar. How's
that, Dave?" said he, addressing another emi-
I came by there the day after the robbery,"
replied Dave. Old Columbus was off on the trail

of a couple of suspicious characters who had swum
the fork with their hosses, about four miles up-
stream. The boys at the ferry said the old man
had a good description of the chaps that they sus-
picioned. One of 'em had a hare-lip and 't other
had a game leg."
"A game leg !" exclaimed Johnny. "That's
Bill Bunce !"
"And who's Bill Bunce, my little kid?" asked
the stranger, turning to the boy.
Oh, he's a scaly feller that left this boy to shift
for himself, away back on the river. But you aint
noways certain that this thief was Bill Bunce,
Johnny, you know," said Hi.
The lounging emigrants were so much kindled
by this bit of possible evidence in the Loup Fork
robbery, information of which had slowly overtaken
them here, that they gathered around and ex-
pressed their opinions very freely about Bill Bunce.
He'll swing from the fust tree he meets after
some of us fellers finds him on the trail, now yer
bet yer life," was one comment.
Thar's nary tree between here and Bridger
big enough to hang a man on, 'cordin' to them
things," said another, waving, his pipe toward the
rude bulletins on the cabin wall. See, nothing'
but 'No wood' on 'em, from here to Salt Lake, so
far as I kin see."
The boys, after this, did find a rough road, and
they were glad enough that they were within reach
of help. Rose's drove of cattle was drawn upon
often for fresh recruits for the yoke. Here, too,
they found the springs often poisoned with alkali.
Some of the shallow pools were colored a dark
brown with the alkali in the soil; others were white
about the edges with a dry powder which looked
and tasted like saleratus. The cattle refused to
drink the stuff; and now, along the track, they
overtook a great many animals turned out to die,
suffering from the effects of the alkali which they
carelessly lapped up with their scanty feed. Here
and there, they met a few poor fellows limping
along with all their possessions packed on their
backs. These had lost their cattle, one by one,
and had been obliged to abandon their wagons
and baggage. Taking a sack of flour, a frying-
pan, a few pieces of side-meat," or bacon, some
coffee and a tin cup, these courageous fellows went
forward, determined to get through, somehow.
Usually, they managed to sell some part of their
outfit. The rest they left by the side of the wagon
track. But, begging, borrowing, or buying from
day to day, they trudged on with their faces turned
westward-always westward.
Hello! what's that on that wagon ?-' Or Bust'
-and a gaudy old wagon it is," said Hi, one day.
The wagon was a two-wheeled affair, drawn by



one yoke of oxen, and looking exactly like one-half
of what might have been a long vehicle. On the
canvas cover was painted the words, "Or Bust,"
which had attracted Hi's attention.
This strange-looking craft was creeping along in
the shadow of Independence Rock, when overtaken
by our party. Barnard, recognizing the good-
natured young fellow who was driving, said:
What's happened to your wagon since we saw
you at Council Bluffs ?"
The man laughed lightly, and replied: "Well,
you see, Jake and I, we could n't agree with our
pardners-Jake's brother Joe and Bill Jenness-so
we divided."
How ? Divided everything?"
Sartin, sartin. We could n't go on without a
waggin, you know. So we sawed the old thing in
two. Thar was a ch'ice; the fore part had the
tongue, and we played a game of seven-up for the
ch'ice. Joe and Bill held over us-beat us by one
p'int; and they've gone on with their share of the
So your brother Joe has gone with the Cali-
fornia' part of your wagon ? said Mont, address-
ing Jake, who was one of a quarrelsome family.
"That's about the size of it," surlily replied
Jake. "It was 'Californy or Bust.' Joe and Bill
have got the 'Californy,' and we've got the 'Bust.'
Howsoever, if you go round on the other side, you'll
see we've got Californy' there, too. We've got
the entire thing, but a feller has to go all around us
to see it."
"Could n't you agree about the road? asked
Hi, with some curiosity.
No, it was beans."
Beans ?" said Hi, opening his eyes.
"Yes, beans," answered Jacob, growing angry.
I don't give in to no ornery half-baked sucker,
even if he is my brother. An' when it comes to
beans cooked in a ground oven, when wood is
plenty, and you have time to dig yer oven and kin
spare yer camp-kettle long enough to bake 'em
overnight, I'm thar. But beans is better and
more economical-like stewed. Leastways, I think
so. Joe, he don't think so. Bill Jenness-well,
he always was a pore shoat-he don't think so.
So we divided the plunder and are going through.
Gee! Lion !-whar be yer goin' to? The most
obstinatest steer I ever see. Good day!"
And the men who preferred their beans stewed
drove on.
Independence Rock was such a famous land-
mark that our boys would not pass it without climb-
ing it. The rock is an immense ledge, rising nearly
one hundred feet from the ground; it is almost
flat on top, and covers a space equal to an acre or
two. All around it the country is undulating, but

without any large rocks. Independence Rock
looms up like a huge flat bowlder that had been
left out there by mistake when the world was built.
Resting their team, the party scrambled up the
enormous mass. The top was worn by the flow of
uncounted ages. Here and there were depressions
in which little pools left by the late rains were
standing; and all around, on the smooth places of
the rock, were rudely chiseled the names, or initials,
of passing emigrants. Some of these were labori-
ously carved, some were painted with the soft tar
which should have been saved to use on wagon-
wheels. On the perpendicular wall of the rock,
facing the west, was a roughly cut inscription set-
ting forth how Joshua F. Gibbonson, a native of
Norway, aged 24 yrs," was buried near. Another
gave the name and age of a young woman, also
sleeping close at hand.
Arthur, walking over the multitude of letters
inscribed on the top of the rock, suddenly paused,
and, looking down at his feet, exclaimed: Bill
Bunce !"
The rest, hurrying up, sawon the rugged sur-
face this inscription:

"But his name is Bill. That's a W," said
Johnny, gazing at the mysterious letters, with a
sort of fascination.
Mont,and Barney laughed, but Arty said: To
be sure his name is Bill, but it was William before
it was Bill, and so he spells it with a W."
"I don't believe it's Bill Bunce, anyhow," said
Hi. He would n't be such a fool as to leave his
name like that here, where he knows people are
looking for him."
Mont got down on his knees to inspect the let-
ters, as if he thought they might give him some
clue to the man who had carved them, and had
then gone on, leaving this mute witness behind
him. He shook his head, and said:
I don't know, Hi. Guilty men, somehow, always
drop something by which they can be traced. If
he stole old Columbus's money, it is just as likely
as not he would be foolish enough to put this here.
Anyhow, I guess this is Bill Bunce's autograph."
Nothing positive came of the discussion; but
Johnny lingered over the letters, and murmured to
himself: If they could only tell, now "
But they are silent letters, Johnny," whis-
pered Arty, who had staid behind with his little
mate. The boy laughed, without understanding
why, and the youngsters left the inscription still
staring up to the sky.




Passing Devil's Gate, and camping on the west-
ern side of that famous gap a few days after, the
boys felt that they were at last in the Rocky Mount-
ains. The Gate is a huge chasm, its black rocky
walls towering up on either side. Another gap in
the rocky chain, near by, affords an outlet for the
Sweetwater, which foams and roars in its narrow
channel. Westward is a grassy plain, dotted with
trees, and affording a charming camping-ground.
Here the young emigrants pitched their tent, in
the midst of a mighty company. From a hun-
dred camp-fires arose the odors of many suppers,
and, as the sun went down behind the purple
peaks, the cheerful groups made a pretty picture,
framed by the blue and gray ledges, covered with
wild vines, which stretched around the amphi-
That's a mighty known' dog of your'n," said
a visitor loafing by the camp-stove and watching
Arty cooking flap-jacks.
Yes," said Arty. It's agreed that he is to
have every flap-jack that I lose when I toss 'em
up-so; and he tossed his pan dexterously in the
air, and brought his flap-jacks down again in it,
brown side up.
Sometimes, when the wind blows, I can't ex-
actly gauge the force of it, and away goes a flap-
jack over on the ground. That's Pete's, and he
goes for it almost before it lights. He can tell
whether'it will miss the pan or not."
And I'll match Arty at tossing flap-jacks with
any grown man on the plains," said Hi, with a
glow of honest pride. You bet that dog don't
get many, 'cept when the wind blows variable-
Just then, Pete, who was assiduously gnawing a
bone, ran to Arty, crying with pain, and put his
head on the boy's knee. Arthur tenderly stroked
the poor brute's jaw, and exclaimed:
"Poor old Pete You see he has had a bad
blow on the side of his head at some time. I
think some of the small bones are broken. When
he gets his jaw into a certain position, it hurts him
confoundedly, and he runs to me. I found out
that I could relieve him by softly pressing the place
-so fashion. See "
A sudden light gleamed in the man's face, and
he said:
"I know that dog. I saw him back on the
Platte with a couple of chaps-scamps I should
say. One had a game leg, and I saw him bang
tlat very identical dog with the butt of his gun,
just because he scared up a big jack rabbit. Power-
ful cruel it was."
"Aha!" said Barney. "That 's Bill Bunce
again. Where was this, stranger."
Well, I disremember now. But I allow it was

on the other side of Chimney Rock, say about the
twentieth of June."
That would give the thieves time to come up
from Loup Fork," said Barney, who told their
visitor the story of Bill Bunce and his companions.
But the stranger declared that the only companion
of the man with the dog was a fellow with a hare-
lip. He added:
And I just believe that that there dog got up
and dusted out of that, he was treated so all-fired
Soon after this, the emigrants entered the great
passage across the mountains-South Pass. It was
not easy to realize that they were actually going
over the Rocky Mountains. The emigrant road
gradually ascended the enormous ridge which forms
the backbone of the continent-so gradually that
the ascent was hardly noticed. To the north and
south were grand peaks, purple in the distance,
silvery with streaks of snow, and piercing the clouds.
Nearer, gray masses were broken into chasms,
and were partly covered with a stunted growth of
trees. As they pressed on, the road mounted
higher and higher. But the way was easy, broad,
and pleasant to travel. The nights were cold-so
cold that the boys were thankful for the shelter
of their tent; and they burrowed under all the
blankets and coverings they could collect. But the
days were hot, and though the travelers turned
out in the morning air, their teeth chattering with
cold, they marched along at noon perspiring in the
Snow crept down nearer and nearer to their
track, from up among the steep slopes which hung
above the pass. While camping one day in this
region, Captain Rose and some of our boys went
up to the snow-banks and had a July game of
snow-ball. They brought back flowers gathered
at the edge of the melting snow; and they reported
butterflies and mosquitoes fluttering over the banks,
as if brought to life by the dazzling sun. 'These
reports seemed like travelers' tales, difficult of be-
lief, but they were verified to the satisfaction of
the unbelievers.
One day, they reached a spring of which they
had often heard. They approached it with a cer-
tain feeling of awe. It was on the dividing ridge
of the continent. It was a boggy pool, rising out
of a mass of rock and turf, trampled by many feet
and spreading out into a considerable space. Some
wayfarer had set up a rude sign-board, on which
was inscribed the name-" Pacific Spring." Step-
ping from rock to rock, the boys made their way
to the fountain head, and silently gazed on the
source of a stream which soon divided itself be-
tween the Atlantic and the Pacific.
Here the emigrant trail pitched abruptly down




a rocky caTlon to the west. The water flowing from
the spring and saturating the grassy soil, was parted
by a low, sharp ledge of rock. From this, two little
rivulets crept away, one to the east, one to the
west. One gurgled down into the canton, was joined
by numberless runnels from the snow-peaks above,
meandered away for many miles, sunk into Green
River, flowed south and west to the Colorado, en-
tered the Gulf of California, and was lost in the
Pacific. The other slipped silently down the long
slope by which the boy emigrants had come, joined
itself to other tiny streams, and so, finding the far-
off Missouri, by the way of the Yellowstone, reached
the Mississippi, the Gulf of Mexico, and the At-
"Go, little stream," said Mont, "and tell the
folks at home that we have left the old world.
Boys this is a new world before us now."
"We are on the down-hill grade," added Hi.

" We can scoot to Californy now. Westward it is,
and we are agoin' with the stream."
Barney turned and looked back. "We are on
*the ridge. Shall we go down on the other side,
But Arty said: I should be glad if I could send
a message back to the folks at Sugar Grove. It
would be like a message out of the sea. As long
as we can't do that, suppose we follow the other
stream to the Pacific ? "
We cannot be sentimental over this spring, my
boy," said Mont, laughing. But, as Hi says, we
are going with the current now. That's it West-
ward is the word "
Come on, boys shouted Captain Rose, from
the down-hill road. "It's a rough drive yet to
Sunset Canion."
So the young fellows followed the stream, and
turned their faces again to the west.

(To be continued.)



THE microscope reveals to us many wonderful
and beautiful creatures. It opens to us a new world
of plants and animals, not at all like those we see
with the naked eye.
Water which is shallow and still enough for
plants to grow in, is always the home of millions
upon millions of tiny creatures. Some of them can
be seen with the naked eye darting about in the
water, where they look like mere specks; and many
others are so small that they cannot be seen at all
with the naked eye.
The practiced hunter after microscopic animals
can tell by the look of the water, and the plants
which grow in it, where to look for certain kinds
of these tiny creatures, just as the hunter knows
where to look for deer and wild turkeys and othcr
Last winter it was so cold at the North that it
froze all the ponds solid, so that I had to keep some
of the pond-water in my study to prevent the little
animals from freezing to death; but this winter I
concluded to leave the cold North and come to
Florida-to the land of flowers and of singing-
birds-and I wondered if I should find the same
tiny animals here that I found there.

As soon as I visited the ponds and looked at the
plants growing in them, I knew I should see many
of my favorite fairy-like creatures. As I took a
plant from the water and held it up to the light,
the first thing I saw was a colony of Brick-makers
sticking fast to the stem and leaves of the plant.
(Fig. I represents a colony of Brick-makers, nat-
ural size.) You may be sure that I was delighted
to find these tiny creatures building their little
towns and cities, more numerous here than at the
And now I will try to tell the young readers of
ST. NICHOLAS something about this Brick-maker.
Fig. 2 represents it as it appears through the micro-
scope. At A you see one of the flower-like wheels,
and when they are spread out in this way, they are
always in rapid motion; there are four of these
wheels, but the picture cannot give you much of
an idea of the creature's beauty-it needs the
rhythmical motion and the changing positions to
see how charming it is. The wheels are the ma-
chinery that he works with, and they serve a two-
fold purpose: they form a current in the water, to
bring the food to his mouth, and also the material
to make the brick of which he builds his house.




The apparatus for making the brick is situated
at the top of the head, between the wheels; it is
a little tube (see B), open at the top, into which
the tiny particles are carried by the force of the
current; at the bottom of the tube
(c) we can see these particles rapidly
\ whirling, and they are cemented
h*te- i together (probably by some sticky
substance secreted from the body)
into a round ball. It takes the
little animal about three minutes to
make one of these round bricks.
S When it is completed, he stops the
machinery for a moment, and takes
the brick from the mold; and now
FIG. I. he bends over and lays it carefully
by the side of the last one; so the
bricks are laid in regular tiers, one above another,
with no space between. Out of these almost num-
berless little bricks he has built himself a house
(see D).
The mouth (E) is just below the wheels and
between the two horns (F, F). Our little Brick-
maker never leaves his home to go in search of
food, but he makes his machinery bring him his
meals as well as the material to make his bricks,
and his jaws are almost always in motion, craunch-
ing something or other; but he often rejects some
of the particles that the current brings, which shows
that he has the power of selecting his food.
What an industrious creature he is, and what
talent and ingenuity he must have !
But, with all his skill and ingenuity, he is a very
sensitive, timid creature; a slight tap on the table,
or on the tube of the microscope, will send him
down into his house as quick as a flash. He has
one foot, which is firmly planted on the floor of his
house, and a long leg or footstalk with telescopic
joints; so he can double up his leg like a telescope,
and this brings the body down into the house; but
it is a mystery how he can fold up his wheels and
double up his leg so quickly. When all is quiet,
he comes slowly up to the door of his house, and
puts out his feelers to see if all is right; if he finds
nothing in the way, he is soon at work again.
The mother Brick-maker often has eggs lying
around in her house, which we can see very plainly

with a good microscope; but as soon as the little
things are hatched she sends them out of the house
into the great world of water to take care of them-
selves, and the first thing the poor little houseless
things do is to lay claim to some unoccupied place
near their mother's house, for a foundation on which
to build their own domicile. (The letter G indicates
a magnified portion of a leaf, the foundation on
which the house stands.) And now, without hav-
ing to serve an apprenticeship, the little animal
goes to work at once to make the brick with which

AI --I- ..

T..... .-, "' i '


E >"-- t ^ _- '-'*-


to build its house. In a few days it will have
erected quite an edifice of its own to live in; and
when it is tired of working, it can fold up its wheels
and draw in its horns, and go down into its house,
where it can rest secure from all danger.




if :\

_. ,, -

4 L <_'-.' - .......

_1 -~-----
VW`_ ~ ~ _


OH, the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She's traveling over the sea;
She's bringing a cuttle-fish with her,
To play with my baby and me.

Oh, his head is three miles long, dear;
His tail is three miles short;
And when he goes out, he wriggles his snout
In a way that no cuttle-fish ought.






Oh, the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She rides on a sea-green whale.
He takes her a mile, with an elegant smile,
At every flip of his tail.

Oh, the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She dresses in wonderful taste;
The sea-serpent coils, all painted in oils,
Around her bee-yutiful waist.

Oh, her gown is made of the green sea-kale,
And though she knows nothing of feet,
She can manage her train, with an air of disdain,
In a way that is perfectly sweet.

Oh, the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She's traveling over the main;
So we'll hire a hack, and send her right back
To her beautiful islands again.



TELL you a story See how mamma is laugh-
ing at you-and no wonder, children.. Why, you 're
too old, every one of you-sixteen, eighteen, and
twenty Well, shall it be Jack the Giant-killer or
Cinderella ?
Neither Did n't I say you had outgrown all
of grandma's stories? Then let me see. One of
papa's college scrapes-no, it must n't be that, for
he's shaking his head like a Mandarin.
Tom, I can't tell you about either base-ball or
cricket; and Fred, grandma has forgotten all her
little store of Latin and Greek long ago, so she
cannot fire you with any tales of valiant Greeks
and Romans; and Lily-there! why, what does
she think of now but ruffles, fine hemming, pat-
terns of silk, and the latest fashions, except, indeed,
certain letters which are watched for so eagerly and
devoured so secretly? "
But, grandma, it would n't be like having you
with us if we could not sit in the fire-light and hear
you talk, no matter about what; you turn every-
thing you touch or talk of to gold. We shall be
content if we are just sitting by you. But I really
can't be idle ; I must just whittle this plug for my
hydraulic press. No, mamma, they wont fly about,
for I'll spread a paper down, and will be ever so
careful. And then, grandma, you see, just as you
said, we are too old for silly stories, and I don't
mind a bit to-night if it is not exciting, for some-
how when it comes just this time I always feel
rather-well, you know how; and since Lily is to
go so soon-there, dear girl, I wont talk of it. But
go on, granny. Don't think about it, but talk
right ahead."
Well, Tom, I think we all are glad of this
peaceful hour after the busy day, and what you
VOL. III.-26.

have said brings to my mind a little scene that
has dwelt in my memory like a quiet picture ever
since last spring.
You will remember that I made one of my long
visits to Aunt Mary Graves in New York; and
fondly as I love my dear daughter, the great city
does not suit an old lady like myself quite as well
as this lovely country home of yours, where I can
go about in my sun-hat, and know every creature
and flower on the place. So I had some long
quiet days, when Aunt Mary placed my arm-chair
in the window, and for hours I watched the passers-
by, or my neighbors around me.
"Well, I became very much interested in a
family opposite-so much so that I was afraid they
might think me impertinent in what must seem to
them my constant watch from the window; but my
mind was soon relieved, for presently, as the young
ladies grew accustomed to my cap and knitting-
needles, they would always look up and give me a
cordial little nod. There were three daughters-
the youngest fourteen, perhaps, and a school-girl;
the other two, young ladies in society, were sweet
and lady-like; and one would know they were a
happy family, just to see the little lady mother, so
quiet and unpretending, entering into all her girls'
pleasures; and I could see that they loved to have
her with them, and that she was really like one of
That they were interested in good works I
knew from the meeting of societies at the house,
and the early start for Sunday-school on Sundays-
a thing hard to accomplish in city life, after the
gayeties and late hours of the week.
"There was a brother, too-a tall, handsome,
fair young man, with honor and honesty written on




his blue eyes and earnest mouth. He was married,
but the young couple were constantly at home, and
between the brother and youngest sister there
seemed to be a special tenderness, for she was a
slim, delicate child, and I could see him take her
on his knee or mount her on his broad shoulder
and run upstairs.
But the second daughter became my object of
interest, for soon I noticed how regularly every
morning the eight o'clock postman stopped, and
would smile in a very knowing way at the maid as
he handed her a thick square letter-(Tom, let Lily
alone; you're a wicked tease !)-and every week
or two a gentleman with brown hair and mustache
would come out of the house on Sunday morning
with my young lady, as I soon began to call her;
so I knew he lived at a distance, and could not
come very often to see her.
She reminded me of you, Lily; fair skin and
hair and blue eyes,-honest eyes, like her brother's,
-with an energetic, earnest way in her walk and
manner, not without grace, and which made me
sure I could congratulate the young, fellow on his
choice of a good wife.
Presently, mysterious bundles in white jeweler's
paper were left at the door, and an Adams' Express
wagon was almost as regular as the postman in its
morning delivery. The young girls, too, flocked
to the house in twos and threes, and the curtains
would be drawn up their full height in the upper
chamber, where I could see them huddled together,
conversing in an excited manner, with uplifted
hands and admiring looks. Your young eyes,
Lily, might have discovered the pretty gifts; but I
could only see now and then the flash of silver or
the gleam of a lustrous silk.
"What good times they did have I and how
interested I became in everything you cannot im-
agine till you have grown out of your own imme-
diate pleasures and learned to live in those of others.
I do believe I grew to love those dear girls, and
when somebody told the housemaid that there was
to be a c:dl ,.; over the way next Wednesday,'
and the happy day drew near, I became so anxious
lest it should not be bright and fair enough for
my little girl, that the night before I scarcely
slept, and was up at sunrise to take a peep at the
"I need not have feared; it was one of those
warm, spring-like days that come at the end of
March, when, having run his course as a lion, he
seems to rejoice in his peaceful, lamb-like ending.
I early posted myself at the window to enjoy the
bustle, which seemed to increase every moment.
As there was no need of those unsightly awnings
which they are obliged to put up in the city to pro-
tect the guests in unpleasant weather, I could see

to full advantage the lovely dresses, as carriage
after carriage rolled up and the pretty girls tripped
up the steps. Then a lull, and my whole attention
was riveted on those parlor curtains.
"As though they thought of poor old grandma
opposite, a young man drew aside the draperies
and pushed up the window to let the warm spring
air into the heated rooms. The buzz and murmur
were quite audible; then suddenly all was still, and
my little bride, on her father's arm, crossed the
room and stood beside the man who was to unite
her lot with his 'for better, for worse.' Of course
I could hear nothing, and could only watch the
young head as it bent reverentially, then lifted in
heart-felt love as she pledged her ,faith; but I
prayed to Our Father that he would not only grant
her all earthly happiness, .but would unite both
their hearts and hands in loving service to Him,
without which there is no perfect union.
Then the kisses and hand-shakes For an
hour music and laughter resounded; and I caught
glimpses of my little bride's white dress, as she
flittered about. Everything seemed to be so home-
like and happy-none of the cold ceremony which
chills every grand city wedding. About two o'clock
the carriage drew up, and the trunk was brought
down; the door-way, and far back in the hall, was
filled with the young friends-bright dresses packed
in with black coats and favors in the button-holes;
and, presently, out from among them stepped a
modest little figure in a brown dress and hat. Her
important young husband assisted her into the
carriage, amid shouts of laughter, jokes and good
wishes, and they drove off as a shower of old shoes
fell behind them.
In my excitement I had pushed up the window
and leaned out. Yes, she did not forget the old
lady even in her happiness; my last sight was an
upturned, smiling face, and a wave of the hand-a
good omen, for she who could be thoughtful for an
utter stranger at such a time will not fail in kind
acts every day of her life.
The ever-present groups of little vagabonds
were hanging to every available railing, with open-
mouthed curiosity. 'Why, I thought we should
see the bride,' said one little mite, as he became
aware that something had gone by, and he had lost
it. Did n't you see her get into that carriage and
drive off?' answered one of the gentlemen. Oh !
we thought she'd be all in white,' said he, in a dis-
appointed tone, and all the other little dirty faces
fell many degrees. Then, with a burst of laughter,
the whole group at the door turned and fluttered
back into the house. The door was closed, and
grandma leaned back in her chair, shut her eyes,
and gave herself up to dreams of 'the days that
are no more.'"





(For Home or School. representation.)


[THREE boys, dressed as Esquimaux, Highlander, and Chinese,
and three girls, as Turk, Indian, and Spaniard, form a semicircle on
the stage. A boy and a girl, in plain dress, standing, one at each end,
bring forward the characters alternately, repeating the appropriate
part. Instead of two, six boys and girls, representing a geography
class, may recite the verses. The opening and closing stanzas are
to be spoken in concert.]

ALL around this world of ours,
Whirling swift as thought,
Through the icebergs and the flowers,
Glimpses we have caught -
Of such curious folk, we know
You would like to have us show I
Their queer ways, so we'll produce
One by one, and introduce them. i ,

Over the snow,
The Esquimaux,
Drawn by his snarling pack,
Follows the bear through the Arctic
Sweeping on in a rapid flight,
Under the gay Aurora's light, .
Over the frozen track.
To and fro, I
As the north.winds blow, L
The rude lamp swings in his hut of snow.
Bunches of moss they burn for wicks,
Tallow candles their candy-sticks.



Never a doll do the children see,
Scarcely a flower, or shrub, or tree.
Smothered in furs from toes to chin,
Head wrapped up so you can't peep in,
Only their small, dull eyes look through;
Funny enough it would seem to you !
Do you wish that you were an Esquimaux,
To eat and sleep in the land of snow?



Where the tiny waves of heat
Quiver upward like a prayer,
Dainty perfumes, shy and sweet,
Tremble on the sultry air-
In the dim seraglio lie
Cushion-heaps of richest silk;
Languid beauties charm the eye,
Almond-eyed, with teeth like milk.
As the dreamy days go by,
Breezes from the outer world
Sometimes breathe a gentle sigh,
Pausing at the casement high,
Where the white smoke, upward curled,
Struggles through the heavy air.
Breezes are not wanted there.
All unvexed by aspiration,
Dreams the Turk her life away;
Scarcely stirred by expectation,
As the tranquil fountains play,
While the roses' ceaseless bloom




Steeps her senses in perfume.
Would you rather be an indolent Turk,
Or your own bright self, with plenty of work?


When crossing bonnie Scotland,
A Highlander I saw.
His bonnet it was canty,
His stockings they were braw;
Between his stocking and his kilt,
His bare knee might be seen,
And the kilt fell beneath his belt
In faulds o' brightest green.
But oh! the plaid on his shoulders braid,
That pleased me best of a';-
But the peaks are touched wi' a glimmer o' gowd,
And he must up and awa'.
Where the burn comes springing down the hill,
Wi' mony an eddying laugh,
I watch him climbing from crag to crag,
Aye grasping a sturdy staff.
His sheep, wi' fleece like the mountain snaw,
Graze ower the slopes aboon;
He hugs his plaid as the cauld winds blaw,
And scornfully he looks doon
On the braid green fields, where the stream
winds slow,
And the sleek herds crop the grass,


And the gentle Lowlander follows the plow,
From the height of his mountain pass.
Oh who would not a Highlander be,
To roam o'er the hill-tops, blithe and free?

The desert stretches eastward
From the foot-hills bare and dry,
Beneath the cloudless reaches
Of the desert wastes of sky.

.. H' I A --;- -


There are clusters of dingy wigwams grouped
In spots where the sage-brush grows,
And the alkali dust drifts thick and white,
Wherever the hot wind blows.
In the shade of the tent, an Indian stout
Lies smoking his pipe at ease,
While his patient squaw, moving in and out,
Seems striving her lord to please.
When the dinner is simmering over the fire,
And the skins have all been dressed,
She lifts her droll papoose to her back,
And starts on some weary quest.
All the burden and all the care
Fall on the weaker of the pair;
Bad for Indian and bad for squaw,
That the will of one should be always law.
Oh! let us be glad of our clear white skin,
And the dear home happiness all may win.

I should like to bring
My friend Ching Ling,
And give him an introduction.
Now confess to me
That you rarely see
Such a curious foreign production!





From his shaven pate to his turned-up toes,
His singular costume plainly shows
That he thinks his way the best.
He is ready to swear,
With a serious air,
That of all the countries under the sun,
His own dear China's the only one
With wisdom supremely blest.
Dogs and rats are good in their place,
Birds'-nest soups may a banquet'grace,
Chop-sticks, too, will do very well,
If you play the regular Chinese swell;
But oh! give me
A cup of their tea,
Odorous, black, and strong!
Ching Ling is coming across this spring,
But a chest of his own he must surely bring,
Or his stay will not be long.
It will be our gain,
If we can retain
Our friend from the Flowery Land,
For patience and skill,
And strength of will,
He holds in his yellow hand.

Soon in the moonlighted darkness appear-
Blended the near and the far-
Dusky-robed figures of marvelous grace,
Weaving the forms of the dance;


Now, boys, remember how much depends
On being polite to our Chinese friends.

Languidly, dreamily, float to my ear,
Strains from a distant guitar;

Dark eyes gleam brightly through half-veiling
Eyes that can melt with a glance;
Fountains arise from the stones at our feet,
Plashing their musical rain;
Vineyards, and olives, and orange-trees sweet,
Tell us that we are in Spain.
Picturesque creatures upon us attend,--
What if.they say, "In an hour,"
When on some mission we quickly would send?
Calmness gives token of power.
Would you prefer such slow service to wait,
Or with decision to carve your own fate?

These are a few of the folks we have found;
How do you like their looks?
If you're not able to travel around,
You may meet them in your books.
But, among the people that we have seen,
The queerest of all are those
Who never notice their neighbors' ways,
But live in ignorance all their days,
Of facts which the whole world knows.



I-..~- .

P ~E'





MORE than a century ago, when that city of
summer palaces, Newport, was a little fishing
hamlet, where ships from the Barbary coast landed
droves of slaves for the New England market, the
best-known inhabitant of the village was a boy-a
slovenly, handsome, lazy boy. Everybody abused
" Gil Stuart," and everybody loved him; everybody
said that there was the making of a great man in
him, and in the next breath declared that he was
going headlong to perdition. If he chose to play
truant and to lie on the beach all day setting sol-
dier crabs to fight, teacher, mother, and assuredly
grandmother, hurried to make excuses for him;
if he chose to go to school, his chum, Ben Water-
house, was ready to help him with his sums, or
with his exercise. What matter if he were the
idlest boy in class ? Was n't he the only genius in
the village? Had he not sketched everybody he
knew?-the ships and the beach and the gangs
of slaves? Had not the mysterious Scotch gentle-
men (just arrived in the country on some secret
political embassy) declared that the lad was a
Rubens, a Vandyke, or what not? There was a
whisper that one of them, Mr. Cosmo Alexander,
himself a painter, proposed to take Gil back to
Europe, and set him on the high way to fame and
fortune. At least so the lad told on the beach, in
his bragging way, though the people received the
story with doubt, as "one of Gibby's lies." This
time, however, the story proved true; old Gilbert
Stuart was questioned when he came out of the
snuff-mill in the evening, and said that he had
consented that the boy should go. "Onybody
could see that he was meant to be something
beyond the ordinary and Mr. Alexander had prom-
ised to send him home a great man."
So Gil's bright, saucy face disappeared from the
drowsy street for a year. At the end of that time,
one drizzly November day, a ragged, filthy lad
crept after dark out of the hatchway of an English
collier, and ran up to the Stuarts' house bythe snuff-
mill. It was weeks before Gilbert, in a new suit, but
haggard and lean, came out on the beach to meet
his old friends. He talked but little of his ad-
ventures. When he did, he had astounding tales
to tell of his hard study and great success abroad.
A whisper went about afterward that he had been
an idle dog-worked when the humor seized him,
lying in bed half the time, until after Mr. Alexan-
der died, and the patience of his other friends was

wearied out with him. It was hard to know the
truth of the matter.
But Gil, everybody said, was a genius, and not
to be expected to drudge like commonplace men.
He was an affectionate fellow, and, while he was
gone, had made a little picture of his grandmother,
who had petted him since he was a baby. This
little show of tender feeling laid the foundation
of his fortune. His Uncle Joseph, a wealthy mer-
chant in Philadelphia, saw this picture of his old
mother, and, profoundly touched by it, employed
young Stuart to paint his own family. Orders
came from other well-to-do people. The villagers
were always ready to applaud the young genius,
in whom they had trusted so long, and to be blind
to his fits of idleness or sulky ill-temper. His
friend Ben Waterhouse, who seems to have been
a sensible, downright man of honor, stood by him,
let him do what he might, giving him a sharp rap
now and then, to bring him to his senses.
Young Waterhouse soon afterward was sent to
London to study medicine, and Gilbert Stuart
took flight to escape the fighting just then begin-
ning between the colonies and mother-country,
and, with the help of his neighbors in Newport,
followed him. His father was ruined by the war,
and could send him no money. Waterhouse had
left London before he arrived; he was an absolute
stranger in the great city. There are many pitiful
stories of how he struggled against starvation-
sometimes with a gusty energy; sometimes, when
good fortune came close, slapping her on the
face, with the passion of a petted baby. One day,
when he was actually without a penny, he com-
peted for the situation of organist in a church,
and gained it, with the salary of thirty pounds.
Another day, a Scotch gentleman, charmed by his
winning manner and evident ability, commissioned
him to paint a family group, paying him in ad-
vance. Stuart took the money, and thereafter
troubled himself no more about the picture.
His faithful friend, Waterhouse, came back about
this time, shared his purse with him, kept him
straight with his landlady and laundress, and went
about proclaiming to his friends the advent into
the world of this incomparable genius, and almost
forcing them to sit down and be painted. The
young men in Waterhouse's class made up a purse
to procure a portrait of their favorite teacher, Dr.
Fordyce, and Ben unfortunately handed it to Gilbert





before he began the picture. Nothing could induce
the inspired youth either to put pencil to canvas or
to refund the money. Waterhouse, from mortifi-
cation and anxiety, fell into a brain fever, when the
sum was made up for him by a wealthy friend.
But Stuart carried the matter off in his jaunty,
brilliant fashion, and had no symptoms of brain
People who knew the young men set down this in-
comparable genius as a shabby fellow, but Water-
house clung to and believed in him still. When
he recovered, the two set out to walk through all
London. They walked through the great streets
where fat and fussy King George, with his vacant
face, drove out in state, good Queen Charlotte
beside him, gorgeous in scarlet and gold; walked
through the suburbs, where ladies in their coaches
were surrounded by armed guards to protect them
from foot-pads. We saw into the heart of that
monstrous, dirty, overgrown city," says Dr. Water-
house, "and found the people, not humming a
song or laughing like the populace of Paris, but
wearing a stern, anxious, and discontented phiz."
The poor Londoner of that day might well wear
the discontented phiz at which the Yankee boys
laughed-his children most probably had not tasted
meat in a year. The nobles flaunted their dia-
monds and priceless lace every day in Pall Mall;
the good Queen Charlotte gave nothing away but
advice. Sometimes this discontented Londoner
stole a few shillings' worth of bread, and was hung
for it. No wonder he and his fellows envied the
Americans across the sea, who, if they were fight-
ing King George's soldiers at desperate odds, had
plenty to eat in the mean time.
We catch a glimpse now and then during the
next few years of the brilliant "Gibby" in Lon-
don. He goes to the American painter West, who
has'plodded his way to the highest success, and is
now President of the Academy, and first in favor
at court. When he discovers that the well-
dressed, dashing young fellow is without a shilling,
he gives him a place in his studio, and is there-
after steadily kind to him. Even the staid Quaker
was charmed by the wit and grace of Stuart, and
proposed to instruct him, with two other pupils, in
the evening. The other men eagerly seized the
opportunity, but Gilbert "scratched his paper
black, threw it down in a passion, and gave it
up." He laughed at his patron, West, behind his
back, and had no patience with his slow, steady
industry. It was useless to tell this erratic lad
of how Sir Joshua had drudged to achieve his
present eminence, or how Michael Angelo himself
had been the most indefatigable of laborers. He
flattered himself that he was made of other stuff.
He had the usual school-boy belief. Fame and

success were to be taken in one desperate assault,
or not at all. There are stories of how a fellow-
student found him in his lodgings ill and ready
to die, and how Stuart told him his disease was
hunger, he having had nothing to eat but a biscuit
in a week. But it is hard to know how much of
his talk was worthy of belief. His stories were
dramatic as his figures on canvas, and he did not
spare the color in either. Hungry or not, his
tongue was always ready. Meeting Dr. Johnson
in Mr. West's studio, the gruff old lexicographer
interrupted him while he was speaking, with:
"Young man, you speak decent English, for an
American. Where did you learn it? "
"Not, sir, from your dictionary," answered the
spoiled urchin of the fishing hamlet.
After leaving West, Stuart opened a studio in
London. His.undoubted ability, and the singular
personal magnetism of the man, drew crowds of
sitters before his easel. He rapidly raised his-scale
of prices, took a fine house and lived in great splen-
dor and gayety, buying whatever luxury chanced
to hit his fancy, but seldom remembering to pay
for it. When debt or disaster brought a cloudy
day into the beautiful house, and the painter's good
spirits left him, he trusted to wine to bring them
Debt and disaster are not to be driven out of a
house'by wit or wine. Stuart was forced to leave
London to escape his creditors. He fled to Dublin,
and was followed by them and thrown into prison.
While there, he set up his easel and began the
portraits of many Irish noblemen, receiving, as
usual, half-price at the first sitting. With this
money he freed himself and ran away, leaving the
half-finished Irish lords in gaol. We will charitably
hope that he finished the pictures afterward; but
there is room for doubt. With every year, wine
and idleness made of the inspired genius a more
shabby fellow.
In 1793, Stuart returned to America, and for a
few months remained in New York, painting the
portraits of the most famous men and women of the
time. He then went to Philadelphia, then the capi-
tal of the new Republic, "his highest ambition in
life," as he declared, being to paint the face of
Washington." There is a story of his first intro-
duction to the Father of his Country, significant of
the character of the two men. Stuart's natural
ease of manner (or self-conceit, as we may choose
to think it) had often carried him unabashed into
the presence of royalty in Europe. The man of
genius, he declared, honored kings by his notice.
But when Secretary Dandridge brought him into
the little parlor where Washington awaited him,
he utterly lost his self-possession and stood awed
and dumb for several minutes. The President




talked to him quietly until he recovered himself.
There must have been some fine quality in Stuart
himself, thus to appreciate the majesty of simple
The painter lived in Germantown, a quiet little
suburb of F'l, .I: -.hl p to which the yellow fever
that year had driven President Washington and
the officers of state. He turned an ivy-grown stable
or barn in a field near his house into a studio, and
there he executed the truest and greatest work of
his life, the head of Washington, working at it with
a patient and anxious zeal. Something of the sin-

--- -
Y-..'.. 7- _?:" ,- ;

which it now belongs. It gives us, perhaps, our
only true knowledge of the appearance of Washing-
ton, if we except the bust made by Houdin, who
came from France for the express purpose of model-
ing it, for the State of Virginia.
There are told in Germantown many stories of
Stuart-of the great men and the stately, beautiful
women who came to him to be painted (and one
likes to believe that in those first days of the Repub-
lic all the men were great and all the women fair);
of his skill, his excesses, his niad fury when ang-
ered, his generosity when pleased; at work this

A 'i-.f-.r -


cerity of his sitter seems to have communicated
itself, for the moment, to the flighty artist; and
Stuart's fascination conquered even the grave and
impassive Washington. After his own portrait was
finished, we are told in the legends of the village
that he and Lady Washington would often stroll
across the fields and sit for hours in the stable-
studio, talking to the painter as he worked. The
portrait of Washington, in fact, was not finished at
all; when the head was done, Stuart declared he
would never touch it again, and never did, although
he finished inferior copies made from it, sold them,
and squabbled about the selling. This one great
picture was bought by the Boston Atheneum, to

morning, with Thomas Jefferson as his charmed,
attentive listener; this afternoon, kicking a roast
of beef back to his butcher's in a tempest of fury,
followed by the shouting, delighted boys of the

His record after this date is briefly told. He
went to Washington, then to Boston, and there
died, the first portrait-painter in the country, after
an old age beset by disease, debt and drink.
No boy ever set out on the journey of life with a
larger capital of health, winning manner, friend-
ships, or natural ability; no man ever brought
that journey to a sadder end of disappointment





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I or CUlhur lic. Lurd iUa nrisc.


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,L .. !

k I


Motherless baby and babyless mother,
nPring them together to love one another."
ChriisinC G. Rfasseiti
'. going to tell you
a story about a
little girl who
lived in a mis-
erabie, lowly
place, among
poor untaught
Si'' ; people, who
S left her to take
'-. care of herself.
She saw a kind
of life from
Which your pa-
'I;l I' c rents would
S!" shield you with
Shoving tender-
Sness. I shall
Shave to repeat
"'.i, 'the language
: she used, and,
-perhaps, tell
'-__. --.. you of some of
'- the things she
saw and heard;
but if you will read my story .. I I.,i to the end,
I do not believe it will hurt you. I hope rather it
will make you think, when you see little street-
sweepers, beggars, or poor in! I. .. that there
may be hidden away under all their rough exte-
rior, tender, warm r l.,.-, and hearts that are
taught -'-..... 1 .,i I to be pure and true.
One bright May morning, a little ash-girl was
sitting on the pavement, leaning back against the
,.i.... of Stuyvesant Square, Il,;.,i;, A little
while before, a lady had appeared, at a window in
one of the houses opposite, looked across into the
park, and smiled to her children who were playing
there. The ash-girl had laughed and blushed,
0.i I 1. all the dirt upon her face and under the
tangled mass of hair that hung over it, for she
'...',.1 '. the lady had smiled at her too, and she
had never before caught a look of so much love
from anybody. A few minutes afterward, the lady
had come out upon the door-step, the children had
run to meet her, I'! ,,. "Mother.! mother and
they had all walked away together.
The ash-girl, '.lirl: ;, that the lady would cer-
tainly see her and smile again to her, jumped up,

stood first on one bare foot, then on the other,
clasped and unclasped her hands, brushed her hair
away from her eyes, pulled off her hood, swung it
to and fro, wound the strings around her wrists,
and did not know at all what she was about. But
the lady had only said, Come, my darlings !" to
her children, and walked away. So the I :-.!
had sat down on the pavement, and was -Iini-;;
about it all
"Mother!" she muttered. They all said,
'Mother !P The little one could n't talk plain, but
even she said, Muzer Ha! ha I" laughed the
ash-girl all to h, .i and hugging her knee a little
tighter. "Did I ever in mylife see I,1 il,;,,-- so
funny as three childers all running after a woman
and calling 'Mother?' One on 'em was as big as
me, too! What's she want of a mother to be
looking' out for her all the time ? I'd be 'shamed,
if I was her. How 'd I look, now, running' after
Here she let go of her knee and walked on the
tips of her bare toes, taking very little steps, making
affected gestures, -ii ;-l.,- her chin out, and, with
a scornful, jeering tone and manner, ; ,'..w..
through her nose, to some ;, ..I1;; ', I, p -.. before
her, Mo-ther !-mo-ther! "
Ha ha! ha!" she laughed again, stopping
and .l.;i -. down on the curb-stone. Would n't
I look fine, now ? In course, I would n't be goin'
after any such lady as that. If I had a mother, I
s'pose she 'd be dirty-with ole clothes on an' a red
face, like Biddy Dolan's. Jes' s'pose I was to go
after Biddy Dolan, calling 'Mother My oh
would n't she turn round on a suddent an' let fly a
blast at me ? 'Get out wid ye, ye good for nothing
little young baste of a street rag-picker! she'd
say. Ho I ho would n't it be fun to see her?"
She stopped to i. ., lt.: joke for a moment, but
suddenly she looked grave and whispered, in a tone
of mystery and some awe:
I wonder-I wonder what a lady'd say if I wur
after her I If I'd a-run after that mother, now!
I wonder what she'd a-done I aint so awful
different from them .-.:,,.;-, :. I don't think. If I
was washed, an' had my hair fixed in curls, an' a
pink dress on, an' a white hat an' ribbons an' a
feather down behind-I wonder if I'd look then as
if I b'longed to a good, beautiful, reel mother,
that'd come to the window an' see me I,:.' my
hoop, an' look down at me ;,..'.l:! the beautiful
way that lady did! Was n't her cheeks red,






though ?-and did n't her teeth shine when she
laughed? She looked at me, too Reelly, she
did. I'm certain sure she looked right straight
into my face, a-smilin' an' noddin' to me If I'd
a-screamed out, Mother! mother!' along with
the others, what'd she a-done? She clean forgot
she'd seen me, when she come out to the door.
For, when the rest o' the childers ran over to her,
I could n't make her look back acrost the way to
me ag'in, all I could do-an' I tried ever so hard.
She never seen me at all then; but she walked off
out o' sight, with all the other childers-every one
on 'em-holdin' onto her."
The ash-girl sat, resting her elbow on her knee
and her chin in her hand, for a long time, think-
ing about all this. After awhile, another thought
I wish-I wish I had a mother she said at
last. "I would n't care if Biddy Dolan an' the
others did laugh at me, then I would n't care if
all the ash-boys an' rag-pickers that ever I seen in
my life follered after me a-mockin' of me. She
would n't My mother would n't laugh at me !
No, indeed, she would n't. When the others did
it, she'd hold out her hand an' take mine into it,
an' pull me close to her side an' look down at me
an' say-what that lady did to her childers-she 'd
say, 'Come, my darling!' An' if she said that,
the boys and gals might call me anything they
liked, an' I would n't care. Oh I wonder-I
wonder, if I went all over the city, an' hunted an'
hunted an' watched in the streets, an' axed at the
doors-I wonder if I could find any one that 'd be
my mother! Oh, if I could! Biddy Dolan would
n't care. She don't want me. I don't git enoughh
to pay her for seeing' me round-she often says I
don't. She often says she wishes I'd take myself
off, an' that the day my own mother died, an' she
tuk me for to carry roun' an' beg with, brought bad
luck to her. That's all I ever heerd o' my mother.
Nor I don't want to hear no more, for that aint the
kind o' mother I 'm goin' to be looking' for. I don't
want nobody like Biddy Dolan, an' all the mothers
roun' our place is like that. I want a reel mother,
and I 'm a-goin' to try an' try an' see if I can't find
one Let's see, now, where I'll go to hunt first.
I wont ax that lady that lives acrost the way, 'cause
she don't want me; she never looked at me when
she came out ag'in. An' she's got all o' them
others, too. But she's a reel mother. She's the
first reel mother that ever I seen. She come out
of a pretty house, too. They's flowers in the win-
dies, an' lace curtains all the way up. I guess the
best mothers is in the beautifullest houses. I'11 go
to all o' them I can find. An' I'11 go right off,
now-just as soon as I git my basket full an' take
it to Biddy's."

She sprang up gayly at the thought, and went to
work at raking out the half-burnt coals from every
barrel, box, or pan she could find. Mischievous
boys, passing by, gave her a poke in the ribs now
and then, pulled her hood off, or even drove her
from her post; but she was so absorbed in her
scheme that she minded nothing, and toiled so
faithfully that she reached Biddy Dolan's shanty-
the shabbiest one in Mackerelville-long before her
usual time for returning. She subjected her coals
to Biddy's inspection, emptied them into the barrel
kept for the purpose, and was hurrying away again
when a new thought stopped her.
I said I did n't want a mother like Biddy," she
said to herself; "nor I know my mother wont
want a young un like me, neither! I better fix
myself up. I can't help my clothes" (looking down
at her rags, hopelessly), "but I'll wash myself, an'
my mother '11 put me on a nice, pretty dress an'
things. Yes, I know she'll do that."
So she pulled off her hood, caught up a tin
basin, and proceeded to wash her face. She wiped
it on an old towel, and then, having tried to smooth
her hair with a piece of a broken comb, she hurried
away unobserved.
She made her way as fast as possible to a more
decent part of the city, bent upon finding the pret-
tiest houses, and soon reached Fifth Avenue. She
walked slowly along for a number of blocks, look-
ing, not at the basement doors, as she did on her
begging tours, but up at the windows, trying to
decide at which house to try her luck first. But
they all looked pretty much alike.
They looks kind o' shut up," she thought, "as
if nobody was movin' in 'em, and as if folks 'd be
kind o' 'feerd to ring."
After awhile, however, she got courage to go into
one of the court-yards and pull the servants' bell.
A scowling woman opened the door, and banged it
to without a word.
That's the way they does when I'm a-beggin',"
thought the child. How can I let 'em know I
aint ? Mebby it's the basket. I '11 leave it out-
So she put the basket down, and rang at another
door. Pretty soon that door opened, and a boy
showed himself just long enough to say: Clear
out Haint got nothing an' never will have and
slammed the door as the woman had done.
Ugh 1" she grunted. Ye need n't think I
wont come ag'in to ax ye, though, if it's for nothing'
but jes' to plague ye "
She rang at a good many bells, with like results,
but she was not to be discouraged. Her eyes
gleamed still, and she was smiling proudly as she
shook her small bony fist at the last iron gate which
had clanged'jn her face, and screeched to the foot-




man who had closed it: You thinks I'm a-beg-
gin', don't ye? Well, ye don't know jes' nothing'
at all, ye don't! Ye drives me away now, but
wait till ye see me walking' by with my mother i
Jes' wait, I tell ye, till ye sees me then, an' see
what ye '11 do "
Do look at that funny little creature talking to
herself," said a lady to her companion, as they were
passing along the noisy street. Did you ever see
such gestures ? See the movement of that sharp
little chin !"
"Wait Suppose we astonish her said the
other lady-and, taking a coin from her purse, she
tossed it into the lap of the child, who, looking up
in wonder, saw the two ladies smiling back at her
as they walked on.
She sprang up, ran after them, the coin in one
hand, and mechanically holding out the other,
said: Oh, if ye please "
No! said one of the ladies, sharply, and they
turned the corner, saying to each other: That's
what one gets for giving to beggars To think of
a child of that size following you and asking for
more "
But the ash-girl looked after them and said: I
don't care. You aint reel mothers, for it was n't
that kind o' way the lady looked this morning. "
She put the money in the bosom of her dress,
and walked a little farther up the street. Seeing
another iron gate open under a high door-step,
and a servant just going in, she ran into the court-
yard and called after him : Say, mister "
What do you want? he asked, turning upon
I aint a-beggin'-but I want-do ye-is they-
is they a lady in this house wants a little girl?" she
stammered out at last, not knowing, now that she
was actually listened to for a moment, in what form
to put her question.
"By gosh! No, their' aint. An' if their' was,
she would n't be looking' after one of exactly your
style and cut!" he answered, not ill-naturedly.
But-hold on !" he called, struck by something
in her manner as she turned to go. "You aint
a-beggin'-of course not! But do ye want some
cold victuals ?"
"Yes, if ye please," she answered; and she
peered through the bars of the gate as he went
into the house. She had not thought of it before,
but she was really very hungry. In a moment or
two, the man returned with some food wrapped in
a paper, which he put into her basket.
It aint my business, this giving to beggars,
and I might a' sent Jane," he said to himself; "but
there was something queer in that youngster's eyes,
and kind o' taking too, in her looking for a place
at her time o' life "

Sitting on the door-step, the child, in her hunger,
forgot her imaginary mother for awhile, as she
eagerly picked over her treat of bones and bits.
Her hunger satisfied, she started once more on her
She rang at more bells, ran after more ladies,
asked of more servants, men and women, and
gradually heaped more fragments into her basket.
But the street-lamps were all lighted, and many
stars were out, when she turned her steps toward
Biddy Dolan's and gave up her pursuit for the day.
Though she had not succeeded in making a single
person understand what she was in search of, she
was not disheartened. Her experience in begging
had taught her to expect to be turned away, and
she received a rebuff as indifferently as she threw
aside a bit of coal that "had n't any more burn
left in it." There were always more ashes to poke,
and there were always more houses to ask at.
There was only one saddening effect of her fail-
ure. The sudden idea of finding a mother had
filled her mind with fanciful dreams and pictures,
which grew more and more real to her. Whereas
in the morning she had started with only an indefi-
nite idea that perhaps some day she might find a
mother, now, as she was returning to Biddy Do-
lan's, she felt a great deal more sure of her success
in the end, and in her heart disappointment seemed
impossible. So, as she drew nearer and nearer to
the old shanty, the contrast between its surround-
ings and her bright visions made the place seem
drearier than it had ever done before; and, uncon-
scious of the reason for it, her spirits drooped.
The other ash-girls and boys, rag-pickers, and
various scavengers of the neighborhood returned
from their day's work or lounging, and there was
the usual scene of gossip, quarrels, and confusion
which belongs to such places of an evening.
Our little ash-girl sat alone, thinking and dream-
ing, until by and by she crept into her corner in
the little dingy room under the roof of the shanty,
and, with the pictures coming still, fell asleep at
last upon her bed of old rags.
Hours afterward, the moon, rising over the house-
tops, sent a beam of light across the dreary yard,
into a little window in the. room, and resting for a
moment on the tired ash-girl's face, revealed upon
it an expression of so much joy and sweetness that,
for that one moment at least, it might have an-
swered for the face of the Sleeping Beauty herself !
In the morning that look had faded, but one of
strong hope had taken its place, and the child
looked very bright when she went on her round
again. She took her coals back to Biddy Dolan,
washed her face in the old tin basin as before, and
once more made her way to the Fifth Avenue.
Up the street she went, ringing at the bells and




trying to obtain a hearing of every one to whom
she had a chance to speak, with about the same
result as before. And so, for many days, over and
over again, up and down Fifth, Madison, and Lex-
ington Avenues, around the squares, through all
the streets where she thought the prettiest houses
were, she tramped, so full of hope and longing
that she never knew she was tired until she went
back to the shanty at night.
More and more difficult her search became to
her; but, with a steady, persistent, increasing
brightness, the pictures grew and grew in her im-
agination. Every day her faith in the possibility
of success grew stronger, her feet traveled over the
pavements with more courage, more eagerness,
and less and less often she stopped to sit on the
door-steps or curb-stones to think. Every day her
visions grew brighter and her heart stronger in its
purpose; and every night the old shanty seemed
dingier and drearier than ever.
Always on the alert to catch sight of a lady with
a child or children about.her, or who seemed to her
to have a motherly air, she went along, looking up
at the windows, peering in at open doors, into car-
riages, and at the faces of people passing by. Noi
and then, when she would see mothers with their
children passing in or out of houses, looking in at
the shop-windows, or coming out, the little hands
laden with sugar-plums and toys, she would, if it
was possible, follow them, sometimes a long dis-
tance, watching them, trying to catch what they
were saying to each other, and always delighted if
she overheard a mother call a child by any endear-
ing name.
My dear 1 my dear she would whisper to
herself afterward, imitating the tone and manner
in which it had been said. That was good My
mother'll call me that, I know. Catch her ever
sayin', 'You Cathern !' like Biddy Dolan does."
And often, when she heard an expression which
was new and strange to her, it would delight and
amuse her as a story might have done.
My precious! my precious one as if it were
half a joke and half beautiful. "Aint that a funny
one, though ? My mother'll say that to me, too.
'Ho! my precious!' she 'll say, and then I '11
laugh. But the best-the very best of all-is My
darling !' Somehow I liked that, an' it sounded
best of all. When my mother says that, I'11 put
my two arms 'round her neck." And the child
would repeat it to herself hundreds of times as she
went along.
She very rarely tried to address women with
children, although she soon discovered that they
were more apt than any others to notice her, and
often spoke kindly to her, giving her pennies or
bits of good things from their parcels. An idea

had taken possession of her that' no mother who
already had any children of her own would want
. "No," she would say, I aint like the others,
an' the mothers would n't care for me aside o' them.
I must find a mother that 'll have only just me."
One day, she was wandering about Madison
Square, when an elegant carriage stopped before a
house she was passing. The footman, in finest
livery, opened the door; a lady stepped out of it,
and Cathern, stopping to look at her, could hear
her give the driver an order to come later in the
day to drive her to the Park. Turning to go up
the steps of the house, she brushed by Cathern,
who, as she passed, caught at her dress, and for a
moment held a fold of the delicate lace shawl she
wore, while she looked up at her and said, in a
pleading voice:
Oh please, ma'am, wont ye tell me-- "
"Tell you what, child?" asked the lady, petu-
lantly, and frowning a little. Let go of my lace;
you will soil it. I have nothing for you."
I don't want nothing; I don't want nothing at
all," said Cathern, letting go of the lace and
squeezing her hands together. I only want to
know if-if-they's any lady in that house that
wants a little girl for her own ? "
A merry, light laugh rang from the lady as she
answered: "No, there is n't. I can tell you that
very decidedly."
And she ran up the steps, laughing still, her lace
shawl and the folds of her delicate silk dress flutter-
ing gracefully, and making little soft breezes touch
the ash-girl's cheek as she passed.
The child watched her waiting on the step for
the servant to open the door, and then, when she
had disappeared through it, looked up at the win-
dows of the house, shading her eyes with her hand.
Then she turned away with a perplexed look, and,
after her old way, sat down on the curb-stone to
think the whole question over in a new light.
It's queer she said to herself, after thinking
a long time. "It's very queer, and it must be all
wrong. I guess, after all, that they don't have no
reel mothers at all living in the illegant houses.
That must be it! But "-after another pause-
" that first mother was in one. How did she come
in it, then ? I wonder how she did! But they
aint no more of 'em, for I've been everyw'eres.
She was a reel mother, too. She was the first one.
I don't b'lieve-I don't believe that house was
her 'n. I guess she only come to stay in it, an' she
lives somew'eres else. That's it!-that's it! I'm
sure it is. I've been a-doin' it all wrong. I'1 have
to begin ag'in."
She sprang up with new hope at the thought,
and was going to hurry away when, looking up




again at the house the lady had entered, and seeing
a group of children in one of the windows, she
That's queer, too! she thought. I wonder
who takes care o' the childers in the big houses "
She puzzled over the problem for a moment or two,
and then said: I s'pose the ladies does it. The
ladies an' the nusses, an' the servants an' the fine
waiters An' the childers is like me-they don't
have no reel mothers Poor little things !-poor
little things And the ash-girl's heart was full of
tenderness and pity for the rich children as she
went on, slowly repeating, "Poor little things!-
poor little things "
She now took to wandering through the side-
streets, seeking out blocks of more modest-looking
houses; for she felt sure that, in any case, real
mothers were not to be found in handsome ones;
and whenever she saw ladies whom she took for
such going in or coming out of them, she decided
that they were only stopping in them for a time.
Once in a great while, in her earnestness, she
made herself partially understood; and, one day,
a lady whom she addressed stopped, drew her aside
and asked her to repeat her question.
I said, do ye want a young un for yer own-to
live with yez always, ma'am ?" said Cathern.
"Do I want a little girl? Do you mean that
you would like to come and live with me? "
"Yes, ma'am-yes. I'm a-lookin' for somebody
to live with," said Cathern, getting very eager and
anxious as the lady seemed to be understanding
But what could you do, if you lived with me ?
And what would you expect me to do for you?"
asked the lady.
You 'd," said the ash-girl, taken aback and
puzzled--" you'd put me on a pretty new dress an'
nice clothes, an'-an' a feather in my hat, an' new
shoes an' stockin's. An' what'd I do? I don't
know, ma'am. I'd play out, an' I'd laugh up at
the winder to ye when you looked out at me, an'
I'd cotch hold o' yer hand when we run acrost the
streets together. An' I'd-I don't know I don't
know what I'd do-I don't!" And Cathern took
hold of two bars of an iron railing at her side, put
her head down, and began to cry.
Oh, there there said the lady kindly, pat-
ting her shoulder. "You must n't cry. I'll see
what I can do for you. I have two little girls of
my own at home, and I could n't take you; but I
can show you a place where they take just such
little girls as you, and -- "
"Can ye, ma'am? An' will ye do it?"cried
Cathern. "An' is they-is they-- "
"Is they what?" asked the lady, as she hesi-

Is they any mothers at it that wants girls-any
reel mothers, I mean ?" "
Still holding on to the bars, she gazed up into
the lady's face with a pitiful and yearning look.
Why, no; not exactly, my poor child," said
the lady, moved and puzzled. But there are very
kind ladies there, who would take care of you and
teach you."
No, no, no cried Cathern, drearily, letting
go of the bars. I wont-I wont go there No,
I wont !--no, I wont! "
And as the lady put out her hand to try to detain
her and persuade her farther, the child started
away and ran down the street with all ,her might.
Before long, she sat down on a step, panting and
crying still.
",Hello What ye cryin' for, sis ? said a boy,
Aint a-cryin', no more 'n you are!" she an-
swered, giving a mighty sniff, pulling her hood
lower over her face and straightening herself up.
Oh, well, I aint a-goin' to, nuther But ye can
stop the leak with that, if ye want to," he said;
and tossing an apple, which he had bitten, into her
lap, he went on.
She laughed, took it, began eating it at once,
and by the time it was finished she was ready to
pursue her wanderings again.
Up and down the streets, day after day, she went
still, and still she sought in vain. From the time
when she met the lady who spoke to her of the
kind of home she might go to, she became more
afraid to make her want known; a timidity she had
not felt before crept over her, and she began to
appreciate, more and more, the real c(Iit.--ult. of
her search. The pretty pictures of a home and a
mother, which had made for her, in the midst of
her dismal surroundings, a beautiful, ideal life,
began to fade. Unconsciously, she came to learn
that they were only fancies, with nothing real about
them; and when the moon looked into her little
window, it shone upon a pale, wan face, which no
prince or any one would ever think of mistaking
for that of the Sleeping Beauty.
She still raked the ashes every morning, took
them to the shanty, washed her face, and went to
beg in the streets where she had decided that
mothers were most likely to be found; but her feet
often ached, her little frame grew weary, and she
took again to sitting on the door-steps and curb-
stones to think, not of the time when she would be
walking by "her mother," but whether, after all,
she would not have to give up looking for one
One afternoon in the autumn, she was sitting on
a door-step idly watching a house opposite, where
in the morning she had noticed some black and




white ribbons on the bell. The shutters were
closed, but she had seen flowers handed in at the
door, carriages collect, something carried out all
covered with the flowers, then people get into the
carriages and drive away. Now the ribbons had
been taken off the bell, and nothing, except the
closed blinds, distinguished the house from all the
I wonder," she was thinking, drawing her rags
about her, for it was chilly, if it was a boy or a

and untied her hood, and at last, forgetting her
basket, darted across the street, up the steps of the
house, and rang the bell. She stood there, rest-
less and nervous, for a moment, until the door was
opened by the girl. Then, putting her hands, one
on the door and the other on the side, where it
could not shut without crushing her fingers, she
said, eagerly : I want to see the missus !"
You can't," answered the girl. '" She can't see
nobody. What do you want with her?"


girl !-it wasn't very big, whichever it was," when
a carriage stopped at the door, and a lady, dressed
in black and half covered with a long black veil,
was helped out and supported tenderly up the steps
and into the house by another lady who was with
her. The carriage rolled away, and then there
was nothing more for the little ash-girl to look at
but the closed b!i. .Js;.-. Still, perhaps because
she did not know what else to do, she sat there,
looking and thinking.
Suddenly, her old fancy took possession of her.
She stood up, sat down again, rubbed her face, tied

I want to see her! Tell me-tell me if it was
a girl; an' has she got any others ? Tell me that
-do, please said Cathern so earnestly, that the
woman, at first disposed to send her rudely away,
answered: "Yes, it was a girl; an' she hasn't
ne'er a one left-boy nor girl. Tell me what you
want with her."
"No, no; I must see her! I knows she'll see
me. Do-do tell her! cried Cathern, pleading
very hard.
Who is it, Ann ?" asked a sweet voice, and the
parlor door opened a little way.




"It's a poor child, ma'am, says she must see
you, an' I 'm tellin' her -- "
No matter," said the lady, opening the door
wider, let her come in. Come in, child, and tell
me what you want."
Cathern stood in a pretty, quiet room, in the
glow of a bright fire, squeezing her hands very
tight together and looking up at the lady with all
the yearning of her search in her little pinched
face. After a moment, she said, pausing between
every few words, her breath coming and going
strangely :
I come-I come-to ax you, ma'am-oh! I've
been a-huntin' an' a-huntin' through the streets-
axin' at the houses an' everyw'eres for the mothers
-'cause Biddy Dolan don't want me-an' nobody
wants me, if-if- An' she told me now at the
door that it was a girl, an'-I foun' out that you

have n't any-any little girl-and I- Oh, ma'am,
don't-don't you cry, too I-I aint like any nice
little girl-I 'm only ugly. But I wants-oh, I
wants a mother! An' they aint any mother in the
whole world that wants a little girl like me "
Her hood thrown back, her hands clasped over
her face, she stood, sobbing and trembling, before
the lady, who at first, as the child's meaning dawned
upon her, drew herself away, turned her face to the
wall, and bowed her head, weeping. But when
she turned again and saw the weak little frame
trembling from head to foot, and heard her desolate
cry, she suddenly knelt down, spread wide her
arms, and cried:
Come come to me It is as if my child cried
out to me from heaven! Put your little head, so,
upon my breast, and I will be as true-as true a
mother to you as I can. Yes, I will, my darling !"



I SUPPOSE there is scarcely an American boy
or girl who has not heard of the great party which
is to be given on the occasion of the one-hundredth
birthday of our country-a party which will last
six months, and to which the whole world is
It is probable that this "Centennial Exhibi-
tion" will be the grandest affair of the kind that
the world has ever known. In ancient times, it
was impossible to have such celebrations, as the
different countries of the world had very little to
do with each other when they were not fighting;
and although we have had several "World's
Fairs" in our day, it must be remembered that
this is more than an International Exhibition,"-
it is the celebration of a nation's birthday, and so
it will not be surprising if it excites, even in for-
eigners, much more interest and enthusiasm than
the great exhibitions at London, Vienna, and other
One thing is certain, and that is, it will excite
interest and enthusiasm enough in the people of
the United States. I suppose there is scarcely a
person in this country old enough to care about
such things, who will not go to the Centennial-or
want to go.
The United States is not a very old country-

Iceland recently celebrated its one thousandth
birthday. But then we have done so much more
in one hundred years than Iceland has done in
its thousand, that we feel very proud about our
birthday, and proud that all the world is coming
to help us celebrate it. Even England, who did
not want us to have our first birthday, and who
fought so hard to prevent us ever becoming a
nation at all, is among the first to accept our invi-
tation, and seems to take almost as much interest
in the matter as if she had been fighting on our
side all through the Revolution.
And we are happier to have England come than
any one else. For we can never forget that she is
our mother-country, that her language is our lan-
guage, and that, in great part, her blood is our
blood. The British lion is a noble beast, and we
welcome him warmly when he comes to us in jolly
good-humor, wagging his tail with gladness to see
us. This is very different from the way he came
growling and roaring a hundred years ago. He
is a terrible animal to fight. I doubt if any na-
tional bird or beast, except the American eagle,
could have torn itself away from the British lion,
as our bird did in the last century.
From almost every land the people will come-
from countries that have always been our friends,







and from countries that have only recently made
our acquaintance. Even Japan, who for thou-
sands of years has shut herself up from the rest
of the world, and who, only twenty years ago,
would not think of such a thing as allowing com-
merce or intercourse between her people and the
rest of mankind, has sent architects and carpen-
ters to build a house for her people on our Cen-
tennial grounds.
Europe, Asia, Africa, and Oceanica will send to
America their representatives, who will come laden
with specimens of the products of their soil, their
labor, and their ingenuity; so that at our great
birthday celebration we can see gathered together
the productions and manufactures of every land,
as well as the people who dwell therein.
And now we will take a glance at the prepara-
tions we are making for this Birthday-party.

and smooth, wide roads, and lovely shady walks,
and through the whole of it runs the placid river
More than two hundred acres of this park have
been appropriated for the Centennial buildings and
for Exhibition purposes generally.
There are five principal buildings on the grounds,
the largest of which is the Main Exhibition Build-
ing, which is truly immense. It is difficult to
make any one, who has not seen this building,
understand how large it really is. It is i,880 feet
long and 464 feet wide. Three such buildings, set
end to end, would extend over a mile. Boys and
girls who live in the country will appreciate its
size when I tell them it covers a space of over
twenty acres, all in one room i Twenty acres in
some parts of the country is considered a snug
little farm; and when you think of the .whole of


Philadelphia was wisely selected as the most
fitting place for the celebration, for in that city the
nation truly had its birthplace. There, as soon as
the Declaration of Independence was signed in the
Old State House, the little baby United States
of America" opened its eyes, and began to cry
and kick. It was not a very strong little baby at
first, but it cried pretty loud and kicked pretty
hard, and very soon let the world know that it.was
alive, and intended to live. "Faneuil Hall" in
Boston is called "The Cradle of Liberty," and it
is true that our baby was well rocked and cared
for there, and that from North to South he received
the greatest support and attention until he grew
up to be a stout fellow. But he was born in Phila-
delphia, and so there his birthday is to be cele-
On the outskirts of Philadelphia is a magnifi-
cent park called Fairmount Park, which contains
about three thousand acres of land. There are
meadows and grassy hills, and beautiful groves,
VOL. III.-27.

such a farm,-house, barns, barn-yard, wagon-
houses, vegetable garden, lawn, wheat-field, corn-
field, potato-patch, pasture-lot, and everything
under one roof,-you can imagine a pretty big
If you live in the city, in an ordinary four-
story house,, the comparative size of your house
and this main building may be,inferred from these
two black marks:

The little mark is your house; the large one is
the Main Centennial Building.
This great house is constructed almost entirely
of iron and glass, and when the sun shines it is
nearly as light inside as it is out of doors. There
are rows of iron pillars running up and down the
".uiti to support the roof, but these are so slen-
der and so far apart that they do not interfere with
the view of the interior. When I last saw the
building, it was just finished; and as I stood at




one end and looked over the immense, smooth, and
vacant floor, I could see that off in the distance
the roof was higher, and there were great entrance-
doors to the right and the left; beyond that there
did not seem to be much. In reality, however,
that higher portion was the center of the building,

than any one's imagination is likely to be. Just
think of fourteen acres of machinery, all in motion
at once! There you will see printing, weaving,
grinding, sawing, pounding, rolling, stamping,
with the buzz and the whirr and the clash and
the clatter of thousands of wheels and belts and


and beyond it was a vast stretch of floor as great as
that which I was looking over. But that distant
half of the building was so far away that the central
portion seemed to be the end of the building.
In this great hall will be exhibited goods and
manufactures of every possible kind, from all
quarters of the world. There will be wide pas-
sage-ways up and down the building, and cross-
ways intersecting these, and all the rest of the
space will be filled with the curious, beautiful, and
wonderful things that man's ingenuity has taught
him to make or adapt to his needs. If a person
were determined to see everything in this main
building, and would therefore walk up one side of
every passage and avenue and down the other (and
that would be the only way of seeing everything),
he would have to walk at least ten miles I
Near this building is another, very much like it,
'out not so large, covering over fourteen acres,
which is called Machinery Hall. In this will be
exhibited all kinds of machines, the greater part
of which will be in operation, so that visitors can
see what work they do, and how they do it. Steam-
boilers and engines are to be set up in this hall
to provide the power to set all this machinery
I expect there will be machinery in this hall
which will do almost everything under the sun
that a machine can possibly be made to do. I
will not try to imagine, in advance, what will be
there, for the reality will be far more astonishing

levers and arms of every kind-of iron and steel
and brass hard at work doing all sorts of things
and making all sorts of things.
At a short distance from the Main Building,
which stands on a line with the machinery build-
ing, is a beautiful edifice, quite different from
'either of these. This is Memorial Hall, or the
Art Gallery. It is an imposing structure of gran-
ite, which cost a million and a half dollars, and is
intended to remain always as a memento of the
Great Exhibition, and to serve as a permanent art
gallery. It covers an acre and a half of ground,
and is built entirely of stone and iron, so that it is
absolutely fire-proof. It would not do to have a
building in which will be placed so many valuable
paintings and statues, exposed to any danger from
Over the center of this structure, which is of a
higher order of architecture than any of the other
buildings, most of which are temporary and in-
tended to be taken down when the Great Exhibi-
tion is over, is a magnificent dome one hundred
and fifty feet high. On the highest point of this
dome stands a colossal statue of Columbia.
In this great hall will be collected together thou-
sands of the finest pictures and statues that the
artists of the world can produce., The building
itself, with its galleries and halls and pavilions and
arcades, will be a grand sight in itself. It is esti-
mated that eight thousand people can assemble
in this building at one time, but I hope that when




you and I are there to look at the pictures and
statues, there will be not quite so many spectators
To the northward of the three buildings we
have already seen, and separated from them by a
beautiful little valley with a romantic little stream
running through it, stands a very peculiar edifice,
built in the Moorish style. This is of marble,
iron, and glass, and is called Horticultural Hall.
In the other buildings will be exhibited the won-
ders of man's art; here we may see the wonders
of nature.
Here there will be fruits, flowers, trees, shrubs,
and plants from every part of the world. Growing
in a climate as soft and mild as that of their native
land, may be seen oranges, lemons, palms, and
all manner of luxuriant tropical plants; while in
parts of the great building will be the most delicious
and lovely fruits and flowers, filling the air with
their fragrance. In the central portion are four
large garden-beds, which are to be filled with the
loveliest things that gardeners know how to culti-
vate; and these gardens can be dug, and raked,
and hoed, and weeded, and enjoyed in all weath-
ers; for they are under roof, and protected from
all rain and storm. There are many boys and
girls, I think, who would consider it a grand thing
to have a large garden in the house; one in which
they could work at any time in the year, and in
all weathers.
Horticultural Hall, like the Art Gallery, is a

farmers' work all over the world. We know that
people in other countries farm in many peculiar
ways-different from each other, and from our
plans of working. And even in the various sec-
tions of our country farm-work and farm products
are so entirely different, that it will be of great
interest to the people from Maine to see how
sugar and cotton are grown, and what they look
like in their various stages. There are things, too,
which grow in the North which will be quite novel
to the people of the South. And we shall all be
interested in the farm products of China, Persia,
Tunis, Siam, Hawaii, and other far-away coun-
tries. We are familiar with the productions of
some of these countries, but only in the condition.
in which they are ready for our use.
This building looks like a great cathedral, or
four or five churches crowded into one, and is one
of the most peculiar structures on the ground.
Besides these five principal buildings, there are
many others, large and imposing in themselves,
though inferior in size and appearance to those
that we have described.
The United States Government has erected a
building which covers more than an acre of ground,
in which a great many things appertaining espe-
cially to our National Government will be exhibited.
There will be, of course, a large collection of
materials of war; and already there stands near
one entrance of this building a great cannon into
which a small boy could easily creep. It is about

permanent building, and will be maintained as a long enough to accommodate a moderate-sized
grand public conservatory for the citizens of Phil- infant-class.
adelphia. Then there will be a Woman's Pavilion, where
The last of the five great buildings is Agricult- all sorts of things, illustrating the work that the
ural Hall. This covers over ten- acres of ground, women of the world are doing, will be shown.
and will be filled with everything that relates to Buildings have been erected by Great Britain




and other countries for the use of the Commis-
sioners who have been sent over to attend to their
interests, and many of our States will have sep-
arate houses for their officers.
One of the most curious edifices on the ground
is one erected for Japan. This has been built
entirely by Japanese workmen, and in its con-
struction not a nail or a screw has been used.
The boards and timbers are all fitted together in
such a way that they need not be screwed or
nailed; and yet the building is as firm and strong
as any other frame-house, and the joints are all
very tight and neat.
It was a curious sight to see the Japanese car-
penters at work. They did everything in their
own style, just as they were accustomed to work
at home. In Japan they do not push a plane or a

an elevator, and then they can see the whole Ex-
hibition spread out before them, and have, besides,
a view of the city of Philadelphia and all the beau-
tiful scenery round about.
There are a great many other preparations, either
completed or nearly so, for this great Birthday-
party which our country is about to give; but I
cannot begin to tell you all about them now. It is
expected that millions of people will visit these
grounds and buildings during the Exhibition, which
will continue from the tenth of May until the tenth
of November.
The most extensive arrangements have been
made for accommodating these vast crowds from
all parts of the world. A company has been formed
to find board and lodgings in private ,houses for all
visitors who do not want to go to hotels, and a


saw, but the workman pulls them toward himself.
So these carpenters, when they used American
saws, tied cloths around the lower end of the saw-
blade, and held the saw by that end, so that the
saw-teeth would cut into the wood as they pulled it
toward them. They seemed to do everything hind-
part foremost. I suppose that if they had used
nails they would have driven them in heads first.
There will also be buildings for photographers,
carriage-builders, and many other exhibitors who
desire separate accommodations. Six large res-
taurants will be put up on the grounds, and in
some of these we shall have a chance of seeing how
the French and other foreign nations cook and
serve meals. It is supposed that there will be over
two hundred buildings in all, making quite a little
town out in Fairmount Park.
Just outside of the Exhibition grounds, a tall
observatory, one hundred'and fifty feet high, has
been erected. Visitors can go to the top of this in

person living in Constantinople or Rio Janeiro, or
any other city of the world accessible by railroads
or steam-vessels, can buy tickets furnished by this
company, which will take him to Philadelphia,
where he will be met on the cars, just before he
reaches the city, by a messenger, who will conduct
him with his baggage to a comfortable room in a
house where his meals and lodging will be pro-
vided for him for as long a time as he has bar-
gained for.
Of course, it is expected that a great deal of
money will be made by those who supply all these
people with what they need. Thousands and thou-
sands of dollars have been paid for the privilege of
setting up eating-houses, &c., on the grounds, and
one man paid seven thousand dollars just for the
privilege of selling pop-corn during the Exhibition!
Apart from the vast number of curious and
interesting things which may be seen at this Cen-
tennial Exhibition, it will be a wonderful thing to




see the great multitude of people of all nations
which will be collected together there.
To those of us who are not able to travel in
foreign countries, it will seem as if those foreign
countries had come to us. And surely this is the
next best thing to traveling one's self.
And there will be more to see for people who
live outside the city of Philadelphia than the great
crowds and the great Exhibition. For there, in
the city itself, is the Old State House in which
Independence was declared, and there is the very
room in which the Declaration was signed, and
around the room the very chairs in which the
signers sat, and on the walls their portraits are
hanging. There is the table on which the great
paper was signed, and there is the old silver ink-
stand which was then used by John Adams, who
wrote his name so boldly, and by Stephen Hopkins,
whose hand trembled-on account of palsy, not fear
--so that he could scarcely write at all, and by all
the rest of those brave men. In another room of
that Old State House may be seen all sorts of relics
of our forefathers: Letters written by Washington,
furniture and china and glass-ware used by him;
clothes worn by the patriots of the Revolution, and
swords and guns carried and used by them, and
many other things of the kind, which carry one
back to those old days better than the pages of the
best book of history that ever was written.
There, too, is to be seen the Old Liberty Bell
which was rung when our nation was born, to
"proclaim liberty throughout all the land to all the
inhabitants thereof."
It is well worth seeing, this grand old bell. It
will never ring again, for it is broken; but it has
done its duty. WVe do not need it now, for liberty
is proclaimed to all the land.
But I cannot tell you about all the curious and
interesting things, some belonging to old times and
some to new times, that may be seen in Phila-
delphia. There is one thing, however, that I must
mention, because every boy and girl will care to
know something about it.
This is the Zoological Garden, where all kinds
of animals are to be seen, not shut up in narrow
cages, but many of them in such commodious and
extensive quarters that their condition must seem
to them to be the next best thing to being free.
To be sure, the lions and tigers and other savage
beasts are in cages; but then they have very large

cages, where they can run and jump around and
have a good time.
In one of the cages is a large leopard, who is
named Commodore Perry, because for three days he
commanded the Chesapeake. The Chesapeake"
in this case was a schooner in which the leopard
was brought from Africa. He got loose while the
ship was lying in the Delaware River, on its arrival
at Philadelphia, and everybody speedily departed
from the vessel, leaving him in sole command.
The schooner was towed out into the middle of the
river and anchored. Every plan was tried to coax
the leopard on deck and into a cage, but he would
not go. Boats rowed around the ship night and day,
to kill the animal if he jumped overboard and tried
to swim ashore. For three days he held the vessel,
but, at last, another vessel was brought near the
Chesapeake, and a cage containing a little pig was
put on board. The Commodore was very hungry
by this time, and, hearing the pig squeak, he
bounced on deck and into the cage, the door of
which was immediately pulled shut by persons on
the other vessel. I do not know whether or not
the little pig was jerked out of the cage before the
leopard reached it, but I hope it was.
Besides all the wild beasts in the various houses
-and most of these have out-door accommodations
in warm weather-there are many animals who live
altogether in yards in the open air. Five or six big
buffaloes roam about in a half-acre lot, and there is
even an inclosed stream where the beavers live and
where they have built a dam. In another place,
with a wire fence around it, is a whole colony of
prairie dogs. It is amusing to see these little
fellows, sitting up on their hind-legs at the en-
trances of their underground dwellings, the doors
to which are always at the top of a little mound
like an enormous ant-hill. In other large inclosures
are beautiful deer and antelopes; and there are
three great stone pits for the bears, who climb up
posts which are planted in the middle of the pits.
Then they seem quite near you, but they can't
jump from the posts to the edge of the pit.
But if I go on telling about all the things that
are to be seen here, there will riot be room for any-
thing else in the magazine.
If possible, you must all attend America's Birth-
day-party. You are all invited, you know. And
it will be a hundred years before there is such
another celebration.







How d' ye do, my dear April fools? No, no I
don't mean that-I mean, How d' ye do, my dear
friends? The fact is, somebody asked me to tell
you this month all about April fools' day, and I
said I was sorry, but I would n't and could n't; and
so, you see, my ideas got slightly mixed. I don't
want to blight your young lives with dry details of
"Days," and their whys and wherefores, especially
when ever so many other things are pressing close
and whispering : "Tell the children about us, good
Jack-tell them about us!"
By the way, just'for a change, I think I'll begin
THIS is n't told about in all the books. The
latest biographies of Her Majesty, for some reason,
ignore the incident altogether; but if you happen
to meet with a volume called Paskin's Adventures
of Royalty," with a preface by Sir Walter Scott,
you '11 find an account of this affair, with a full-page
illustration of the exciting scene.

OF the letters sent by my boys and girls, in
reply to the picture-query in the February ST.
NICHOLAS (page 260), the little schoolma'am says
the following should be printed. If there were
room to spare, the good answers of Addie Howard,
Arthur Walker, Daniel B. Bidwell, and Willie
Locke should also appear in Jack's pages, though
none of them step this time into the Young Con-
tributors' Department."
Geneva, N. Y., Jan. 24, 1876.
DEAR JACK : You ask us to give an account of foxes and wolves-
their habits, looks, and dispositions.
The fox is an exceedingly crafty animal, nearly allied to the dog
'species. It seeks its food by night is fond of poultry, hares and
rabbits. Foxes emit an odor, which enables dogs to scent and follow
them with readiness. These animals adopt a great deal of cunning

in eluding the pursuit of dogs. They differ from wolves in these par-
ticulars, namely : they have a smaller body, smaller and shorter feet,
and much finer fur. The silver fox's fur is rare and costly. A fox
ran into one of our men's stone houses, near Geneva, last winter, for
refuge from the hounds. They are scarce in this part of New York
State now, although formerly they were in plenty.
The wolf is also nearly allied to the dog family, and is generally at
his growth about two and a half feet high. He is naturally of a fierce
disposition, while the fox is simply cunning. The form of the wolf is
gaunt and thin, and he has an emaciated look. He carries his tail
nearly straight. The common species are gray, and they are to be
found in both Europe and America. A species of black wolf was
common in North America a few years ago, but I do not know if
many still exist or not. Captain Franklin mentions seeing white
wolves in his voyage to the polar seas. They prey on 'he-p "er,
&c., and, when pressed by hunger, will even attack man. i.. I"
looks much more like a dog than the fox does.
The picture in the February number was a fox.
Yours very respectfully, E. L. V.

Calera, Ala., Jan. 30, 1876.
DEAR JACK : "Which is it? Why, it is a fox. The difference
between a fox and a wolf is this: The fox's nose, or snout, is longer
and more tapering than the wolf's; his ears are more upright and
pointed, and his tail more bushy. He belongs to the genus vulpes.
He burrows in the earth; is remarkable for his cunning; and preys
on lambs, geese, hens, and other small animals. The common fox
of Europe is the vulfes vulgaris; the red fox of America, the vulpes
The wolf is a carnivorous animal, of the genus canis. So is the
dog. The common wolf of Europe is canis lupus. The common
American wolf is cans occidenials ; the prairie wolf, canis latrans.
Wolves are very fierce, and often attack man and large animals.
They usually go in droves. I suppose all of us have read, in one of
the school readers, of the' Russian woman who was followed by a
pack of wolves, and, to save her own life, threw out her children to
them. Such a story of a mother is hard to believe. I am glad there
is no Brudda Wolf" about here to pay me a visit.
Yours truly, CLIFTON B. D.

You 'VE heard about Xerxes ? Of course you
have; every history scholar that comes into my field
to study talks about Xerxes of old, and his great
armies. Well, I heard a very queer story about
this same Xerxes the other day-picked out of one
of the big books, you know. In one of his wars
he wanted his soldiers to cross a piece of water a
mile wide. So he caused a bridge of boats to be
made. But before his men had crossed, a storm
came up and destroyed the bridge; whereupon this
brave general flew into a passion, like a little boy,
and ordered the sea to be whipped with three hun-
dred lashes, and a set of fetters cast into it, to
punish it for its disrespectful conduct !
Dear, dear! I'm told the little waves are sob-
bing on the beach to this day.

SPEAKING of some of the droll ways of those far-
off places, reminds Jack of a bit of news about
kites that he heard from Central Asia, through a
late traveler there. Now, of course, you know all
about American kites, and you've seen in ST.
NICHOLAS pictures of comical Chinese kites; but
did you ever even hear of a kite that gives out
sweet music as it floats in the air? Never? Well,
then, you must go to Asia, or make one yourself.
As near as I can make out, the musical kite is like
a common American square one, with the string
and tail fastened to the upright stick, and the cross
stick bent back like a bow, and held by a string of
catgut. This makes an ,Eolian harp, on which pass-
ing breezes play, and make charming, soft music.
Try it, boys, and let Jack know how you succeed.




IT is astonishing," said Deacon Green, how
sensitive persons are in some ways and how dull in
others, I knew a lady once who went about in
high spirits gossiping and telling tales, thereby
openly proclaiming herself a gossip and a tale-
bearer, and yet she was furious when told that she
had not a good ear for music; and I've known
men who could tell a lie without a pang, but to
have any one 'doubt their word' was more than
they could stand."

You think there cannot be such a thing as a
drowned fish ? Well, you may accept Jack's word
for it that the thing is quite possible. If you take
the air out of a body of water, the fishes in that
water will suffocate and drown. Any chemist, or,
in fact, almost any educated person, can tell you
how to deprive water of its proper portion of air.
A live fish laid down on the grass on a bright, clear
day does n't die for warit of water, but for want of
air. A little bird tells me that Mr. Brooks will lay
this whole matter before you in the next number of
ST. NICHOLAS. It is n't an April fool story either.
It is, every word of it, true.

DEAR JACK: I tried the experiment of changing the color of a
flower, as you asked us to. I had two carnations, and I bought only
five cents' worth of spirits of hartshorn. I poured in a little at a time.
I changed the white to yellow, and the red to black.


WHAT do you think of this picture, my chicks?
Should you like to wear such a mask as that ?-
should you like to deserve to wear such a mask ?
No, no, no !
I thought so.
On the whole, I'm glad it is such a hideous-
looking thing. It ought to be hideous, if it is for
Here is a fetter sent you, in Jack's care, by a
lady who saw this slanderer's mask in the Frosch
Thurn," or under-ground prisons of Nuremberg,
and whose brother made a picture of it in pen and
ink, so that you might know just how it looks:

DEAR GIRLS AND BOYS Two summers ago, I .."'- "
few days in the quaint old town of Nuremberg. In ri-.. .
a great number of your toys are made;. in fact, it is one of the largest
of St. Nicholas's .workshops.
All around Nuremberg are high, strong walls, under which are
dungeons where, many years ago, people were often imprisoned.
Some were held for only a few days, others were never again seen;
they either died from the close confinement, or perished in a cruel
One beautiful morning, we were invited to visit these under-ground
prisons. On our way, we crossed the bridge spanning the moat, or
ditch, which surrounds the city. In ancient times this moat was filled
with water, but at present it is planted with trees and gardens.
Soon we came in sight of Albert Diirer's picturesque studio-house,
but a short distance from our, destination. I have seen a beautiful
story about this artist in the first volume of ST. NICHOLAS. The en-
trance to the prison is quite damp and gloomy, and, although it was
a warm day, we felt chilled on going in.
In a large corridor were a number of cruel-looking instruments used
for torturing prisoners, especially those from whom the authorities
wished to force some secret, or suspected plot. There also were con-
trivances for torturing in punishment of various moral offenses.
Among other things, you must know that, several hundred years

ago, what some persons now wrongly consider a slight offense,
was then very severely punished. For instance, slanderers and gos-
sips were compelled to wear an iron mask about the city for a cer-
tain length of time, so securely fastened with iron clasps that it was
impossible for the wearer to remove it. This mask had great horns

or ear flaps, to add to its weight and ugliness, while sometimes it was
provided with spikes inside that pierced the flesh with every move-
ment of the head.
Imagine how dreadful it must have been to wear this, and how
humiliating to walk through the streets with such a sign of disgrace--
an object of scorn and the laughing-stock of all! How shamefacedly
must the culprit have avoided his family, and dreaded the idea of
again following -in his former pursuits, or ever holding intercourse
with any human being !
If people would only see how a matter is apt. to be exaggerated
when repeated from mouth to mouth Many sensitive persons have
suffered.for a life-time from only "a little piece of news," which some
one confided to a "bosom friend," who told a very dear acquaint-
ance, who told his friend in strict confidence, and so sent the story
on, until the harmless item stretched to a disgraceful scandal, which
tale-bearer number one could never have recognized. Often when it
has so grown, the starter of a bit of scandal would gladly recall it;
but it is too late. The deed is done.
Slanderers nowadays are not forced to wear an iron mask, hut they
wear a badge of shame wherever they go, and, sooner or later, they
suffer in their own conscience the tortures they have given to others.
It is a good rule never to say anything at all about a person unless
you can speak well of him. MARY S. Huss.

STRANGE stuff for clothes, isn't it? But it is
what whole tribes of Africans wear. Hard and
stiff? Oh, no! It is soaked and pounded and
beaten until it becomes soft and fine in texture,
and then it is ornamented with black patterns,
drawn on it, which makes it quite the style" in
Uganda, I have been told-I've never been there






'. 11Iri11,


'%-uYcc )

THERE was once a big white hen who had twelve little chickens, and

they were all just as good little chickens as ever you saw. Whatever

their mother told them to do, they did.


:-;--~----~-----~ ~-~~1~---''
----i~----;;s--,-.,---,-- .- __~.---L ~i-




-=' ---
~=I-.- -- -4~~


One day, this old hen took her children down to a small brook. It
was a nice walk for them, and she believed the fresh air from the water
would do them good. When they reached the brook, they walked along
by the bank for a little while, and then. the old hen thought that it looked
much prettier on the other side, and that it would be a good thing for
them to cross over. As she saw a large stone in the middle of the
brook, she felt sure that it would be easy to jump on that stone and then
to jump to the other side. So she jumped to the stone, and clucked
for her children to follow her. But, for the first time in their lives, she
found that they would not obey her. She clucked and flapped her wings
and cried to them,' in hen-talk:
"Come here, all of you! Jump on this stone, as I did. Then we
can go to the other side. Come now !"
Oh, mother, we can't, we can't, we can't!" said all the little chickens.
"Yes, you can, if you try," clucked the old hen. "Just flop your wings
as I did, and you can jump over, easy enough."
"I am a-flopping my wings," said one little fellow, named Chippy, who
stood by himself in front, but I can't jump any better than I did before."
I never saw such children," said the old hen. You don't try at all."
We can't try, mother," said the little chicks. "We can't jump so far.
Indeed, we can't, we can't, we can't, we can't!" chirped the little chicks.
Well," said the old hen, "I suppose I must give it up"-and so she
jumped back from the stone to the shore, and walked -slowly home, fol-
lowed by all her family.
Don't you think mother was rather hard on us ?" said one little chicken
to another, as they were going home.
Yes," said the other little chick. Asking us to jump so far as that,
when we have n't any wing-feathers yet, and scarcely any tails! "
Well, I tried my best," said Chippy. I flopped as well as I could."
I did n't," said one of the others. It's no use to try to flop when
you've got nothing to flop."
When they reached home, the old hen began to look about for some-
thing to eat, and she soon found, close to the kitchen-door, a nice big
piece of bread. So she clucked, and all the little chickens ran up to her,
and each one of them tried to get a bite at the piece of bread.
No, no !" cried the old hen. "This bread is not for all of you. It is
for the only one of my children who really tried to jump to the stone.
Come, Chippy! you are the only one who flopped. This nice piece of
bread is for you."



402 OUR MUSIC PAGE. (Ai.Rst,

Words by ALBA (Little Folk Songs).
Allearo Moderato.


Music by F. BOOTT.


Bread and milk from a
Wash his face with a
Un tie his strings with a
Off, off he goes to his

chi na cup, Bread and milk from a bright sil ver spoon,
mer ry splash! Pol ish it well with a nice tow el fine,
pull and a slip; Down go his pet ti-coats on to the ground, And a-
pret ty cot, Where he falls fast a sleep with a sweet lit tie song, Where the
S l

f --a 4L -L ^-*A-- -

---------- --- -- -----------.
I_ _-S-- ---l------1---- --------r,--&--i~I ----,--'-----,-------
_. .---- --,7 --- 7--,: ---?-- [--. *f?-- b- 7 =-==3 .- --

Made of a piece of the bright sil ver moon Sip pi ty sup, Sip p ty sup,
Oh, how his eyes and his red cheeks will shine 1 Dip -pi ty dash, Dip pi ty dash,
way now he dan ces a round and a round! Rip pi ty rip, Rip pi -ty rip,
an gels watch o ver him all the night long! Trt te ry trot, Trit- te -ry trot,
*/__t _-- I .=r

-4 -- Lz4ztr z

t I

col. canto.. ........

[ L- LL I .

Y I --r





L -




I AM going to tell you what I saw on the hill called Hradschin in
Prague. My father and mother, another gentleman, my brother, and
myself went to see the Hradschin before we left the city.
First, we went to see the great library; but it was not open, as the
monks were eating (a certain order of monks have this building in
charge). Then we went to the Palace, and saw where the old Emperor
Ferdinand (who has since died) lived. Next we went to a great hall
where, in olden times, the nobles used to hold their tournaments; but
now the floor is used to mark out the plan of the new cathedral upon.
From there we went into the room where the Thirty Years' War
began, by the Protestants throwing three Catholic councillors from
the high window. The room is just the same now as it was then,
and you can see where the bullets went through the door.
Then we went into two of the largest halls in Europe. In one of
them there are 3078 candle-lights. From those halls we went into the
place where the Emperor used to hold court, and afterward it was
used for Parliament. Next we went to the Cathedral, and saw a plan
of the city of Prague, cut in wood, and the coffin of the patron saint
of Bohemia, Johann Nepomuck. The coffin was of silver. It had
four large silver angels, with wreaths in their hands, hanging by
silver chains over it. Then we went into a little chapel dedicated to
the holy Wenzel. The sides of the chapel are made of precious
stones, and in one place there is a piece of Wenzel's armor. In the
side of the wall is a little door that leads to another which has seven
locks. The Emperor has one key, the chief of the police one, the
mayor one, the governor one, and so on; and you can only get in
when they are all together. Then comes another door, with seven
locks also, and after that a room, and in that room is the Bohemian
crown and the rest of Wenzel's armor. Then we went out of the
Cathedral and had a fine view of Prague.
We saw also a big tower that reaches deep down into the hill, and
in olden times they used to throw their prisoners down, and give them
a piece of bread every day for their food, and there they died of
starvation. Now the woman that keeps the castle throws some lighted
paper down, and you can see the bones of the prisoners, and whole
Bohemian verses scratched into the side of the rock.
After seeing a number of the palaces of the nobility, we returned
home. w. G. S.


I HEARD a great secret the other day,
And what it was I here will say:
Down in the valley, under the hill,
Where the hawthorn grows, and the little rill
Hurries along to meet the brook,
Into a bumble-bee's nest I'll look.

The bee-queen ..: .4 her dainty throne,
Now and then ,llI,. to some lazy drone;
While out in the pantry the little bee-cook
First kneads up her honey, then looks at her bopk
To see how many dewdrops for this loaf of cake,
And how many eggs for the next one to take.

And what do you think this was all about?
Some very great event, no doubt;
For there was the sparkling dewdrop wine,
And grasshopper molasses all so fine,
And by the light of the silver moon
The bees are to give a party soon.

So ere the light began to dawn,
Or chanticleer sounded forth his horn,
Each little bee was up early and bright,
To secure her friends for the festival night;
And after they'd sent all their messages out,
Not a bee or a drone was seen stirring about.

At last, when the moon began to peep
From over the hills where the rabbits sleep,
Each bee was arrayed in her pretty brown silk,
And the finest of handkerchiefs, white as milk;
The guests, too, were starting away from their nests
Also attired in their very best.

First came the butterflies, all so bright,
Arrayed in their beautiful robes of light;
And right behind, in a stately train,
The flies and daddy-longlegs came.
And all the guests arrived at last,
Before the hour of seven was past.

The tables were set by the hawthorn-tree,
And everything looked as nice as could be;
But all of a sudden there rose on the air
A tiny wail of intense despair,
And all because some naughty bee
Had spilt the wine by the hawthorn-tree.
They then went to supper and had a nice time,
Although they had not the dewdrop wine.
Then daddy-longlegs proposed a dance,
And over the green sward they all did prance,
Till young butterfly trod on the bee-queen's toe,
And into the hive they must carry her, 0!
The little bee fainted, but rallied quite soon,
And bade them put all their fiddles in tune.
They danced till the light began to dawn,
Till four o'clock in the dewy morn;
Then started for home, to get one hour's sleep
Before the sun began to peep.

So this is the end of the great party,
In the moonbeams bright, by the hawthorn-tree.
The hawthorn is there, and the little rill
Runs in the same way over the hill;
And the wind, as it sighs through the branches bare,
Tells what a wonderful dance was there. H. G. w.

WE had often seen the lights moving about on the river, which
was about a half a mile from our house, and knew that they were
fishing-boats, and that the men or boys were spearing fish. One day
we made up our minds to go fishing. The day we set to go on was a
pleasant one about the first of June. There were three of us boys-
my brother Will, a school-mate by the name of Bert, and myself.
At half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, Bert and I started for a
piece of woodland that grew on the bank of the river to cut some
wood to use on out jack.
When about half way to the woods, crossing a field of underbrush,
we saw a couple of snakes. Where is the person who does not hate a
snake? I know I do: so we soon killed them with the ax. We had
not taken but two or three steps before we saw some more snakes,-
it seemed to be the land of snakes. We killed all that we could of
them. Some people do not think it right to kill anything, not even
snakes, but we do; I hate anything that looks like, or acts like, a
One old fellow, about three feet long, made a spring at me, and
caught me by the trousers just below the knee. Bert hollered, "Hit
him, Charlie, hit him !" But I was not in the position for hitting him
just then; I whirled around and 'round, and at last, by stepping on
him with one foot and drawing with the other, I freed myself He
looked ugly, but we sent him after the others, and went on our way
We had now reached the river bank, and we cut our wood and
went home to supper.
The sun had just set when we pushed off from the shore about a
mile above the place where we cut our wood. We floated slowly
down the river and landed by our wood-pile (not daddy's). We
built a fire in the jack, which is a sort of basket made of iron. It
was about seven o'clock when we pulled out in the river; I took the
oars, Bert a paddle to steer with, while Will took the spear. The
fish were plenty, but somehow he could not hit them. Then I took
the spear; but I do not believe that I came as near them as Will
did. Then Bert tried, but without success. We went up and down
the river half a dozen times, but did not get any fish. We were sur-
prised every time each of us took the spear. We were sure we could
spear fish; we speared at them, and laughed at each other because
we could not hit them.
At last we gave up, because it was getting late; and a little after
ten o'clock we emptied our fire into the river and started for home.
We did not say anything to the boys at school about fishing the
next day; but I did not hear any one say we did not have a pleasant
evening. If any one said it was not profitable, we would say, there
are all of those snakes; if we had not killed them they might have
bitten somebody. To which Will would remark, "Yes, and that
old chap might have bitten you if you had not moved faster than you
usually do." And I sometimes think that if I was as slow as he
usually is, the snake would have surely bitten me.
We afterward learned the reason we did not get any fish. It was
because our spear was not heavy enough for the kind offish we were
trying to catch. We resolved that the next time we went jack fish-
ing we would take a spear that was heavy enough, if it was as heavy
as Goliath's. c. A. P.





OTR Music PAGE.-The pretty song with which the well-known
Boston composer, Mr. Boott, favors you this month, is not, as you
will see, an easy lesson for beginners. It is a song that children can
readily sing; but, though its accompaniment is not difficult, it will
require a little practice to play it well and lead the-voices. In this
way you all can join in producing really good music, which is not the
less fine because it is adapted to one of Alba's dainty and simple
songs. -

Brooklyn, Feb. 2, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Please tell Jack-in-the-Pulpit that my father
had a cat that weighed more than the cat that Deacon Green spoke
about. It was given to him by a lady in Connecticut. It weighed
twenty-three, and sometimes twenty-four pounds. This is no ex-
aggeration. Please put this in your magazine
I tried Professor Gobbo's experiment. It was a white pink, and it
turned yellow. I hope he will tell some more.
I like the story of The Boy Emigrants."-Respectfully,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS; I am in a new school-house, and enjoy
being there very much. Somehow, I can learn my lessons better
when I am warm than when I am cold. I am studying physical
geography, grammar, practical arithmetic, United States history, and
composition. I do not class reading and spelling as studies. A new
farm near us has some singular tenants. One of them is a man who
said that an evil spirit told him to cut off his hand, and that the spirit
of his mother told him not to; but, like most men, he obeyed the evil
spirt. I enjoy ST. NICHOLAS and SCRIBNER very much. I tried to
get out that "Pilot" puzzle, but did not make much headway. I
read "The Boy Emigrants" aloud to mother, and we enjoy it.
Mo r said th sid at when she was rolling out her pies she composed
better letters than she ever wrote. I can't say it is the same with me,
as I don't roll out pies. -Your friend, FRANCIS BACHELER.

CHARLEY B--, who secretly requested information about the
"Tower of the Thundering Winds," now writes to thank ST. NICH-
OLAS for the hint to ," take a bird's-eye view of the globe," and says
that in doing so (with a cyclopedia for an eye-glass), he finally caught
sight of the wonderful tower on an eminence in the vicinity of Hang-
choo-foo, one of the chief cities of China. He says also that he found
it to be about 2500 years old, and, excepting the Great Wall of China,
the only remaining monument of ancient Chinese architecture-all of
which he revealed in triumph to his unsuspecting uncle.
We hope the worthy gentleman will pardon us, if ever he should
learn of our hint to Charley, and are glad to know that our young
friend found the Tower" without any further aid; though, if he
had failed, Charles H. R Benedict, Sidney P. Hollingsworth, S. M.
Brice, and Mabel S. Clarke would have relieved ST. NICHOLAS of the
responsibility of telling him, since each of them sent in correct in-
formation regarding the noted tower.

IN a lonely country neighborhood iq Virginia, a family of eight or
ten children were in the b-iht fr ,-lin.: ST. NICHOLAs, and through
the long winter evenings ,.-. r...: I.. I summer days, it was ever
a welcome visitor. Papa and mamma had also their magazine, but
money was scarcer this year than before, and the heads of the family,
after some consultation, decided, reluctantly, that one periodical must
be given up, and it was proper for the children to resign theirs rather
than the grown people. When this decision was announced great
was the concern in the nursery. They all met together, big and lit-
tle, these eager boys and girls, to see if any means could be devised
for retaining their favorite. They counted up their little savings, and
discussed plans for making more. It was just before Christmas, and
with the New Year they were to lose ST. NICHOLAS. While in the
midst of their conclave, the announcement was made that a package
had arrived from an aunt in a distant city. Christmas gifts of course.
What was their delight, on opening it, to find the bound numbers of
ST. NICHOLAS and the subscription paid for them through the com-
ing year. Such rejoicing and excitement followed, and one little
fellow, jumping upon a chair, made his voice heard above the rest:
I knew it-I knew God did n't mean for us to do without ST.

WE are glad to acknowledge here the excellent answers to the
"Pilot Puzzle" sent us by English boys and girls, but received too
late for acknowledgment in the March number. The senders are:
Charles Harold, of Christchurch, Hampshire; Katherine Gilling Lax,
of Fitzhead, Taunton, Somerset; and Mary Cecilia Boyce, Edward
Theodore Boyce, and Thomas Riddell Boyce, of Wakefield,-Eng-

Lafayette, Ind., Jan. 28th, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like your stories very much. I think
"The Story of Jon of Iceland" and "The Boy Emigrants" are
about the best, though all of them are good. I write to find out
about that society, namely, the Bird-defenders. I only began to take
the ST. NICHOLAS when The Little Coaroral stopped, so I know
nothing about the rules. Would you please inform m of the e regula-
tions. Perhaps 1 would join if you would tell me, and oblige your
true friend, CHAS. H. ELDRIDGE.
If Charles can obtain a copy of ST. NICHOLAS for June, 1875, he
will find in the supplement, entitled "Grand Muster-Roll," a full
statement of the aim, organization, and "regulations" of the Army
of Bird-defenders. We have received several such inquiries, to which
we have not space to reply, except by referring them to the supple-
ment mentioned above, which will fully answer all questions pro-
pounded. We may also state, for the benefit of those who have sent
in their names during the last few months, that another muster-roll
will be published very soon.
New York.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My attention was called lately to an article
in ST. NICHOLAS on the ancient custom of hand-shaking. I go to
one of the Latin schools here, and my investigations lead me to dis-
agree with Mr. F. De Grey on the antiquity of this custom. I find
that Cesar, in his "Commentaries," says, CCEsa e/us dextr-m
prendit." Virgil also, in the first book of his "Eneid," says, avidi
conjungere dexrtras ardebant." Also, in Tacitus it is spoken of as a
pledge of friendship.
Now, as this clearly shows that the custom extends back to the
time of Virgil (B. c. 70-19) and Caesar (B. c. 100-44), which was in
the "golden age" of Latin literature, why cannot we, then, with
equal right, claim it as a custom as far back as the Heroic Age? It
is well known that the Romans copied a great many of their customs
from the Greeks, and it seems more than likely that it was a common
custom in the times of Achil'es and Hector. -Yours,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : In the January number of ST. NICHOLAS
there was a letter about the number of words that can be written on a
postal-card. Did Amos Morse write simply 1055 disjointed words on
the postal-card, or make sentences and put them in the form of a
connected and intelligible letter ? J. S. NEWTON.

We cannot answer the above question, as our correspondent did
not send the postal-card, or make any further statement concerning it
than that published in the January number. It may interest Amos
Morse, however, to know that his feat has been excelled. After read-
ing Amos' letter, Allen Curtis, a Boston boy now living in Florence,
Italy, tries the experiment, fills his postal-card, and sends a letter all
the way across the ocean to say that his count of the words crowded
on that card amounts to 1185 And as if this were not miracle
enough, there comes, only two days later, from Harry Cooper, of
Philadelphia, a postal-card, the mere sight of which amazes and
almost blinds us. On that single small card are inscribed with pen
and ink, one short story, two small poems, and two newspaper para-
graphs-in all, 15oo legibly written words i
But, young friends, at sight of such mistaken achievements as
these, ST. NICHOLAS cannot refrain from protesting against this sort
of amusement. Aside from the time wasted in the great and un-
profitable labor, the harm done to the eyes of all those who are unwise
enough to write or to read such cards, is likely to be very great.
A good clear vision, such as most boys have, is too precious a thing
to be tampered with, and to injure it in a frivolous competition of this
kind is an actual crime against which we cannot too emphatically
warn our readers. Eyes are better than spectacles or goggles, young
friends: keep those ugly things away from yours, then, as long as




IN the article on Snow-shoes in ST. NICHOLAS for March, there
are some mistakes. H, and not A, is the toe of the shoe. The
wearer's toes are inserted under a strap at D, and project part way
over the opening there. As his heel rises at every step, his toes (and
not his heel) dip through the hole D, and the shoe is trailed behind
him, the front part being raised just enough to clear the snow, while
the tail-end slips along over the surface.

FRED'S request in the February number for the words of an old
song entitled The White Pilgrim," has called forth many answers
from the boys and girls. There is considerable disagreement, how-
ever, among those sent in, since, besides mere verbal differences, some
correspondents furnish six stanzas, some seven, and some only five.
We print below the version sent by Libbie Lee; and which is the
one most generally given. Critically, we do not rejoice in its publica-
tion; but those to whom the poem is hallowed by home associations
may be glad to see it:
I came to the spot where a White Pilgrim lay,
And pensively mused by his tomb:
When, in a low whisper, I heard something say:
"How sweetly I sleep here alone

"The tempest may howl, and the loud thunders roll,
And gathering storms may arise;
But calm are my feelings, at rest is my soul,
The tears are all wiped from my eyes.

"'Twas the call of my Master that led me from home,
I bade my companions farewell;
I left my dear children, who now for me mourn,
In a far distant region to dwell.

"I wandered a pilgrim, a stranger below,
To publish salvation abroad;
The trump of the gospel endeavoring to blow,
Inviting poor sinners to God.

"But when I was distant, and far from my home,
No kindred or relative nigh,
I caught the contagion, and sank in the tomb,
My spirit ascending on high.

"Go tell my companions, and children most dear,
To weep not for Joseph, though gone;
The same hand that led me through scenes dark and drear,
Has kindly assisted me home."

Similar versions were sent in by Fred Woodworth, "Clarissa and
Norah," Mary F. Matthews, Frank H. Stiles, Jennie N. Potter,
Benjamin Fletcher, Jr., Wynne G. Woods, Sarah C. Spottiswoode,
Clara Williams, Clifton B. Dare, Fannie B. Eller, D. B. McLean,
Mrs. O. A. Barto, Lulu E. Bliss, Mrs. S. Rosa Stewart, Birdie Lodge,
" Helen," C. Q. Kirkpatrick, Samuel McRae, Charles T. Bennett,
Mattie P. Thompson, Olivia M. Bell, Mrs. J. H. Hunter, Mary G.,
A. D. Brumback, S. R. H. and W. C. R. Kemp.

LEwis L. SMITH sends the following list of "popular names" for
several of the chief states and cities of our country. Probably many
of our readers are familiar with a part or all of them; but there are,
perhaps, some boys and girls who do not understand these very com-
mon allusions when they hear them:

STATES.-New York: Excelsior State. Pennsylvania: Keystone
State. Iowa: Hawkeye State. Massachusetts: Bay State. Con-
necticut; Land ofSteady Habits. Arkansas: Bear State. Ohio:
Buckeye State. Louisiana: Creole State. Kentucky: Dark and
Bloody Ground. Indiana: Hoosier State. Michigan: Lake State.
Rhode Island: Little Rhody. Texas: Lone Star State. Maine:
Lumber State. Virginia: Old Dominion. North Carolina: Old
North State. South Carolina: Palmetto State. Florida: Penin-
sula State. Vermont: Green Mountain State. Illinois: Prairie
CITIES.--New York : Empire City. Philadelphia: City ofBrot/h-
erly Love. Pittsburg: Iron City. Keokuk: The Gate City. Bos-
ton: Hub ofthe Universe, or Athens of Amekica. Lowell: City of
Sfindles. New Haven: City ofElmbs. Brooklyn: City of Churches.
Washington: City of Magniflcent Distances. Nashville: City of
Rocks. Detroit: City of Straits. New Orleans: Crescent Ciy.
Chicago: Garden City. Baltimore: Monumental City. St. Louis:
mound City. Cincinnati: Queen City. Indianapolis: Railroad

Newton, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: Please tell me why the name "Roman
nose" is given to large hooked noses? Is it because the ancient
Romans generally had that kind? MINNA E. THOMAS.

No, Minna; the name "Roman is given to the curved or aqui-
line nose, because the Romans.regarded that form of the feature as
the mostbeautiful one,just as the Grecians esteemed most the straight
line from the forehead to the tip, which shape is therefore called the
Grecian nose.

Negaunee, Mich.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I thought I would write you a letter about
the winters we have on Lake Superior. It begins to snow about the
latter part of October, and is quite deep early in November. Then
our sleighing begins for the season, and lasts until the first of April.
In March, when the crust is hard, you can see the boys and girls
sliding on almost every hill that is clear of stumps and trees. The
lake is always frozen over, but it is a long way from our house, so my
brother Harry has made a skating rink on our croquet ground, and
we have lots of fun skating and sliding. I am afraid my letter is get-
ting too long, so I must close.-Yours, MINNIE MtERRY.

SINCE our acknowledgment, in the January number, of answers to
Sarah B. Wilson's riddle, we have received these few additional ones:
Rev. J. H. Sweet, Rector of Kilmacow, near Waterford, Ireland,
sends the answer "Adrianople," and Stella M. Kenyon the one most
generally given, "Litchfield;" while three other answers are quite
new and original-" Adramytium" by C. S. P., "City of Rome" by
Helen M. Motter, and Hybla Major" (a city of Sicily) by Olive A.
Wadsworth. In connection also with this riddle, "Mayflower" sends
word that, as published in Miss Seward's will, it was not complete,
but was found, after competition for the prize had been exhausted, to
be a curtailed copy of a rebus published in the Gentleman's Magazine
for March, 1757, and attributed to Lord Chesterfield.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Can a boy who shoots ducks and black-
birds be one of the Bird-defenders ? Whenever we want a really nice
dinner, I and my brother Charles take our guns and kill some wild
ducks, and then we have a grand dinner We live in Grant County,
New Mexico, twenty miles from Silver City, and we have no little
boys and girls to play with, and we do not go to school, so it is quite
lonesome. But we take ST. NICHOLAS, and like it very much, and
we think the stories are very interesting.-One of your friends,
It is not contrary to the principles of the Bird-defenders to kill
birds for food.

L. M. sends this problem to the boys and girls. It is not new, but
many of our readers may not have met with it:
Mr. A. went into a store to buy a pair of boots. The boots were
worth $5.oo, and Mr. A. gave the shoemaker a $50.00 bill to change.
The shoemaker, having no small bills, went to a neighbor with the
$50.00 and received from him small bills in exchange. He (the shoe-
maker) then gave Mr. A. $45.00 and the boots. Later in the day
the neighbor went to the shoemaker, saying that the $50.oo bill was
counterfeit, and he must have good money. The shoemaker gave
him what he asked. How much did the shoemaker lose?

Stone Ridge, Ulster Co., N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Early last summer, my brother made three
bird-houses. We have three trees out in front of our store, so he
put one in each. First, there came a pair of blue-birds and looked
at the largest house; but I guess it did ndt suit them, for they left
Next came a pair of wrens. They took possession and commenced
building a nest; but a pair of sparrows came and drove them out
They did n't use it themselves, or let the wrens use it; so my brother
took it down. Then the wrens took one of .the other boxes, and
would n't let the sparrows drive them out this one, but built a nest in
it, and the female laid four little eggs. After hatching them about
two weeks, four little birds came out. Then the father and mother
were very busy carrying insects for them to eat. We had a cat in
the store, and when the little wrens got about big enough to leave the
nest, the old birds would make a great time when the cat went out-
doors-fly around her head and scold. One day, I heard them
making a great noise. I went out. The cat was sitting right on top
of the box. I climbed up in the tree and made her get down. She
had not hurt the little ones.
When the little ones left the nest, the father took them away to take
care of them, and the mother took the one remaining box and built
another nest. It was great fun to watch her. Sometimes she would
get a stick so heavy she could hardly carry it; twice she let one fall

1876. i



and caught it before it reached the ground. At one time she took a-
heavy one (for her), and, with a great deal of difficulty, got it to her
nest; but when she got there, the opening in the box was so small
she could n't get in with the stick crosswise as she had it; so she let
it slip along in her bill till she came nearly to the end, and then put it
in endwise. Just as she got it nicely in, it slipped back again and
fell to the ground. She went back and .. I rp, dropped it again,
then concluded to let it alone. She r: :- off, and came back
with a still larger one. Dropped that, then took that same old one,
and took it to her nest. After that, she got smaller ones. Then she
finished it, and began hatching again.-From a friend,
New York.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please tell me, by way of the
Letter-Box, some good recipe for making good candy ? I have tried
several ways, but, somehow, do not succeed very well; so.I thought
you might be able to tell me.
I have taken you a year or more, and think you are splendid. I
liked Eight Cousins". best, and my brother likes 'Jon of Iceland"
better than any of your stories. -Your friend, GusSIE.
Gussie will find a recipe for making sugar-candy in the Letter-
Box of ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1874.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Me and my brother are going to send you
a letter, and we hope you will put it in the Letter-Box. My sister
Annie says you wont bother with a little girl like me. My brother's
name is Harry. He can't even print, for he is only five years old.
Will you please make us Bird-defenders; we want to be very much.

But we are going to eat some turkey to-morrow. Is it wicked ?
We have got two dear cats; must we kill them? We can't wait to
know if you will please to print this letter; we shall be so sorry if you
don't.-Good by, from GERTIE LINCOLN.

ALL readers who have enjoyed Mrs. Sara Keables Hunt's contri-
butions to ST. NICHOLAS, will be glad to know that Nelson & Philips,
of New York, have just published her first book. It is called "Arthur
and Bessie in Egypt," and it shows how children of the present who
live in that ancient country pass their time, and how they enjoy them-
selves among its palaces and gardens and ruins

CALVARY SONGS. By Rev. C. S. Robinson and Theo. E. Perkins.
Philadelphia: American Sunday-School Union.-This new collection
of hymns and tunes has evidently been made with scrupulous care,
and with an eye to meeting the wants of Sunday-schools and families.
New songs and old favorites are wisely brought together, and, in
some instances, familiar tunes have been given fresh words, to the
gain of the singers.
From S. T. Gordon & Co., New York : Dream of the Sea Waltzes
-Le Beau Monde-Who is this Little Maiden ?-Speak to Me-
Rienzi March-Indigo Polka-Mazurka-Beauties of "Madame
L'Archiduc "-La Belle Gala the-Over the Beautiful Stars-Who's
at My Window ?-The Children's Carnival.


BEHEAD and curtail words having the following signi-
fications, and leave a diamond puzzle: I. A liquor. 2.
Blemishes. 3. Birds. 4. To filch. 5. Cunning.
The following form the diamond: I. In ST. NICHO-
LAS. 2. A household utensil. 3 An admirer. 4. A
beverage. 5. In literature. CYRIL DEANE.

WHERE late the forest grew and shed balsamic breath,
No tree remains, nor anything but black and awful
Thou, wanton fiend, with ruthless touch and cruel haste,
Hast changed those sylvan shades into a barren waste !
To mount, on some fair morn, on mighty soaring wings,
And gain one lofty view of earth's most wondrous
things !
Or on some tranquil eve, with pinions strong to rise,
And spend one glorious hour adrift in sunset skies !
One of a multitude of merry little dancers-
He flashes out a gleam, and then another answers.
How they do dance o' nights away down in the meadow !
While they can flash around they '11 never go to bed 0 !
A. O'N.

(Fill the first blank in each stanza with a certain word, the second
with the same word beheaded, and the third with same
word again beheaded.)
PEGGOTTY and Barkis, walking in the --
She a charming sweetheart, he a knightly -
Sweetest sweetness of the sweet, how it bubbles--

All the birds are quite in tune, earth and sky are -
E'en the heifer at the bars keeps a friendly ;
All the joy, the damsel thinks, to the day is -.

Peggotty," the suitor sighs, do you tire of ?"
She her home-made blanket is most diligently -
'T is for you my hands are strong in the tasks of-- ."

Barkis 'T is not on her lips, but the meaning -
From the blushing eloquence of her downcast -- ;
What were words compared with this more than smoke
and -

Barkis answers to the glance: "Oh, you puzzling--
How you love to worry us with token and with- !"
Quick the maiden finds her speech: How is it with
you -?"

But the honest love no jest can avail to --
So the swain his cottage seeks, and the maid her -
Hand in hand, and heart to heart, home they lead
each -. E. L. E.


I. A CONSONANT. 2. A juvenile. 3. A classical I. COMES from a distance. 2. Part of the body. 3.
author. 4 An affirmative. 5. A consonant. G. and T. Part of a much-used verb. M. A. J.






(Read this by pronouncing the names of the musical signs wher-
ever they occur.)
LAsT.evening, an aged musician of considerable (I)
started out to attend a concert. He had a new (2) [
in his head, and so hurried off without his (3)- His
eyesight is not very (4) $ and when he tried to (5) s~ a
corner, he stumbled over a (6) that some one had
left in the way, after using it to (7) j -

a (8) of wood. He attempted to (9)

himself, but lost his (Io) m and fell (ii) at the same
-( i striking his head a (13) $ blow. A neighbor
S saw the accident, and it was but the work of

an instant to (14) --t 3 :Pri the fence,

and (15) S to his assistance. It was but (16) 4
that the -= 0 old gentleman should be vexed, for
he was obliged to return home, in order to get some one
to (17) E up his wounded head. He said he
did not wish to cast a (18) ,c upon any one; but if the
(19) = fellow who left that (20) E on the walk,
were where he could (21) N him, he would (22) --=

the scamp till he could not (23) I (24) =-- this

true statement with my own (25)

MY first in the kitchen garden grows,
'T is known to poetry and to prose,
To poverty, but not to wealth,
To physical pain, but not to'health.
My second is seen in river and sea,
In leaf and flower, valley and lea,
In the water, but not in the sky,
Strange to the lip, yet dear to the eye.
My third and last in darkness, not light,
But appears in morning, noon, and night,
In the heart of a friend, but not of a foe,
In happiness, honor, but not in woe.

My whole is a friend worth having, I ween,
As generous a friend as ever was seen;
Whenever I seek her, in day or night-time,
She gives me a song or a story or rhyme.
She's small, but important; in fact I may say
She's a wonderful creature in every way;
Without her you'd have no magazines,
With fairy stories and pictured scenes.

And dear ST. NICHOLAS never would come
To gladden your heart and brighten your home.
Now guess who my queer little friend can be,
Short, stiff, and black, formed of letters thfee.
M. R. C.
1. Is the other robe a more beautiful one ? 2. How
can I tell, Annie, when I have not seen it? 3. If you
wish, 1'11 send for it. 4. I would like to wear one to
the lecture. 5. I told Sam a riot would occur if ve
did n't go. 6. Sam is a good doctor, I think. 7. I
bought the robe of Tom at one o'clock. 8. He lent you
the one you have, I think you said.
Concealed in the above are seven words, one to each
sentence, having the following' signification: I. A ray.
2. A girl's name. 3. Elevations. 4. To choose. 5. A
well-known operatic artist. 6. Queer. 7. A vegetable.
8. A girl's name. These words will form a double
acrostic, the initials and finals naming two monsters.



/- \ 0f9



(Read the inscription on the tablet.)

I~ -


I. A SPRING visitor. 2. A musical drama. 3. To WHEN the I, 2, 3, 4, 5 is not 6, 7, 8, 9 to count his
deck with gems. 4. A girl's name. 5. Titles. money, he feels I, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7; 8, 9.



LOGOGRIPH.-Carbine, cabin, Cain, can.
CONCEALED BIRDs.-r. Stork. 2. Owl. 3. Eagle. 4. Swallow.
5. Petrel. 6. Dove.
INCOMPLETE SENTENCES.-I. Supper-upper. 2. Dinner-inner.
3. Four-our. 4. Six-ix. 5. Seven-even. 6. Marches-arches.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-" The spirit of truth dwelleth in meek-

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, previous to February x8, from Mabel S. Clarke, Katie A. Nicholls, Willie
Abbott, "A. V. C. S. Brainerd P. Emery, Frank Malven, Allie B., Madeleine D. W. Smith, "Gussie," A.,... l. 1 Mary B. Whitney,
Charles H. Tibbits, Jr., Carl F. Heyer, "Q. M.," Ray Marsh, Kittie L. Roe, "L'6toile," E. B. Brinton LI J .r '-'. Heath, Fannie S.
Humphrey, Lehman Dorr Schiffer, "Florida," Nellie B. O., Arthur H. Brown, Allie Anthony, Sol K. Lichtenstein, Florence W. Ryder,
Madeleine B. Achison, Laura Copeland, Johnny Flagg, N. O. Body," Frank H. Burt, Mattie O. McCarer, Mabel and Jennie," Nellie
S. Smith, Nessie E. Stevens, Thomas Hunt, Lizzie Hannaberg, Minnie Hood, Norton D. Mosher, Alice B. Moore, John T. Loomis. Walter
Kobbe, Eddie Aston, Tulia D. Hunter, Annie A. Butts, Lucy A. Patton, Mark W. C., Susie A. Hutchison, Red Hook." Willic Dibblee.
Mary C. Goodwin, Alfred Mestre, William Glover, Charles Glover, Etta B. Singleton, Ethel Todd, Maria and Eddie Stevens, Henry M.
Beal, James Sheldon, Bennie Swift, Lucille G. Freeman, Carrie E. Hinds, Horatio P. Pierson, Lucy D. Denison, Harry L. Ford, Mary A.
Gluck, Carroll Lindsley, Clive Hathaway, Jessie L. McDermut, Nellie Emerson, Tommy W. Fry, William C. Delanoy, Edward Ring, Leon
Mari6, Willard G. Lake, Arthur D. Smith, Elizabeth L. Marquand, Minnie Lake, Stella N. Stone, Arnold Guyot Cameron, Mary Knapp
Metcalf, Edith Carpenter, Fannie H. Smith, G. Brady, Blanche Nichols, Harry K. Morrison, Halbert H. McClure, Clarence H. Hall, Mary
J. Tilghman, Fanny H. H. Kennedy, Susie E. Avery, Nellie Hudson, Frank Bowman, Florence," Emma P. Morton, Carleton Brabrook,
Carrie L. Hastings, Charlie W. Wolcott, Kitty H. Chapman, Agnes and Arthur Hodges, Nellie S. Colby, Robert L. Parsons, C. W. Hor-
nor, Jr., Archie C. Wellington, Marie Krackowizer, H. Engelbert, Sophie C. Johnson, F. E. Hyde, Eddie H. Eckel, Anita Hendrie, Harry
Nyce, Sallie C. Scofield, Annie W. Hayward, Mabel Chester, John C. Robertson, "Golden Eagle," Launcelot Miner Berkeley, Mary C.
Croswell, Nellie Kitchell, H. B. Ashmore, and Bessie Semple.


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