Front Cover
 Jeannette and Jo
 The bear at Appledore
 The Peterkins' picnic
 Midsummer and the poets
 The queen of the moles
 Little snow-drop
 Sea-side sketches
 Windsor Castle
 Little Dame Dot
 Spinning and weaving
 Midsummer frolics
 The boy emigrants
 The fairy's wonder-box
 The house that Jack built
 Aunt Kitty's little spinners
 Love's jesting
 Song of the turtle and flaming...
 Sam's four bits
 Some fish that walk
 Some funny summer verses
 Brave Tim, the centennial cat
 Deacon Green's report on the copies...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 3, no. 10
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00037
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 3, no. 10
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: VID00037
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
    Jeannette and Jo
        Page 601
    The bear at Appledore
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
    The Peterkins' picnic
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
    Midsummer and the poets
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
    The queen of the moles
        Page 615
        Page 616
        Page 617
        Page 618
        Page 619
        Page 620
        Page 621
    Little snow-drop
        Page 622
        Page 623
    Sea-side sketches
        Page 624
        Page 625
    Windsor Castle
        Page 626
        Page 627
        Page 628
        Page 629
        Page 630
    Little Dame Dot
        Page 631
        Page 632
    Spinning and weaving
        Page 633
        Page 634
        Page 635
        Page 636
    Midsummer frolics
        Page 637
    The boy emigrants
        Page 638
        Page 639
        Page 640
        Page 641
        Page 642
        Page 643
        Page 644
        Page 645
    The fairy's wonder-box
        Page 646
        Page 647
    The house that Jack built
        Page 648
        Page 649
        Page 650
        Page 651
        Page 652
    Aunt Kitty's little spinners
        Page 653
        Page 654
    Love's jesting
        Page 655
    Song of the turtle and flamingo
        Page 656
    Sam's four bits
        Page 657
        Page 658
        Page 659
    Some fish that walk
        Page 660
        Page 661
    Some funny summer verses
        Page 662
        Page 663
        Page 664
        Page 665
    Brave Tim, the centennial cat
        Page 666
        Page 667
        Page 668
        Page 669
        Page 670
        Page 671
    Deacon Green's report on the copies of the Declaration of Independence
        Page 672
        Page 673
        Page 674
        Page 675
        Page 676
    The letter-box
        Page 677
        Page 678
    The riddle-box
        Page 679
        Page 680
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


:~1 li'i~o~saa~
I~" -. 'r'
: `
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A -



AUGUST, 1876.


BY M. M. D.

Two girls I know-Jeannette and Jo,
And one is always moping;
T! .: ..ir;,-k lassie, come -what may,
Is ever bravely hoping.

Beauty of face ancLdgirlish grace
Are theirs, for.i, or sorrow.;.
Jeannette takes brightly every day,
And Jo dreads each. to-morrow.

One early morn-they watched the dawn-.
1; saw them stand together;
Their whole day's sport, 't was very plain,
Depended on the weather.

" T will storm !" cried Jo. Jeannette spoke low:
Yes, but 't will. soon be over."
And, as she spoke, the sudden shower
Came, beating down the clover.

"I told .you so !" cried angry Jo;
"It always is a-raining !"
Then hid her face in dire despair,
Lamenting and complaining.

But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet,-
I tell it to her honor,-
Looked up and waited till the sun
Came streaming in upon her;

The broken clouds sailed off in crowds,
Across a sea of glory.
Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in--
Which ends my simple story.

Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine,
The hopeful are the l.1l-:l; -
And doubt and dread, dear girls, believe
Of all things are the saddest.

In morning's light,, let youth be bright;
Take in the sunshine tender;
Then, at the close, shall life's decline
Be full of sunset-splendor,

And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette,
To shun all weak complaining;
And not, like Jo, cry out too soon-
" It always is a-raining "

VOL. 111.-41.



No. o0.




MR. BRET HARTE once told you in ST. NICH-
OLAS so charming a story about a bear, dear chil-
dren, that I hesitate about giving you mine-which,
indeed, is hardly a story at all; but perhaps you
may like to hear what I have to tell.
Our bear came from Georgia when he was a tiny
baby-bear; but he was n't nice and soft and silky
like Mr. Harte's bear,-he was rusty and brown
and shaggy and rough, and he looked askance at
everybody out of his little eyes, that were as black
as beads. I dare say he did not find it at all agree-
able to come all the way from Georgia to the Isles
of Shoals; and I'm sure he did not find it pleasant
after he arrived at his destination. He was tethered
to a stick in a grassy space in front of the house,
and the children played with him, morning, noon
and eve, one whole long summer. Alas I fear he
was often weary of his brief life, and would have
been glad never to have been born. For, I am
sorry to say, there were many naughty and thought-
less children among those who played with him-
unkind boys who poked at him with sticks and
rolled him over and over in his helplessness, and
teased and tormented him till it was almost too
much to be borne. The little girls were kinder;
one especially I remember, who used to hold him
in her arms as if he had been a big kitten, and lay
his dusky head on her shoulder, and put her cheek
down against his shaggy crown so tenderly, and sit
rocking to and fro on the grass with him hours at
a time. And often after she went to bed at night,
I would hear her sighing out of the fullness of her
heart, Oh, that dear, dear bear "
Well, the poor little creature endured his cap-
tivity till the eighth day of September, when there
came a tremendous storm, with a wind from the
south, which was neither more nor less than a
hurricane. Windows were blown in, buildings
blown down,' shingles ripped off roofs in flying
flocks-there was a fine tempest A great copper-
colored arch spanned the black sky at eight o'clock
in the evening; the sea lifted itself up and flung
itself, white with fury, all over the island; and in
the midst of the tumult the little bear disappeared.
Nobody thought of him, there was such a con-
fusion, everybody trying to save themselves from
the fearful wind that had smashed the windows
and broken into the houses and was destroying
everything, in spite of all we could do. Terror
probably gave the baby-bear strength; he tugged
wildly at his chain, it broke, and he fled away

through the dark, and when the morning came we
could not find himn anywhere. Fortunately, the
gale only lasted a few hours, and at sunrise next
day the sea was calm, except just about the rocks,
where it rolled in tremendous breakers and cast
clouds of diamond drops up toward the sky. A
fishing-schooner had been wrecked at the south
side of the island; I went over to look at her. It
was not cheerful to see her crushed hull heaving
helplessly up and down, and the poor fishermen
sadly picking up here and there fragments of
ropes, rigging, and fishing-gear which the awful
sea had spared them; so I wandered away along
the shore, and at last sat down on the edge of a
high cliff and admired the great gleaming, spark-
ling floor of the ocean and the wonderful billows
that shattered themselves in splendor between me
and the sun. I pushed with my foot a bit of stone
over the brink of the crag, and heard it fall below;
but, at the same time, I heard another and quite
an unexpected sound-a noise hardly to be de-
scribed, something between a hiss and a whistle,
which came up to me from the gorge below. I
knew at once it could be nothing but the bear, and
leaned over and looked down. Sure enough, there
he was, a black heap curled up on a shelf of rock
just below me, a few feet out of reach. He looked
so comfortable, for it was the sunniest, cosiest nook,
and little vines of scarlet pimpernel trailed about
him, and plumes of golden-rod waved out of clefts
in the rock, and a tall mullein stood up still and
straight beside him, its head heavy with thick-set
seed-vessels. I was surprised to see him, and very
glad, as you may imagine; so I called out, in the
most engaging tones, Good morning, my dear;
I'm very glad to see you! I am pained to say,
he looked up at me with an expression of intense
cunning and unlimited defiance, and uttered again
that shrill, suspicious half hiss, half whistle, which
being interpreted might signify Malediction "
So fierce he looked and savage, with that distrust-
ful sidelong leer out of his black eyes, he was far
from being an agreeable object to look at; and as
I could not carry him. home alone, or even capture
him, I was obliged to leave him alone in his glory.
But I made a little speech to him over the cliff edge
before going away, in which I sympathized with his
sorrowful state. If I only could have had you for
my own, poor little bear, you should not have been
teased and plagued and had your temper spoiled.
Don't cherish resentment against me, I beg of you !



If you'll only stay here till I come back, I'11 bring
you something to -eat, and lumps of sugar, my
dear." And so I went away and left him snarling.
But when I went back he had disappeared, and,
though we sought for him everywhere, we did not
see him again for nearly seven months. I was sure
he was alive all the time, snugly stowed away in
some deep crevice, sucking his paws, perhaps,
which I had been told was a favorite pursuit of
bears in the winter season. But my belief was
scorned and flouted by the rest of the family.
" What they cried, you think that little creat-
ure could live in this zero weather so many weeks,
so many months, with nothing to eat ? Of course
he is frozen to death long ago But I believed
him to be alive all the same; and I was not sur-
prised when, one evening in April, while the sky
was warm and crimson with sunset, there rose a
cry outside the house, "The bear! the bear! and
from the window I saw him, grown twice as large
as he had been in the autumn, clumsily climbing
over a stone wall near by. All the men about the
house gave chase; but he plunged bravely over
the rocks and suddenly disappeared, as a drop of
water soaks into the ground, in a large seam in the
side of the hill. There they found his cave, all
strewn with bones and the feathers of fowls. They
could not dislodge him that night; but in the
morning they made a business of it, and at last
brought him down to the house with a rope around
his neck, a most reluctant and indignant quad-
ruped. As there were no children then to tease
him, he led a peaceful life for two months, and I
tried by the most persevering kindness and atten-
tion to make his days less unhappy. I led him
about from place to place, selecting new spots in
which to fasten him, and feeding him with every-
thing I knew he liked. I even brought him into
the house, though he was as large as a Newfound-
land dog, and. spread a mat for him in the corner;
but his temper had really been hopelessly soured
in his youth, and though I knew he was delighted
in the depths of his heart when he saw me coming
with his beloved lumps of sugar, he never could
refrain from lifting up the corners of his mouth in
that ugly snarl, and uttering his distrustful hiss,
till I became quite discouraged. At last he broke
his chain again, and disappeared a second time.
All summer he kept himself hidden by day, but
crept out after sunset, foraging; and he was the
terror of all the mothers who came to Appledore,
and the children were watched and guarded with
the greatest care, lest he should find one and run
away with it. But there was n't really any reason
for so much alarm. The poor bear was quite
as much afraid of human beings as they could
be of him.

Summer passed and winter came again, and he
buried himself once more in the cave on the hill-
side and slept till spring. But when he emerged
for the second time, behold, he had waxed mighty
and terrible to see With difficulty he was secured,
and it was decided that now he was really danger-
ous and must be disposed of in some way. About
a mile and a half from Appledore lies a little island
called Londoners, owned by an Irishman, who had
built upon it a cottage and fish-house, and lived
there with his family. This man was found willing
to take care of the bear: a price was agreed upon
for his care and keep, and he was tied and put into
a boat and rowed over to his new home one pleas-
ant day in early summer, and there left and for-
gotten by the inhabitants of Appledore. But in
August I went over to Londoners, one delicious
afternoon, to gather the wild pink morning-glories
that grow there in great abundance. I found them
running all over the rocks and bushes, up elder
and thistle stalks, and I carefully untwisted their
strong stems and hung one vine after another over
my shoulders till they fell down like a beautiful'
green cloak to my heels, for by carrying them in
that way there was no danger of crushing or injur-
ing the buds and rosy bells that still were open,
though it was afternoon. The cool sea air prevents
their withering and closing as they do on the main-
land, and they keep open all day. I was going
toward the beach with my burden, when suddenly
I came upon the bear. Oh, but he was a monster!
He gave a savage growl when he saw me, an inde-
scribable sound of hatred and wrath, and his eyes
glowed red and angry. You may be sure I started
back out of his reach in a flash He was fastened
by a heavy chain to a strong stake; he had worn
the green grass dry and dead as far as he could
pace; he was huge, heavy, horrid. I came away
from him as fast as I could. As I passed near
the little shanty, there ran out from the door, and.
stood directly in my path, the most astonishing
apparition my eyes had ever beheld.
It was a little girl of about six or seven years
old; but she was a little monster. She was dressed
in a flaming pink calico gown, and over her shoul-
ders tumbled a thicket of dull, carrot-red hair,
which looked as if it had never seen a comb,-so
dry, so rough, so knotted and tangled, it was hid-
eous. Her flat yellowish face was smeared with
molasses, and its ugly dough color mottled with
large shapeless freckles. She had the eyes, of a
little pig, small pale-blue orbs, with red rims; and
she opened her broad, expressionless mouth and
uttered some words which I vainly strove to under-
stand. Still she kept repeating her incantation,
over and over, with the same monotonous tone,
till I really began to wonder if she were not some


dreadful little gnome sprung up out of the earth
at my feet. I looked about; behind me crouched
the dark bulk of the angry bear, before me in the
distance I saw my friends pushing off the boat and
making ready to depart. Suddenly, my ears hav-
ing grown accustomed to the savage syllables of
the strange being, it flashed on me that she was

large pink toad than a human being. Great was
everybody's amusement at the idea of taxing the
public for "looking at the bear." All who landed
at Londoners, it seemed, were obliged to pay five
cents for that privilege !
But the huge fellow was brought back to Apple-
dore in September, and then his enormous strength

-:. Y--- :T -

1j,; -


saying, Five cents for looking at the bear !-five
cents for looking at the bear precisely as if she
were a machine that could do nothing else; and
she never stopped saying it till I broke into inex-
tinguishable laughter, and answered her, My
dear Miss Caliban, I have seen the bear before I
did not come to look at the bear; and beside, I
have n't brought any money with me, or I would
give you some," upon which she turned and hopped
back with a motion and clumsiness more like a

and enormous appetite made him anything but an
agreeable addition to the family. Every night
when it was quite dark and still, and all the in-
mates of the house asleep, he prowled about, seek-
ing what he might devour. Bolts and bars were
nothing to him; such little impediments as windows
he minded not in the least, but calmly lumbered
through them, taking sash, glass and all as he
came. Then he made off with everything he could
find in the way of provender, and kept himself



hidden all day, safely out of sight of men. One
night the family had retired early, and all were
wrapped in dreams. It was between ten and eleven
o'clock, and dark and moonless, when he stole
softly beneath the windows of the lower store-
room, where were kept barrels of beef, pork and
lard, and molasses, &c. He climbed to one of the
low windows and set his mighty shoulder against
it. Crash! it gave way, and down he plunged,
making noise enough to wake the dead. Two
women were sleeping above in that part of the
house, but they were too frightened to leave their
rooms and call assistance; so they lay and trembled
while our four-footed friend made himself quite at
home below. Oh, but he had a splendid time of
it He extricated great wedges of pork to carry
off to his den; he wallowed into the top of the
hogshead of lard till he must have been a melting
spectacle; he worried the faucet out of the molasses
cask and set the thick, sweet stream running all
over the floor, and then rolled in it till he must have
been a sugar-coated quadruped indeed. Never was
a bear in such a paradise He made expeditions
to his den through the broken window, carrying off
nearly a barrel of pork, and spent the greater part

of the night in that blissful lake of molasses. But
when the morning dawned and the state of things
below was investigated, great was the wrath and
consternation in Appledore. What was to be
done ? Evidently this was too expensive a pet to
be kept on a desert island; at this rate, he would
soon dispose of all the provisions, and most likely
finish off with'the inhabitants in default of anything
better! A dreadful decree went forth-that bear
must die! He was, indeed, too dangerous in his
fearful strength to be allowed to live. But to find
him-there was a difficulty One of the men was
shingling on the highest roof; he looked about
him, and afar off, curled in a green, turfy hollow,
he saw the large dark mass of Bruin's body lying,
like the Sybarite he was, steeping himself in sun-
shine, after his night's orgy in the store-room.
Somebody was sent out with a rifle-pistol, and
before he knew that danger was near, the sun had
ceased' to shine for that poor bear. It was so
instantaneous he hardly felt his death, and I was
glad to know that, at last, all his troubles were
over; 'but I was sorry he had ever left the wilds of
Georgia to take up his abode with us at the Isles
of Shoals.



HERE was some doubt about
the weather. Solomon John
- '- I ....l:: .. at the "Probabilities;" there
r *. o be "areas" of rain in the New
ad1 i- ld States.
S.\ memnon thought if they could
Only know where were to be the areas
of rain, they might go to the others.
S Mr. Peterkin proposed walking round
the house in a procession, to examine
the sky. As they returned, they met
Ann Maria Bromwich, who was to go,
much surprised not to find them ready.
Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin were to go in the carry-
all, and take up the lady from Philadelphia, and
Ann Maria, with the rest, was to follow in a wagon,
and to stop for the daughters of the lady from
Philadelphia. The wagon arrived, and so Mr.
Peterkin had the horse put into the carry-all.
A basket had been kept on the back piazza for
some days, where anybody could put anything that
would be needed for the picnic, as soon as it was

i,...u lhr of. Agamemnon had already decided to
take a thermometer. Somebody was always com-
plaining of being too hot or too cold at a picnic,
and it would be a great convenience to see if she
really were so. He thought now he might take a
barometer, as Probabilities was so uncertain.
Then, if it went down in a threatening way, they
could all come back.
The little boys had tied their kites to the basket.
They had never tried them at home; it might be
a good chance on the hills. Solomon John had
put in some fishing-poles; Elizabeth Eliza a book
of poetry. Mr. Peterkin did hot like sitting on
the ground, and proposed taking two chairs, one
for himself and one for anybody else. The little
boys were perfectly happy; they jumped in and
out of the wagon a dozen times, with new India-
rubber boots bought for the occasion.
Before they started, Mrs. Peterkin began to
think she had already had enough of the picnic,
what with going and coming, and trying to remem-
ber things. So many mistakes were made. The


things that were to go in the wagon were put in
the carry-all, and the things in the carry-all had to
be taken out for the wagon Elizabeth Eliza forgot
her water-proof, and had to go back for her veil,
and Mr. Peterkin came near forgetting his um-
Mrs. Peterkin sat on the piazza and tried to think.
She felt as if she must have forgotten something;
she knew she must. Why could not she think of
it now, before it was too late ? It seems hard any
day to think what to have for dinner, but how
much easier now it would be to stay at home quietly
and order the dinner,-and there was the butcher's
cart But now they must think of everything.
At last she was put into the carry-all, and Mr.
Peterkin in front to drive. Twice they started,
and twice they found something was left behind,-
the loaf of fresh brown bread on the back piazza,
and a basket of sandwiches on the front porch.
And just as the wagon was leaving, the little boys
shrieked, The basket of things was left behind!"
Everybody got out of the wagon. Agamemnon
went back into the house, to see if anything else
were left. He looked into the closets; he shut the
front door, and was so busy that he forgot to get
into the wagon himself. It started off and went
down the street without him !
He was wondering what he should do if he were
left behind (why had they not thought to arrange
a telegraph wire to the back wheel of the wagon,
so that he might have sent a message in such a
case?), when the Bromwichs drove out of their
yard in their buggy, and took him in.
They joined the rest of the party at Tathan
Corners, where they were all to meet and consult
where they were to go. Mrs. Peterkin called to
Agamemnon, as soon as he appeared. She had
been holding the barometer and the thermometer,
and they waggled so that it troubled her. It was
hard keeping the thermometer out of the sun,
which would make it so warm. It really took away
her pleasure, holding the things. Agamemnon de-
cided to get into the carry-all, on the seat with his
father, and take the barometer and thermometer.
The consultation went on. Should they go to
Cherry Swamp, or Lonetown Hill? You had the
view if you went to Lonetown Hill, but may be
the drive to Cherry Swamp was prettier.
Somebody suggested asking the lady from Phil-
adelphia, as the picnic was got up for her.
But where was she?
"I declare," said Mr. Peterkin, "I forgot to
stop for her!" The whole picnic there, and no
lady from Philadelphia!
It seemed the horse had twitched his head in a
threatening manner as they passed the house, and
Mr. Peterkin had forgotten to stop, and Mrs. Peter-

kin had been so busy managing the thermometers
that she had not noticed, and the wagon had fol-
lowed on behind.
Mrs. Peterkin was in despair. She did not like
to have Mr. Peterkin make a short turn, and it
was getting late, and what would the lady from
Philadelphia think of it, and had they not better
give it all up ?
But everybody said "No!" and Mr. Peterkin
said he could make a wide turn round the Lovejoy
barn. So they made the turn, and took up the
lady from Philadelphia, and the wagon followed
behind and took up her daughters, for there was a
driver in the wagon besides Solomon John.
Ann Maria Bromwich said it was so late by this
time, they might as well stop and have the picnic
on the Common But the question was put again,
Where should they go?
The lady from Philadelphia decided for Straw-
berry Nook-it sounded inviting. There were no
strawberries, and there was no nook, it was said,
but there was a good place to tie the horses.
Mrs. Peterkin was feeling a little nervous, for
she did not know what the lady from Philadelphia
would think of their having forgotten her, and
the more she tried to explain it, the worse it
seemed to make it. She supposed they never did
such things in Philadelphia; she knew they had
invited all the world to a party, but she was sure
she would never want to invite anybody again.
There was no fun about it, till it was all over.
Such a mistake to have a party for a person, and
then go without her; but she knew they would
forget something She wished they had not called
it their picnic!
There was another bother! Mr. Peterkin stop-
ped. "Was anything broke?" exclaimed Mrs.
Peterkin. "Was something forgotten ?" asked
the lady from Philadelphia.
No But Mr. Peterkin did n't know the way;
and here he was leading all the party, and a long
row of carriages following.
They all stopped, and it seemed nobody knew
the way to Strawberry Nook, unless it was the Gib-
bons boys, who were far behind. They were made
to drive up, and said that Strawberry Nook was in
quite a different direction, but they could bring the
party round to it through the meadows.
The lady from Philadelphia thought they might
stop anywhere, such a pleasant day, but Mr. Peter-
kin said they were started for Strawberry Nook,
and had better keep on.
So they kept on. It proved to be an excellent
place where they could tie the horses to a fence.
Mrs. Peterkin did not like their all heading different
ways; it seemed as if any of them might come at
her, and tear up the fence, especially as the little




boys had their kites flapping round. The Trem-
letts insisted upon the whole party going up on
the hill; it was too damp below. So the Gibbons
boys, and the little boys and Agamemnon, and
Solomon John, and all the party had to carry every-
thing up to the rocks. The large basket of" things"
was very heavy. It had been difficult to lift'it into
the wagon, and it was harder to take it out. But
with the help of the driver, and Mr. Peterkin, and
old Mr. Bromwich, it was got up the hill.
And at last all was arranged. Mr. Peterkin was
seated in his chair. The other was offered to the
lady from Philadelphia, but she preferred the car-
riage cushions; so did old Mr. Bromwich. And
the table-cloth was spread,-for they did bring a
table-cloth,-and the baskets were opened, and
the picnic really began. The pickles had tumbled
into the butter, and the spoons had been forgotten,
and the Tremletts' basket had been left on their
front door-step. But nobody seemed to mind.
Everybody was hungry, and everything they ate
seemed of the best. The little boys were perfectly
happy, and ate of all the kinds of cake. Two of
the Tremletts would stand while they were eating,
because they were afraid of the ants and the spiders
that seemed to be crawling round. And Elizabeth
Eliza had to keep poking with a fern leaf to keep
the insects out of the plates. The lady from Phila-
delphia was made comfortable with the cushions
and shawls, leaning against a rock. Mrs. Peterkin
wondered if she forgot she had been forgotten.
John Osborne said it was time for conundrums,
and asked: "Why is a pastoral musical play better
than the music we have here? Because one is a
grass-hopper, and the other is a grass-opera "
Elizabeth Eliza said she knew a conundrum, a very
funny one, one of her friends in Boston had told
her. It was, "why is-- It began, "why is
something like-- No, "why are they differ-
ent ?" It was something about an old woman, or
else it was something about a young one. It was
very funny, if she could only think what it was
about, or whether it was alike or different !
The lady from Philadelphia was proposing they
should guess Elizabeth Eliza's conundrum, first
the question, and then the answer, when one of
the Tremletts came running down the hill, and
declared she had just discovered a very threatening
cloud, and she was sure it was going to rain down
directly. Everybody started up, though no cloud
was to be seen.
There was a great looking for umbrellas and
water-proofs. Then it appeared that Elizabeth

Eliza had left hers after all, though she had gone
'back for it twice. Mr. Peterkin knew he had not
forgotten his umbrella, because he had put the
whole umbrella-stand into the wagon, and it had
been brought up the hill, but it proved to hold only
the family canes !
There was a great cry for the emergency bas-
ket," that had.not been opened yet. Mrs. Peter-
kin explained how for days the family had been
putting into it what might be needed, as soon as
anything was thought of. Everybody stopped to
see its contents. It was carefully covered with
newspapers. First came out a backgammon-
board. That would be awful," said.Ann Maria,
if we have to spend the afternoon in anybody's
barn." Next, a pair of andirons. "What were
they for?" "In case of needing a fire in the
woods," explained Solomon John. Then came a
volume of the Encyclopedia. But it was the first
volume, Agamemnon now regretted, and contained
only A and a part of B, and nothing about rain or
showers. Next, a bag of pea-nuts, put in by the
little boys, and Elizabeth Eliza's book of poetry, and
a change of boots for Mr. Peterkin; a small foot-rug
in case the ground should be damp; some paint-
boxes of the little boys; a box of fish-hooks for Sol-
omon John; an inl-bottle, carefully done up in a
great deal of newspaper, which was fortunate, as the
ink was oozing out; some old magazines, and a
blacking-bottle; and at the bottom, a sun-dial. It
was all very entertaining, and there seemed to be
something for every occasion but the present. Old
Mr. Bromwich did not wonder the basket was so
heavy. It was all so interesting that nobody but
the Tremletts went down to the carriages.
The sun was shining brighter than ever, and
Ann Maria insisted on setting up the sun-dial.
Certainly there was no danger of a shower, and
they might as well go on with the picnic. But
when Solomon John and Ann Maria had arranged
the sun-dial, they asked everybody to look at their
watches, so that they might see if it was right.
And then came a great exclamation at the hour:
"It was time they were all going home!"
The lady from Philadelphia had been wrapping
her shawl about her, as she felt the sun was low.
But nobody had any idea it was so late! Well,
they had left late, and went back a great many
times, had stopped sometimes to consult, and had
been long on the road, and it had taken a long
time to fetch up the things, so it was no wonder it
was time to go away. But it had been a delightful
picnic, after all.





N our northern climate, the poetry of
spring has to be sung or repeated with
a cold in the head, too often to make
it quite enjoyable. But June with us
answers to the May of European poets,
and this early summer-time is the sweet-
r est and freshest of the year. Then all
the buds are blossoming, all the birds
are singing, and the air is full of name-
less delicious scents from orchard and
forest and meadow; from the young
S grass springing under foot, and the
young leaves shaken out overhead.
One of the earliest specimens of English poetry
is a little snatch of song beginning:

"Summer is y-cumen in;
Loud sing cuckoo! ".

It sounds like a child's voice calling to its mates in
the meadows of the Past, and rings as clear to-day
as on the unknown morning when it was first sung,
-for Nature and Poetry never grow old.
The Midsummer Night's Dream" of Shak-
speare is founded upon the old faith in fairies, and
it sparkles throughout with dew-drops and moon-
beams. This great master of poetry saw the deli-
cate tints and shadowings of beauty in Nature, as
well as her splendors and her wonders; and with
the coming on of summer, we are ready to follow
his "dainty spirit" Ariel, singing

Merrily, merrily shall we live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough."

Perhaps the finest thing ever written about the
month of June, is the well-known passage in Lowell's
"Sir Launfal: "

"And what is so rare as a day in June ?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays.
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten."
"The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
A-tilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives."

There is a very pretty song by Motherwell, an
English poet, beginning:
They come, the merry summer months, of beauty, song, and
They come, the gladsome months, that bring thick leafiness t)

Up, uip, my heart! and walk abroad; fling cark and care aside;
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide.
The daisy and the buttercup are nodding courteously;
It stirs their blood with kindest love, to bless and welcome
The twenty-fourth day of June, given in the
Calendar as the birthday of St. John, is Midsum-
mer Day, and used to be superstitiously observed.
On Midsummer Eve people brought green boughs
from the woods to embower their doors, expecting
to be protected from thunderstorms and other
*evils. Then they would go out and gather plants
which were supposed to possess magical properties;
among them, vervain, rue, St. John's wort, and
trefoil. There is a Spanish song referring to this
custom, a verse or two of which runs thus:
Come forth, come forth, my maidens 't is the day of good St.
It is the Baptist's morning that breaks the hills upon;
And let us all go forth together, while the blessed day is new,
To dress with flowers the snow-white wether, ere the sun has
dried the dew.
Come forth, come forth, my maidens, and slumber not away
The blessed, blessed morning of the holy Baptist's day!
There's trefoil in the meadow, and lilies on the lea,
And hawthorn blossoms on the bush, which you must pluck
with me."
And Mary Howitt has a pretty ballad about Little
Mabel," who went to wait upon her grandmother
on Midsummer Day,

how she

" When all the fairy people
From elf-land come away; "

" Swept the hearth up clean,
And then the table spread;
And next she fed the dog and bird,
And then she made the bed:"

and how she went down the dell ten paces, to bring
water from the Lady-well, and there at first saw
Except a bird, a skv-blue bird,
That sat upon a tree."
But the second time, she saw
Beside the well a lady small,
All clothed in green and white,"
who gave her a fairy blessing, telling her that she
"Have the will and power to please,
And should be loved always "

The brownies, too, looked kindly on little Mabel
as she passed through the wood to gather dry sticks
for her grandmother's fire, and they dropped a
silver luck-penny in her path.








S .l l i i l

.',-, I,,I; I. II I rl r.. I -
1 .1-h!I I I r I In r I

She wished that little Amy
Were strong and well again.
"And soon as she had thought this thought,
She heard a coming sound,
As if a thousand fairy-folk
Were gathering all around."
And from the crowd came a voice, and then voices,
granting her latest wish.
Thus happened it to Mabel
On that 'midsummer day;
And these three fairy blessings
She took with her awav.




~t~a -;


"'T is good to make all duty sweet;
To be alert and kind;
'T is good, like little Mabel,
To have a willing mind."
No wonder the poets have loved to sing of the
early summer. How the cheerfulness with which
it inspires us rings through these lines of Bryant !
Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around,-
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ?
"There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.
There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower;
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree;
There's a smile on the fruit and a smile in the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea."
The breezes of June seem to blow through these
verses; but you may hear the "titter of winds" in
the poplar and birch all summer. There is nothing

som. There is a shimmer of heat over the land-
scape, and the hills put on a veil of mist. Nearly
all the birds have stopped singing; but the wood-
thrush keeps up his heavenly music in the deep
forests;" the song-sparrow warbles on, happy in
any weather; and the little pasture-sparrow, hid
among the berry-bushes, pours out his tiny trick-
ling melody, which seems like a drop of summer
sunshine melted into a song. Over the mown
meadows comes the shrill, hot twang of the har-
vest-fly, which might be the very voice of the
August noon, complaining of its own heat.
The violets, and almost all the roses, are gone
before midsummer comes, and flowers as well as
birds are fewer than in June. But you 'will find
the fragrant white pyrola in the shade of the pine-
woods; the yellow St. John's wort stars the grass
here and there, and .the meadow-sweet waves its
pink and white tufts along the dry road-side; while
the red lily glows out among the brakes and bay-


that will fill you more completely with the spirit
of midsummer than to loiter on a July afternoon
through a pasture in which the young birches have
come up wherever they liked, and listen to them
as they whisper among themselves in the sultry
The signs of midsummer are almpst entirely
sights and sounds of repose. June is like the
breaking of the waves of beauty upon the shores
of earth. But have you ever observed, after watch-
ing the waves on the beath until the tide has come
in, and the last ripple has ceased, what a hush
comes upon the mighty bosom of the sea? It is
profound stillness and perfect rest, that almost
makes you hold your breath, as Nature is holding
Midsummer is the flood-tide of the year; and
just such a calm settles down upon the heart of the
earth, after surging into light and song and blos-

berry-clumps, a flame kindled by the August sun.
The snowy water-lily, the purest and coolest and
freshest of all the flowers, is the child of the mid-
summer months, and is a refreshment wherever
seen, floating in its water-cradle, kissed by sun-
beams and rocked by every passing breeze.
Coolness and shade are now the desire of every
living creature.
The poet Thomson, who has written of all the
seasons, has this picture of the cattle seeking shel-
ter from the heat of a sultry noon :
"Around the adjoining brook that purls along
The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock,
Now scarcely moving through a reedy pool,
Now starting to a sudden stream and now
Gently diffused into a limpid plain,
A various group the flocks and herds compose.
Rural confusion! On the grassy bank
Some ruminating lie; while others stand
Half in the flood, and, often bending, sip
The circling surface."




The poets sometimes make us feel the stifling
glow of midsummer in their verses, as in these of
Dr. Holmes :
There sweep these foolish leaves away!
I will not crush my brains to-day.
Look! are the southern curtains drawn?
Fetch me a fan, and so begone

Rain me sweet odors on the air;
And wheel me up my Indian chair,
And spread some book not overwise
Flat out before my sleepy eyes!"

And Whittier thus vividly describes the out-door
White with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds
Before me; dust is on the shrunken grass,
And on the trees beneath whose boughs I pass.
Between me and the hot fields of the South
A tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth,
Glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight."

The conclusion of the poem from which these
lines are taken, refreshes one by contrast, just as a
breeze would, springing up on a hot, still day:

Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind,
And hear it telling to the orchard trees,
And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees,
Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams,
And mountains rising blue and cool behind,
Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams,
And, starred with white, the virgin's bower is twined.

So the o'er-wearied pilgrim, as he fares
Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned,
Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs
Of a serener and a holier land,
Fresh as the morn, and as the dew-fall bland.
Breath of the blessed heaven for which we pray,
Blow from the eternal hills make glad our earthly way !"

If you are in a mountain region in midsummer,
you will see how all the summits sink into a hazy
outline, and how allthe rough precipices are hid-
den-buried in a soft, dream-like mist. Then you
will feel the beauty of the Summer by the Lake-
side" poems, by the same author. One of them,
"Noon," begins in this way :

White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep;
Light mists, whose soft embraces keep
The sunshine on the hills asleep!
0 shapes and hues, dim beckoning through
Yon mountain gaps, my longing view
Beyond the purple and the blue,

To stiller sea and greener land,
And softer light, and airs more bland,
And skies, the hollow of God's hand! "

There is something in the air of a midsummer
day in the country that soothes us, as if Mother
Nature were falling into a noontide sleep, and in-
vited us, her children, to lay our heads upon her
lap and slumber too. The little brooks slip over
their rocks with a lullaby song, and the bee hums
drowsily, as he journeys from flower to flower.

Midsummer has certainly a poetry of its own,
and no lovelier specimen of it can be given than
these verses of Bryant's, from a poem called "A
Summer Ramble ":

The quiet August noon has come:
A slumberous silence fills the sky:
The fields are still, the woods are dumb;
In glassy sleep the waters lie.

And mark yon soft white clouds that rest
Above our vale, a moveless throng;
The cattle on the mountain's breast
Enjoy the grateful shadow long.

Oh, how unlike those merry hours
In early June, when Earth laughs out;
When the fresh winds make love to flowers,
And woodlands sing, and waters shout;

When in the grass sweet voices talk,
And strains of tiny music swell
From every moss-cup of the rock,
From every nameless blossom's bell.

But now a joy too deep for sound,
A peace no other season knows,
Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground,-
The blessing of supreme repose."

The poetry of Bryant is like the beauty of the
seasons themselves. It contains them- all, with
their varying tints of cloud and leaf, their different
skies and their ever-changing blossoms. In how
many ways the summer wind breathes on you
through his verses !
He comes!
Lo where the grassy meadow runs in waves!

He is come!
Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,
And bearing on their fragrance.
A thousand flowers,
By the road-side and the borders of the brook,
-Nod gayly to each other."

Bryant's poem "To the Evening Wind" has
kept freshness in the hearts of many of us men and
women, ever since we loved and learned it in the
breezy days of childhood. Do the children of to-
day delight, as we did, in repeating-

Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,-"
Go forth into the gathering shade, go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth "
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest!"

The poetry of rain in summer every child must
have felt. There are summer rain songs that drop
down into tired and suffocated lives as the showers
glide to the roots of the grass in time of drought.
L. i-ii., has one, beginning-

How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!"


'11%. .5,



1 V4
N)] 't 'El


And there is an exquisite little poem by Aldrich,
called Before the Rain" :
We knew it would rain, for all the morn
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapory amethyst
Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens,-
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
To sprinkle them over the land in showers.

"We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
The white of their leaves; the amber grain
Shrunk in the wind; and the lightning now
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain."
Midsummer is the time to enjoy the woods, to
stroll by the brook, or to follow its empty bed up
the mountain-side, where the ferns hang moist and
green, and the moss is like velvet under your foot.
It is the time for the free, happy holidays which


everybody needs, and which the good God meant
us all to have. Longfellow has written of one of
these :
"O gift of God! O perfect day !
Whereon shall no man work, but play "

Go with the poets, and they will show you how
beautiful and wonderful are the common objects
that belong to wild, neglected spots, and also
those which lie unnoticed about your own dwelling-
places. For the poets find nothing new; they only
point out to you what you might have seen your-
self had your sight been keen and clear as theirs.
One of them (Leigh Hunt) writes of the grass-
hopper, calling him a

"Green little vaulter in the summer grass;"

and another (Keats), listening to the same insect,
will tell you that

The poetry of earth is never dead.
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:
That is the grasshopper's;-he takes the lead
In summer luxury; he has never done
With his delights; for, when tired out with fun,
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed."

Still another poet (Emerson), addressing The.
Humble-Bee," says:

I will follow thee alone,
Thou animated torrid zone!

Hot midsummer's petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone,
That tells of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers."

And well it is to follow a wise guide like the bee-
one that has the faculty of

Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet."

Go, then, with the poets,-no, come with them,
rather, for they invite us. Children especially they
love; and those of us who have anything of our
child-heart left within us, will not be counted in-
truders if we join the pleasant company. Living
out of doors with poets who are poets, and children
who are real children, we might feel as if it were
always summer-time in the world.
Mary Howitt is especially a poet of summer and
of childhood. She says:

They may boast of the spring-time, when flowers are the fairest,
And birds sing by thousands on every green tree;
They may call it the loveliest, greenest, and rarest,
But the summer's the season that's dearest to me."

And who can refuse this delightful call of hers
into the leafy forest ?

Come ye into the summer woods !
There entereth no annoy;

All greenly wave the chestnut-leaves,
And the earth is full of joy.

I cannot tell you half the sights
Of beauty you may see,-
The bursts of golden sunshine,
And many a shady tree.

And many a merry bird is there,
Unscared by lawless men:
The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker,
And the golden-crested wren.

Come down, and ye shall see them all,
The timid and the bold;
For their sweet life of pleasantness,
It is not to be told.

And far within that shady wood,
Among the leaves so green,
There flows a little gurgling brook,
The brightest e'er was seen.

There come the little gentle birds,
Without a fear of ill,
Down to the murmuring water's edge,
And freely drink their fill;
And dash about and splash about,
The merry little things!
And look askance with bright black eyes,
And flirt their dripping wings.

I 've seen the freakish squirrels drop
Down from their leafy tree,-
The little squirrels with the old,-
Great joy it was to me!

And down unto the'running brook
I've seen them nimbly go;
And the bright waters seemed to speak
A welcome kind and low.

The nodding plants, they bowed their heads,
As if in heartsome cheer;
They spake unto these little things:
"Tis merry living here!'

Oh, how my heart ran o'er with joy!
I saw that all was good;
And how we might glean up delight
All round us, if we would."

So many beautiful things have been written about
midsummer, it would be difficult even to name
them all.
"Little Bell," by Westwood, is one of the sweet-
est child-pictures ever drawn with pen and ink.
Little Bell, and the squirrel, and the blackbird, and
the lights and shadows of the woodland in July or
August days-here they are; but you must find
the poem, and make the whole of it your own.

Piped the blackbird on the beechwood spray,-
'Pretty maid, slow wandering this way,
What's your name ?' quoth he;
'What's your name? Oh stop, and straight unfold,
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold !'
'Little Bell,' said she.

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks,
Tossed aside her gleaming, golden locks,-
'Bonny bird,' quoth she,
'Sing me your best song before I go.'
'Here's the very finest song I know,
Little Bell,' said he.



Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade; The Creator is the great poet. All that is bcau-
dPeeped the s e from the hazel-shade, tiful to eye or ear or heart is His handwriting.
Swung and leaped and frolicked, void of fear; Wherever a bud opens, a rivulet slips along its
While bold Blackbird piped, that all might hear,- pebbly path, or a leaf-shadow dances in the sun-
Little Bell!' piped he." shine, there He has written a poem which He meant
Sometimes a boy or girl says, I should like to should be read with delight by every passer-by.
understand poetry; I do like to read it and repeat What the true poets do, is only to translate so
it, but I cannot always tell what it means." much of His writing as they understand, for others


Dear children, some things go under the title of
poetry which are incomprehensible to young and
old, to wise and foolish alike. But the way to
understand true poetry,-that of nature, at least,-
is to love the beauty of which it is the picture and
the song. The best poetry is simple and natural
as life itself; and by listening to the sweet voices
which are always floating unheeded on the air, you
will feel what it is, through all your being. Only
keep eye and heart open, and never let it be pos-
sible for you to scorn or neglect the least thing that
God has made.
Look for poetry, and you will find it everywhere,
-in the fairy-cup moss under your feet in the
woodland footpaths, in the song of the robin at
your.window in the morning, in the patter of the
rain on the roof, in the first rosy cloud on the
horizon at dawn, and the last that fades out in the
west at sunset. For poetry is written all over the
earth by a Divine hand, before it can get into books.

who see less clear-
ly,-or oftener,
who merely have
less power to ex-
press themselves.
Every child who P
can speak the
gladness he feels
in the wonderful
works of God is a
little poet, sing- -
ingwith the brook
and the breeze a
song which he does not always know the meaning
of himself, but which makes the world a happier
place for those who listen.
Now we are turning over the leaves in Nature's
Midsummer Book of Poetry; and we shall find
there, if we are heedful, a thousand things we
never saw before. It is a book in which the most




thorough reader will always discover :...!..rhi-i:
new, because the thoughts of its Author are infi-
We who are far apart, who have never seen one
another, can be reading this beautiful book to-
gether; and it is a pleasure to most of us older folk
to have the children turn the pages for us. And
childhood-we are thankful that it is so-surrounds
us everywhere, like the birds and flowers.
Little wafts of song from children's lips come to
us wherever we are, for vacation is one of the
poems of child-life. And so we close our midsum-
mer talk with this "Boy's Song" of the "Ettrick
Shepherd"-a song overflowing with the spirit of
vacation joys and summer weather:
Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the gray trout lies asleep,
Up the river and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me.

" Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

" Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
There to track the homeward bee,
That's the way for Billy and me.

" Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That's the way for Billy and me.

" Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That's the thing I never could tell.

" But this I know, I love to play
Through the meadow, among the hay;
Up the water and over the lea,
That's the way for Billy and me."



ONCE upon a time, in one of the outlying coun-
tries which border the Fairy Kingdom, there lived
a good and beautiful maiden called Alixe, who had
two lovers. Their names were Hyacinth and Tom
the Piper.
Hyacinth was a handsome youth, and always
well dressed. He had a rich uncle, and owned
beside a large field of his own which was supposed
to be worth a good deal, though he neither planted
it nor reaped anything from it. Tom was less
handsome, and.a great deal shabbier. He, too,
owned a field, but it was very small, and scarcely
produced enough potatoes and kale to keep him
alive. Indeed, if it had not been for his pipe-
playing, he would sometimes have almost starved
in the winters. For all this, Tom was so sweet-.
tempered and bright, and loved her so truly, that
Alixe could n't help liking him in return; but as
she liked handsome Hyacinth too, it became so
hard to choose between them that at last she fixed
upon this plan, an entirely original one,-at least I
never heard of any girl who tried it before.
She asked the two young men to tea one night,
led them into the garden, and, producing from her
pocket some bulbs, said: Look here, you two
boys; this is a hyacinth-bulb, and this a tulip. I
am going to plant them in two tubs. The hya-

cinth shall stand for Hyacinth, and the tulip for
you, Tom, because your name begins with a T.
Whichever of the two first shows a flower, hyacinth
or tulip, I shall take him whom it represents for
my husband, for I cannot bear doubt and disputes.
And as it is not possible for me to tell which of
you I like best, I will let the fates and the flowers
decide. Will you agree that this shall be so ? "
Neither of the youths was pleased with the
plan, but neither of them dared to say so, for Alixe
looked so earnest, and so very pretty in her red
petticoat and blue kirtle, with the sunshine glisten-
ing in her hair, that they feared to lose her favor.
So they both agreed; and every day after that they
came, morning, noon and night, to watch the
growth of the bulbs. Never were plants so care-
fully tended, watered, shaded from the sun and
from wind, and the consequence was that never
plants grew so fast before. Day by day saw them
greener and taller, keeping along exactly in their
growth, so that there seemed danger that both.
would flower at one and the same moment, and
the riddle of the lovers be as far from answer as
Hyacinth, however, who was not the good and
honest fellow that Alixe supposed him to be, felt
secretly enraged at this condition of '.1;,. One



evening, as he crossed the fields, he spied a corn
mouse, who, having lamed himself in some way,
was limping toward its home in a hay-stack. Seiz-
ing it, in spite of its struggles to escape, Hyacinth
Come along, you little brute; you're just the
creature I want. You shall eat up that tiresome
tulip for me, and so I shall get rid of that rogue,
Tom the Piper."
But it will be very unfair," said the mouse-in
a fine, squeaking voice, it is true, but as distinctly
as possible.
Hyacinth stared with round eyes, as indeed he
had reason to do.
Don't be alarmed," continued the mouse; I
am the king of the field-mice, it is true, but I
should disdain to hurt you or anybody else. I re-
peat, it would be unfair for you to set me to destroy
your rival's plant. Alixe would cast you off forever
if she guessed that you were capable of such a
I'11 take extremely good care that she sha' n't
guess," observed Hyacinth, recovering from his
first surprise. "Just come along with me; and I
say, Master Prig, if you don't chew that tulip up,
you'll catch it to-morrow. I'll break every bone
in your body."
He shook his stick fiercely as he spoke, and the
mouse, king though he was, trembled with fright.
Hyacinth carried his prisoner to the garden, popped
him into the tub, and covered both mouse and
tulip with a glass bell.
"Now," he said, "I shall come at five to-
morrow morning to see how your majesty has
got on. If your majesty has n't disposed of the
tulip, remember, I shall carry out my threat!
Every bone in your majesty's body! Good-night,
King Mouse."
With these words Hyacinth went away, walking
on tiptoe lest Alixe should hear him.
That night, for some reason, Tom was unable to
sleep. He tossed and tumbled, till at last, dressing
himself, he took his pipe and went forth- for the
refreshment of a walk, and to play a tune beneath
Alixe's window. Tom's pipe was one of the sweetest
ever heard, and he managed it so skillfully that its
notes would now deepen and roar like a drum, and
again breathe so softly that you would imagine
only fairy lips could make such delicate notes.
The moon was shining full as he stood to play
outside the garden wall, for a sentiment of respect
forbade him to enter the garden at a time when
Alixe was not there to bid him welcome. As he
finished a plaintive air, he saw in the smooth gravel
at his feet a mole, the largest ever seen, which, as
the music ended, sat up on its hind legs and clapped
its paws together as if in applause.

Capital Beautiful t Encore !" cried the
mole, in a queer sort of under-ground voice. I
don't know when I have had such a treat before.
I shall come up from my palace oftener if I am to
have concerts like this."
"From your p-p-palace ?" stammered Tom,
amazed beyond words at hearing a mole speak.
Yes, Thomas," rejoined the mole, loftily, "my
palace, for in me you behold Clawdia Digabus, the
ninth Queen of the Moles! My power is immense.
It extends over thousands of acres; the wrong
side of them, it is true, but what of that ? Now,
hear what I will do for you in return for your
music. I will burrow under the tub where your
rival's hyacinth is planted, and will bite off the
bulb as clean as a knife could do it. That will
rather settle the point in dispute, I fancy."
Not with my consent," said Tom. "I wouldn't
lift my finger to hurt his flower. That would be
too mean, even though by means of it he carries
away my Alixe and breaks my heart. Better lose
her than do a dishonorable thing."
"Ho! honor! said the Queen of the Moles,
blinking her tiny eyes spitefully. "Even now
Hyacinth has a field-mouse on top of your tulip,
the biggest and hungriest field-mouse he could
find! You know what mice are. There wont be
enough of your tulip left by daylight to make a
meal for a midge."
Oh, the shabby traitor, has he really?" cried
Tom, flushing with anger.
"You can easily revenge yourself, you know,"
suggested Clawdia Digabus; all you have to do
is to give me a lift over the wall, and good-bye to
his hopes of a hyacinth blossom The game will
be equal then, at all events."
"Oh, you little black-coated wretch.!" exclaimed
Tom, "how dare you tempt me thus? And the
worst is, I want to do it But I wont I 'd rather
lose my chance with her I love, than be guilty of
such baseness. Be off with you to the dirty place
where you belong, you horrid creature, and put no
more of your evil ideas in my head."
Queen Mole sat up on her hind legs again, and
chuckled audibly.
Bravo, Tom I said she, I guessed that would
be your answer. You deserve to win Alixe, and I
fancy you will. Heaven has ways and means for
rewarding honesty. Your remarks to me, person-
ally, are not over polite; still, I will do you a favor
all the same. That favor is a bit of advice. It is
to stay here till five o'clock, and you will see some-
thing interesting."
With these words the mole dived suddenly under-
ground. Tom was puzzled, but for all that, he
decided to stay. The njght was still and warm,
and he looked at Alixe's window, and thought of




her sleeping within, which was enough of itself to
make the time pass pleasantly.
Just at daybreak came a sound of footsteps, and
presently a dark figure crept along the road and
began to climb the wall of the garden. It was
Hyacinth, come according to promise, to see how
the mouse had sped with the tulip-bulb.
Just as he reached the top, and stood on the
coping, Tom, who could restrain himself no longer,
called out, in a deep voice: Shame "
Hyacinth started, gave a jump, lost his footing,


him out of the briars. Hyacinth, whose coat was
full of thorns, and whose face was severely scratched,
was neither glad nor grateful for this assistance.
"What are you doing here?" he said, crossly.
" Some mischief, no doubt, or you'd not be out of
your bed at this early hour."
"Whatever else I am doing," retorted Tom,
" I'm not putting field-mice on top of your hya-
cinth to eat it up."
"Oh, hush, hush entreated the terrified Hya-
cinth. Here's Alixe!"


and tumbled off the wall into the garden. One
of the coping-stones, dislodged by the fall, tumbled
off also, struck the glass bell over the tulip, and
smashed it to atoms. Out jumped the monarch
of the mice, and vanished under a gooseberry-
bush; while Hyacinth, who had dropped into the
midst of a briar-rose, rolled to and fro, swearing
at the prickles, and trying in vain to extricate him-
Good-natured Tom, fearing that his rival was
seriously hurt, jumped the wall also, and helped
VOL. III.-42.

In truth it was Alixe, who, rising with the birds,
as was her wont, and hearing voices in the garden,
had come out to learn what was the matter.
"Well! I must say you are early visitors,"
she cried, running down the walk, with a white
kerchief tied coquettishly over her curls. See,
there 's the sun, only just getting out of bed at
this moment. How are the plants to-day ? "
"Oh, I'm come for something quite different
this time," said the ready-witted Hyacintth, who
had quite recovered his presence of mind; "I



wished to get here before the carrier --- Ah, I
hear his horse's bells now, not far off. Now, be-
loved Alixe! I much mistake if he does not bring
something for you."
And in truth he did, for presently a parcel was
handed in at the gate, addressed to Alixe. She
opened it with great excitement; and lo a beau-
tiful china flower-pot, all gay with figures and
gilding, and on the side, in letters of deep blue,
was this posy:

SHyacinth sends,-forbid him not,-
Sends Alixe this flower-pot;
If his happy plant shall win,
'T is to plant a hyacinth in."

Alixe was enchanted with the gift and the rhyme,
and thanked Hyacinth with smiles and blushes,
which made her fairer than ever. Tom, who could
not afford to buy rich gifts, though he would have
gladly offered Alixe the world, had it been his to
give, looked on until he could bear the sight no
longer, and, heart-sick, turned to go. "Wont
you stay to breakfast?" said Alixe, carelessly, but
scarcely heeded the answer, so absorbed was she in
the flower-pot and in Hyacinth, and poor Tom
walked slowly away.
So blind was he with tears that he scarcely heeded
which way he went, until suddenly something round
and hard hit him sharply between the eyes. He
looked down and saw at his feet a queer brown
lump of some sort, with a draggled green shoot
clinging to it.
"I beg your pardon," said a faint voice, "I
couldn't help it."
Tom peered more closely. The thing that spoke
to him was a tulip-bulb !
"Yes," said the bulb, "look again, if you like ;
I 'm a tulip. What's more, I 'm your tulip, from
the tub in the garden! "
"Oh mercy groaned poor Tom. 'Are you
really? There's the end of it, then."
"The end of me, you mean," rejoined the tulip.
"You are right. Master Hyacinth, taking advan-
tage of a spare moment while Alixe went in
doors with her fine flower-pot,-Master Hyacinth, I
say, has just sneaked into the garden, flung me
over the wall, and planted in my stead the bulb of
a nasty, ill-smelling onion There's a fine trick
for you! It was he who sent me flying through
the air till I hit you so sharply, and it was his fault
that I did so, not mine."
Never mind whose fault it was," said Tom, dis-
consolately; I don't care who hits me, or where !
Oh, Alixe, Alixe!"
"You would better have taken the advice of the
Queen of the Moles," remarked the bulb.
"No," persisted Tom, manfully; "better lose

all, than do a base thing. But this I will do, I'll
just run back and tell Alixe the truth of the mat-
ter. That may change the course of events in my
"Stop," cried the tulip. "Alixe is just now
full of the flower-pot. She will think you a tell-
tale, and only half believe you. I '11 show you a
better thing than that to do. Find a gift that she
will like better than the flower-pot, and then tell
I can't. I am not rich like Hyacinth."
"Pooh!" said the tulip, opening its eyes,
which were only round holes in its surface, what
is Hyacinth ? Heir to an uncle, who got his money
by ill means, and is losing it by means equally ill.
Possessor of a field which is spoiled and useless for
want of tillage. Don't talk to me about Hyacinth's
riches. He is poorer than you, Tom."
"Alixe does n't think so," said Tom.
"Not yet, but she '11 find it out in time," said
the tulip.
"How kind you are!" said Tom, stooping to
study the odd face of the bulb, with. its moveless
eyes, and crack of a mouth.
Well, yes, I mean to be kind. All we of the
vegetable world are much indebted to you, Tom,
for your invariable goodness to our race. Look
how well we are cared for in your little patch of
ground. No stones, no weeds, no destructive ver-
min, though of late, I confess, you have neglected
us a little in your passion for Alixe. You are a
good fellow, Tom, and not a potato among us but
would lend you a helping tuber if it were in his
power. So I '11 tell you what, you must go to the
Queen of the Moles, and get the seven great gems.
Those will plead your cause with Alixe."
But how can I go to the Queen of the Moles ?
I am neither a snake or an angle-worm replied
"Eat me. That's the first thing to do. Then
you'll see how to manage," replied the tulip.
. "Eat a friend like you! Never !" cried the
horrified Tom.
Bother about friendship," replied the tulip,
impatiently. "Just do" as I say, or else good-by
to Alixe, Tom! "
These awful words nerved Tom to the desperate
deed. He seized the bulb, put it to his lips, and
swallowed it in big mouthfuls, scarcely giving him-
self time to notice the flavor, which was an odd
one, a little rooty, a little sandy, and a little flow-
ery, all at-once, and quite unlike anything Tom
had ever tasted before.
Scarcely had the last morsel gone down his
throat when he found himself in the mole-hole,
and rolling alone like a ball in darkness.
Upon my word," thought Tom, "this is queer.




I don't feel like myself at all. I feel like a tulip-
bulb. I wonder if I am one. I half believe I am."
Still his rolling through the tunnel continued.
As his eyes gradually grew accustomed to the place,
gray shapes became visible; shapes of countless
roots, some thick and bulky, others fine as threads,
all dropping from the earth above his head, or
piercing it on either side. The floor over which he
revolved was sandy and soft. Now and then a
light became visible, set to show the windings of
the path. These lights shone from the lamps of
glow-worms, all dressed alike, and wearing num-
bers on their caps, in the language of the moles,-a
language which, unluckily, our friend Tom did not
On he rolled, for, being round, and without
limbs, there was no stopping himself. Every now
and then he passed through a village or settlement
of moles, and caught glimpses of little moles play-
ing on door-steps, mama-moles pairing potatoes
or shelling peas with their sharp claws, and grave
papa-moles, who looked up from their newspapers
and glared at Tom as he whirled by. Some in-
stinct kept him in the right path, and on he went.
After a time he became aware that he had com-
panions on his journey,-apples, potatoes, filberts,
rolling along like himself. Every minute or two,
a group of these would separate themselves from
the rest, wheel into corners and stop; whereupon
certain official moles, with gold stripes on their
waistcoats, evidently policemen, would catch them
by the collars, so to speak, and send them flying
on again. Looking more closely, Tom perceived
that these provisions were labeled each with a little
ticket, and now and then somebody would stop,
first one and next another, and trundle away into
large holes, which Tom guessed to be hotels, from
the large numbers of moles who stood on the door-
steps, picking their teeth leisurely, and having the
air of those who have just eaten a dinner.
At last he came to the capital city, much larger
than any he had passed before. The burrows were
more ornamented, the glow-worms bigger, and the
moles more numerous and lively.
On, on, till suddenly he bounded into the midst
of a circle of gorgeous, high-bred looking moles,
who wore collars of silver, and on their fore paws
rings set with precious stones. It was evidently the
court circle, for there, on a throne of white mouse-
skin, sat the great Clawdia Digabus herself. She
was distinguished from the other moles by the fact
that she alone wore an eye-glass and gloves; her
claws beneath being neatly trimmed so that they
should not tear the kid.
"All hail to your majesty !" cried Tom, who felt
that he must say something. May you live long
to enjoy What do moles enjoy?" he asked

himself, and then finished the sentence with-
"darkness and night!"
As the voice was Tom the Piper's, and not the
tulip's, Queen Clawdia recognized it at once.
Oh ho !" she exclaimed, for queens when taken
by surprise sometimes speak like other people.
"Oh ho It is you, is it? Well, what brings
you here? Do you want to use me as a queen or
as a hyacinth-gobbler? "
"As a queen, may it please your highness,"
answered Tom. My visit has nothing to do with
hyacinths-or rather, it has; but not the sort of
hyacinths that grow in tubs. I am come to ask a
favor,-nothing less than the seven great gems. I
I am not sure what the seven great gems may be,
but I am quite sure that I want them."
Indeed said the Queen of the Moles, satiri-
cally; and pray what return will you make if I
grant your request ?"
Your majesty, what return can I make ? It is
not a bargain I ask for, but a boon. Grant it me,
because you are rich and I poor; because you are
powerful and I am weak; because you have, and I
want. In return, I will give my grateful thanks,
and furthermore, not a mole among your subjects
shall ever be killed upon any ground which I
"That promise wouldn't mean much if made
by some people I know, Tom, but it is different
with you. Do you remember a little frightened
creature whom you released one day from Farmer
Axel's trap, because it squeaked so pitifully and
seemed so terrified? That was my third son,
Prince Grainem. I have not forgotten that day,
Tom, and because I recollect it so well I grant
your wish. Go, Treasurer, and fetch the seven
gems. Meanwhile, Tom, if you have your pipe
in your pocket, suppose you give us a tune. We
moles are fond of music, but we seldom hear any
in this under-ground retreat of ours."
Tom bowed,-that is to say, he rolled over and
over, having no feet to stand upon.
Your majesty," he said, I regret to say that
I have not my pipe about me. Since I became a
tulip I have dispensed with pockets."
"That is a pity. But at all events you can
whistle to us. And pray make the whistle sound
as much like your pipe as you possibly can."
So Tom, puckering to the best of a two-lip's
ability, whistled a dancing measure. So clear and
shrill and lively was it, that all the moles clapped
their paws, and then began dancing like mad,
whirling each other about in circles, the Queen in
the midst, enjoying it as much as anybody. Sud-
denly, as the fun was at its highest, in walked the
Lord High Treasurer, bearing on his head a won-
derful casket of crystal, through whose transpar-



ent sides could be seen the seven great gems, ar-
ranged in an oval circle. They shone, each like a
little sun, and so intense and dazzling was the light
they sent forth, that the courtiers stopped dancing
and gathered round, blinking with admiration at
the wonderful sight.
The Queen jumped nimbly from the throne.
"Here they are," she said.
Tom rolled over and over, in his attempts to
reach the casket. How was he to carry it?-he had
no hands!
Do you know any marching airs?" asked the
Queen, seeing his difficulty.
Several," answered Tom the Tulip.
Strike up then, and we '11 all escort you out of
our kingdom," said Clawdia Digabus. "Fall in,
my subjects,-fall in, two by two. Burrower and
hip -" waving her claws toward a couple of
tall life-guardsmen, push my tulip-friend along,
and keep him rolling. Treasurer, carry that casket
carefully. If you scratch it I '11 have you skinned
alive Now, Thomas, strike up, and,-forward,
moles "
So, with light-running footmen ahead to keep
the road clear, and all the court following, Tom
was set rolling, and, to the tune of the Rogue's
March, the procession of a thousand scampered
toward daylight. The cut they took was a short
one; but for all that, Tom's list of marches was
quite exhausted before, at last, they emerged into
the open air.
There, Tom, there are your diamonds," said
the Mole-queen, taking the gems from their casket.
Count them over when we are all gone, and five
minutes after, you will cease to be a tulip and be-
come a man again. Don't forget your promises,
when you have the largest farm in the country."
With that she dived into the ground, and all
her subjects after her.
Tom, being a tulip, had forgotten how to count;
but one of his roots, which was a cube-root,
prompted him, and no sooner did he pronounce
the word "seven" than he sprang from the ground,
a bulb no longer, but Tom the Piper in proper per-
son. One minute later he met Hyacinth hurrying
across the field.
Wretch, impostor! he called after Tom. "I
was looking for you. My hyacinth is dead, and
you are at the bottom of it, I am sure. Just wait
a minute, and I will give you such a beating as you
wont forget."
"Two can play at that game," replied Tom,
stoutly. He took off his coat as he spoke, laid it
carefully aside, rolled up his sleeves, and waited
for Hyacinth to come on. But Hyacinth was star-
ing at the diamonds which had fallen from the

Wh-at are they?" gasped he.
Diamonds," said Tom, shortly.
"Diamonds! But who ever saw such diamonds?
They are worth a kingdom,-or would be, if real.
These are excellent imitations."
You ought to be a good judge of imitations,"
said Tom, "but you happen to be wrong this time.
The diamonds are real. They will look beautifully
in Alixe's hair, don't you think so ? "
Alixe Give such stones as those to that coun-
trified little thing! You are mad. Oh, if they
were mine I should know what to do with them.
Say, will you sell them to me? I '11 give a quarter
of my farm for them."
"A farm, all weeds and stones! No, thank
"Half, then."
Oh dear, no."
"Come, the whole of it. You must confess
that to be a handsome offer."
"Very well," said Tom, considering, I'll sell
for the whole. We will go at once to the lawyer
and have the deed of gift drawn."
On the contrary. We will go at once to the
jeweler, and see if the stones are real," said Hya-
"They are real as my love for Alixe," declared
Tom, but he went with Hyacinth. The diamonds
were pronounced of great value. The deed was
signed. Hyacinth clutched his prize, seized his
hat, dashed out of the door, and flew to the coach
office to take passage for the capital. On the road
he met Alixe, who called him to stop, but he took
no notice of her, and half an hour later he had
left his native town forever.
I may as well finish here, in a few words, the
history of Hyacinth. The coach only carried him
a few miles toward the capital, and set him down
to walk the remainder of the way. Two days after,
half dead with fatigue, he met a nobleman travel-
ing alone who, for one of the diamonds, consented
to give him a place in his chariot. On the way
they talked together, Hyacinth's ambition was fired,
and he gave his new friend a second diamond with
which to buy him a title like his own. Thus he
forgot his name. A third diamond was'squandered
in the purchase of fine clothes, in which he forgot
his father and mother. A fourth went in the pur-
chase of a palace, which made him forget his old
home. The fifth diamond he presented to a lady
of the court, who became his wife, and -made him
forget Alixe. The sixth filled his larder with luxu-
ries, of which he ate so many that he fell ill; and
the seventh paid for a splendid monument over his
otherwise disregarded grave. Thus the seven great
gems bought little beside disappointment, vexation
and early death, and for all the good they did,




might as well have remained underground in the
private treasury of the Queen of the Moles.
Far different was it with Tom the Piper. After
Hyacinth's departure, he went to look at his new
purchase. It was a sorry sight. The field was
large, but had been neglected so long that it was
run wild with weeds and brush, and covered thickly
beside with moss-grown stones.
Tom for a moment felt dismayed. Then his
courage rose again, and seizing a stake, he began
to loosen and dig up the stones. The very first one
he turned over revealed a nest of field-mice,-soft,
tiny things, with closed eyes, and skins fine as
"Poor little souls, I wont disturb them," said
kind-hearted Tom to himself; I'll just leave this
corner for the mice. They are troublesome, it is
true, but what is to be done ?-all the world must
Well reasoned, Tom," squeaked a voice close
Tom jumped! There, on a neighboring stone,
sat the King of the Field-mice, with his leg in a
sling, but looking bright and cheerful.
"Much obliged to you for not waking up my
babies," he went on; those small balls don't look
like princes and princesses, but they are for all
that, and a fine time we should have had if you
had roused them. What's your grief now, Tom?"
Cart-loads of stones to clean away, and no cart
to do it with," replied Tom.
Umrn! I see. You said, I think, that you would
leave us this corner of the field ?"
"Yes, I did, and I will."
"Will you throw in the stones? Stones are
valuable building material, you know."
"You 're welcome, I am sure. But it will take
a dozen men three weeks to move them."
"We'll do the moving. It's a bargain, old
With this he gave a commanding squeak. At
the signal up jumped an army of field-mice, and,
first bowing to their monarch, fell to work as busily
as bees, gnawing shrubs, rolling stones to one side,
and digging up the weeds with their sharp little
Give us a look to-morrow," said the King to
Tom, and you '11 see what you will see."
Sure enough, when Tom came next morning,
the field was clear of stones, which were all neatly

piled on one side. The brush-wood was stacked
ready for burning, and not a weed was anywhere
"This is wonderful !" said Tom. "The ground
is ready for tilling; but how am I to till it without
either spade, plow or harrow? "
As he spoke, up through the ground, at his very
feet, came the Mole-queen.
If you '11 make my subjects a present of all the
worms, grubs and insects that are in the earth,"
she said, we'll till the ground for you, Thomas."
"Will you, really?" cried Tom, overjoyed.
' Take the grubs and welcome, though how you
can want the nasty things, I cannot imagine.
Meanwhile I will go to the village, play my pipe,
and buy seed with the pence it earns me."
When he returned with his bag of corn, the
field was burrowed all over, and the soil reduced
to the finest powder. While he was planting the
corn, Alixe came by. Her blue eyes opened with
wonder when she saw what was doing.
"Why, this is Hyacinth's field," she said,
Mine now," replied Tom. "And yours, dear
Alixe, if you will have it."
I am puzzled to know what to do," said Alixe,
shyly. "My plants have both failed me. The
hyacinth is quite dead, and the tulip looks very
green indeed-certainly different. I should almost
think it was an onion."
"It is an onion," said Tom. "Somebody pulled
the tulip up, threw it away, and put an onion-bulb
in its place."
Oh !" cried Alixe, and that somebody -- ?"
"Was Hyacinth! "
Shabby, dishonest fellow! But what is to be
done now ? "
I can tell you," said Tom, seizing her hand,
" Marry me i"
I suppose this plan struck Alixe as a good one,
for when last I heard from that country,-which, as
I said, is on the confines of Fairy-land,-Tom was
living in a cottage covered with roses and eglantine,
and built in the middle of the field once Hyacinth's,
which the moles and the field-mice had helped
to cultivate. There were bee-hives, and a garden
full of tulips. And Tom's wife, my informant
said, had golden hair, blue eyes, and the sweetest
face in the world. Of her name, he was not sure,
but he thought it began with an A. Don't you
think it must have been Alixe?





ONCE, in the time of childhood's sweet romances,
I watched a snow-storm gathering in the sky,
And pleased myself with idle dreams and fancies
About the airy flakes that fluttered by.

" They are not snow-flakes, they are winter fairies
That fly about to see what children do;
I mean to make a wish," i cried, "and there is
The very one to make my wish come true!"

It floated down, a delicate snow-feather,
And on the window-coping lightly lay:
I laughed with glee, and clapped my hands together-
It grants my wish; it does n't fly away!"



So through the night my fairies, trooping lightly,
Their curling wreaths and dainty fleeces piled,
And when the next day's sun shone on them brightly,
It shone nowhere upon a happier child.

For while I slept, without a dream for warning,
The wish I wished had come exactly true,
And in my mother's arms I found that morning
A baby sister with her eyes of blue.

I had not guessed there could be such a turning
Of childish fancy to the actual thing;
Though many a time, with unacknowledged yearning,
I pictured all the sweetness it would bring.

And yet not all,-there are no words for showing
Her sweetness, nor the joy it brought to me;
A little snow-drop of the winter's growing,
No summer blossom was as fair as she.

Her cheeks had such a color, faint and tender,
As brier-roses in the hedges wear;
And as she grew, a soft, sunshiny splendor
Seemed always floating from her golden hair.

It was as if an angel, not a sister,
Looked out at me from her clear, shining eyes;
Alas! it was not long before they missed her,
The angels she resembled in the skies!

One summer night, like sudden moonlight streaming
Across the threshold of the door, they came;
I saw their faces, and I was not dreaming,
I heard them call the baby by her name.

They gathered swiftly round my little sister,
And one flew downward, with out-reaching hand:
" Come, little Snow-drop !"-and he softly kissed her-
"The Father wants you in the happy land!"

My mother said I dreamed, for I was lying
Upon the floor, her cradle-bed beside;
Tired out with watching and with bitter crying,
She would not wake me when the baby died.

It was not dreaming, though; I saw them clearly;
Some day, perhaps, it may be mine to see
The baby sister that I loved so dearly
Leading the angels down to look for me !


-- ----


"l`c~--;ib~~B\I IH64r4F~%fffl -'
-- -rs


~ --A











~~-i;--. -- .







I-t \ HE English kings I
S have told you of
hitherto have all been
Ne/ Plantagenets, a race
i; -. -owhich retains, or
I ''seems to retain across the long
-. distance, something of chivalry
.- and old-world grace-knights
S as well as kings. But I must
now tell you of the reign of
the Tudors at Windsor, who
"' were a different family, and of
-"4 "a very different kind. When
you are older you will learn to
\ \ know how the temper of an
age works upon its rulers, and
how the rulers, on the other
hand, influence the age, which is such a very inter-
-esting question, that it will tax all your powers to
fathom it; but I will not attempt to talk to you
about this now. But one historical question I think
I must give you to find out at your leisure, and that
is how the Tudors came to the throne, and what
right they had to be kings and queens of Eng-
I will not say much of Henry VII., because-
which is an excellent reason, though one which
writers do not always pay very great attention to-
there is not much to say; that is, concerning our
immediate subject. He was a great and wise and
powerful king, very thrifty, not to say miserly, and
left England in greater subjection to the throne
than almost any previous king had done, besides
enriching the royal family and filling the royal
purse. But yet he did some magnificent things,
though he was so careful of his money, and built
himself one of the most glorious tombs that ever
king had-the beautiful chapel called Henry VII.'s
Chapel in Westminster Abbey. There are a great
many people who are extremely economical where
others are concerned, but who will cheerfully spend
a great deal of money to glorify themselves. Henry
the Seventh must have been this kind of man; for
though he scraped and screwed during his whole
life, he was evidently determined to have a mag-
nificent resting-place, and had begun to build a
beautiful chapel at Windsor before he thought of
Westminster. We, however (whom Henry, you

may be sure, never thought of), are the chief
gainers now, for we have two lovely chapels in
consequence, the most perfect which the age could
produce. The latter, the one at Windsor, was fin-
ished by Cardinal Wolsey, who also had the inten-
tion of being buried there. But you remember
(you will find it all in Shakspeare) how the Cardinal
fell, and died at Leicester, where the monks "gave
him a little earth for charity." The chapel, after
standing desolate for a long time, and being used
for somewhat profane uses at royal weddings and
such like, has been wonderfully decorated by pict-
ures in colored marbles by her present Majesty,
and is now called the Albert Memorial Chapel. I
do not myself admire these pictures; but if you
ever come to Windsor, you will see that the old
chapel which Henry began for his tomb, and
which Wolsey finished for a like purpose, though
neither of them was buried there, has been made
into the most costly and splendid shrine to the
memory of that good Prince who was our Queen's
husband and hero, though he, too, lies elsewhere
in another grave-a curious little bit of architect-
ural history.
However, to return to the Tudors. When we
speak of this dynasty we mean one family, all the
members of which reigned in succession-Henry
the Eighth and his children. Of these children,
the poor, pious boy who is known as Edward VI.,
and who died at fifteen, chilled by sickness and
sadness, and the lonely grandeur which neither
mother nor father protected, and which even his
sisters did not warm with any glow of affection,
may be left out of the record. Henry, with his
daughters Mary and Elizabeth, are all we think of
when we name this name; though there was a
hot-blooded Queen Margaret of Scotland, who con-
veyed that same imperious strain to her grand-
daughter, Mary Stuart-who, though a Stuart, was
a Tudor too. The Tudors, however, mean to us,
-Henry, with his full face and staring eyes, the
Royal Bluebeard, whose poor wives lost their heads
without even such.a plausible excuse as that dread-
ful chamber you know of; and Mary, who has had
the terrible fortune to be called Bloody Mary, the
most frightful title in history; and Elizabeth, the
greatest and most fortunate of the race, one of the
most famous sovereigns that ever reigned. I can-
not pretend to tell you the histories of those three
very remarkable people, which would carry us far
away from our scene, and take more space than





your magazine can afford; but I shall try to show
you how they lived when they came to Windsor,
and a few scenes that happened here in their time.
No doubt you have heard a great deal about
Henry VIII. His reign was so important in the
history of England that some people try to think
better of him than he deserved; and his private
history was so wicked and cruel that some people,
perhaps, think worse of him than he deserved;
but few remember that he was about forty before
he began his special career of wickedness, and that
before that time he was a popular monarch, very
splendid, and fond of pageants, and doing nothing
worse than other great people had been accustomed
to do. When he came to the throne he was but
eighteen; so you see that very young people, not
much older than yourselves, have been put into
very powerful and important positions in the old
times, and have had to learn to be men and princes,
and to be flattered and obeyed when they ought
still to have been under masters and teachers, which
will perhaps make you envy them, and perhaps
make you sorry for them. Which? I think it
should be the last. When this splendid, hand-
some young prince (for he was handsome when he
was young, with his bright hair and big blue eyes)
came to the throne after his old curmudgeon of a
father, the people were delighted, for young princes
are almost always popular. He came to Windsor
in the first year of his reign, and built the great
gate-way by which we now enter the Castle, and
which is called by his name; and here is a little
account of how this fine young king of eighteen
behaved himself, which I do not doubt you will be
pleased to see:

"He exercised himself daily in shooting, singing, dancing, wrestling,
casting of the bar, playing on the recorders, flute, virginals, in setting
of songs and making of ballads; he did set two full masses, every of
them five parts, which were sung oftentimes in his chapel, and after-
ward in divers places. And when he came to Oking (on the way to
Windsor) there were kept both jousts and tournays; the rest of this
progress was spent in hunting, hawking, and shooting."

What is called a "progress" here is simply a jour-
ney-a splendid and merry journey made on horse-
back; his gay young companions about the young
King riding across the beautiful summer country
through Richmond and by the winding Thames;
visiting the great houses of the nobles on their
way, where feasts were spread for them, where
there was here a masque to be played, and there a
tournament to be held. Gay music and splendid
dresses, such velvets and brocades and cloth-of-
gold as we never see nowadays, made a glitter and
dazzle of brightness wherever the Court passed,
and their progress was nothing but a succession of
pageants and merry-makings. Though he was so
young, Henry was married, and no doubt there

were ladies too in his train; and thus they went,
singing and glittering beneath the sunshine, horses
prancing, young voices chattering, hounds baying,
the gayest company All along the road as they
went by, how the village people must have come
out to gaze at them, shouting their hurrahs for
young King Harry And when he got to the gray
old Castle, where so many other King Harrys had
been before him, then what sports there were,
and great dances in the Hall, and masques and
feasts of all kinds; yet sometimes serious moments
in which-perhaps after service at St. George's,
with the religious music still sounding solemn in
his ears-the young King would retire to some
private chamber looking out upon the woods, and
note dowh a new chant for his choristers, proud of
himself and them. How the courtiers must have
praised those new chants of his, and thought them
sweeter than the grand Gregorian tones !-for you
know there had been few composers of music in
those ancient days, and your Handels and Mozarts
were not yet born.
Some years after this, a young poet, the Earl of
Surrey, passed a great many pleasant boyish years
in Windsor, of which he has left a record in a poem
written when he was a prisoner in the same castle,
which will show you what were the occupations of
the gay young nobles in Henry VIII.'s reign. The
prisoner, a young man, arrested when life was
sweetest, pined and sorrowed in his tower,-no
doubt seated at his window like the Scotch King
James of whom I told you, for he tells us that

"Windsor walls sustained my wearied arm;
My hand my chin, to ease my restless head,"-
and sent his thoughts back to the cheerful days
which he used to spend there in the large, green
"With eyes cast up unto the maiden's tower."

The maiden's tower was where the ladies used to
sit out upon the roof looking down at the games
below; and there the youths "cast up their eyes,"
with "easy sighs such as folk draw in love."
Here is how young Surrey spent this sweet time
of his youth. The palme-play (jetu de fame) of
which he speaks is now, I believe, called tennis;
the sleeves tied on the helm refers to the ladies'
favors worn on their helmets by the young knights,
distinguishing them among their visored oppo-
nents, so that each lady could follow her own vassal
through the mimic fight; for by this time tourna-
ments had ceased to be anything more than pa-
geants and sportive encounters of arms :

The palme-play, when despoiled for the game
With dazed eyes, oft we by gleams of love
Have missed the ball, and got sight of our dame
To bait her eyes which kept the leads above.




The graveled ground, with sleeves tied on the helm.
On foaming horse, with swords and friendly hearts,
With chere as though one should another whelm;
When we have fought and chased oft with darts,
With silver drops the meads yet spread for mirth
In active games of nimbleness and strength ;
When we did strain, trained with swarms of youth
Our tender limbs that yet shot up in length.
The secret groves which oft we made resound
Of pleasant plaint and of our ladies' praise,
Recording oft what grace each one had found.
What hope of speed, what dread of long delays,
The wild forests, the clothed holts with green,
With reins availed and swift y-breathed horse,
With cry of hounds and merry blasts between
When we did chase the fearful hart of force.
The void walls eke which harbored us each night,
Wherewith, alas! reviveth in my breast
The sweet accord, such sleeps as yet delight;
The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest;
The sweet thoughts imparted with such trust,
The wanton talk, the divers change of play,
The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just,
Wherewith we past the winter night away."

You see how little human nature changes in
three hundred years. You boys and girls in the
nineteenth century tell your "sweet thoughts" to
each other, and swear friendship just as young
Surrey did in 1535 or so,-and when you are older
you will look back and sigh for these sweet days of
youth, like the poet; but I am glad to think that
none of you are like to have such an end as noble
Surrey had, who was beheaded in 1547, on the
most false and foolish charge of treason-a mere
pretext for judicial murder. So far as this goes,
we may all be very happy that the times have
changed. But youth was pleasant then as it is
I need not tell you how Henry VIII., after all
the innocent gayety of his youth, and the splendor
and extravagance which his love of shows and
pageantry led him into, did a great many brutal
and wicked things as he grew older, and beheaded
one wife after another as he got tired of them; nor
how strangely it came about, by the guidings of
Providence, that the Reformation, for which a great
many good people in England were longing, was
brought into the country by means of Henry's
wicked desire to get rid of his queen, Katherine,
and marry a pretty lady of the Court with whom he
had fallen in love. It is wrong to give the name
of Love to such a fancy, which began in wicked-
ness and ended in blood; for love is lovely and
pure and true, not treacherous and vile; and I wish
very much, for my part, that the Reformation had
come in a holier and better way-but, unfortu-
nately, these are facts which we cannot deny. King
Henry, after killing his two first wives, one with
grief and the other with the axe, tried very hard to
shut out his daughters Mary and Elizabeth from
the succession to the throne by calling them ille-
gitimate. But there was some sense of right in the

country, though it was so crushed by long tyranny
that it trembled before the King and let him do
almost whatever he pleased. Wolsey, the great
cardinal, and Cromwell, the great statesman, and
Cranmer, the great archbishop, all helped Henry,
though I cannot suppose they liked it, to do those
cruel things which he had set his heart upon, and
get a new wife like a new mantle. But when he
was dead, England roused up so far that none but
the natural heirs could be put. upon the throne.
After poor little pious Edward VI., who was as
weakly and as sad as Henry VI. (of whom I have
told you), but who was better off than Henry in so
far that he escaped all the troubles of life when he
was fifteen-the country would hear of no one but
Mary, who was the daughter of Henry VIII. and
of Queen Katherine. Though they knew she hated
Protestantism, yet even the very Protestants stood
up for her; which proves that they were honest
men and loved justice more even than they loved
their own side, and even their own lives.
I have not room to tell you much about Mary
Tudor. When she was quite a young girl her
mother was wronged; many of the girls who read
this will, I have no doubt, be old enough to feel
how their own hearts would burn if their good
mothers were wronged and made miserable as hers
was. Poor Mary was embittered from her very
childhood by this; and who can wonder if in her
heart she hated the new religious party which had
helped her father to divorce and break her mother's
heart! Think what a terrible thing this was, and
you will be sorry for her. And she was always ill,
sick from her very childhood of a painful disease,
and scorned and slighted at Court, where there was
always another and another new stepmother, and
no home for the poor princess who was out of favor.
But now and then, when she came to Windsor in
her youth, while her father's terrible career was
going on, "my lady's grace," as she was called,
seems to have been good and kind to the poor
people about, who brought her presents of venison
and fruit and cakes to show their sympathy. Mary
gave them presents in return, and was godmother
to their children, and seems to have shown some
sweetness and natural grace, such as became a
young lady and a princess. Three poor men were
burnt alive under the Castle walls for heresy during
this early period of her life, by King Henry's
orders; so that burning and beheading were no
varieties to her-not things to make the blood run
cold, as with us. She was kept in the background
all her life till the moment when she suddenly rose
to be mistress and monarch of everything, nobody
venturing to say no to her. And then you. have
read in your histories how dreadful were the few
years of her reign, and how this hardly used, suffer-




ing woman, who had sometimes herself been in
danger of her life, and who had spent so many
tedious, weary years in obscurity, came to be called
Bloody Mary and to fill all England with the horror
of her persecutions. Poor soured, wronged, un-

sure my lady's grace had no thoughts of blood in
her mind. She was wild with sorrow and wrong
and power and perverse faith when her hour of
dominion came.
When this unhappy, bloody, fiery, heart-broken

0-9 V.

- I-


happy woman The evil she did was all crowded
up in these few years, and so seemed greater, per-
haps, than it really was. But when she rode in
Windsor Park, trying to forget her early troubles,
and when she stood by the font in St. George's,
holding the babies who were not little princes and
princesses, but poor people's children, giving them
kind presents and smiling softly upon them, I feel

Queen died, everybody was glad. Was there ever
so sad a thing? Instead of weeping, the people
rang joy-bells and lit bonfires, to show their de-
light. How glad they were to be rid of her and
not much wonder. The name of Elizabeth rang
joyfully though the London streets and over all
England as soon as the breath was gone out of her
sister's worn and suffering frame. Elizabeth was



twenty-five; it has been the fashion to speak of her
as old and ugly just as it has been the fashion to
speak of her cousin Mary, the Queen of Scots, as
beautiful; but in reality these two queens were
like each other. I suppose Mary Stuart must
have had more natural fascination than Elizabeth
possessed; but, though you may be surprised to
hear it, her features, according to her portraits,
were very like those of the English queen, who was
a handsome and splendid princess, with imperious,
delightful manners, frank and gracious, though
easily angered and passionate, and the most pop-
ular of all English sovereigns. History is not'fond
of this great woman, and much ill has been spoken
of her; and she did many cruel and terrible things,
and probably shed much more blood in her long
reign than Bloody Mary did in her short one; but
the people always loved Elizabeth-loved her at
the beginning, and loved her to the end. This
might be quite unreasonable, but still it was the
fact. All that Mary did has been judged hardly,
and almost all that Elizabeth did has been judged
favorably. Such injustices are not unusual; they
occur still every day.
Elizabeth was as fond of pageantry as her father.
Wherever she went it was in state, making prog-
resses everywhere; a slow manner of traveling,
but very amusing for the people, you may be sure,
who thus had so many fine shows provided for
them, such as we have no chance of nowadays.
At Eton (which, as I have already told you, is close
to Windsor), the boys and the masters all came
out and made Latin speeches to her, and presented
her with books full of verses, all beautifully written
out in Greek and Latin, for which yoi may suppose
all the sixth form had been cudgeling their brains
for weeks before, and in which the praises of the
great Elizabeth were sung till words could go no
further. Probably the fine ladies and the fine
gentlemen were often tired of those speeches; but
Elizabeth, who was herself a great scholar, listened
to them all, and now and then would find out a
false quantity and criticise the Latin. And since I
have no room to tell you very much more about
this famous queen, the greatest of the Tudors, I
will conclude by showing you how in the beginning
of her reign she carried on her studies at Windsor,
and worked hard, as every one must do who wishes
to fill a great position well, or to acquire a great
position if they are not born to it. Elizabeth had
no one to tell her what she ought to do, as you
young people have. She was an absolute monarch,
obeyed and feared by everybody around her. Now
listen to what Roger Ascham says about her, who
was one of the great scholars of the day:
Ascham was so extremely taken with his royal mistress's diligence
and advancement in learning, that once he brake out in an address to

the young gentlemen of England-' That it was their shame that one
maid should go beyond them all in excellence of learning and knowl-
edge of divers tongues. Point forth' (as he made the challenge)
' six of the best-given gentlemen of the Court; and all they together
show not so much goodwill, spend not so much time, bestow not so
many hours daily, orderly and constantly, for the increase of learning
and knowledge as doth the Queen's majesty herself. I believe that,
besides her perfect readiness in Latin, Italian, French and Spanish,
she readeth here now at Windsore more Greek every day than some
Prebendarie of this Church doth reade Latin in a whole week. And
that which is most praiseworthy of all, within the walls of her Privy-
chamber she hath obteyned that excellence of learning to understand,
speak and write, both wittily with head and faire with hand, as scarce
one or two rare wittes in both the universities have in many years
reached unto.'"
Some years later than this, one winter, when
the Queen was at Windsor,-to escape from the
plague, or some other pestilence such as was more
common in those days than they are now,-she
amused herself by making a translation of Boethius,

'711 -l -


a Latin philosopher; and there is quite a curious
calculation among the State records, made by one
of the royal secretaries, of the exact number of
hours which Elizabeth occupied in this. work-so
many hours one day, so many .hours another.
" And then accompting twoo hours only bestowed
every day, one with another, the computation fallith
out that in fowre-and-twenty hours your Majesty
began and ended your translation." From this
you will see that Queen Elizabeth, who had (as we
say) so many things to be proud of, was proud of
her work and her industry most of all.
This, however, was not her only way of spending
her leisure, as you may well suppose. There were
still great hunting of the "fearful hart," as in




Surrey's time, at which the Queen was one of the
boldest riders; and here is a curious little bit of a
letter, which you must make out for yourselves,
written by the Earl of Leicester, and addressed to
" the right honourable, and my singular good
Lorde, my L. of Cantbries' grace "-which means
the Archbishop of Canterbury :
"My L. The Q. Ma1hit being abroad hunting yesterday in the
Forrest, and having hadd very good Happ beside great Sport, she
hath thought good to remember yor Grace with Pt of her Pray, and
so comaunded me to send you from her Highnes a great and fatt
Stagge, killed with her owen Hand."
SThis was one of her amusements. Then there
were great "triumphs" and tournaments, and plays
and dances and every kind of festivity. One of the
knights at a Triumph in honor of the coronation
day spent four hundred pounds upon his dress and
the present he offered, which was a much larger
sum than it seems now. There never was so gor-
geous a reign. There is a story that Shakspeare's
play of the Merry Wives of Windsor" was writ-
ten at Elizabeth's command, to amuse her and her

Court. Fancy having Shakspeare to write plays
for you, when you wanted something new It was
worth while in such a case, was it not, to be a
queen ?
I should like to tell you a great deal more about
Elizabeth, but, alas I have no more room. She
built the fine terrace, which is shown in the pict-
ure, and which now makes a beautiful line at the
summit of the Slopes, so rich with beautiful trees,
and in the spring almost knee-deep in violets. And
there is a fine gallery looking in the same direction,
which now forms part of the Royal Library and is
called Queen Elizabeth's Gallery. Opening off
from this gallery is a tiny little octagon room, all
windows, like a lantern, in which Queen Anne was
taking tea when the news of the battle of Blenheim
was brought to her. So you see how the genera-
tions are linked together in this old Castle. In the
next chapter I will try to tell you something of the
Stuarts, the next reigning family, who were very
different from these violent and vigorous Tudors,
but, like them, ended in a queen.

(Not a True Story.)


LITTLE Dame Dot was a wee old woman-the
weeist old woman ever you saw. She was so thin,
and so little, and so light, that it did almost seem
as though you could ride her on a feather; and
you never would dare draw a long breath -in the
same room with her, for fear the draft of it would
send her up the chimney.
Now being quite alone in the world, Dame Dot's
sole comfort and care was a pair of bright knitting-
needles. These, the good townfolk say, were never
out of her hands, except on a Sunday, and even
then she kept her fingers in motion from mere
habit, though her eyes were. intently fixed on the
minister through the whole service.
At other times, sitting or walking, silent or talk-
ing, morning, noon and night, little Dame Dot
was always knitting. If she had knit all her
stitches in a straight row, it would certainly have
reached round the world; but she knit round and
round for stockings, up and down for blankets,
and back and forth for comforters, -clickety-click,
clickety-click, clickety-clack !
Whenever she walked abroad she carried her
knitting with her, and in windy weather all the

people would say: Little Dame Dot will surely
blow away But she did n't, and she did n't, till
nobody really thought she would, or that anything
of the kind would happen to her.
But once upon a time, when it blew and blew
and blew, something did happen. Little Dame Dot
took her walk and her knitting, thinking of noth-
ing but the gray yarn and the shining needles,
though all the breezes were out, and playing tag
with the leaves and sticks and bits of paper in the
streets, and slamming blinds and doors in people's
faces. A little breeze took her off her feet the
very moment she appeared on the door-step; but
set her down all right on the pavement, and off
she went, saying to herself and to her needles:
"One, two, seams; one, two, three." And they
went clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-clack!
Just as she reached the white church, with its
tall spire, a bigger breeze than all the rest caught
her in its airy arms, and, quick as a wink, carried
her up into the sky and out of sight, needles and
all, except the gray ball which she let drop in her
hasty flight.
Soon after, down the street came little Billy




Baker. WAat ever is this? he said, as he tried
to pick up something that was flying along the
ground like mad.
"What ever is it?" said fat Tommy Tubbs,
coming home from school, with a slate in one
hand and a green apple in the other.
"What ever is it?" chimed in Polly Popps,
going by in a red cloak, with her petticoats all in
a flutter.
It's a ball of yarn !" said Billy.
It's a ball of yarn /" said Tommy.
It is a ball of yarn said Polly.
Wherever's the end? said Billy.
Wherever's the end ? said Tommy.
"Wherever is the end ?" said Polly.
Then came all the boys and the girls, and the
men and the women round about, to see whatever
they three were talking about.
See see said somebody, pointing up above
the steeple; and they saw a little speck, like a kite,
way up in the sky.
"It's little Dame Dot!" said Billy Baker.
It's little Dame Dot! said Tommy Tubbs.
It is little Dame Dot! said Polly Popps.
S o ,,.. .,ll i. ;,l |-,. .:.!.,l,: '" -,!..l th ir '.
Dot's b .i!

o' 'an ev' eb y ,.' -
And Billy Baker pued and plle,

i "i


"Yes, wind her down!" said Tommy, and
Polly, and everybody.
And Billy Baker pulled and pulled, and Polly
wound, and little Dame Dot grew bigger and big-
ger, and came nearer and nearer, till everybody
.could see her knitting away for all the world the

same as ever, and as if the queerest thing that ever
was heard of had not just happened to her.
Pretty soon they could hear her say: "One,
two, seam; one, two, three," and then she touched
the ground, and she said: "I thank you for my

Ir -


ball, Polly Popps. I 'm much obliged to you,
Billy Baker. You are very kind, Tommy Tubbs,"
and she made a low courtesy to everybody, and
walked off home, counting to herself, One, two,
seam; one, two, three." Clickety-click, clickety-
click, clickety-clack !






,[ ,


Billy Baker said : Well, I never "
Tommy Tubbs said: "Well, I never!"
Polly Popps said: Well, I never 1" and then
all the people said: WELL, I NEVER !"
Then spoke up Billy Baker: "Something must
be done, or little Dame Dot will blow away and
never come back any more, and whatever should
we do in the village for comforters ?"
And mittens," said Tommy Tubbs.
"And garters," said Polly Popps.
"AND STOCKINGS," said all the people.

We '11 put weights on her," said somebody.
Oh, yes!-we'll put weights on her!" shouted
And they did.
Never since that day has wee Dame Dot vent-
ured abroad without one little iron weight hung
on her neck, two little iron weights hung on her
elbows, and three little iron weights tied on to her
And she knits, and knits, and knits. Clickety-
click, clickety-click, clickety-clack!



A HUNDRED years ago,-everything of any in-
terest just now was a hundred years ago, though
this that I am going to say was just as true fifty
years ago;-a hundred years ago, in every farm-
house and village house all over New England,
there was one thing, and one interest, that has
vanished and died out and been superseded. A
thing that belonged to the girls; and an interest
and ambition that the girls grew up to. A pretty
picturesque thing, and a pretty feminine industry
and emulation that cannot be replaced.
It was the old spinning-wheel, with its light lines
and its graceful treadle ; as artistic a fireside orna-
ment.as a harp, and as suggestive of low pleasant
music, and quiet, restful moods. And the busy
ambition was the spinning stores and stores of fine
white wool and glistening flax, to make blankets
and flannels, and beautiful bed and table linen;,
trying who, in her maidenhood, could lay by most,
and smoothest, and fairest, against her matronhood.
Every girl learned to draw the buzzing threads,
VOL. III.--43.

and turn with quick deft motion the whirling circle
that twisted them so swift and firm; to step lightly
to and fro beside the big one, or lean from her low
seat to the spindle of the little flax-wheel, as the
yarn or the thread drew out and in, in the twirling
and the winding. And so, every girl was a "spin-
ster," and kept on spinning, all her possible time,
until she married, and took home to her husband's
house, for years and years of thrifty comfortable
wear, the "purple and fine linen" she had made.
You are spinsters now, every one of you. That
is what the law calls you, until you are married
women. And that is what life makes you, whether
you will or no,-whether you like it or not.
You can't get rid of it; though the spinning-
wheels are dropping to pieces in the old garrets,
and the great factories are thundering beside the
rivers, to turn wool and cotton into all the cloth
the great hurried world needs; where no one aly
longer makes anything for himself, but makes or
fetches,-or catches hold and pretends to have a




hand in fetching, -something in whole or in part
for everybody else; that everybody else's work may
come round to him, in the different kinds, as he
wants it. All right; all inevitable. And yet you
girls are spinsters, just as much as ever girls were.
What a poor, slack, twisted, uneven thread you
turn off, some of you! What sleazy, unservice-
able, fraying stuff it will weave into,-what rough,
worrying garments it will make, and you will have
to wear, one of these days, when you will begin
to wish you had realized your spinsterhood, and
minded better the distaff and the wheel.
I suppose there is not one of you who does not
think that "by and by" holds all things right and
beautiful for you; things just as you would have
them; an ideal self, such as you would be, in an
ideal home, such as you will surely make, "if ever
you have a house of your own."
When things go criss-cross,-when your life dis-
contents you,-when the old and the tiresome and
the hindering, the threadbare and the every-day
annoy and jar,-then you think of this house of
your own, this time of your own, this life of your
own, that are coming, in which shall be freshness,
and satisfying, and things in your own way. You
improve wonderfully upon your mother's fashions:
you never will have this, and you "always will
have" that. Well, how is it to come about? I
will tell you one thing; you never will jump into
it and find it ready made.
It has got to be by your own spinning and weav-
ing, now beforehand. You are getting your house
and your home ready every day. By and by, well
or ill plenished, you will have to live in it. Are
you really laying up anything toward it, as the
grandmothers made and laid by their sheets and
their "pillow-biers," and their pretty damask-pat-
terned table napery, and saw them piling up in
chest or on shelf, for the certain furnishing? If
not, do you want to know how to begin ? Are you
willing to spin some little real thread every day ?
You can. You can always be about it. You can
be growing rich in things that will be actual com-
forts and providing, ready to your hand when you
want them, and when you cannot get them up in
a hurry at the moment's need.
Everything you know how to do, that is done in
a home, is something spun and woven and laid
upon the store; something acquired for a life-time,
that will last as those beautiful old linens used to
last; something that you will never have to spin
and weave again.
I do not mean something that you have clone
once, or once in a while, or that you think you
know how ought to be done. I mean something
that you have got at your fingers' ends, till it does
not seem hard to you, or cost you the least toil of

thought and anxiety. Something that you can
handle as you handle your crochet-needle, or run
your fingers up and down the piano keys, playing
your scales. Something that you can do as you
"do your hair," or tie a bow-knot in your cravat;
with turns and touches that you do not measure or
think about- but have got so used to that the right
thing comes of it,-the result that is nice and be-
coming, and full of a skillful grace that cannot be
analyzed or got at by method or recipe, but that
you have just grown into, forgetting how.
The terror of housework, the terror of servant-
less interregnums, the toil and ache of things
unaccustomed, the burden of care whose details
are unfamiliar,-all these, with the breakdown of
hope and strength that they bring, are because of
things left till that time you are dreaming of;
threads unspun till the house-linen ought to be in
the closet. You could n't tie a bow-knot without
labor and worry; you could n't make thimble and
needle work together to take ten stitches, if you
had done either thing just once or twice a good
while ago, and not every day of your life for ever
so long,-if you just knew the theory of the thing
and had never put it to use. And every bit of a
woman's work and responsibility in a home, when
she takes it up as a strange thing, is like tying a
bow-knot for the first time, or like sewing or knit-
ting or crocheting to one who has never touched
the implements before. When you think of trying
one such task after another, day after day, in all
tlfe complex doing that "housekeeping" implies,
with your very living depending upon it all the
while, you may well fancy how it is that American
girls break down under the physical'and mental
strain that comes upon so many of them with that
fulfillment of their happy hopes-the having and
ordering a "house of their own." There is no
help for it, but just the making all these things, in
their knowledge, such parts of yourselves as the
alphabet and the multiplication table, and the con-
sciousness of the parts of the day and week and
year, are; things that have been used till they are
like limbs and senses-natural' furnishings, that
you feel as if you were born with. Then, you can
take hold of life, and live. You have not got the
whole way and method to invent for yourself.
And the best of all is, that one thing grasped in
this way is the essential grasped of a great many
more. Every side of a honeycomb cell is the con-
verse side of another; every row of knitting is half
a stitch all along for the next row; in all kinds of
building and making, that which is completed is
already the beginning of the farther structure.
Begin with your own things and your own place.
That is what your mother will tell you if you rush
to her, enthusiastic with great intentions, and offer




to relieve her of half her housekeeping. Don't
draw that little bucket of cold water to have it
poured back upon your early zeal. Reform your
upper bureau-drawer; relieve your closet-pegs of
their accumulation of garments out'of use a month
or two ago. Institute a clear and cheerful order,
in the midst of which you can daily move; and
learn to keep it. Use yourself to the beautiful,-
which is the right,-disposing of things as you
handle them ; so that it will be a part of your toilet
to dress your room and its arrangements while you
dress yourself; leaving the draperies you take off
as lightly and artistically hung, or as delicately
folded and placed, as the skirts you loop carefully
to wear, or the ribbon and lace you put with a soft
neatness about your throat. Cherish your instincts
of taste and fitness in every little thing that you
have about you. Let it grow impossible to you to
put down so much as a pin-box where it will dis-
turb the orderly and pleasant grouping upon your
dressing-table; or to stick your pins in your cush-
ion, even, at all sorts of tipsy and uncomfortable
inclinations. This will not make you "fussy"-it
is the other thing that does that ; the not knowing,
except by fidgety experiment, what is harmony
and the intangible grace of relation. Once get
your knowledge beyond study, and turn it into
tact,-which is literally having it at your fingers'
ends, as I told you,-and order will breathe about
you, and grace evolve from commonest things, and
uses and belongings, wherever you may be; and
"putting things to rights" will not be separate
task-work and trouble, any more than it is in the
working of the solar system. It will go on all the
time, and with a continual pleasure.
Take upon yourself gradually,-for the sake of
getting them in hand in like. manner, if for no
other need,-all the cares that'belong to your own
small territory of home. Get together things for
use in these cares. Have your little wash-cloths
and your sponges for bits of cleaning; your furni-
ture-brush and your feather duster, and your light
little broom and your whisk and pan; your bottle
of sweet oil and spirits of turpentine, and piece of
flannel, to preserve the polish, or restore the gloss,
where dark wood grows dim or gets spotted. Find
out, by following your surely growing sense of
thoroughness and niceness, the best and readiest
ways of keeping all fresh about you. Invent your
own processes; they will come to you. I shall not
lay down rules or a system for you. When you
have made yourself wholly mistress of what you
can learn and do in your own apartment, so that it
is easier and more natural for you to do it than to
let it alone,-so that you don't count the time it
takes any more than that which you have to give
to your own bathing and hair-dressing,-then you

have learned enough to keep a whole house, so far
as its cleanly ordering is concerned.
But don't keep going to your mother. You have
every one of you probably some little independence
of money, or some possibility of economizing it.
Buy your own utensils; set up your own establish-
ment, if only by slow degrees. You will know the
good of it then; and you will be setting up your
character at the same time. There will be no
sudden violent resolution and undertaking, which
drafts aid and encouragement from everybody
about you, getting up prospective virtue by sub-
scription, and upsetting half the current order of
the household for an uncertain experiment. Be in
earnest enough to make your own way, and be-
fore you or anybody else thinks about it, you will
have become a recognized force in the domestic
community; you will have risen into your altitude
without assumption, just as you are growing, by
invisible hair-breadths, into your womanly stature.
Then, some day, you may say to your mother,
"Let me have charge of the china-closet and
pantry, please;" and you may enter upon a new
realm, having fairly conquered your own queen-
dom. And I can tell you this new one will be a
pretty and a pleasant realm to queen in; an epito-
me of the whole housework practiced in dainty,
easy little ways. Shelves to be kept nice, wiped
down with a soft wet cloth wrung from the suds
that cups and silver have come out bright from;
cups and silver, plates and dishes, to be ranged in
prettiest lines and piles and groups on the fresh
shelves; cupboards to be regulated with light daily
touches and replacements; yesterday's cake and
cake-basket, fruit or jelly, custards or blanc-mange,
to be overlooked and newly dished for the next
table-setting; the nice remnant of morning cream
to be transferred to a fresh jug and put in a cool
clean corner; to-day's parcels, perhaps, to be be-
stowed; and the doors closed, with a feeling of
plenty and comfort that only the thrifty, delicate
housewife-who knows and utilizes the resources
that are but uncomfortable odds and ends to the
disorderly, heedless, procrastinating one-ever has
the pleasure of. All this is, cosily and in miniature
to the larger care of kitchen and larder, what the
little girl's baby-house has been (if she began, like
a true woman-child, to spin and weave" for her
womanly vocation) to the "house of her own"
that she--you-began to talk of then, and that
you are earning a right to now. And pretty soon
this daily care,-this daily pleasure,-will have
become a facile thing, a thing easily slipped into
the day's programme, and never to be a mountain
or a bugbear any more, either to do or to teach;
because you "know every twist and turn of it,"
and it is not a process of conscious detail, but a


simple whole that you can dispose of with a single
thought and its quick mechanical execution.
In like manner, again, you can take up cooking.
You can learn to make bread, until the fifteen
minutes' labor that it will be for you to toss up the
dough for to-morrow's baking, will not seem to you
a terrible infliction, when it happens that you may
have it to do, any more than the mending of a pair
of gloves for to-morrow's wearing; simply because
it will be an old accustomed thing that you know
the beginning and the end of,-not a vague, un-
tried toil looming in indefinite proportions, that
are always the awful ones.
You can take some simple frequent dish, and
for a while make it your business to prepare it
whenever it is wanted,-dipped toast, perhaps, or
tea-muffins; and you will wonder, when you pass
on to some other thing of the sort in change, how
the familiar managing one matter of measuring
and mixing, boiling or baking, has given you
"judgment" and handling for the clever achieve-
ment of the next. For there are declensions and
conjugations in the grammar of housewifery, and a
few receipts and processes become like Musa,
muse," and "Amo, amare," and make you free of
the whole syntax of cookery, and, like "all print"
to Silas Wegg, all its parsing and construction are
open to you.
I can only briefly hint and sketch in this one
limited "talk." But a little leaven leaveneth; if
you begin on the principle I try to show you, you
will feel yourself gathering powers and wisdoms,
and these very powers and wisdoms will themselves
open to you the methods and suggestions of more.
More, and deeper and higher; for you will begin
to reach into things behind the outward ordering,
that are inevitably related, and out of which all true
and orderly expression grows.
You will begin to order yourself: you will have
begun already. You are making the manner of
woman you shall be in this living of yours, that is
to be externally pure and sweet and gracious.
This also will have, and is-having, its outward
stage; but it deepens inwardly, in its own turn,
day by day. Everything thorough must.
You want to make yourself pretty and pleasing;
lovely, feminine, attractive in person and move-
ment and dress. This almost always comes first;
it is the object-teaching and leading; good and
true in its place, and not thrown away as valueless
or evil, even when the truth behind it comes to be
seen and sought. A woman should be sweet and
pleasing; if she have a sweet and pleasing nature,
she will be, whether her nose be Greek or snub, her
hair dusky or golden. There is a secret to it that
I wish I could tell you without seeming to fall into
the trite old sayings that you will think are put in

for properness,-to be agreed to and then dropped
for quicker inventions; for little arts and tricks and
studies and touches that slip dangerously into false
habit and self-absorption, corrupting the nature and
the life-love, and defeating desire with its own
The short road is not all- the way round upon
the circumference, but straight out,-a radius
from the heart. And this is not a moral saying,
opposing itself to your inclination, but a real
" open sesame to help you quickest to what you
want. It is the secret by which the rose blooms.
You could not put its petals on; you can make a
rag-rose so, but it will be a rag-rose after all. Na-
ture has cunninger, sweeter, easier ways; she works
no clumsy, laborious miracles, wrong-side out.
She nurses a live, hidden something,-a true desire
to be. And the sunshine and the rain, and all
outside life that is, searches and meets the answer-
ing life in the green little bud; and that stirring,
stirs all the lovely, secret possibilities that are under
the green, outward into tender petaling and color
and fragrance; and the rose, that was meant to
be, is born. For God giveth it a body as it hath
pleased him; to every seed its own body." Just
believe this: be alive to the things that are not
yourself, and yourself shall surely be as beautiful
as God sees you can be.
An old woman told me once, when I was a little
girl: "Don't look much in the glass; it spoils
your complexion." I suppose it was a device, but
it hit the very fact. Look in the glass; think of
yourself, and take care of your person, and your
dress, just as much as must be, to put yourself in
fresh and appropriate order; and mind you refer
the question of how much that is, always and faith-
fully, to conscience. Then go away and forget;
and don't get a habit of glancing and returning,
needlessly. You cannot think how much that strict
self-judgment would condemn will be saved by just
making and keeping this rule. And how greatly
you will gain, too, in the very things that you would
take too much thought for, and that your Father
knoweth your need of, and will give you as He
gives to the lilies and roses. "I am the rose of
Sharon; I am the lily of the valley." Beauty and
perfectness are hidden in Him, and come out from
Him. If His life is in you, you need not be afraid.
You will not be unlovely; you will not miss of
anything that you can be. "No good thing, and
no perfect thing, will He withhold from them that
walk uprightly." But every over-anxiety hinders
and interferes with His work. Every look that you
study in yourself, for mere look's sake; every way
you practice for affecting,-even for an involuntary
instant,-will counteract and spoil some better look
and reality that might have graced you. Don't




look in the glass too much, literally or metaphori-
cally; it will spoil your complexion, which is your
true harmony and putting together.
Lay up your treasure in heaven. Spin and
weave for the life-garments; for these are in the
unseen kingdom, and the seen things are only signs
of them. Make yourself, every day, some even
thread; weave carefully some faithful web in your
temper and character. Be sweet, be beautiful in
your thoughts. Be full of gladness along with
others, full of interest in others' plans; grow strong
in patience, by bearing evenly with little bothers;
every one of them shall help you to be strong
against great troubles and in great needs; calm
and wise for yourself and your others, to save
troubles and meet needs that will face you by and
by. Spinsters of your very selves you are; and,
since life grows inevitably from the seed of self,-
since.it is existence, not imposition,-spinsters of
your own story and circumstance, beforehand, more
than you dream. You are making, now, the plan

of a whole life-time; your occurrences shall be
different, according as you spin at your wheel of
character, the thread of your identity that is to
run through them; for character does make cir-
cumstance; some things cannot happen alike to
all, since all living does not lead into the same pos-
sibilities of happening.
This is the wonder of the spinning and weaving
that we are all set to do for ourselves here in this
world; working at wheels of life from which are
fashioned and furnished our garment and our whole
house for the time everlasting; the body and con-
dition that we shall find grown out from the fitness
we have made in ourselves, as surely as we find the
flower grown from the seed we have planted:
"Earnestly desiring"-and it is the real, earnest
desire that all the while creates and determines in
kind and quality-" to be clothed upon with our
house which is from heaven," or from the inward.
"If so be, that being clothed upon, we be not
found naked."


DOWN in the deep grass, close by the hill,
Some one is having a party;
Never was heard on a summer night still,
Buzz of enjoyment so hearty.

Strange for the elves are no longer on earth.
Strange! for the fairies are over I
But, sure as you live, there are frolic and mirth
For somebody, down in the clover.


WINTER came suddenly. Early in November,
the boys, climbing the long hill near their camp,
could see that the sharp peaks of the Sierra, to the
eastward, were covered with snow. The lower hills,
or foot-hills, where they lived, were brown and
sere; and looking westward, the Sacramento Val-
ley was golden yellow in the warm sunlight, and
violet and purple, streaked with gray, as the cloudy
days came on. There were one or two rainy days,
during which the creek rose rapidly, and the young
miners improved the opportunity to wash out a
good deal of loose dirt from their claim. Then
came a sharp frost. The hills between the camp
and the high Sierra were white with snow, save
where the tall pines stood in solemn rows up and
down these _... -.. slopes.
One morning, Arthur, shivering with cold and
gaping with a great show of sleepiness, sat up in
his bunk, and, looking over to the window, which
was only partly shielded by a bit of canvas, ex-
claimed: Halloo, boys it's snowing "
They looked out and saw that the ground had
disappeared beneath a soft, fleecy mantle. Woolly
rolls of snow hung on the edges of the cradle by
the creek. The pine-boughs bent under their
moist burden, and the cow stood chewing her cud
disconsolately under the shelter of a big hemlock-
tree near the cabin.
Mont looked grave, and said: I must start for
Nye's Ranch this very day."
Now Nye's Ranch was at the junction of the
Yuba and Feather rivers, fifty miles away. It was
the nearest depot for supplies, though a trading-
post had been opened at Inskip, twenty miles
north-east from Crowbait Gulch. But the Inskip
trader brought his goods from Nye's Ranch, and
his prices were enormous. Besides this, a company
of Mexicans at Greasertown had promised to pay
three hundred dollars, in gold dust, for the ox and
cow, the survivors of the teams of the young emi-
grants; and part of the bargain included the
delivery of the cattle to the purchasers.
It had been agreed that Mont should go to Nye's
Ranch, riding old Jim, and deliver the cattle at
Greasertown on his way down. The Spanish cat-
tle of the country were thought good enough to
slaughter for fresh beef. These American cattle
were too valuable to be killed. It was more eco-

nomical to sell them and buy the meat needed for
winter supplies. Flour, bacon, beans, and dried
apples were required from Nye's Ranch; and it
was decided that no more time should be lost in
getting them. Mont could drive the cattle down
the creek, get the money and push on into the
valley, buy the provisions, and pack them home on
old Jim.
The snow disappeared when the sun came out
that afternoon; and when Mont started on his
journey, which was not until the next morning,
the air was clear and bracing, and the sky was
brilliant with sunlight. The, boys saw him ride
down the winding trail with real sorrow, for he
drove before him their old friends, Molly and Star.
These faithful creatures had been their sole reliance
during the latter part of their journey; and though
the cattle were no longer useful to them, now that
they were camped for the winter, it was hard to
part with them. If it had not been so hard, Mont
would have begun his journey to Nye's Ranch
much earlier. As it was, Arty and Johnny looked
down the trail with tearful eyes, when Mont, turn-
ing in his saddle, shouted back : Don't eat up all
the gold while I am gone."
But even Mont was a little heavy at the heart
when he finally left the cattle at Greasertown, and
rode away with his gold dust stowed in a belt about
his waist and under his flannel shirt. He had a
long and solitary ride before him; he was loaded
with what seemed to him a great deal' of money,
and, for the first time since leaving Council Bluffs,
he was separated from his comrades.
The rocky trail soon left the creek and entered a
wagon-track, which, though it now seemed like a
novelty of civilization to Mont, who had been living
in the woods, was not so broad a trail as that in
which he had traveled across the continent. His
spirits rose as old Jim loped gallantly on the
trail, jingling the slender camp equipage tied on
behind, as he went., The air was absolutely hushed,
and the wintry sun rained down its needles of light
into motionless clumps of pines and spruces grouped
in the narrow valley. On either side, the hills rose
up sharp and clear in outline against the blue sky,
their rocky ridges dotted with a few lone trees along
their lofty crowns. Occasionally, a hare darted
across the trail and was lost in the tangled ferns,
or a gray gopher, with tail on end, drifted along
ahead, like a leaf blown by the wind, and suddenly
disappeared. A magpie screamed and scolded from






the top of a madrofia-tree, and a solitary crow,
heavily flapping its way through the crystal atmos-
phere overhead, croaked and cawed, and then
seemed to melt away into the hills of brown and
Just before Scotchman's Valley opens out into
the valley of the Sacramento, the walls on either
side rise up to a great height. On the south, the
ridge is over two thousand feet high, and is very
steep and rugged, except at a point near the base,
where the sharp slope widens out into a shoulder,
or bench. On this bench, about two hundred feet
from the bottom, were perched two or three miners'
cabins. Mont, when he reached this spot, looked
at the cabins as he rode down the trail, and, won-
dering why the builders had chosen such a lofty
spot for their homes, was tempted to climb the
narrow trail and ask for lodging, for it was now
late in the day. But, reflecting that few people in
these parts were prepared to take in strangers,
though all were hospitable, he went on through
the narrow pass, entered a round, flat valley which
dropped gently to the west, and, between the open-
ings in the groves of live-oaks, he saw the Sacra-
mento Valley, laced with streams; Sutter's Buttes,
a noble group of mountains, in the midst; and
far away, the sharp summits of the coast range,
pink and white against the evening sky.
The young man made his lonely camp in a clump
of dwarf pines, as night came on, and built his
fire, toasted his bacon, made a pot of coffee, and,
slicing off a cut from the loaf which Arthur had
put up for him, he ate his frugal supper with loving
thoughts of the boys at home. The New England
home seemed too far away now to be so present in
his thoughts as the rude hut on the brink of
Chaparral Creek; and as Mont hugged himself in
his warm blanket, to sleep beneath the frosty sky,
Barney Crogan, Hi, and the boys, came and went
in his dreams.
Following the course of the Feather and Yuba
rivers, the streams of trade and travel, which had
already begun to move in this new land, met on a
flat and willow-grown angle where Nye's Ranch
had been built. Here the Rio de los Plumas, or
Feather River, received the Yuba River, and flowed
on to join the Sacramento. Here, once a week,
came a small steamboat from Sacramento, fifty or
sixty miles to the southward; and here were two
or three trading-posts, built of sycamore logs and
roofed over with canvas.
Mont had struggled across a wet and muddy
plain, intersected with a labyrinth of small sloughs
and streams. He found the little settlement a rude
and noisy place. The ground was cut up with
the tracks of many wagons, and trampled into a
sticky paste by the feet of innumerable mules,

whose braying filled the air. Miners, red-shirted
and rough-bearded, were coming and going. The
traders were excitedly rushing about, selling their
goods and sweeping in the gold-dust. This precious
stuff was weighed in scales, after being rudely fin-
gered over on the board counter, to scan the grains
separately; and Mont was amazed to see how care-
lessly the gold was handled. Apparently, there was
no coin nor paper money, but everybody had a
buckskin pouch or a canvas shot-bag, in which the
golden dust was kept. Now and again, some man
from the Bay," as San Francisco was called, ex-
hibited a huge rude coin, valued at fifty dollars,
and popularly known as a "slug." This was
stamped with the name of the firm who issued it,
and it very readily passed for the amount it repre-
The little open plaza about which the settlement
was .flung, like a strange and tangled dream, was
crowded with men, wagons, cattle and mules. A
few miserable Indians, squatted around a big syca-
more, looked on without manifesting the least
interest in the scene; and a grizzly bear, caged
in a canvas-covered inclosure, or corral, and ex-
hibited for one dollar a sight, added to the con-
fusion by uttering an occasional howl. A tent,
with Freeman's Express" painted on its roof, first
attracted Mont's attention, and to that he straight-
way bent his steps. The boys had sent letters
down to Sacramento by various ways, and Mont
now deposited another lot, one of which, written to
Farmer Stevens, in Richardson, Illinois, gave him
the points of Bill Bunce's story about Johnny, and
besought him to look up the case, if possible.
The tent was crowded with men inquiring for
"letters from the States." There was no post-
office here, but the accommodating expressmen, in
consideration of a few dollars' worth of dust, would
take a list of names, send it to San Francisco, and
bring up the letters of people who made Nye's
Ranch theirtrading-point. Miners farback among
the hills sent to the ranch by their comrades or
nearest neighbors, and, in course of time, their
precious letters, sifting through many hands, sought
them out and brought them tidings from home.
There were no letters for the boys at Crowbait.
They had expected none, as their list of names had
been sent to Sacramento. With a homesick and
lonely feeling, Mont made his purchases as soon as
possible, loaded them on old Jim, and made his
way out of the muddy and disagreeable little settle-
ment. The sky was dark and lowering, and the
sharp white peaks of the Sierra were lost in a gray
mist, as he laboriously picked his way across the
plain and camped for the night with a hospitable
herdsman on the edge of Butte Creek.
When he resumed his journey, next day, the air


was raw and chilly; a slate-colored cloud closed
over the foot-hills, and a mild but exasperating
drizzle pervaded the plain as he left it-and began
to ascend the undulations which here seem like
a groundswell, and, higher up, break into the
tumultuous waves of the Sierra.
Mont pushed on impatiently, riding when the
trail was easy, and leading his loaded steed where
the way was steep and rough. Both horse and
man were in haste to get home. Mont grew fever-
ish and apprehensive as he saw the snow beginning
to fall heavily, while he was yet only on his second
day from Nye's Ranch. And when he camped
that night in the manzanita-bushes, it was with
great difficulty that he could kindle a fire, But he
found a partly screened spot, where the snow sifted
lightly in, and he could camp in comparative com-
fort. Jim was relieved of his load, and tied in a
clump of trees which sheltered him; and Mont
slept as best he could, and this was not sleeping
well. His feet were sore with the chafing of a
rough pair of new boots, put on when he left the
trading-post, and now soaked with melting snow.
Next day, after Jim had browsed among the
bushes, and Mont had swallowed a little hot coffee,
they struggled on together, though the horse was
now obliged to wade in a deep mass of snow, and
Mont desperately kept up by his side.
Passing laboriously through the round valley
where he had made his first night's camp, Mont
entered the rocky jaws of Scotchman's Valley.
The day was well advanced, but the sky was dark
with storm. Overhead, the air was thick as with a
drifting whirl of snow. The black-green trees by
the trail were half-hidden and loaded with the
snow. All trace of the route had vanished from
the ground, and only a few landmarks, which
Mont's practiced eye had noted as he rode down
the trail, served to show the way in which he should
go. There was the high, steep southern wall of
the canion, and there were the cabins on the
bench below the upper edge. Poor Mont noted in
the blinding storm the blue smoke curling from
the chimneys of the cabins, and he longed to be
by the cheerful fireside which he pictured to him-
self was within. Like showers of feathers, moist
and large, the flakes fell, and fell continually.
Mont's feet were wet and sore and lame. Once
and again, he paused in his struggles and eyed
the dismal sight around him, half-wondering if he
should ever get through. The hapless horse panted
beneath his burden, groaning as his master dragged
him on through the drifts. Once, Mont, with numb
fingers, untied the thongs that bound part of the
load; then, passionately crying aloud, "No! no!
I can't lose these provisions he made them fast
again and labored onward.

He was now well up the caion. Just opposite
him were the cabins, and, as he looked up at them,
the air began to clear. The snow fell only in scat-
tered flakes, and the clouds showed signs of break-
ing away. Before him, however, the way looked
even more hopeless than when it had been con-
cealed by the falling storm. Behind, a few ragged,
fading tracks showed where man and horse had
struggled on in the drift.
Suddenly, a low and far-off moan broke on the
utter stillness of the air. Mont, scared and half-
delirious with excitement and fatigue, looked up
toward the southern wall of the defile. The
mountain-top seemed to be unloosed and falling
over into the valley. The whole side of the ridge
appeared broken off, and as it glided swiftly down,
Mont noted, with fascinated minuteness of observa-
tion, that a broad brown furrow showed behind
it where the earth was laid bare. Down rushed
the mighty avalanche. The whole defile seemed
to shut up like the covers of a book. In a twink-
ling the three poor little cabins were wiped out as
with a wet sponge. The pallid mass swept on with
a roar, its huge arms flying up toward the skies.
It was not so much a wall of snow as a resistless
torrent, broad and deep. The young man stood
still, his heart ceased to beat; yet he stood and
gazed, unable to flee, as the avalanche thundered
down from bench to bench, struck the bottom of
the canon, and spread out in a confused mass of
whiteness. In an instant, horse and man vanished
in a waste of snow. The narrow valley was filled,
and only here and there, where an uprooted tree
or a fragment of a wrecked cabin showed above
the surface, was there anything to break the utter

I ALLOW this is dreffle disagreeable," said Hi.
"Mont's been gone eight days; nothing' in the
house to eat, and no neighbors within ten miles, so
far's we know."
"And I'm powerful hungry," chimed in Tom,
who never missed an opportunity to make a com-
I would n't mind," said Arty, once more going
to the door and looking down the snow-covered
trail,-" I would n't mind, if we only knew Mont
was safe somewhere."
Barney grumbled and said that it served them
right for letting Mont go down into the valley
alone. They were fools, he thought, for having
staid so high up among the mountains during the
winter. If they had gone out when Mont went to
Nye's Ranch, and had staid out, they would never




have seen any snow. There was no snow in the
valley; and miners were "making money hand
over fist" down on the American and Stanislaus
"Yes, yer hindsight is fust-rate, Crogan; but I
would n't give much for your foresight," snarled
Hi, who was chafing under this long and enforced
Barney, without a word, took his gun and went
out in the snow to hunt rabbits. There was neither

_~ --r-;_
__- ~-1
_~,-~=~_i;~~- 1~~-~--~-~-


I) i
*II'^ ^ .- i

looking for traces of their absent comrade. Greaser-
town was deserted. The six Mexicans who had
lived there had packed up their light luggage and
gone to parts unknown. On the rafters of their
solitary cabin were laid two rude jig-saws, showing
that the men intended to return. Drifts of snow
were on the puncheon floor, and the wind sighed
mournfully through the half-chinked walls of the
log cabin. A lonely looking chipmunk gazed at
the intruders, as he sat upright in the window-sill;

'*" --- "- ^ ^ & 3:-f


---..^l .- 7 .7-

A-V;-_-C- -


flour nor meat in the cabin; but there was a plenty
of coffee, some sugar, and a few beans. There was
no immediate danger of starvation. Even at the
worst, a few rabbits and squirrels could be snared
or shot in the underbrush; and Arty had found
that by crushing the dry berries of the manzanita,
which still hung on the bushes, a very palatable
sort of flour could be made. Barnard announced
his intention of starving before he would eat such a
mess, though Arthur argued that the Indians ate it
and grew fat on it.
But I'm not a Digger," was his brother's con-
clusive answer. I'll starve first."
Matters looked even worse and more gloomy,
four days after, when there was still no sign of
Mont. Three of the boys, Hi, Barnard and Arthur,
went down the trail as far as Greasertown, anxiously

then he uttered a little exclamation of disgust and
Yer might have shot him," muttered Hi, as he
took up a junk bottle which had been used for a
candlestick, and thoughtfully put his nose to its
"What does it smell of?" asked Barnard, with
some sharpness.
Don't know," replied Hi. "I was a-thinkin'
that I might eat this 'ere taller droppings, if the
mice had n't been before me."
Barney laughed, in spite of himself.
Why, Hi, we are not so badly off as all that
comes to yet. We need n't eat candles, like the
Esquimaux. We can live on rabbits, you know.?"
There's no fat on rabbits, and I must say I'm
just a-pinin' for somethin'.fat," rejoined poor Hi.



They had not even candles in their own cabin;
but as. they sat that night around the cheerful
blaze of their fire, Hi acknowledged that it was far
better to have fat pine-knots to burn than fat can-
dles to eat.
After all, the great burden on their spirits was
Mont's mysterious absence. If they could only be
sure that he was safe and well, they would be
happy. At least, that was what Barnard and
Arthur said, over and over again.
How much money did Mont have, all told? "
demanded Hi.
Let's see," said Arty, reckoning on his fingers;
"there was the three hundred he got for the cattle,
one hundred you gave him to send home for you,
two hundred Barney and I sent off by him, and
two hundred of his own for his mother. Why,
that's eight hundred dollars altogether "
"Eight hundred dollars' wuth of dust, and a hoss
wuth nigh onto two hundred more, if.he is old
Crowbait. That's a good haul."
"What do you mean, Hi ?" demanded Barney,
starting up with an angry face.
"What do I mean ?" replied the other, doggedly.
"I mean that it's a good haul for a feller to get
away with. That's what I mean."
Do you mean to insinuate that Mont has gone
off with our property, you confounded sneak ?"-
and Barney advanced toward Hi with sparkling
I don't mean to insinervate nothing' agin no-
body, Barney Crogan. So keep yer temper. Ye'll
need it bumbye to keep from starvin'. If a high-
way-robber has corraled Mont with his dust, that
would be a good haul for somebody, would n't it ?"
But there are no highway-robbers about these
parts. We have never heard of anything being
stolen anywhere, and people leave their stuff lying
around loose everywhere."
Nevertheless, as Barney said this, he sat down
with a sore feeling in his heart. After all, they did
not know much about Mont. The old joke about
his "store clothes" was still a tender subject in the
camp, and Hi's unworthy suspicions found a lodg-
ment in Barney's mind, though his eyes filled with
angry tears when he tried to think better of his old
comrade. He struggled weakly against the bad
thoughts that rose in his mind. Then he reflected
that the spare and unnatural diet to which they had
been confined lately had reduced the moral tone of
the camp. The young fellow rose and looked
vacantly out of the little loophole in their canvas-
covered window. The prospect without was not
cheerful. The river was frozen over; the ground
was white, and the sky was gray.
"Oh, well," said Arty, cheerily, "Mont is sure
to come back. He's snow-bound somewhere, I'm

sure. Perhaps old Jim gave out, and he had to
lie by somewhere until he got better."
"Prehaps," said Hi, with a marked emphasis.
"And then," went on the boy, without noticing
Hi's interruption, "we are bound to get through
this somehow. As Mont used to say, I feel it in
my bones."
Yes," said Tom, with scorn; "more bones
than meat."
Shut yer mouth, you Tom!" broke in his
brother, angrily.
Besides," added Arty, mother used to say,"
-and the boy's voice quavered a little,-" that the
Lord will provide."
I don't know," said Barney, gloomily, from the
window. It seems as if the Lord had gone off."
Arthur gave his brother a scared look, and re-
monstrated, with tearful eyes, "Oh, don't, Barney!"
That night, for almost the fiftieth time since
Mont had been gone, Hi lifted the puncheons of
the floor in one corner of the cabin, scraped away
the soil, and dragged out the can of gold dust
which formed the common stock. He smoothed it
over, lovingly, in his hands, and let it drop back
into the can with a sharp rattle.
It's a heap of money," he said, with a sigh.
'T would buy a farm in Illinoy."
But it wont buy a pound of side-meat in Crow-
bait Gulch," said Barney, with some ill-humor.
"Nary time," replied Hiram. "What's the use
of gold if yer can't buy nothing' with it ? Yer can't
eat it, can't drink it, can't wear it," -and, as if try-
ing the experiment, he took up a bright lump and
bit it. Blame the contemptible yaller stuff said
Hi, with a sudden burst of rage. "What's the
good of it now ? "-and he shied it into the fire.
The golden nugget struck the back of the fire-
place and dropped into the blaze, as if astonished
at its rude treatment.
Arty, with much concern, attempted to pull it
out, but Barnard said:
"Let it be; you can poke it out to-morrow,
when Hi and the ashes have both cooled off."
Johnny, from his bunk, had looked on this curi-
ous scene with much amazement. He did not
exactly understand why Hi, who usually was the
greediest for gold, should now throw a piece into
the fire. Then, why did he bite at it? He might
have known that gold was not good to eat, and he
had no business to throw it away like that when he
found that he could not bite it. Then the lad re-
membered Mont's last words, "Don't eat up all
the gold while I am gone It was very strange.
So, thinking of Mont, and wondering if he would
ever come back again, Johnny turned his face
against the rough wall of the cabin and softly cried
himself to sleep.




Next day, the sun rose so bright and clear that
the little valley was deluged with an intense bright-
ness almost painful to the eyes. Barnard awoke,
and sitting up in his bunk, half-wondered what it
was that had so troubled him when he went to
sleep. Then he suddenly remembered the priva-
tions and dangers of their situation; and he took
up his burden of anxiety with a dull feeling of pain.
Arthur was already punching up the embers,
and, with a little laugh, he poked out the lump of
gold which Hi had tossed there the night before.
" Ouch he exclaimed, as he dropped it on the
floor, it's hot as blazes! "
Hard to get and hard to hold," remarked Bar-
nard, soberly.
As the young miners gathered about their scanty
breakfast, Johnny reminded them of Mont's last
word about eating the gold.
That was Mont's joke," said Barney; "but he
little thought how near we should come to having
nothing but that stuff to eat."
Just then there was a sound outside, as of tramp-
ling in the snow.
What's that ?" cried Hi.
"Grizzlies!" shrieked Tom; and everybody
rushed to the door.
It was like a message from an outer and far-off
world, in that solitary wilderness. As they flung
wide open the door, there was Mont, limping along
with a sack of flour on his back, and behind him
was Messer with other provisions. Mont looked
pale and worn, but he cried out, cheerily:
Halloo Crowbaits! "
His comrades crowded about him to relieve him
of his load, shake his hands, and ask all manner
of questions. All but Hi, who, with a great gulp,
sat down on a bench and broke into tears.- The
other boys, though with moistened eyes and tender
hearts, in this hour of their deliverance, looked
upon the tearful Hi with real amazement.
What's the matter, Hi ?" asked Mont, kindly
putting his arm on Hi's shoulder.
I did n't allow I was so powerful weak," blub-
bered the poor fellow. "I must have been hungry,
and, besides, I'm so glad you've got back, you
can't think."
Barnard's face clouded for a moment, as he re-
membered Hiram's suspicions. But Hi added:
And I thought hard of you, too. Don't lay it
up agin me "
"Oh, no," said Mont. So long as you are all
alive, I am thankful and happy. 'Here we are
again, Mr. Merryman,' as the circus man says,"
and the young fellow gayly slapped Arty's back.
But Mont was not in very good case, and when
he told his story, they marveled much that he was
alive. The avalanche in Scotchman's Valley had

swept down the miners' cabins, but, fortunately,
the only man in either of them had heard the hum
of the slide as it came. Running out, he dashed
into a tunnel in the rear of the cabin, where his
comrades were at work, just in time to escape the
flying mass which swept down the hillside and
into the gulch below. Their cabins were gone, but
the miners were alive, and thankfully they set
themselves to recovering whatever was left of the
A dark spot on the surface of the snow attracted
their attention. It was a horse's head.
Thar must be a man whar thar's a hoss, you
bet," was the sage remark of one of them. So,
leaving their own affairs, the men went down and
worked manfully until they had dug out old Jim,
for it was he-dead in the snow. Anxiously, the
good fellows plied their shovels until Mont, irisens-
ible and nearly suffocated, was dragged out to the
light. He was carried up to the tunnel, where a
fire, chafing, and some hot coffee, recalled him to
consciousness. But his mind wandered, and he
could give no satisfactory account of himself.
Must be one of them Boston fellers up to Crow-
bait, just this side of Forty Thieves," muttered one
of the party. "He looks too high-toned for one
of the Forty Thieves folks. Besides, they all left a.
fortnight ago; but what's he a-doin' down here?"
And the puzzled miner scratched his head.
Mont could only say, Don't eat all the gold up "
Out of the wreck of their cabins the miners soon
reconstructed a comfortable shelter. Mont's pro-
visions were nearly all found and laid by for him;
and his rescuers made him, and themselves, as.
comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
When the young man, after a day or two, was
able to sit up and tell who he was and where he
came from, he found himself so weak and lame
that he could not travel. He moaned over this, for
he was filled with alarm for his comrades, waiting
at home for food. More than a week was already
gone, and his feet were yet so sore that it was im-
possible for him to move. He must go, if he had
to crawl. The boys would starve.
His new friends tried to persuade him that his
pardnerss" would be able to get along on wild
game, and that it was more necessary for him to
get well than for him to take food to them. Mont
fretted, and continually fixed his gaze on the narrow
cafon entrance through which he must struggle on
to Crowbait.
One day, while thus looking wistfully out over
the gulch, he saw the well-known slouchy figure of
Messer crossing on the snow, now fast melting
away. Messer was loaded with pick, pan,. and
"grub." He had left his wife at Frenchman's
Misery, down the valley, and had come up to join




an old acquaintance in the hill diggings, where
Mont was now confined against his will.
It was a fortunate meeting. Honest Messer said:
" You uns was kind to we uns on the plains. I'11
pack ye up to Chaparral, if that'll do you any good."
Mont protested that he could walk; but he should
be glad for some assistance with his load. Messer
expressed a willingness to carry Mont and all the
goods and provisions which poor old Jim had so far
brought. So, after .one more day's rest, the two
men set out with as much of the stuff as they could
carry. The trail was difficult, but they managed
to reach Greasertown at the end of their first day.
Here they camped in the deserted cabin, and next
day, bright and early in the morning, they pushed
on to Crowbait. Mont had hoped to surprise the
boys. But when he drew near, and none came to
meet'him, his heart sank. There was no sign of
life when he came in sight of the cabin. The sun
was up, but no smoke issued from the rude chimney.
Have they become discouraged and gone
away?" he asked himself, with growing alarm.
Then a pale blue wreath of smoke curled up from
the chimney. That's Arty! God bless the
boy murmured Mont to himself.
Now he heard voices within, and the door opened.
He was at home at last. All was well.
It was a tight squeak you uns had of it," re-
marked Messer, solemnly.
Barney, standing behind Arthur, affectionately
put his hands on the lad's shoulders and said:
But this little chap reminded us that the Lord
would provide."

MONT did not readily recover from his sickness.
During the remainder of that winter, which yet
had many privations in store for them, he was in-
firm in health. The boys had anxious hours and
days. There was no physician in the region; their
own slender stock of medicines was not of much
avail in a case of serious sickness like this; and
more than once the tender-hearted Barney, who
could no longer endure the sight of his comrade
suffering without remedy, went hastily out among
the snow-covered hills, and, in the death-like waste
of the forest, tried to find relief for his pent-up and
sorrowful feelings.
It was not until the snow had melted, the wild
geese had begun to clamor in the sky, and the
ripple of the creek along its pebbly bars was heard
once more, that Mont fairly recovered. The log
cabin was continually damp, and as little sunshine
could pour into it through the winter, it was not a
good place for a sick man. But when the doors

and windows were thrown open wide, and the
warmth of the early California spring flooded the
little house with sunlight, the invalid recovered
rapidly, and the shadow of a great trouble passed
away from the household.
With the re-opening of the trails came new and
old acquaintances. Almost before the snow had
melted from the mountains above them, prospectors
came hunting through the hills for gold. Many of
these were newly arrived in the country, and they
had already begun to think that the gold of the
lower valleys was played out," and that the pre-
cious stuff must be sought higher up in the Sierra.
Nevertheless, all of these had gold dust with them,
which they handled as carelessly as if it had been
common dirt. Each man carried a little pair of
scales about him, with which he weighed the ore
when he bought or sold anything.; for, as yet, there
was no coin and no other currency than this.
With the spring, too, came news from home.
Some of their neighbors at Forty Thieves brought
up a package of priceless letters from Sacramento
for the boys. Barnard and Arthur did not think
any price too great to pay for a fat envelope from
Sugar Grove; for that packet contained a wonder-
ful letter of many pages, in which father, mother,
sister, and each one of the brothers, had written
something. It was a marvelous production, written
during the early winter evenings, and the two boys
read it over and over again with almost tearful de-
light. It'seemed strange, in those distant solitudes,
to read of the white calf which had been born to
Daisy, and of the marvelous crop of bell-flower
apples last year. Barnard put down the closely
written pages which told him how the wheat crop
had turned out in the ten-acre lot, how the pigs had
been sold to Jim Van Orman, and how Jedediah
Page was married to Dolly Oliver, and Father
Dixon had been presented with a gold-headed cane
by the citizens of the town. As the boy looked
away from these simple annals of his far-off home,
into the trackless forest which clothed the flanks
of the Sierra Nevada, he seemed as one in a dream.
He was obliged to look about him to be sure that
he was in California and not in Illinois. The pict-
ure of the old homestead at Sugar Grove, the red
barn, the well-sweep, the family about the big
kitchen-table, and the neighbors dropping in to
chat, now seemed something that existed in some
other world than this.
Hi and Tom also had their budget of home news,
which was none the less welcome, probably, because
the handwriting was rugged, and because, as Hi
expressed it, the dingy letter-paper "smelt con-
foundedly of terbacker-smoke." Old man rFe dr
and his wife dearly loved a pipe when any rkB-au
business, like that of letter-writing, was in hand.




Mont went away by himself to read his long let-
ters from Cambridgeport. He had two sets of
these-one in the stately, erect handwriting of his
mother, and the other crowded full of fine hair-
lines, expressing, doubtless, very comfortable senti-
ments, for the boys observed that Mont improved
in spirits whenever he read these,-and, as this
was often, the young man was always light-hearted,
as of old.
I would n't mind giving you a bit of one of our
letters, Johnny," said Arty, genially, as he saw that
the friendless little lad looked on the happy circle
of readers with a troubled face, "only I suppose it
wouldn't do you any good. You might 'play'
that it was from your sister."
I don't mind it a bit," said Johnny, stoutly;
"but it is sort of hard-like, that I've got nobody
to write to me. Nobody, nobody "-and the lad's
eyes filled with tears, in spite of himself.
Nevertheless, there was news about Johnny.
Farmer Stevens had made inquiries and had found
that one Doctor Jenness, known as a veterinary
surgeon, otherwise "horse-doctor," lived at Lick
Springs, Vermillion County; and that his sister,
name unknown, had married some years ago, and
had subsequently died in Ogle County, leaving a
little son and some property. So much was already
discovered by way of a beginning, and the good
man was sure he should be able to trace the rest,
by and by. Johnny heard the story without much
interest. Arty was excited to know that his father
was on the track of Johnny's parentage. It had
been a great- mystery to him. He was sure some
great thing might happen yet. But the boy him-
self was satisfied with his present condition, and
was at home with his new friends. Beyond these
he had no concern whatever.
As soon as the frost was out of the ground, the
boys went to work again with a hearty good will.
They had put their mining tools in order during
the winter leisure, and their very first ventures into
the claim were richly repaid. They had worked
well up toward the upper end of the gulch, skinning
off the top soil and digging up the pay dirt next to
the bed-rock. One day, Mont, who was manfully
tugging away with his returning strength, fairly
shouted with delight, as his shovel turned up a
broken mass of gold, shining in one magical clus-
ter. The boys came running, and Hi, stooping
down, with hooked fingers eagerly clawed out the
loose earth. There, in a narrow crevice in the
bed-rock, like eggs in a basket, were thirteen lumps
of bright, yellow, solid gold, some as large as but-
ternuts, some smaller, and some about as large as
marbles. They were all irregular in shape, but all
were smoothly rounded as if they had been rolled
and rolled for ages in the bed of a swiftly moving

stream. The earth was packed about them, and
even in this soft bed appeared shining particles,
which would have excited their expectations if they
had not now the great luck in their grasp.
"I allow there must be at least fifty thousand
dollars in that there hole said Hi, feverishly, as
he fingered the glorious "chispas."
"Oh, Hi, you 're crazy!" broke in Barney.
"There is n't more than ten thousand in the whole
lot, if there is so much. Gold dust is mighty de-
ceiving, you know."
Well, let's go for the nest," said Tom, valiantly
brandishing the pick. "May be we '11 strike an-
other like it deeper down."
But this was a vain hope. The dirt was carefully
scraped out of the little hole where the gold had
been found. When washed, it paid well, though
not in big lumps. The boys dug all around the
lucky spot without finding any more rich deposits.
Hi left his rocker by the creek, in order to be on
hand when the next "big strike" was made; and
he grew fretful as days went by and only fair wages
were returned for their labors.
Their mine had yielded, since spring had opened,
ten thousand dollars, of which about one-half had
been found in what Johnny called "the lucky hole."
So, with the letters home went a package of gold
dust. Mining operations had thickened so among
the mountains that Freeman's Express Company
had pushed its agencies far up into the Sierra.
Mounted messengers collected and delivered letters
and small parcels, and no sight in all the year was
so welcome to these exiles in the mountains of
California as the lithe horseman, with his saddle-
bags strapped behind him and his pistols at his
belt, rode over the divide and plunged into the
gulches where men were delving in the mines.
Now they had money on the way home-" money
in the bank," as Hi put it-and they returned to
their work with new energy. They ran narrow
trenches up into the slopes on either side of their
claim. They sunk holes in the edges of the bank,
the central portion of the triangular gulch having
been carefully worked over. One day, when they
weighed up their gains for that day's labor, they
found just ten dollars. Hi frowned and said that
"the youngsters" were getting-lazy. Tom, as a
representative youngster, resented this remark, and
murmured something about punching Hi's head.
Mont interfered in behalf of peace, and cheerily
reminded them.that there had been a time when
ten dollars was a good show for a day's work.
But that was when we were prospecting," said
Barney, ruefully looking at the meager yield of
gold. "Now we are supposed to be in a pay-
ing claim. Ten dollars a day is just two dollars



The next day's harvest was twenty-two dollars.
The next was worse yet-only five dollars. But
on the third day they washed out eighty-five cents !
An expert from Swell-Head Gulch was called in
to view the premises. He walked over the ground,
asked a few questions, and, when the lucky find
was described, said, with great contempt:
That war only a pocket."
Then he scooped up some of the earth next the
outer edge of the bed-rock last laid bare, poked it
about in the palm of his rough hand, with a know-
ing air, and said:
"Boys, your claim is played out."

So saying, he stalked away, without giving the
matter a second thought.
In an instant almost their castles in the air had
tumbled, Barnard sat down on the ground in a
most depressed condition of mind, saying:
Just our luck "
Hi growled: "And we've been and gone and
sent all our money home."
Arty turned to Mont, and asked with his eyes:
Well ?"
And Mont said: "There's only one thing to do,
boys. As Bush would say, we may as well 'get up
and dust.'"

(To be continued.)



GOD has given to the people of this world a
wonderful garden, full of all sorts of beautiful
things. Everybody wanders in this garden some-
times; but some people go there oftener than
others, and see a much greater variety of wonder-
ful things. It is called the Garden of Imagination,
because it is full of a great variety of images.
They are not like images made of marble or
china or wax, for they float about, and keep
changing. Indeed, they come and go so fast, that
it is often hard to tell what they look like, before
they are gone. But some little girls talk about the
things they see in this garden, and then other little
girls say they make up charming stories.
This wonder-garden swarms with fairies. In-
deed, it is the place where all the fairies in the
world come from. One of them is very busy pick-
ing up little bits of colored glass and glittering
metal, and placing. them in all manner of beauti-
ful patterns. It is perfectly wonderful how many
elegant figures she will make out of a few broken
bits of things, that seem good for nothing till she
touches them with her fairy fingers.
One day a little girl, who was called Mattie Mis-
chief, tried to reach a flower on the mantel-piece,
and she knocked down a splendid vase of Bohe-
mian glass, all ruby-colored and gold. When her
mother saw the precious vase broken into frag-
ments, she told Mattie she must go to her own
room and stay till supper-time, because she had
been a naughty little girl. She was so mischievous

that she was often sent to her room, and when she
was there she tried to amuse herself by wandering
about in the Garden of Imagination; and there
was no end to the stories she used to tell about the
things she saw there.
So when she had done crying about the broken
vase, she went off to this garden again to seek for
company. And there she saw a fairy dancing and
capering round some small pieces of the red and
gold glass, which she had picked out of the dust-
ing-pan. You never saw anything so beautiful as
that little fairy. No butterfly or dragon-fly was
ever half so handsome. All manner of bright,
changeable colors shimmered over her transparent
wings and her little gauze skirt, so that she looked
as if she had been dipped in a rainbow. In her
hair she wore a little blue forget-me-not, which
contrasted prettily with her golden curls, as they
went flying round, glancing in the sunshine, as she
"Why, you charming little creature !" exclaimed
Mattie. "What is your name? What are you
going to do with those little bits of glass ? They
are good for nothing."
My name is Prisma," replied the fairy. I
am going to put these pieces into my wonder-box.
I can make something out of nothing; I can.
You 'll see you '11 see and away she flew.
Mattie told her mother about it afterward; and
her mother said, I think you have been sleeping,
my child, and have had a dream."




I wish I could dream about that little Prisma
again," replied Mattie. "She was so pretty and
so graceful! "
She thought so much about her, that she soon
wandered away into the Garden of Imagination
again; and there she saw Prisma seated on a dan-
delion blossom, with her little feet crossed, to rest
herself. A purple morning-glory, with a piece of
the stem attached to it for a handle, made a beau-
tiful large umbrella for her; for in that garden
flowers do not wilt after they are gathered, as they
do in common gardens. But the busy little creat-
ure did not stop long to rest. She saw a bit of
shining mica among the gravel, and she jumped
down from her flowery perch to pick it up.
"What are you going to do with that? asked
I am going to put it into my wonder-box," said
Prisma. Look under this mullein, and see what
a heap of treasures I have found."
Mattie raised a leaf, and saw under it some
broken beads and broken glass-buttons, of all sorts
of bright colors, mixed with links of chains, some
of gold, some of silver, and some of polished steel.
You foolish little thing What do you pick up
such rubbish for ?" said Mattie, and she gave the
little heap a push with her foot.
Prisma was so vexed, that her face flushed as red
as a damask-rose leaf. "Rubbish !" she exclaimed.
If you were to look at it in my wonder-box, you
would n't call it rubbish, I can tell you "
She spread out her gauzy wings, with a little
clicking noise, and flew away.
Mattie was sorry she had offended Prisma, for
she was afraid she should never see her again, and
she wanted to ask if she might see her wonder-box.
A few weeks after, when Mattie was walking out,
she met one of her young friends named Louisa.
I am glad I met you," said Louisa. I want
you to come with me to look at a beautiful new
plaything I have had given me."

So they went home together, and Louisa brought
a long box, with a peeping-hole at one end of it,
and asked her friend to look into it.
Mattie shouted, "Oh, how beautiful it is! I
never.saw anything so splendid."
Louisa turned a little wheel in the end of the
box, and as she turned, pearls and emeralds and
rubies and diamonds rolled about, forming an end-
less variety of stars, crosses, and circles, and ele-
gant flowery patterns, all gorgeous with bright
Mattie did not know how to express her delight.
Every new pattern that came seemed handsomer
than the others, and she shouted Oh! oh!"
continually. "I wish I could take them all out
and string them," said she. "Would n't they make
a splendid necklace? Where did you get it? and
what do you call it?"
Louisa replied, "My aunt gave it to me. She
said the name of it in Greek was kaleidoscope, and
that it meant in English a beautiful sight."
"I think it is a whole lot of beautiful sights,"
exclaimed Mattie. "Where do they all come from?
What makes them come ? "
All at once, they heard a whirring noise, as if
a humming-bird was in .the room, and Prisma
lighted on the top of the kaleidoscope.
"Where do they come from?" she repeated.
They come from under the mullein-leaf. What
makes them come? I make them come. I told
you I could make something out of nothing. You
may call it by a Greek name if you like, but it is
my wonder-box. You said they were rubbish, and
now you think they are pearls and emeralds and
rubies, and want to wear them for a necklace. But
you must be careful to keep them in iny wonder-
box, for if you take them out they will all look like
rubbish again. That is the way with fairy things."
Again she spread her gauzy wings with a clicking
sound, gave Mattie's ear a little tap as she passed,
and flew away.




J 11 I '




OH, Jack was the fellow who lived long ago,
And built him a house, as you very well
With chimneys so tall, and a cupola too,
And windows set thick where the light could
go through.
And this is the house that Jack built.

Now Jack he was so tender-hearted and true,
He loved every dear little childling that grew.
" The old folk can do very well without me,
And I'll be the friend of the children," quoth
he. \

So away in his store-room he stored up a
Of corn-bags well filled, full seven yards
While ranged very near them, in beautiful
Were a great many corn-poppers, set in a
And this is the corn that lay in the
house that Jack built.



And a blazing red fire was ever kept glowing,
By a great pair of bellows that ever kept blow-
And there stood the children, the dear little souls,
A-shaking their corn-poppers over the coals.

Soon a motherly rat, seeking food for her young,
Came prying and peeping the corn-bags among.
" I'll take home a supply," said this kindest of
" My children like corn quite as well as those
And this is the rat, &c.

Just as Puss shuts her eyelids, oh what does she
hear ?
" Bow-wow !" and Bow-wow !" very close at her
Now away up a pole all trembling she springs,
And there, on its top, all trembling she clings.
And this is the dog, &c.

Said Bose to himself, "What a great dog am I!
When my voice is heard, who dares to come
Now I'll worry that cow. Ha, ha, ha Oh, if she
Should run up a pole, how funny 't would be "



-' Iu',''- Il ., -- '^ .
-. -1 ,L' -i_.

-1^^I," ^'S-^ -_ .


Run quick, Mother Rat! Oh, if you but knew
How slyly old Tabby is watching for you !
She's creeping so softly -pray, pray do not wait!
She springs!-she has grabbed you !-ah, now
't is too late !
And this is the cat, &c.

Too late, yes too late All your struggles are
You never will see those dear children again !
All sadly they sit in their desolate home,
Looking out for the mother that never will come.

When Pussy had finished, she said, with a smile,
" I think I will walk in the garden awhile,
And there take a nap in some sunshiny spot."
Bose laughed to himself as he said, "I think not!"
VOL. 1II.-44.

Poor Bose you will wish that you'd never been
When you bark at that cow with the crumpled
'Way you go, with a toss, high up in the air!
Do you like it, old Bose ? Is it pleasant up there?
And this is the cow, &c.

Now when this old Molly, so famous in story,
Left Bose on the ground, all bereft of his glory,
She walked to the valley as fast as she could,
Where a dear little maid with a milking-pail
And this is the maiden, &c.

Alas! a maiden all forlorn was she,
Woful and sad, and piteous to see !



With weary step she walked, and many a sigh;
Her cheek was pale, a tear bedimmed her eye.
She sat her down, with melancholy air,


i i ,
*a i "*,.


Among the flowers that bloomed so sweetly
And thus, with clasped hands, she made her,
" Ah me! she said. "Ah me! I 'm all alone !
In all the world are none who care for me;
In all the world are none I care to see.
No one to me a kindly message brings;



Nobody gives me any pretty things.
Nobody asks me am I sick, or well.
Nobody listens when I've aught to tell.

Kind words of love I've never, never known.
Ah me she said, 't is sad to be alone "
Now up jumps the man all tattered and torn,
And he says to the maiden, "Don't sit there,
Behind this wild rose-bush I've heard all you
And I'll love and protect you, you dear little
maid !
For oft have I hid there, so bashful and shy,
And peeped through the roses to see you go
I know every look of those features so fair,
I know every curl of your bright golden hair.
My garments are in bad condition, no doubt;
But the love that I give you shall never wear
Now I'11 be the husband if you'll be the wife,
And together we '11 live without trouble or strife."
And this is the man, &c.

Thought the maid to herself, Oh, what beauti-
ful words !
Sweeter than music or singing of birds !
How pleasant 't will be thus to live all my life
With this kind little man, without trouble or
strife !
If his clothes are all tattered and torn, why 't is
What he needs is a wife that can mend them
And he brought them to such sorry plight, it
may be,
'Mong the thorns of the roses, while watching
for me "

And when this wise maiden looked up in his
She saw there a look full of sweetness and grace.
'T was a truth-telling face. Yes, I'11 trust you,"
said she.




And plucks the prettiest wild flowers there,
To deck the curls of her golden hair.
Says the joyful maid, Not a flower that grows
Is so fair for me as the sweet wild rose!"

.' Thus journeying on, by greenwood and dell,
S. 'They came, at last, where the priest did dwell,-
: .A jolly fat priest, as I have heard tell:
SA jolly fat priest, all shaven and shorn,
ij \', i With a long black cassock so jauntily worn.
S' And this is the priest, &c.

S'"Good morrow, Sir Priest! will you marry us
'''.' two "
... That I will," said the priest, if ye're both lov-
..?- ,,~ "ers true
SBut when, little man, shall your wedding-day
:( be ?
To-morrow, good priest, if you can agree,
'- "- '-. i At the sweet hour of sunrise, when the new
_.','*/,, day
-. i'\ Is rosy and fresh in its morning array,

A -'. -- -.. .-" : -'. ,


Ah, a kiss I must take, if you trust me quoth
And since we're so happily both of a mind, A
We 'll set off together the priest for to find."

Now hand in hand along they pass, -
Tripping it lightly over the grass,
By pleasant ways, through fields of flowers,
By shady lanes, through greenwood bowers.
The bright little leaves they dance in the breeze,
And the birds sing merrily up in the trees!
The maiden smiles as they onward go-
Forgotten now her longing and woe;. )
And the good little man he does care for her
He cheers the way with his pleasant talk, '-
Finds the softest paths where her feet may walk, .
Stays her to rest in the sheltered nook,
Guides her carefully over the brook,
Lifts her tenderly over the stile,
Speaking so cheerily all the while; THE MAN ALL TATTERED AND TORN.


When flowers are awaking, and birds full of glee,
At the top of the morning our wedding shall be !
And since friends we have none, for this wedding
of ours
No guests shall there be, save the birds and the

Next morning, while sleeping his sweetest sleep,
The priest was aroused from his slumbers deep
By the clarion voice of chanticleer,
Sudden and shrill, from the apple-tree near.
" Wake up wake up it seemed to say;
" Wake up wake up there's a wedding to-day !"


And we 'll stand out among them, in sight of
them all,
Where the pink and white blooms of the apple-
tree fall."

" Od zooks cried the priest, what a wedding
we '11 see
To-morrow, at sun-rising, under the tree "

And this was the cock that crowed in the morn,
That waked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog, that worried the cat, that
caught the rat, that ate the corn that lay in
the house that Jack built.





IT was a long time ago that Dick and I planted
the turnip-seed which came up silk-worms. We
were staying at grandfather's, because mother was
sick and we were in the way at home.
He had just been making his garden, and he
gave us a spot in one corner of it, and told us
we might have all the seeds that were left and sow
them. So we took the paper bags and planted
cucumbers, corn, cabbages, squashes, and every-
thing together--enough, I suppose, for an acre.
And still we had a little room left; so we went
after more seeds, and found, on a shelf in the
kitchen, two or three sheets of paper all covered
with small slate-colored ones. Dick ran and asked
Aunt Kitty if we might have "that turnip-seed."
"Yes, yes! Any of the seed! Run away now.
Don't trouble me 1 "
And away we went. But they stuck to the pa-
per, and as we were in a hurry to get done plant-
ing, and go fishing, we laid the sheets on the top
of the ground ana sprinkled a little soil over them,
for we had heard grandfather say that small seeds
must not be covered deep.
We were gone till about dark; and when we
came home there were lights moving about the
kitchen-a great search seemed to be going on.
Grandpa and Aunt Kitty, and Kezia, the girl, had
each a candle, and were hunting in corners and
under chairs. When we opened the door, Aunt
Kitty said: Perhaps the children can tell."
"Children!" cried grandpa, severely, "have
you been meddling with the silk-worms' eggs 1 "
Dick answered, No and stood to it stoutly.
But a thought came into my head, and I asked,
"Were they on some papers on the shelf, grand-
pa? And were they stuck on? And did they
look like seeds? Oh oh we planted them in
our garden."
"What!" shouted he. "Those eggs, that I
took so much pains to get! Planted them? Are
Sarah's children idiots ?"
We were frightened almost out of our senses,
but we flew to our patch, and took up the papers
carefully, and carried them to Aunt Kitty. And
lo our seeds had turned into hundreds of tiny
black worms The sun's heat had hatched them.
The wind had blown off the grains of earth we
had put on, and there they were, alive and well.
We were sent to bed in disgrace; but next
morning Aunt Kitty was so good as to explain all
about them. She said everybody was going into

the business of raising silk-worms, hoping to make
their own silk. Grandpa had set out the mulberry
trees the year before, and bought the eggs, which
had been preserved all winter in a box in the cel-
lar, where it was warm enough to keep them
from freezing,-for that would spoil them,-but
not warm enough to make them hatch. The
right time was about the last of May, when the
mulberry trees had leaved out. The worms lived
on those leaves. Not out of doors, though, in
this country; but the leaves must be picked and
brought into the house ; and the worms must be
fed three or four times a day for a month or more,
when they would leave off eating and spin their
At this point we both cried, "Oh Aunt Kitty,
can't we ? may n't we ? Oh, may we feed them ?"
Now, Aunt Kitty liked us; and she said she was
sure we should do right, if we only knew.
Even grandpa, when he found the worms all
right, said we were not to blame, and were not
"idiots," but pretty good children, after all.
So it came about that we helped tend silk-
worms; and in those next few weeks we saw all
that anybody did about their doings.
Grandpa made some long tables in the upper
hall; and over one-half we spread newspapers
and put the worms on. They were not bigger
then than the smallest ants. After that, every-
thing went on like clock-work; and how fast they
did grow! Dick and I picked the leaves-the
tenderest ones at first. If it looked like rain, we
brought in an extra quantity, and put them in the
cellar, so that they might not wilt, because then
the worms would not like them.
They must be kept clean, too. So every morn-
ing we spread fresh papers on the uncovered half
of the table, and then sprinkled the mulberry-
leaves over them; and no sooner had we done this,
than all the worms would start from the soiled
papers as fast as they could go, after their break-
fast; and soon they would be on their leaves; and
then we gathered up all the litter, and carried it
off, and we never lost a worm.
They became real pets to us, and seemed to
know us. They were very tame; and had some
queer ways. The most curious thing was their
changing their skins; they did this four times,
growing dull and sleepy and half-sick for a little
while, till they.had worked their way out of their
old skins, when they would appear as good as new,


and begin eating with all their might. They start-
ed black; but after the fourth shedding of their
skins, came out a pale yellow. And now they be-
came more and more interesting. We used to
bring in twigs of mulberry, and watch them go



the bush; and before long we found that he had
fastened some fuzzy, shining stuff, like the finest
fibers of split sewing-silk, all around him.
This, Aunt Kitty said, was floss; and all silk-
worms made it in their own countries (where they
lived on trees), to keep

out the rain; and those


-~~~~ :0--4 _

11. Jf' 3

-, r -.
"~- "p
___1 A-44~

which were cared for in
houses were not wise
enough, with all their
wisdom, to see that they
did not need to do so.
After this was fixed,
he would begin on his
cocoon; and if nothing
hindered him, he would
never stop until it was
done; and never break
the thread-carrying the
same one back and forth,
up and down, hour after
hour, for three or four
days; and when it was
all spun out of his little
body, there would per-
haps be a thousand feet
of it of'double thread, for
he always has two strands
to it, finer than the finest
He began on the out-
side; so for a few hours
we could watch him; and
it did not trouble him in
the least. At first, he

but pretty soon there was
hurrying to begin on a leaf; they would eat down a screen, like yellow gauze, through which we
on one edge, cutting out beautiful scallop, notched could see his head moving with as much regularity
as neatly as a little saw; and all eating together, as machinery; and by and by the web grew so
they made a humming sound which could be heard thick that we could not make him out at all.
all over the room. The outermost was the "floss;" next came the
Now was the time, Aunt Kitty told us, to watch fine silk," and inside of all was a lining of what
sharp and see them begin their cocoons. They was called "glued silk," as hard and firm as a
were now about three inches long; and instead of skin, which finished his tight little chamber, the
growing, they seemed to shrink a little, and be- most beautiful and perfect that could be. After it
came so nearly transparent that you could almost was all done, and he had spun his last fiber, it was
see through them. When one refused to eat, and as pretty in shape as a bird's egg. Then he shed
went rambling about in an uncertain way, as if he his skin again and went to sleep, as a chrysalis.
was hunting for something, we knew he was ready But he did not intend to stay there. He had
to spin. So we laid little bushes down, and pretty made one end of his cocoon-the pointed one-
soon he would climb up, find a place that suited thinner than the other; and if he was let alone,
him, fix his hind feet firm, and begin to stretch his in a few weeks he would wake up and gnaw his
head back and forth and every way, as far as he way out, and appear in the world as a brown moth.
could reach. And where he had touched, we But that was just what Aunt Kitty and the silk-
could see a little yellowish film, bright as spun makers did not wish him to do. There would be
gold, and not heavier than a spider's thread, on an ugly hole in the cocoon if he did so, and the




threads of silk would be cut; so the poor worm that
had spun such beautiful stuff for us must be killed.
We went up with her, after they were all done
spinning, and there were the bushes full of the
lovely, lemon-colored cocoons, larger than robins'
eggs. We picked them off, pulled away all the
floss, and then she put them in a warm oven, and
kept them there long enough to destroy the little
life inside.
The next thing was to get the silk off into such
shape that it could be used. And one day, just
before we went home, Aunt Kitty brought down
a basketful of the cocoons and put some of them
in a kettle of warm water. The next thing she did
was to reach in a little whisk broom and catch the
ends, which the water had loosened. At first a
good deal of fuzzy, flossy stuff came off; but after
a while she found the right end, and then, pulling
gently at it, it unwound, just as the worm had
spun it; and she put the threads from six or eight
cocoons together, and wound them very carefully
on a reel.
Afterward, she twisted all these doubled threads
on the old-fashioned spinning-wheel, and had some
nice skeins of sewing-silk, which she dyed blue
and black, and other colors. And the floss, and
all the waste ends, she carded, and spun it on

grandmother's little linen wheel, and knit herself,
a pair of silk stockings from it.
But Aunt Kitty told us that where they made
silk they had very different machinery from hers;
and after we grew older we found out more about
it. After it is unwound from the cocoons and
made up into skeins, or "hanks," as they are
called, it is sent to the manufacturer to be woven on
looms. It is known as raw silk," because it has
not been dyed or cleansed, but is just as the silk-
worm made it.
Once, our silk goods all came from other coun-
tries-France, China, and those regions where the
silk-worm and the mulberry trees are more at
home than they are here; but now great quanti-
ties of the raw silk are sent to America, and are
woven here; and some of the most elegant silk
goods are made here, as fine and lustrous as a
queen could ask for.
After that summer they kept no worms at grand-
pa's. It was too much trouble. Besides, the
mulberry-trees died-it was so cold there in the
winter. Aunt Kitty did not wind all the cocoons,
and the last time I was there I found some of
them on a high shelf in the hall-closet; and that
is how I came to think of writing about the little

(An Incident in Mozart's Childhood.)
His disposition was characterized by an extreme sensibility and tenderness, insomuch that he would ask those about him ten times a day
whether they loved him, and if they jestingly answered in the negative, his eyes would fill with tears."-Holmes's Life of Mozart, chap, I.


IT is a little child
That sits upon my knee-
A little child so wild,
So running o'er wi' glee.

He lays his chubby hand
Upon my hairy cheek;
His chubby hand-dear wand,
That makes my will so weak.

" Do you love me?" he says,
His soft blue eyes to mine.
" Love me !" he says-sweet ways,
Pure eyes too soft to shine.

" Love you Oh no I laugh,
And bite his little hand;
" Oh no !" I laugh, and half
Look cold and sternly grand.

Down roll large bitter tears;
He sobs with breaking heart.
Large bitter tears: such fears
My jesting words impart.

I soothe the foolish child
With, tender, loving words.
The foolish child !-he smiled
And fled to chase the birds.



(Written for BOYLY BUMPS and WILLY Bo LEE.)


A LIVELY young turtle lived down by the banks
Of a dark-rolling stream called the Jingo,





And one summer day, as he went out to play,
Fell in love with a charming flamingo-
An enormously genteel flamingo!
An expansively crimson flamingo!
A beautiful, bouncing flamingo !

Spake the turtle in tones like a delicate wheeze:
"To the water I've oft seen you in go,
And your form has impressed itself deep on my
You perfectly modeled flamingo!
You uncommonly brilliant flamingo!
You tremendously 'A one' flamingo!
You inex-pres-si-ble flamingo !

"To be sure I'm a turtle, and you are a belle,
And rizy language is not your fine lingo;
But smile on me, tall one, and be my bright
You miraculous, wondrous flamingo!
You blazingly beauteous flamingo!
You turtle-absorbing flamingo!
You inflammably gorgeous flamingo!"

Then the proud bird blushed redder than ever
And that was quite un-nec-ces-sa-ry,
And she stood on one leg and looked out of one
The position of things for to vary,-
This aquatical, musing flamingo!
This dreamy, uncertain flamingo!
This embarrassing, harassing flamingo!

Then she cried to the quadruped, greatly amazed:
" Why your passion toward me do you hurtle ?
I'm an .ornithological wonder of grace,
And you're an illogical turtle,-
A i. d-llir. ;. impossible turtle!
A low-minded, grass-eating turtle I
A highly improbable turtle!"

- J4 4





Then the turtle sneaked off with his nose to Go with me to Cambridge some cool, pleasant
the ground, day,
And never more looked at the lasses; And the skeleton-lover I'll show you;
And falling asleep, while indulging his grief, He's in a hard case, but he '11 look in your face,
Was gobbled up whole by Agassiz,-- Pretending (the rogue!) he don't know you I
The peripatetic Agassiz Oh, the deeply deceptive young turtle!
The turtle-dissecting Agassiz The double-faced, glassy-cased turtle!
The illustrious, industrious Agassiz The green, but a very mock-turtle !



DOUBTLESS all of you enjoyed Christmas, but I
question whether there was another boy in the
United States who was as happy as Sam, on the
twenty-fifth of last December.
Sam is seven years old, and as bright a little
darkey as ever toted a bucket of water on his
head, or whisked a fly-brush over a dinner-table.
His mother cooks for Mahs'r George," and Sam,
consequently, is always to be found about the "big
house." Indeed, Sam comes from an aristocratic
family. For generations his "people have been
house servants, without a field hand among them,
and have never resided in the quarters." Sam is
quite a pet with every one. He is useful, too, as
well as ornamental. He feeds the chickens with a
grace that is all his own, and every evening at sun-
set his voice can be heard for at least a mile, calling
up the pigs: Pig-oo-oo-oo-ee "
On Christmas Eve, Sam hung up his stocking
by the dining-room chimney, looked up the flue to
see if dar was anything in dar to stop Santa Claus
from coming' down," and then trotted away to the
kitchen garret to bed. Whether he dreamed of
Santa Claus, and, if so, how his imagination pict-
ured the little Dutch saint, it is impossible to say;
but one thing is certain, he got up unusually early
the next morning. The day had scarcely begun
to break, when Sam's father, Uncle Henry, and
old Aunt Phillis, his mother, were aroused by a
shout of "Chris'mus gif', pappy Chris'mus gif',
mammy! Chris'mus gif I done cotch you
bofe !" Then Sam hurried on his clothes, and
hastened over to the house to examine his stocking.
There it was, just as he had left it, except that it
was full instead of empty. Full of what?
"Lord-ee what a big awinge What's dis?
'nudder awinge, I 'spec'-no, dis yer's an apple.
Whoo jes' look at the candy What else in dar ?"
Sam thought that was all; but he took the stock-

ing .by the toe and shook it, and out dropped a
silver coin.
"Money! Wonder how much dis is? 'Bout
'lebenteen dollars, may be-I 's gwine to ax mam-
So Sam ran to show his father and mother what
Santa Claus had brought him.
Fo' bits in silber !" said Aunt Phillis. "Bress
my soul! I aint seed no silber befo' since reb
times! Gimme dat money, Sam, an' let me put
it away in the big chist."
Now this did n't suit Sam at all. He had seen a
great many things go into de big chist"' that
never came out again, and he was by no means
disposed to let his shining "four-bit-piece" meet
with such a destiny. "No, mammy," said he;
" please jus' let me keep it. I aint gwine to
lose it. 'Sides dat chist sets right up by de chim-
ley; an' ol' Santy might come down an' open it,
an' take his money out ag'in."
Let de chile hab de money, Phillis," said Uncle
Henry; ef he loses it, 't aint much, an' it '11 learn
him to be keerful. Let him keep it."
So Sam kept his money. Baron Rothschild
never felt as rich as he did. He would sit about
in corners, talking to himself and looking at his
" four bits." If he went across the yard he would
stop every few steps to feel in his pocket, and see-
if it was still there. Indeed, never before did fifty
cents seem so important to any one since the time
"David and Goliath went out fur to fight,
Fur nuffin' .but a silber half-a-dollar-
David up wid a brick, and hit Goliath such a lick,
Dat de people over Jordan heerd him holler."

Sam enjoyed his awinge," his apple, his "puck-
awns," and his candy; but the charms of all these
-and they had many-paled before the brightness
of the silver. He was never tired of examining it.




He wondered whether the bird on one side was a
hawk, or a buzzard, or a turkey. He tried to count
the notches on the rim, but, as he did n't know
what came after five, he was obliged to give up the
attempt in despair.
When dinner-time came, Aunt Phillis made Sam
a little cake, and she pressed the coin down on the
dough so as to leave a very beautiful impression.
The cake was baked, and although the mark of
the half-dollar became much distorted in the cook-
ing, still, if you looked very hard, you could see
what it had been. Sam thought it a wonderful
work of art. He carried it off to the back gallery
steps, and sat down and ate it; beginning at the
edges, and eating up to the mark, until he had a
round piece just the size of the coin, with the im-
pression on one side. Then he played with that
a while, and finished by eating it, also.
Time now hung heavy on Sam's hands. He
began to think, or "study," as he would have ex-
pressed it, about what to do next.
What he did next was to lay his "four bits"
down on the ground near the steps, and then walk
off around the corner of the house. Directly he
came back, walking slowly, and looking about as
if he had lost something. He kicked among the
grass with his feet, shaded his eyes with his hand,
and appeared to be very anxious.
"Lemme see," said he, I come 'long dis way
yestiddy, an' I reckon I los' dat money somewhar
'bout dis place. I mus' done dropped it out my
pocket. Wonder if anybody picked it up. Lawsy !
I done found it. Right under my eyes Ef it
had a been a snake it would ha' bit me. I nebber
seed de like sence ol' Hecky was a pup So say-
ing, he picked up the money with great demonstra-
tions of joy. Then he laid it down in another
place, and marched off as before.
This time, however, the play turned out differ-
ently. There was a venerable Shanghai rooster
that stayed in the yard that everybody called "Old
Jack." He was very old and very cross, and he
and Sam were deadly enemies. Many a fight had
they had, and, although Sam generally got the
best of it, Old Jack used to give him a great deal
of trouble.
Now, just as Sam went around one corner of the
house, Old Jack stalked around the other, closely
examining the ground, in quest of a beetle or a
worm, or some other agreeable delicacy of that
sort. The bright piece of silver attracted his eye,
and he advanced toward it. He had not yet deter-
mined whether or not it was good to eat, and was
about to begin a closer examination, when back
came the owner. At sight of his foe, Old Jack
seized the coin and ran, intending to carry it off
and inspect it at his leisure.

Sam set up a tremendous yell, and gave chase.
Old Jack ran first in one direction and then in
another; but finding himself closely pursued, he
took refuge beneath the smoke-house. This build-
ing, like nearly all houses at the South, was raised
from the ground on small pillars about a foot high,
and Old Jack had gone under it, with Sam's money.
He dropped it on the ground and crowed loudly,
"adding insult to injury."
Sam had begun to cry, but that triumphant crow
changed the current of his thoughts. He resolved
upon measures of war.
Arming himself with corn-cobs, he negan a vig-
orous fire upon the enemy. Old Jack, however,
did not appear to mind it much. It is hard to
throw corn-cobs under a house with any degree of
force or precision. Sam discharged all he could
find, but in vain. Then he sat down and scratched
his head.
"I's gwine to git dat money, somehow," said
he; "I's jes' got to hab it, shore, and dare's no
use talking' 'bout it. 01' Jack's got to git out from
under dar; you cheered me! I aint a-foolin' now."
So Sam got down on the ground and began
crawling under the smoke-house.
Whether Old Jack dreaded a combat in such
close quarters, or whether he had fully satisfied him-
self that the half-dollar was too hard to be digesti-
ble, or whether he was influenced by both consid-
erations, is unknown; but when he saw Sam, he
rushed out from his retreat, leaving the silver piece
behind him. But Sam was too quick for him. He
grasped Old Jack by the leg, and scooped up his
coin with the other hand.
Dar dat's business. Dis ol' rooster 'zarves
to hab his neck broke. I 'll fix him, 'fore long,"
said Sam, as he ran toward the house with Old
Jack in his hands. But suddenly changing his
mind, he dropped the rooster and pulled his half-
dollar from his pocket.
The money had got rather dirty under the house.
So had Sam; but then he was dirty already, so it
did n't make any difference. The "four bits,"
however, must be cleaned right away, thought
Sam; so he went off to the kitchen to wash it.
Before he got there, however, he stopped and
seemed to consider. A splendid idea had occurred
to him. He had seen his mother use an egg to
clarify the coffee every morning, and the thought
came up to him, if an egg would clear coffee of
those black, muddy grounds, would it not be just
the thing to brighten up his four bits?" It was
worth trying, anyway, he thought.
Dar 's dat little Dominica hen a-cacklin' now,"
said Sam, she 's jes' done laid. Wonder if I kin
git the egg out de nes' 'dout mammy seeing' me ? "
He peeped into the kitchen. There was Aunt




Phillis, fast asleep in front of the fire. Then he
went and got the egg. He carried it around back
of the house and sat down, and, having broken in
one end of the shell, he poured the contents over
his piece of money.
I 'll let it stay on dar a little while," thought
he, so 's to let it git right clean."
In the meantime he went into the kitchen and
got a gourdful of water out of the "piggin,"
which he carried out with him. Thinking that it
was now fully time, he proceeded to wash the egg

'I 7/

\i t'; Ci


--~ ~LC



off. What was his horror and amazement to find
that his precious four bits" had turned black!
Sam looked at it wofully. He tried to wash the
stain off, but he couldn't. What was to be done?
He was afraid to ask his mammy, because she
would certainly whip him. He concluded to go to
Mahs'r George.
That gentleman was enjoying a pipe and a news-
paper, when Sam rushed in crying: Oh, Mahs'r
George, Mahs'r George, my silber done turned into
one ol' piece ob iron, sah "
Why, how's this, Sam? said Mahs'r George,
looking at the coin,," what have you been doing
to it ? "
"I aint done nuffin' to it, sah," replied Sam,

" only jes' put some egg on it to clean off de dirt,
sah, and now it's done got as black as I is "
Put egg on it? "
Yes, sah. I seed mammy clarin' de trash out
ob de coffee wid egg."
Sam considered the loud laughter which followed
as a deep personal insult; but he forgave Master
George, for he cleaned his "four bits" for him.
When he received it it was wet, and Sam ran out
to the kitchen to dry it. He laid it.on a chip close
to the fire, and sat down to watch it, singing to
himself, not loud enough
to disturb his mammy, a
i verse of the only song he

When I jumped ober de man-
SShiloh !
I greased my heels wid candle-
1 Igrease,-
Wake 'em up, Shiloh!"

I "Jes' look," said Sam,
when he had finished his
song, "dar 's dat nice
little fo' bits a-layin' in
---- ~ front o' de fire a-winkin'
''I..-"2 ,"'1 at de ashes, jes' as happy
as a terrapin when you
.pours col' water ober
him. Wonder if it knows
it's Chris'mus? Chris'-
mus is de bes' time dey
is. Dey ought to hab it
-=----- --/ wunst a week, instid ob
Sunday. What's de rea-
= __ ~ son water-millions neber
_--- ----- is ripe Chris'mus ? Hey!
de chip's on fire!"
Sam seized his money;
it was hot, and old Aunt
IN HIS HANDS." Phillis, who had been en-
joying a heavenly vision
of a fat 'possum, baked with sweet potatoes, awoke
with a great start at her son's cry of anguish.
"You Sam what you doin', sah ?"
Oh, ma-a-ammy Dat nasty fo' bits "
"What's de matter wid it ?" asked Aunt Phillis,
and she stooped and picked it up. Then there
was another howl of wrath and agony-a slap-an
To relate what immediately followed would be
too painful. We will only say that after a few
minutes the wretched infant issued hastily from the
door, with tears in his eyes, and his four bits"
(which had now got cool) in his hand.
Melancholy could not last long with Sam. "The
fountain of his tears," was like one of those springs



that never run except immediately after a rain; so,
within a few minutes, he forgot his troubles.
There was a well in the yard which was one of
Sam's favorite places of resort. The low wooden
box that covered it made an excellent seat, and it
was delightfully exciting to drop a "rock" down
into the water, and hear the splash it made. Sam
liked the place, and he went there with his half-
dollar and set down. He laid the silver down by
his side, and. regarded it with all..tfie airs of a
capitalist. .
I aint made up my mind yit," said Sam, "what
I's gwine to get wid dis money. Let's see. Shall
I buy a mule like. pappy's? I dunno. I wants
some sardines, an' a shot-gun, an' free or fo' hogs,
an' a Spanish harp, an' several odder things. May be
fo' bits wont git 'em all. How much is fo' bits?
I knows what curb-bits an' snaffle-bits fur bosses is,
but I nebber heered 'bout fo' bits. Well, lemme
see. Nix' time pappy goes to town wid the wagon,
I 'se gwine to ax him kin I go 'long; den I kin
look in all de, stores an' see what I wants. Dar I
knows! Mahs'r George he pays me for pickin'
blackberries, I '11 git a bucket. Las' time, he paid

me in candy; I '11 ax him to pay me money nex'
time, and den I'11 get a whole heap of fo' bitses,
an' buy more buckets, an' git dem niggers in de
quarters to pick for me, an' pay 'em half what dey
makes, an' den "
Here the youthful Alnaschar jerked up his foot
in ecstasy, and it struck the half-dollar. The solil-
oquy came to an abrupt end, for the four bits "
had gone down the well! A broad crack in one
of the boards, just .where it ought n't to have been,
had received the unlucky coin, and Sam heard it
when it struck the water below. Here was a
death-blow to the bucket and blackberry scheme of
fortune Sam would have turned pale, if he
"Well, now, aint dat de mischief?" said he,
looking over into the well. There was no use in
looking, however; the money was gone "for good."
So Sam straightened himself up, drew a long
breath, and went off to find Old Jack, saying to'
himself :
I don't keer. What's de difference ? De ol'
fo' bits was more trouble dan it was wuff, no-
how! "


BY J. Z. S.

"W"' ii the fish:come ashore what luck we'll
have !P" So the boys used to say when I was a
boy and the fishes would n't bite. But then, we
did n't live in India, where the fishes-one kind
of them at least-do come ashore very often.
They are curious little fellows, those traveling


fishes,-about six inches long when full grown,
and shaped like a perch.
They have the fortune, or misfortune, to live in
a country where the swamps and ponds frequently

dry up in hot weather. Then the little fishes have
to travel or die. So they travel.
Usually they do not wait till the last moment,
when the pool is dry, but take time by the fore-
lock; and, choosing a dewy evening or early
morning, set out in search for-better quarters, in a
deeper pool or running stream. At such times
the damp grass will be full of them, thousands of
finny wanderers running the gauntlet of pelicans
and other devouring foes, often seeking water in a
thirsty land where no water is. Travelers have
encountered them toiling along a dusty road, even
in the broiling heat of a tropic noon !
Impossible !" do you say? "Fishes breathe
water and cannot live in air."
Hardly. Fishes breathe air in water, and will
die in water without air as quickly as in air with-
out water. Only keep their gills wet, and most
fish will get on very well in air. If their gills are
allowed to become dry the fishes smother, as the
purifying air is unable to act upon their blood
through gills not moistened.




Happily for these traveling fishes, they have
snugly stowed away in each cheek a sort of sponge
which holds water enough to keep their gills moist
for several days; consequently they are able to
live that long out of their natural element.
. The Hindoo fishermen take advantage of this
faculty, and send the fish-which are plentiful in

But this is not the only peculiarity about these
fish. They not only go ashore on occasions, but
they,-I 'm afraid you can hardly believe me,-
they climb trees!
What they want to climb trees for I confess I
can't imagine, unless it is to take a good look at
the surrounding country, to note the bearings of


the Ganges-as many as a hundred and fifty miles,
to the Calcutta market, alive.
It is a common practice, too, for the boatmen to
lay in a stock of fish for their voyage, packing
them in earthen pots without water, using daily
what they want for food, and finding them, five or
six days after packing, as lively as when first

the nearest sands against a time of drought. That
they do climb trees, however, is attested by Ifany
observers of unquestioned truthfulness. In some
parts of India the natives call them Tranquebar,
which means tree-climbers; and their scientific
name (Anabas scandens) tells the same story.
On the opposite page you will see a picture of
one of these fish, about half the natural size.







---- -- :- : -

I 'Ml only a poor little mouse, ma'am!
I live in the wall of your house, ma'am !
With a fragment of cheese, and a very few peas,
I was having a little carouse, ma'am !

No mischief at all I intend, ma'am!
I hope you will act as my friend, ;na'am!
If my life you should take, many hearts it would break,
And the trouble would be without end, ma'am!

My wife lives in there in the crack, ma'am !
She's waiting for me to come back, ma'am !
She hoped I might find a bit of a rind,
For the children their dinner do lack, ma'am

'T is hard living there in the wall, ma'am !
For plaster and mortar will pall, ma'am,
On the minds of the young, and when specially hung-
Ry, upon their poor father they 'll fall, ma'am !

I never was given to strife, ma'am!
(Don't look at that terrible knife, ma'am!)
The noise overhead that disturbs you in bed,
'T is the rats, I will venture my life, ma'am!

In your eyes I see mercy, I'm sure, ma'am !
Oh, there 's no need to open the door, ma'am!
I'11 slip through the crack, and I '11 never come back,
Oh, I'll NEVER come back any more, ma'am !




WITH a hop, skip and jump,
We went to the pump,
To fill our kettles with starch;
He bade us good-day
In the pleasantest way,
With a smile that was winning and arch.

d, T I x|,

i, '11' ! ,-., ,,?
I ,','In

I,'I ', jIl

" 0 Pump!" said I,
"When you look up on high,
To gaze on the morning star,



THE owl and the eel and the warming-pan,
They went to call on the soap-fat man.
The soap-fat man, he was not within;
He'd gone for a ride on his rolling-pin;
So they all came back by the way of the town,
And turned the meeting-house upside down.


OH, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee !
How does the Emperor take his tea?
He takes it with melons, he takes it with milk,
He takes it with syrup and sassafras silk.
He takes it without, he takes it within;
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!


Does it make you sad,
Oh, Pumpy, my lad,
To think she's away so far?"

Said the Pump, "Oh, no,
For we 've settled it so
That but little my feelings are tried;
For every clear night
She slides down the moonlight,
And shines in the trough by my side."



Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee !
How does the Cardinal take his tea?
He takes it in Latin, he takes it in Greek,
He takes it just seventy times a week.
He takes it so strong that it makes him grin;
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!

ii,~ -..ii

Oh, Pillykin, Willykin Winky Wee!
How does the Admiral take his tea?
He takes it with splices, he takes it with spars,
He takes it with jokers and jolly jack-tars:
And he stirs it round with a dolphin's fin;
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin !

Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!
How does the President take his tea?
He takes it in bed, he takes it in school,
He takes it in Congress against the rule.
He takes it with brandy, and thinks it no sin;
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!

VOL. 111.-45.



K- )

J-I .c~

i;i --"-
li I i '





THERE lived in the village of Pleasant-town an interesting family of cats.
Their names were Tab, Tim, and Puss. Tab, the mother, died, and left Tim
and Puss to seek
..*_ their own living.
- -- 2They first wander-
ed down to the
I:' edge of the woods,
where there was a
S--. 'pretty little brook.
1n The cats sat down
by the edge of the
water and watched
the shining perch
glide swiftly by.
They wished very
much that they
could catch some
of them, for they
were very hun-
gry. Finding their
wishes were vain,
they hid in a cor-
ner, and both fell
Not far from the
5 woods a circus-tent
had been pitched.
The music, the

FISHESkittens in a fright.
Puss began to mew sadly; but Tim, who was brave and daring, started for
the circus grounds, followed by timid Puss.
At length they found a good hiding-place among some loose boards, close



to the great balloon that lay swelling and puffing upon the ground. Tim
was in delight, for close by he spied some pieces of the men's dinners,
and soon he and Puss made a good meal. Puss then stretched herself upon
some dried leaves, to watch the people; while Tim scampered among the
boards, and cut up all the capers he could think of.
Now the fun began The great balloon was filling, and the air rang with

shouts. No one
noticed Tim, who
had lost all fear,
and was even
climbing ropes and
darting like light-
ning all around.
"There! she 's
going!" bellowed
the boys, as the
balloon was ready
to begin her voy-
Tim, not know-
ing his danger, had
given a spring and
was holding tightly
to the rope which
hung from the
basket. Suddenly,
the air- ship shot
upward, with Tim
-luckless Tim !-
clutching the sway-
ing rope.
Hip! hip! hur-
rah! hurrah "
Look! look !"
roared men and
boys. "See the
cat dangling !-ha!
down among them,


Kil I *

="' L




ha! ha!" They all expected to see Tim tumbling
but in this they were mistaken. Tim was brave still.

He did not let go his hold.






This is seeing the world he thought as he was whirled through the air.
Now he heard a voice. It said : You brave scamp, I '11 haul you in "
Tim's heart beat wildly as he felt a hand lifting him into the basket, and
heard the same voice say: Poor fellow you are safe now."
Tim curled himself in a corner to listen, and to wonder where in the big
world he would land, and if he would ever see Puss again.
"Never mind," he thought; Puss is pretty and gentle, and will be sure
to find friends. I mean to see the world."
The balloon sailed gayly on, and Tim more than once caught the word
"Centennial." "What does it mean?" he thought, pricking his ears.
Tim caught the word "Centennial" again. The friendly voice he had
first heard began. It said:
We will drop down a little, and sail right over the show."
They were just in time. The bright sun shone down upon a glorious
scene. Palaces, grand and high, looked upward; statues and fountains,
flowers and beautiful shrubs, high trees, and winding paths lay below, and
thousands and thousands of people thronged in and about all the buildings.
"Oh, the world !" again thought Tim, as he stretched his neck over the
basket. "And this is the Centennial,' too! Oh, oh how nice !"
Honor to the brave !" Tim heard these words. He opened his eyes,
and saw that the beautiful moon was shining over the river, upon the ships,
and falling like a crown upon the tops of the Jersey pines.
"We shall come down in a very good place," said Tim's friend, after a
while, "and I'll take charge of the little fellow. He's too courageous a
scamp to turn adrift here."
Tim's heart grew big with gratitude, and he purred so loud that his friend
caressed him tenderly, saying: "You shall have a soft place upon the parlor
rug, and be the children's plaything."
"Not I," thought Tim; "that would suit Puss. I'm too brave a cat
to waste life so. It's the world for me,-the great, wonderful world that I
want to see But I wont forget my friend, nor Puss. Poor Puss !"
That morning he was taken to his new home. Tim thought his master's
house very fine. The carpets were soft and rich; the children pretty and
kind. But as he stretched himself up before the parlor glass, he said:
Mew, mew, mew! The big world for me !"
Full of his fancies, Tim curled himself up in a warm, sunny spot, just to
settle his plans, for the children had gone out to the Centennial."
"I'll hear all I can to-night," he said, "and to-morrow I'll go to the



Tim entertained the family that evening with all his antics, as payment
for their kindness, because he expected to leave them next day.
Accordingly, when daylight peeped in at the windows, Tim was all ready
-up and dressed! Dressed ? Yes, the cunning fellow had borrowed a pair
of the baby's boots,
which were of a
S" ,, lovely pink; a large
S lf'l '.'.; paper collar from
.. .his master; and
.' i some red, white,
and blue ribbons
.. -. .- ,- from the little girls.
l Off the fellow
""'. i, ~proudly strutted,
Niow I. as- ', dr reaching the Cen-
i a. tennial grounds in
P' '' good time. Little
did he care for the
smiles of proud
S. ladies, the laughter
.of saucy children,
or the many for-
eign fingers that
were pointed at
- him; while, in
___ tongues unknown
to him, they asked,
What is it? "
They take me
--- .for a mighty prince
-perhaps!" chuckled
i i ~Tim, with a wink
of his eye. "I look
TIM AT THE CENTENNIAL so very foreign "
He pricked up his ears and rushed into the throng of curiosity seekers,
still bent upon seeing all he could of the gay world.
Now I assure you, dear children, that among all the wonderful curiosities
in the Mammoth Show of 1876, there is none more wonderful than Brave
Tim, our Centennial Cat "-if you only can find him. F. W. s.




j A K-IN -T iL- 1 U L I r.

A HAPPY MIDSUMMER to you, my hearers, and
a grand good time all through the school vacation !
And now I'11 tell you

WHEN the thermometer stands at 90 deg., my
warm young friends, don't fume, nor fuss, nor fan
yourselves into a blaze. No. Sit down in some quiet
place and think only of cool things. Think of
snow; think of ice; think of cold water trickling
down your back. Think of holding a live eel in
each hand. Imagine yourself under an icy shower-
bath, or sitting at night-fall on top of an iceberg;
then try to shiver. Do all this without once stir-
ring from your position and you'll get cool, or my
name's not Jack.

LET us see if I can tell it to you as vividly as the
fish-hawk seemed to tell it to me:-Imagine a
great.sea with waters black from the intense cold,
but flecked all over with snow-white wave crests.
There is land in sight, but not a tree, not a green
field, only cold land, dazzling and glittering with
glaciers and snow-peaks. On the water are float-
ing, swiftly and silently, great icebergs that look
like gleaming marble palaces which some unseen
spirit has set in motion.
All at once one great berg, the largest and most
beautiful of all, begins to move uneasily,-to waver
as if looking about to see if it is observed. Then
suddenly, with swift and graceful majesty, it
plunges its high crowned head beneath the waves.
There is a moment's struggle, the sea swells and
tosses; then out of its bath, presenting a new and
even more beautiful front than before, comes the
glittering berg, calm and mighty still, to float on its
southward way.


HERE'S an advertisement that the Deacon cut
out of an English newspaper (I '11 be obliged to
the editors if they 'll kindly print an exact copy) :
D R. RIDGE'S FOOD.-When you ask for Dr. Ridge's Patent
Food for Infants in Shilling Packets, see that you get it, and
Beware of Imitations.
Infants must be pretty cheap on the other side
of the ocean. Cheaper than chromos.


I COULD scarcely believe it true that any birds
could live by stealing. But the wild duck tells me
that in the Arctic regions there is a sort of gull,
called by the sailors the burgomaster-gull, that
gets its living in the meanest possible way. It ac-
tually steals nearly all of its food from honest birds
such as the douckies, eider-ducks, and ivory-gulls.
Worse than this, it steals from the eider-ducks even
its eggs. The wicked creature !
SMy hope is that when you study the habits of
our burgomaster-gull you may be able to explain
this ugly business in some way-appearances may
be against him.


DEACON GREEN lately went to Philadelphia,
and on his return he brought a present for the
Little Schoolma'am. What do you think it was?
Why, a very small blue book, published in New
York over fifty years ago, called: The Life and
Essays of Benjamin Franklin, written by .: .,..: ."
One of the essays is a letter to Major Gen. Lee,
and in it Mr. Franklin says some things that will
interest you in this Centennial year. Deacon Green
read it aloud to the Little Schoolma'am out under
the willow tree, and you shall hear it too-or, at
least, some extracts from it. You must remember
that B. F. alludes to the fire-arms of 1776:

PHILADELPHIA, Feb. 1i, 1776.
They still talk big in England, and threaten hard; but their language
is somewhat civiller, at least not quite so disrespectful to us. By
degrees they come to their senses, but too late, I fancy, for their
We have got a large quantity of saltpetre, one hundred and twenty
ton, and thirty more expected. Powder mills are now wanting; I
believe we must set to work and make it by hand. But I still wish,
with you, that pikes could be introduced, and I would add bows and
arrows; these were good weapons, and not wisely laid aside:
1. Because a man may shoot as truly with a bow as with a com-
mon musket.
2. He can discharge four arrows in the time of charging and dis-
charging one bullet.
3. His object is not taken from his view by the smoke of his own
4. A flight of arrows seen coming upon them terrifies and disturbs
the enemy's attention to his business.
5. An arrow sticking in any part of a man, puts him hours du com-
bat till it is extracted.
6. Bows and arrows are more easily provided everywhere than
muskets and ammunition.

B. F. then quotes a Latin account of a battle, in
King Edward the Third's reign, and adds:




If so much execution was done by arrows when men wore some
defensive armour, how much more might be done now that it is
out of use!
I am glad you are come to New York, but I also wish you could
be in Canada. There is a kind of suspense in men's minds here at
present, waiting to see what terms will be offered from England. 1
expect none that we can accept; and when that is generally seen, we
shall be more unanimous and more decisive: then your proposed
solemn league and covenant will go better down, and perhaps most
of our other strong measures be adopted.
I am always glad to hear from you, but I do not deserve your
favors, being so bad a correspondent. My eyes will now hardly
serve me to wvf-te b- ni~htl. ,nd these lhnrt days have been all taken
up by such' r ..., I t...r.. Ih.,, i -,:1. ..,, can sit down ten minutes
without interruption. God give you success!
I am, with the greatest esteem, yours affectionately,

.- -. ----I'

DEAR JACK:-Will you please send this picture to our boys and
girls with my compliments, and ask them t tell me the lad's name;
when and where he was born; and for what he became celebrated?
You see him here trying certain experiments with phosphorus, so you
may know he was scientifically inclined, even in his youth. He died
at Geneva, nearly fifty years ago. He wrote verses when only nine
years old, and out of the letters of his name the following words can
be made: Dame, Ham, Red, Mad, Up, Vamp, Dray, Pray, Pad,
Rave, Damp, Yam, Hay.-Yours truly,

OH, Jack," writes a correspondent from Aiken,
South Carolina, "I've a bit of news for you. A
lady here made forty glasses of orange marmalade,
and placed them in her garret to dry off. Then she
went down-stairs, feeling that, having done a vir-
tuous action, she should surely have her reward.
When next she went into that garret, she found
the floor covered with dead bees. What could it
mean? Like Cassim, or somebody in the Arabian
Nights, she hastened to her precious forty jars, and,
to use her own words, 'My goodness sakes! if
those bees had n't been and gone
and sucked all the juice out of that
marmalade, and left it dryer'n
chips!' Out of forty jars, only
fifteen were good for anything.
The bees-who, by the way, be-
longed to a neighbor's hive-had
been having a glorious time, but
had died from too much enjoyment.
They had taken in the richness of
--a hundred orange blossoms with
each dainty drop. Poor things!
Surely we, who never have too
much pleasure, ought to be very
;i1 thankful!"
S Humph! I suppose so.


[ DEAR, dear! I just heard two
travelers talking of the curious ways
i, prevailing in certain countries which
they have lately visited-in books.
The Kaffir, now, is not allowed to
speak familiarly to his wife's mother,
a nor to look her in the face. When
he sees her coming, he hides his
face behind his shield, and she
skulks behind a bush till he has
passed. He never speaks her name;
and if it becomes necessary to talk
S to her, he is obliged to go a little
S way off, and shout his remarks.
No reason that I can find out.
It seems to be merely a matter of


TALKING of Kaffirs, their letter-
carriers are funny fellows. They
dress mainly in their own beautiful
black skins, and a plentiful cover-
ing of grease. The Kaffir postman
carries one letter at a time, directly
from the writer to the person to whom it is
addressed, and his mail-bag is a split stick, into
the opening of which he fastens the letter, holding
it far out from his body. He will take one letter
sixty or seventy miles, on a run most of the way,
and bring back an answer, for the sum of twenty-
five cents, or an English shilling. You can see
him when you go- to Kaffir-land.



:-- -> .- ~ ... -= _-'
I( r-I -, ,
- ----'--- ,a* "' ...I

"- -vi ~ -----
4I. .




AN honest-minded committee of five feels much responsibility in
examining, say two thousand, copies of the Declaration of Independ-
ence, sent in by boys and girls, and selecting from the same the
twenty that best deserve prizes. At first it would seem that such a
committee must be five times as capable as one man, and only one-
fifth as anxious, but it is not so. On the contrary, each man of the
committee has four serious hindrances to a speedy decision, and the
two thousand copies which each has to consider, become, in effect,
five-folded to ten thousand, before the decisions are finally made.
Therefore, my friends, you will infer that we, the committee, have
had a hard time of it-a good time, too, for it has been refreshing to
see what crowds of young patriots and steady-going boys and girls
cluster about ST. NICHOLAS (and the prizes! ). Many hundreds of
beautiful copies of the great Declaration were sent in, and these were
examined and considered, and reconsidered until our heads grew
dizzy, it seemed as if twenty cracked independence bells were sound-
ing in our ears. The rest of the committee were enthusiastic over
the correct and the finely written copies, but somehow my heart went
out to the blotted sheets whereon chubby little fingers had toiled and
blundered. While the four wiser ones were ecstatic over the neat-
ness, skill and accuracy of hundreds of bright competitors, I sat wist-
fully holding the very worst Declarations of the lot, and, in imagina-
tion, wiping the tearful eyes of youngsters who couldn't possibly win
a prize or get on the Roll of Honor. However, the committee soon
gave me to understand that this sort of thing wouldn't do-and so,
to make a long story short, we considered and reconsidered once
more, and sorted and compared and consulted the "conditions," and
finally we awarded the prizes as follows:
The first ten prizes, you will remember, are "Liberty Bell Ink-
stands," and the second ten prizes "Card-board Models of Swiss
Architecture to the younger five, and books to the elder five.

(From ten to thirteen years of age.)
Henry S. Redfield, Hartford, Conn.
Maggie J. Cady, Nichols, N. Y.
Hortense Henshaw Ward, San Francisco, Cal.
Linda L. Bergen, Waverley, N. Y.
Fannie Vail Culver, Brooklyn, N. Y.

(From fourteen to twenty years ofage.)
Marion C. Frisby, West Bend, Wis.
Frederick Lathrop, Albany, N. Y.
Stanley Smith Covert, New York City.
Clarence Marshall McClymonds, Pittsburgh, Pa.
Ruth Merington, New York City.

(From ten to thirteen years of age.)
Winifred Louise Bryant, Brunswick, Maine.
Helen C. Luckenbach, Bethlehem, Pa.
Fred. H. Sturtevant, Washington, D.C.
Minnie P. Frames, Baltimore, Md.
Liang Poo Shi, Northampton, Mass.

(From fourteen to twenty years ofage.)
Julianna Randolph Winslow, Baltimore, Md.
Charles S. Latham, San Francisco, Cal.
James Augustus De La Vergne, Jr., Clinton, Mo.
Max Meyerhardt, Rome, Ga.
Clara Binswanger, Philadelphia, Pa.

But when these were awarded, there lay the dozens of copies that
had nearly won prizes, and the hundreds that were almost as good
as the dozens, so carefully done, so neat, so admirable-taking the
ages of the writers into consideration-that, but for having the Roll
of Honor in which to place them, the committee might have gone
distracted. Let no one suppose that because this Roll is long, it is
on that account less a Roll of Honor. Every name that is here de-
serves to be here, and we five are proud to say so.
Many of you, my friends, who do not find yourselves on these lists
may feel that injustice has been done. But do not believe it. If you
were to see your copies again, you probably would be astonished at
the omissions, and the mistakes in spelling, that escaped your atten-
For instance, two very elaborate Declarations, each superbly put
upon a great sheet of paper, marvels of neatness and penmanship,
contained positive errors of spelling and copying-not the mistakes



in spelling which really occur in the fac-simile of the original "Dec-
laration," and which every child had a right to follow in this case,
nor yet the slight verbal differences that had to be allowed because
they occur in the various forms of the Declaration printed in books
of authority-but positive errors that could not be overlooked, and
that marred the otherwise wonderful excellence of the copy. One
very beautiful copy (by Ellis C.) was spoiled by divided monosylla-
bles, such as h-ath, th-em, Ju-dge, h-old, occurring at the end of
lines, part being on one line and part on the next. Other words,
such as enl-arging, 'c-haracter, tra-nsporting, wit-hout, etc., were
broken in an equally remarkable way. Speaking of this, I would
suggest to very many of you who sent in copies, that no word of one
syllable, nor a syllable forming part of a word, should ever be divided
by writing part on one line and part on another. And let me call
attention here to the very common mistake of writing the word
government, government. The committee (looking at the poor rejected
Declarations) shudders to think in how many civilized American
homes that word is pronounced government. Never let a ST.
NICHOLAS boy or girl commit this offense, I beg.
If the "signers" of 1776 could look over these copies of the Dec-
laratjon, they would be interested, no doubt, in some of the young
signers of 1876. For instance, Roger Sherman would see the names
of his three great-great grandchildren, Mary E. Boardman, Elizabeth
Haskell Boardman, and Hettie L. Greene: Matthew Thornton would
find his great-great-granddaughter, May Greeley; Samuel Hunting-
ton would discover his great-great-great-niece, Mary Pearsall Coley,
and a certain South Carolina signer would be amused at the letter of
Henry Hone Leonard, who writes:
Thomas Heyward, of South Carolina, was my great-grand-uncle,
his niece was named Thomas after him, and when she grew old, she
was called 'Aunt Tom. "
But, in one sense, we all are descendants of the "signers," and I
am sure all of you, especially those who have expressed such satisfac-
tion in at last "knowing every word of the Declaration," will unite
with me in doing honor to their memory.
Now for the grand Roll of Honor, but allow me, before giving it,
to thank you for your hundreds of hearty letters, and to sign myself,
with the committee's sincere compliments to you all,
Yours to command, SILA GREEN.


(Girls and Boys offrom Ten to Thirteen Years of Age.)
Frank Bourne Upham Lucy W. Alexander Amy C. Thacher
Josephine M. Wilkin- Katie Sturges Benton Jamie Mitchell
son Nelly W. Chapell Charles P. Machesney
Stephen T. Livingston Florence Townsend Florence E. Bennett
Lyman B. Garfield .Ella Reed Alfred H. Dunkerley
H. Percy Chilton Edgar A. Law Charles L. Dunkerley
Rachel E. Hutchins Eliz. H. Boardman Lillie Ray
Edith Eaton E. C. Wilstach Mary McC. Kidder
Fred M. Pease Horace L. Jacobs Charles B. Willson
Clarence E. Doolittle Woolsey Carmalt Elmer B. Hudson
Sara G. Timmins Edward C. Mills Constance Furman
Lucy Hamlin Maxwell W. Turner Libbie Montross
Anna Jerenson Alice C. Twitchell Kate Graham Gilbert
Philip W. Ayres Stella Brown Lizzie E. Moorhead
Carrie P. Smith Carrie Louise Cook Mary E. Poole
Alice B. Prescott Helen D. Wheeler Jessie Lamport
Harry R. Nyce Margaret Miller John Hubbard Curtis
Manie Field Willie R. Page Lizzie M. Knapp
Sadie S. Morrow Susie C. Amory Amy Shriver
Wm. R. Macknight Joseph Moore Bowles Chester T. Hoag
Etta Beekman Eva Germain Anna Bergitta Olsen
Lorella M. Palmer Wm. Peck McClure Annie Fitzgerald
Emma J. Knight Ella M. Woolley Lillian E. Taylor
Grace B. Stearns Sadie Georgette Colby Rollin N. Larrabee
H Mertouu Downs C. Alice Robinson Wm. F. Livingston
Edwin K. Ballard Annie M. Marsh Elsa Lincoln Hobart
Louis P. Taggart Fred L. Smith Edmond C. Van Diest
Cora A. Lock Maude Calkins Debbie Duane Moore
Nellie Washburne Susie Ganson Hattie L. Seymour
Gertrude B. Adams Maria P. Bockee David C. Halsted, Jr.
Thomas T. Baldwin Minnie Woolley Edith Lowry

GertrudeF.VanDuzenHobart Amory Hare Bessie S. Smith
Mary E. Lester Amy Massey Charles Morse Hazen
Susie E. Buckminster Mary K. Hankins Helen Beal Hall
Nessie E. Stevens Lucia A. Ferris Hannah N. Thomas
Maud Getty Mabel Shippie Clarke Grace L. H. Hobart
Jennie'Custis Young Carrie R. Heller Nannie Barnard
Dorsey Ash Emma Luella Flagg Virginia B. Page
A. Blanche Nichols Esther M. Turlay Mary L. Matthews
Emily M. Thompson Willie Dibblee Jennie B. Barnard
Martha Preble Adams Olivia S. Wilson Allie Collingboume
Allen H. Moore Marland C. Hobbs Nettle Williams
Harry W. Chapman James A. Little Lutie R. Munroe
Robbie S. Tew Anna Belle Moore Luman C. Pryor
Arthur D. Smith Hattie A. Thomas Nellie A. Hudson
Frank Howard Wells Francine M. Gale Rebecca F. Hamill
Molly Montgomery Fannie F. Hunt Etta Crampton
J. Barton Townsend Howard G. ThompsonJacob Bein
Ethel A. Littlefield Charlie F. Clement Blanche L. Turner
Anna Taylor Warren Emma C. McAllister Ada E. Mott
Bessie Daingerfield Harry Walsh Lewis H. Rutherford.
H. W. Plummer Kittle Sanders Nellie M. Tremaine
Mary Louise Smith Emma Hanford Hattie Butler Tucker
Carrie W. Hunter Maude Bartlett Tripp Mary B. Chadwell
Finnie Collins Lulu E. Orth Clara H. Thomas
Ellen Kemble Lente Nellie C. Beckwith Sarah Saxton Frazee
Charles A. Herpich Susie D. Sherwin Gracie Townsend
Lizzie C. Treadwell Josephine Willis May McCalla
Ella Higbee Minnie D. Keyser Anna Woltjin
Maud E. Potts John Frederic Huckel Alice Eliz. Bunnell
Leonie G. Giraud Elizabeth Leggett Sarah F. Chapman
Lizzie A. Hewins Georgie A. Pettengill Virginia Waldo
Anna C. Felton Frank C. Colville Maria E. A.Whittlesey
Anna S. Catlin Annie H. Close Isaac S. Laubenstine
Bella Townsend Rena R. Chamberlin Isabelle S. Roorbach
Anna F. Rew Mattie 0. McCarter Hettie L. Greene
Joseph Abbott Chapin Emma Dodge Boyd Wm. Osbome Safford
Annie Carskaddon Marion J. Seaverns Bessie J. Seelye
Edwd. Russell Kellogg Laura Augusta Wilson Frank G. Moody
Jeannie J. Durant Ora Lea Dowty Nathaniel Greene, Jr.
Louise Rankin Albee Florence A. Kendall Bessie Harris Smith
Clara J. Elliott Charles Wesley Ashby Mabel Page
E. L. Richards, Jr. Lizzie Kiernan Helen Tyler Brown
Carrie Newell Frankie M. Sebley Edith Whiting
Hattie C. Allen Minnie Elouise Blass Frank D. Leffingwell
Thomas C. Griggs Amelie Louise Rives Alfred-Howard Fuller
Nellie De Golyer Florence G. Russell Sarah B. Coolidge
Augusta M. Carter Mina Snow Julia A. Hibben
Kate Louise Dana Ettie J. Armstrong Kath. Betta Hammondc
Sarah W. Learned Bertha Colt Edmund Platt
Lizzie 0. Marston Jennie C. Reando Laura Hart
James Craig Crawford Emma Rhodes Rosie M. Bodman
Louis Noble Lizzie P. Wells Agnes E. Deane
Mary E. Boardman Kate B. Walsh Maggie U. Quinby
Nellie S. Colby Lizzie Selden Louis N. Geldert
Harry Walter Shaw Geo. Clinton Goodwin Clara Hurd
Arthur Hudson Brown May F. Southgate Agnes Estella Hall
Elise Dana Howe Elizabeth L.Marquand Lillian'Page
Charles F. Williams Isabel Derrick John W. Harris
Elkanah Williams Bessie S. Garrett Ada F. Crandall
Mary McMartin Emma B. Griffith Lucy K. Maynard
Harry H. Small Jennie Sage Ernest Lane Angle
Ursula Paret Virgie C. Castleman Jossie Percival Sutton-
Amos Russell Wells Cornelia Fulton Crary Julia Harrison Moore
Ernest Albert Munsell Mary Grace Stewart Lily L. Pinneo
.Willie R. Howland Lilian Graves Sarah H. Fiske
Frederic Davis Dodie Mann Wm. Thomas Rayner
Sanford Norris Knapp May Terry Harry Brown Prindle
Howard F. Boardman Carrie Wood Helen C. Bates
Thomas F. Forster Carrie Wiggins Fannie Ellen Pratt
Nathalie Homans Katie F. Gibson Jeannie Moore
Henry R. McCabe Fred A. Howard Lydia S. Rommel
Mabel C. Chester Arthur L. Brandigee John Wm. Potter
Bessie Cocke May Fitton Mary G. Austin
Lizzie Eva Lee Harvey C. Jewett Lillie D. Richards
Carleton Brabrook Willie Edwards Isabel C. Halsted
Susie Goldmark Lizzie Beach Mary Abbie Wentz.



Howard Steel Rogers T. Morton Lipscomb

Gracie B. Weed Minnie A. Lyon
Nora Abbott Florence Ware
Ida Marion Chase Libbie M. Dunkerley
Jeannie G. Greenough Mary Bell French
John Tudor Gardiner Helen G. Perinchief
Maggie W. Hogeland Wilhelmina N. Jones
Leon Hornstein Annie L. Thorn
Ernest Farnham Mary E. Huggins
Anna Grace Carter Lizzie C. Selden
Edgar C. Leonard E. Louise Tibbetts
WalterJohn Stevenson Matilda Kay
Richard Fiske Smith Minnie Roebuck
Annie F. Butler Mary Pearsall Coley
R. Bennett Wynkoop May Greeley
Hattie M. Daniels J. Louise Wright
Clara B. Presbrey Lena C. Smith
Fanny L. Tyler Mattie A. Morgan
J. M. Firth Bartlett Louise Hooker
Wm. Russell Fearon Jamie W. Tupper
Laura G. Smith Bruce Throckmorton
Gertrude H. Abbey Mary Throckmorton
Henry R. Gilbert Bessie Sergeant
Sadie A. Vinal Foster A. Rhea
Lucia Lee Bates Sophie Perkins Rhea
Lizzie Simons Jane S. Ledyard
Julia Lathers Gertie E. Taylor
Louise R. Johannott Kitty Stebbins
Alice Hansell Craig McClure
Walter C. Fish Sarah Ellen Odneal
Catherine E. Abbott Stevie B. Franklin
Alice F. Brooks Mamie D. Clark
Mabel C. Stanwood Win. P. H. Bacon
Maria Adams Rogers Willie H. Mooney
Clement Newman Anna F. Bird
Birdie Irene Luce Margaret Mather Sill
Georgianna Hollister Marian Roby Case
Grace L. Phelps Minnie Rheem
Frances J. Parker Harriet Avery
Charles J. Humphrey Irene W. Haslehurst
Eliza May Lucas Freddie S. Goodrich
Daisy Hunt Mabel C. Barber
Lulu E. Habershaw Grace R. Meeker
Minnie Brua Nannie James
Lizzie Mitchell Mary C. Foster
Etta N. Congdon James McComb
James Weir Charles E. Ruperd
John B. Jackson Alice A. Eager
Fannie M. Beck Maud J. Miner
Bertha E. Taylor Lorena B. Wilson
Abby L. Barney John Isaac Perkins
Gertrude W. Cornell Kittie McDermott
Emily T. Colket Kitty E. Rhodes
Anna E. Lester Birdie Kingston
Edith W. Judd Mattie J. White
Grace Forman Alice W. Davis
Pauline Koenehe Lizzie T. E. Rogers
Jennie F. Dedham Arthur L. Pease
Mamie C. Gerard Mary Grace Shippie
Adalina Pratt Artella Babcock
Mary C. Huntington Henry K. Morrison
Nettle R. Gardner Mary S. Clark
Kate Bird Runkle Addie B. Smith
Mary A. Armstrong Fannie E. Cushing
Hattie F. Roberts Reta A. Whitlock

Nattie G. Valentine
Hattie A. Whitzel
Mary Van Diest
Mary B. Stebbins
Lucia Beverly Talcott
James H. Skinner
Emily Richardson
John H. Townsend
C. Eleanor Lewis
Mabel Gordon
Rosalie A. Ogden
Dora Matthews
Ella Grigg
Sadie T. Steele
Henry Hone Leonard
Annie F. Neill
Freddie G. Davies
Melia F. Hodgkins
Selwyn N. Blake
Zula Jones
Robt. Bowman, Jr.
Margaret House
Bertha Kirby
Achsa McCullough
Theodora M. Schmid
Arad Taylor Foster, Jr.
Katie M. Hancock
Harry Glasier Archer
George Oakley
Bessie S. Weeks
Jessie V. V. Thomas
Mary T. Abbot
Ruth Crosby Dodge
Robert Hale Birdsall
Addie Imogen Carver
Gertrude H. Osborne
Herbert P. Moore
Chas. Henry Hannam
Chas. M. Hutchins
Mary Y. Hogan
Florence Dow
Katie Noble
Nellie F. Elliott
Alice Smith
Ida F. Quimby
Julia P. Shaw
Emmie Louisa Lewis
Eliza McFarland
Robert G. Beatty
Elinora Iselin Horn
James Alden Guest
Ella Carr
William Scott
James G. Carson, Jr.
A. Kremer Miller
Katie E. Hubbard
Emily D. Garretson
Albert H. Adams
Amy Crary
Ella A. Wrigley
Lily Reid
Newcomb Cleveland
Fanny Elizabeth Peck
Two "Canadians"


(Girls and Boys offrom Fourteen to Twenty Years of Age.)

E. B. Halsted Sarah A. Ellithorpe
Sarah F. Lincoln Clinton H. Bradley
Percy W. Eaton Adele W. McAllister
Wm. Wesley Runyon Willie L. Amerman

Ella J. Darwin
Nannie W. Clark
William Wirt Duncan
Flora C. Hanley

Minnie E. Patterson

Herbert H. White Ida Lathers Nettle C. Beal
Hattie J. Chamberlain Sophia Jarrett Julia E. Ogden
Ellis Chandler Annie Greene Laura Fletcher
Mary G. Lockwood Minnie Bowen Potter Hugh W. Pemberton
Herbert Putnam Emily S. Haynes Minnie C. Short
Andrew D. Blanchard Anna Middleton Emilie R. Vincent
Minnie O. Steele Belle C. French L. Addie Meeker
Emma H. Kirby Charles M. Fish Elise Johnson
John T. Sill Fannie M. Hannahs Alice W. Huell
David Hays Alice Flora White Kate M. Wetherell
Burton A. Randall Addie J. Davis George B. Houston
Chas. Leland Harrison James M. Treadway Emily Grace Gorham
Carrie L. Warren Cleora A. Bonneville Lottie E. Skinner
Sarah M. Jaques Charles W. Adams Mary S. Clark
Lina F. Warren Virgie Harness Annie D. Latimer
Jessie J. Cassidy Nellie A. Morton Agnes Taylor
Harry H. Wyman Guy M. Watkins May Davenport
Albert White Annie Eliza Watts Clara J. Hicks
Josie M. Hadden Ella G. Damon Daisy Martin
Lizzie Grubb Ida Groff Dora Wheat
Charles Hart Payne Allie Van Ingen Alice Copeland
Ossian E. D. Barron Mary Stevens Ella C. Upham
Martha D. Bessey Alice Louise French Caroline E. Bruorton
May F. Doe Ernest E. White Howard S. Bliss
Laura A. Jones Janet Cross Eunice King Hazen
Alice Blanchard Ernest E. Hubbard Fannie S. Adams
Abbie A. Story Alice Maud Wight Wm. B. Shufeldt
Sarah P. Ranney Lillie E. Earp Sarah Isaacs
Mary M. Pryor Anne C. Gleim Irving Perley Favor
May E. Strong Lucy E. Roberts Edwin Oliver
Stephen W. Libby Jennie E, Shugg Emma P. Willits
Augusta P. Canby Louis T. Reed Clara Nice
Fanny A. Lester George E. Willis Mary Alice Russell"
Cora M. Oakfield Laura Haines Hattie Ella Buell
Florence Washburne JuliaCleveland Lyman Minnie L Ellis
Helen M. Shattuck Louis Meyerhardt Ida Axtell
Emma Lee Tuttle Mary F. Thompson Carrie Hirschfelder
Carrie M. Crowell Sarah Newberger Adelia A. Nichols
Lottie F. Gilbert Mary Balfour Leiper Lizzie Jamieson
Alice T. Gold Edward A. Williams Isabella H. White
Willis E. Frost Annie Mary Hayden Mary Latimer Wills
Charles W. Gaston Cornelia Brown Mary De Witt Searcy
Nettie Graham Addie S. Church Carrie Parker Johnson
May F. Allen Chas. R. Trowbridge Callie Webster
Grace S. Hadley Annie E. Hilands Charlotte J. Blake
Charles R. Thurston Abbie A. Stough Sarah H. Sergeant
Mamie R. Gaston Lizzie M. Baker Agnes B. Williams
Mary Rogus Atlee Cleaveland A. Parker Lizzie C. Wells
Daniel Rawlins Sarah McClurg Milly S. Rann
Geo. W. Hutton, Jr. Eleanor M. Pike Eva M. Reed
Ida Werner Carrie Marsh Jennie C. McElroy
Mary Eudora Bixby Venard Black Kittie J. Dunn
Rena D. Smith Lottie Huggins Nellie B. Wright
Julia Frances Peck Kenneth L. Browne Carrie S. Simpson
Mary Louise Webster Hattie F. Lockwood Ida May Seaton
Libbie E. Noxon Emma Wetmore Cora L. Shoemaker
E. D. Hennessey Millie E. Twitchell Lila F. Atkinson
Eva A. Smith Emma Hall May R. Shipman
M. E. Buckminster John E. Lewis Mabel M. Mason
Lizzie Merrill Helen R. Massey Woods P. Johnson
Anna F. Mathouet Abbie C, Brown Lizzie Beard
R. Helen Fry Carrie O. Chester Fred Herbert Adams
A. Eugene Billings Theodora Chase Nannie G. Laubie
Walter Hankes Emily Augusta Cook Louella H. Markle
Minnie L. Myers Samuel Lewis Laura M. Hixson
Ida Pease Allie I. Havens Annie-J. Bliss
John M. Townsend William Henry Dix Annie R. Warren
Fred M. Clark, Jr. Lina H. Barton John H. Hopkins
Mary L. Allen Katie H. Harris Grace Collins
Lucy E. Keller Emma Augusta Tefft Emma Koch
Nettie Ely W. F. Smith Richard H. Knowles
Virginia B. Ladd Edgar N. Stevens Henry O. Nute
Arthur C. Smith Willard E. Keyes Flossie E. Valentine
Ella L. Ostrom Charlie A. Pierce Lizzie Tredway
Sarah W. Putnam Edith L. Danielson Effie M. Jennings
Wm. E. Myers Edwin Horner Gayley Jas. Hart Yarborough



Cora Frost Geo. H. Striewig Mamie Stratton
Dixie Lee Bryant Arthur W. Condict Carrie Skinner
Ada M. Woolley Nellie E. Sherwood Jessie Longley
Eugene A. Baker Georgiana R. Young Sophie Wright Fitts
Juliet McB. Hill Elizabeth M. Sherman Nellie C. Sayers
John T. Loomis Mary A. Sayer Bessie Selden
Leva Par Delford Grace Clark Nellie Lobdell
May Harvey Ruania E. Chase Sophie K. Card
Cora E. Chapman Alice B. Pirtle Hattie E. Hoag
Hugh Du Bois Mary D. Hodges Allie M. Joyce
Wm. R. Cordingly Charlie Sale Gracie E. Bushnell
Anna M. Lagowitz Annie M. Rudd Mary E. Selden
Warren W. Smith Turpin Gerard Emma L. Hyde
Lilla M. Hallowell Mollie E. Kellogg Louise Achey
Emma E. Porter Willie B. Sears Louisa Williams
John J. Zebley Julia B. Frayser Ida A. Coats
Emmie D. Merrill Fanny M. Hyde Mary S. Seymour
Henry P. Canby Natalie J. Brown Wm. G. Talman, Jr.
Wm. Arthur Locke E. Eva Cast Abby J. Cross
W. H. Burns Helen G. Black Ella M. Tuttle
Willie Boucher Jones Charles S. Mills Harry Griffing Tobey
Mary A. Tobey Nellie F. Eames D. C.
Minnie Loreign Reid Eliza Van B. Parker Lettie L. Doane
Lucy Purinton- Bacon Starr Lottie J. Webb
Howard Willis Preston Walter L. Seward Oliver Everett
Julia A. Watson Benjamin M. Lewis Maggie H. Soule
Florence Donnelly Lennie Colby Katie Roebuck
Carrie T. Granger Philip Cooke KennedyJulia A. Wright
May B. Reese Della Vie White Charles S. Bird
Howell Stewart Carrie Holdeman Josie Hewetson
Frank Ellis Marion Abbot Abbie Bentley
Gertrude M. Denison Carrie Stilwell Annie Nattrass
Edith E. Morris George Valliet Charles H. Fish
Eliz. Burrill Curtis Belle Wilson Cora A. Tuttle
Ella Lyon Harry L. App Gertie A, Benedict
May Remington Minnie A. Myrick Jodie Humiston Wills
Bessie B. Randall Mary E. Herron Nannie Moore
Everett D. Van Dusen Florence Emilie Hyde Elise Graham
Lily F. Swords Ethel Beecher Allen Martha H. Lamberton
Kate F. Howland Josephine B. Miner Sophie McPherson
Helen L. Stanton Lucy Coverts Carrie E. Powell
Fred R. Galloupe Edith Harrison Lidie H. Harding
Charles K. Mount Alfred T. Guyott Carrie P. Holden
Mary C. Gerts Mabelle L. Jones Percy Perry
Deforest C. Williams Bessie A. Peck Mary C. Brown
Gertrude Huntington Isabelle C. Corbett Grace Ellen Richards
Theresa M. Lawrence Clifton-B. Dare Charles Daniel Pitcher
A. Bradford Wallace Ella Mendenhall Harriet E. Angell
Mary Eliz. Fairfield John Henry McEwen Alice Matthews
Thos. Randolph Elrod Fannie M. Lincoln Henry N. Niles

Sophie Adams Hall E. Lizzie Sadder Lillie C. Bass
Helen C. Cornell Ada G. Horton May T. Kemble
Nina Leonard Nevins Wm. J. Cloves Edward F. Kingsbury
Willie T. Eastburn Jennie M. Shattuck Bertha E. Saltmarsh
Marion Chitty Charles E. Wessel Addie S. Ketcham
Edward Wm. Herron Lizzie Neuhaus Tessie Bertha Connor
James H. Lancashire Emma M. Pierce Birdie Bennett
Atherton Clark Anna M. Garretson Gracie J. Hicker
Frances Eliza Rowell Fanny N. Osburn Mary Wattson
Florence Graham Amelia A. Adams Francis E. Morse
Rachel Adler J. A. Bowne Libbie Lee
Chas. Grant Rust Mollie Gatchel Angle Gascoigne
Mary C. Taylor Carrie Towne Cora Lippitt Snow
Mollie E. Gird Susie M. Acker Henry T. Miller
Emelie S. Farwell Addie M. Sherman Iva M. Ingram
Eliza A. A. Morton Winifred P. Ballard Agnes Eliz. Stevens
Harvey W. Temple Maude Lovett Kirk McNair
Adelle A. Sexsmith Maria Storrs Peck Ida Patchen
Julia Parsons Roberts Frank E. Davis Rosie R. Atwater
Edgar J. Wheeler Lulu C. Luce Florence Harding
Richd. Edward Ferris Ida Brown Lillian L. Evans
Wm. A. Stout Lillie Bishop Perkins Florence M. Drew
Winthrop Alexander Nellie J. Watson Elsie L. Reeves
Louise Valliet Geo. F. Curtiss Esther C. Britain
Katie Hilliard Helena Goodwin Lulu L. Wylie
Mattie A. Vinal Alice M. Evans Hattie A. Lusk
Helen H. Stewart Thomas C. Diggs Wm. G. Sutherland
Ella J. Eddy Abby D. Baker Edith R. Packard
Ella Hogeland Leula Wethered Helen Edna Briggs
Lulu S. Rex Alice Stickney Estelle Keller
Geo. T. M. Tilden Fannie W. Armstrong Lucy C. Ross
Bertha F. Poindexter Jennie L. Barnard Jennie J. Wilson
Fannie L. Clark Annie Gore Ella Gallup
Clara A. Potter Laura Crosson Charles M. Catlin
Edwin Bennett Margaret Frayser Henry Allen Tenney
Gracie E. Steere Anna Stratford Six "Canadians "
Estelle McAllister Mary C. Washburn Mary E. Dunakin
Louisa Ford Minnie Merry E. M. Bergen
Agnes L. Kimberley Eva L. Fulton Addie C. Mead
Warren P. Laird John Prentice Terry Benjamin M. Wright
Charlie F. Carter Bessie E. Dickinson Martha Hall
Wm. Cushman Hanks Dora Laura Goble Marion Wilkinson
Mary A. Morey Elsie S. Adams Helen M. Boynton
Jeannette Benjamin Mary Wikoff Maggie Chalmers
Maddie Hawkins Annie Dwight Rhea Sibyll Louise Olmsted
Anna L. Knight Grace Benedict Florence Bickford
Amelia Y. Johnson Phebe A. Booth Bessie C. Battelle
Elmer E. Hoover Libbie Dusenbury Olive Parker Black
Rachel Littell H. Winfield Matthews Carrie A. Tupper
S. Halsted Watkins Mamie A. Tuttle Herb, rt T. Abrams







ONE cup of fresh milk, one cup of sweet cream, two-thirds of a cup of white sugar, four eggs, two
scant tea-spoonfuls of Colgate's vanilla extract. Heat the milk to scalding, in a farina-kettle. Beat the
eggs light and stir in the sugar. Pour the hot milk, a little at a time, upon the eggs and sugar, stirring
all the while. Put
-- ,this custard back into
the farina-kettle and
let it boil about eight
S.' minutes, or until it is
"- pretty thick, stirring
Small the time. Pour in-
S/ to a bowl, and when
S/ cold stir in the cream
/ and vanilla. Have
ready a clean tin can
Sor pail, with a tight
-- top, lapping on the
(// i/_, f outside, -if mamma
has no freezer. Put
S, the custard in this,
"- and set it within a wooden pail. Pack pounded ice very hard about
S, it, say two inches deep ; then a thick layer of common salt; another
"I .. layer of ice, another of salt-to the level of the lid of the tin pail,
S keeping the handle upright. Turn the "freezer" by the handle,
back and forth, half-way around each time, for half-an-hour. Peep
at the cream, having wiped all the salt water from about the cover
before opening the can. It ought to be frozen around the edges by
this time. Beat and stir it with a silver spoon until it is all thick
and smooth alike. Put on the cover, drain off the salt water, pack
in more layers of salt and ice, and turn steadily for half-an-hour
longer. Kitty or Fanny, who is spending the day with you, will
take her turn, and you will, both of you, enjoy the frolic. Pour
the water off twice more, and fill up with ice and salt; but do not
lift the cover until the hour is fully up. Then, when you wish to
serve it, wipe the freezer dry, uncover it, and should the cream be
firm (as it will be, if you have "turned" faithfully), wrap a towel,
which has been dipped in hot water and wrung out, all around the
can, and turn it upside down upon a flat dish, so that the ice-
cream may slip out nicely.
This is "French Vanilla Cream," and if you are careful in
following the directions, it will be good enough to excuse the de-
light of the left-hand cherub above, who is throwing himself heels
over head in his ecstasy. It will also be more wholesome than
the frothy stuff that looks like soap-suds and tastes like pot-cheese,
and leaves something in the bottom of the saucer very much like
-__ chalk, and which we may believe to be really chalk, if we are in
the habit of dealing with confectioners who mix plaster-of-Paris
with frosting, or color candy with poisonous paints, or put earth
in chocolate caramels, or are guilty of any other tricks of the kind.
N. B.-The ice should be broken into pieces not larger than a pigeon's egg. The easiest way to do
this is to put it between the folds of a piece of old carpeting and pound it with a mallet. Every bit of it
is saved by this process.

.76.1 THE LETTER-BOX. b77


BoYS AND GIRLS This truly Midsummer holiday number of ST.
NICHOLAS is offered you in honor of the season. We know that
with you "the holidays" are not confined to Christmas times, and
so ST. NICHOLAS, coming out in the prime of summer, must give you
only its choicest and best. This is why, among all the pleasant
things in this issue of the magazine, you find a paper that not only is
full of midsummer poetry, but full of just the heartiest help for enjoy-
ing it. Miss Larcom (who, you may remember, helped Mr. Whitticr
to compile his "Child-life in Poetry ") knows how truly young souls
enjoy all that is sweet and beautiful on the green earth; and she
knows, too, how keenly you all would enjoy what some of the best
poets say about it, if you only knew just how, and in what spirit, to
read them. She tells you that the best poets are the simplest; and
the most fitting subjects for poems are the thoughts and things
that are oftenest felt and seen-by young and old-and we hope
you'll enjoy every word she says. Mrs. Oliphant, too, and Mrs.
Whitney and Noah Brooks and Celia Thaxter and Lucretia P. Hale
and Lydia Maria Child, and all the others\vho have helped us in our
effort to make this the very crowning number of ST. NICHOLAS-we
thank them in your name, and wish them peaceful and happy Mid-
summers to the end of their days.

Potsdam, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I take your magazine, and think it is splen-
did. I like "The Boy Emigrants" the best. 1 would like to know
if all the stories that Jack-in-the-Pulpit preaches are true I have the
history of the United States, beautifully bound. Our printing-office
caught fire just as we were going to Sabbath school, and we all ran
to see the fire. When we came home from Sabbath school, it was
all out. Just in the midst of the fire two dogs got to fighting, and
they had to part them with water. My teacher said that I could
spell better than I could write. I have a little brother ho is ve wry
sick with the lung fever, and is very cross. I have a little friend to
whom I take my ST. NICHOLAS after I get through it. Please put
my letter in the Letter-Box. JOHmNNIE SEELEY.

J. S. offers the following original conundrum:
Why cannot an uncut wisdom tooth properly be considered as a
part of the human body?
A us. Because it's a purely inside dental affair.

Aix-la-Chapelle, Germany.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years old, and
have always read the ST. NICHOLAS Magazine with much pleasure.
I subscribed to it for two years. Since I came to Germany I have
beer ,.,.1 :._. lard to learn the German language. I have been here
for rI...: i... i,,.:, and can read and write quite nicely. Every day for
an exercise, I translate some little German story; they amuse me very
much, and I thought perhaps some of your boy and girl readers
would like them too. I enclose one that I translated to-day:
"In a magnificent castle on the Rhine, many years ago, there
lived a rich knight who spent much money in order to adorn his
castle, but he did very little for the poor. One day there came a poor
pilgrim who begged him for a night's lodging. The knight haughtily
ordered him away, saying:
'This castle is no inn.'
'Allow me to ask you only three questions,' said the pilgrim, 'then
I will go on my way.'
I grant your request,' replied the knight.
'Who lived in this castle before you did?' asked the pilgrim.
'My father,' answered the knight.
Who dwelt here before your father?'
'My grandfather.'
'And who will live here when you have passed away?'
My son, if God permits.'
'Then,' said the pilgrim, 'if each one lived here only for a certain
time, the castle is indeed but an inn or temporary stopping-place.
Let me advise you in the future not to spend so much money in
adorning a place which you occupy for such a short time; rather do
good to the poor, then you may enjoy an everlasting abode in
"The knight took these few simple words to heart. He gave the

poor pilgrim a lodging, and was from that time ever kind benefactor
to the poor."
I am studying now without a teacher, and translate with no other
help than my dictionary. I may stay here for some months, and
would like to tell you something about this very quaint old city.
Some of the buildings have been standing for nearly eight hundred
years.-Your little reader, E. R.

New York.
DEACON GREEN-DEAR SIR: I have just finished writing the
Declaration of Independence, and think, perhaps, some of the boys
and girls would like to know why Charles Carroll signed himself of
He was a very wealthy man, and when he was signing his name,
some one said, "There goes a million, but the British wont know it."
"I '11 let them know," said Carroll, and signed himself of Carrollton.
Hoping my Declaration will meetwith your approval, I remain,
your young friend, S. K. C.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: When I was staying in the country during
the summer, I had a ride on an engine, which I am now going to tell
you about. One summer morning a gentleman and I thought we
would like to go on a little excursion. So we got in the steam-cars
and rode about twenty miles, and then got off. When we were there
a short time the gentleman said to me: Suppose we go back in an
engine ?" I consented at once. Itwas easy work to ask the engineer
if we might ride, and then get on. So off we went full speed. I
forgot to say that the engine had no cars attached, and was all alone.
I rang the bell, pulled the whistle, and sat on the look-out. Sud-
denly the engineer said that a train was due at L-, and that we
would have to get there so as to get on the switch track before the
train came up, so we put on full steam and flew along like the wind.
I was nearly shaken to pieces, the engine jarred so.
"How many minutes have we got to get there ?" I asked.
"About five," the engineer replied.
I happened to look out the window and saw a train ahead of us.
"Hurry up," I said.
The engineer crowded on all steam. Suddenly the station came
in sight, and we rounded the curve just as the train came up.
We rode the rest of the way in safety, and, after thanking the
engineer, we returned home. A weak'afterward that very engine
blew up, and the engineer was killed. LELAND COLBY.

EMMA R. sent the following answer to the charade in our April
No wearied pilgrim seeks a shrine,
Without my first begins his prayer;
No rich man ever took his ease,
Without my second ends his care.

No sun by day, no moon by night,
Their glowing warmth and light afford
Without my third And so, 'tis true,
My whole is mightier than the sword.

Weimar, March 28th, 1876.
I wonder how many of the youthful readers of the ST. NICHOLAS
have heard anything about "Queen Louisa, of Prussia." While you
in America are making such grand preparations for the celebration of
our proud Centennial, we have been enjoying a little centennial with
the Germans in memory of their beloved Queen Louisa. If she had
lived till the loth of March, 1876, she would have been one hundred
years old. In Berlin there is a great deal to remind one of her beau-
tiful life, and the good she accomplished, and the papers are full of
little interesting incidents connected with her;-stories of her child-
hood, and, what touches a very tender chord in the German heart,
the deep love she cherished for her Fatherland. The winning, lov-
ing traits of her character are dwelt upon with a peculiar pathos, and
every child in Germany can but admire and respect her memory.
She was queen during a period of peculiar trial. When that ambi-
tious conqueror The Emperor of the French," was making Germany
so much trouble, Louisa trembled for the safety of her country, and
so strong were her sympathies that she not only felt the trials and
perplexities of her husband, King Frederick William III, but the
sufferings of her beloved people. Once, not far from Weimar, she
met the proud, victorious Napoleon, and tried to turn him from his
course. Her beauty, loveliness and dignity impressed him deeply.
He never forgot this interview, and acknowledged that his treaty with


the Germans was much more favorable than it otherwise would have
Another reason why the name of Louisa is so honored by the Ger-
man nation is, because her son, the present Emperor (who has just
celebrated his eightieth birthday), has accomplished so much for the
Germans. He has won and retains the hearts of his people, and the
genus of his success and patriotism were implanted by the gentle,
lovely mother, who died when he was still young.
Her life is well worth studying, for, aside from her having been a
noble and high-minded queen, she was a true and faithful daughter
to her afflicted father; a most devoted wife and tender mother, and
one of the most interesting and lovely characters that history has on
record. Those who have visited that wonderful piece of art erected
to her memory-the Mausoleum at Charlottenburg-in the garden
of that palace which she so dearly loved, must ever remain impressed
with that magical piece of marble, which but faintly suggests her
exquisite loveliness.
Jean Paul wrote of her that fate had destined her to wear the
flower wreath of beauty, the myrtle wreath of honor, the crown of a
king, the laurel and oak-wreaths of fatherland's love, and a crown of
thorns. There still awaited her the crown of glory which the God
of the Christian reserves for those who love Him.
The name of Queen Louisa of Prussia has become a national
symbol, her memory a legacy, and her tomb a shrine of patriotic
pilgrimage. E. P.

WHO can tell a correspondent, J. H., why salt is used in freezing
ice-cream ?
Madison, Wis.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Can you tell me who is the author of these
lines ?
For right is right, since God is God,
And right the day must win;
To doubt, would be disloyalty-
To falter, would be sin."
Yours truly, H. M.
The above lines form the last stanza of the poem "The Right Must
Win," written by Frederic William Faber.

Bath, Maine.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl, ten years old. I like the
ST. NICHOLAS very much. I have two sisters older than I, and a
little brother younger. He is real cunning; he is not old enough to
read the ST. NICHOLAS, but he likes to look at the pictures. My
papa is writing a book about the Douglas family, and will have it
printed soon. He likes the piece "About Heraldry," in the May
number of 1875, very much. I have heard him tell the verse about
the Black Douglas, but not the story; he is going to have the verse
printed in his book. I love flowers dearly. I have a great many
gardens in the summer, and I have quite lots of plants now. I have
ten bouquets at a time sometimes in the summer. I went a May-
flowering the other day, but did not get many flowers. I would like
to have you put my name down as a Bird-defender, although I never
killed a bird nor never expect to.-Yours truly,

WE would like to ask a question of the Bird-defenders--not that we
suppose the element of cruelty enters into the question, but because,
as lovers of birds, they are supposed to know, or to be interested in
searching out, many facts regarding their habits.
In reading a description of the seat of an English gentleman
(Esholt Hall, Yorkshire), we noticed this remark: "In the wood,
opposite to the house, a singular circumstance in natural history
occurred in 1821; three young woodcocks of one brood were brought
to maturity, a fact seldom if ever ascertained."
The question is: Why was this so singular a circumstance ?

Fort A. Lincoln, May r8th, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I write you from Fort Lincoln, on the
west bank of the Missouri River, opposite Bismark, the terminus of
the N. P. R. R. An expedition has been fitting out from here to go
into the Indian country, and day before yesterday they broke camp
and started off atfive o'clock in the morning. I will tell you in what
order they marched past the officers' quarters:
First came General Terry, who is in command of the expedition,
accompanied by his staff. Next came a band of forty Arickarree
scouts, mounted on Indian ponies, and singing their horrid war song,
which sounded to me like "yow-yow-wow! Then came the regi-
mental band, playing the Girl I left behind me." F ii .-.
came the seventh r'e-i-nt -r cavalry, at the head
General Custer, and I. I ... his beautiful wife, who was to accom-
pany him to the first camp. Next came a battery of Gatling guns,
each drawn by eight horses. Last of all came three companies of
infantry, which marched with resolute and steady tread. The expe-

edition was accompanied'by a train of one hundred and fifty wagons.
It is going to drive Sitting Bull, and his band of hostile Siouxs, on
to the reservation. If it accomplishes anything wonderful, you will
probably read of it in the newspapers.
Fort Lincoln is a very large Post, but we cannot go outside of it
alone for fear of Indians.
As I fear I am taking too much space, I must say good-bye.

DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM : This is a true story I am going to
tell you about. We have an old Dorking rooster named Jack. He
is a great pet, and, consequently, thinks he is lord and master of
everything and everyone. Well, grandmamma has a brood of fine
young turkeys. One day their mother died, and grandmamma was
very much bothered about them. What was her surprise to see, as
she was walking out on the terrace one day, old Jack with the whole
brood nestling under his wings. She called us all, and we were so
astonished i I think it was very funny. Dear Little Schoolma'am,
what do you think?-Your loving AMALIE.

Mumford, N. Y.
I find a notice of a church in Mumford, Napa County, California,
which is built of petrified wood. We have in our own village of
Mumford, Monroe Co., New York, a Presbyterian church which is
built of a stone very similar to that you describe. The walls and
tower are now complete, and we hope the church will be finished the
coming season. This stone was taken from a quarry near the village,
and contains a great many petrified willow leaves, twigs of cedar,
mosses, etc. Some excellent specimens have been sent to the Cen-
tennial Exhibition. They are arranged in a glass case, and with
them are some of the ferns and cedars which grow in a swamp near
the quarry. These petrificationsare, of course, verycuriousand beau
tiful; the church is visited by a great many people from all parts of
the country.-Yours very respectfully, ETHAN ALLEN.

THE answer to the French riddle in our July number is as follows:
Dix mois six tit m'aime. (Ten months, six "tu"s love me.)
Adele: Dis-moisi tu m'aime. (Adele: Tell me if thou lovest me.)

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Seeing G. G. Sampson's questions in the
May number of your Monthly respecting the Marriage of the Ad-
riatic," I send the following account of its origin, etc. In the year
1173, Pope Alexander III. was so persecuted by Otho, son of Frederic
Barbarossa, that he fled for safety to Venice, and, entering the mon-
astery of St. Charitie, lived for a long time in secret and unknown.
When the Venetians discovered who he was, they not only treated
him with great respect, but placed their army and navy at his service.
In a naval battle, Otho was taken prisoner, and presented by the
Venetians as a vassal to the Pope, by Sebastianus Zianus, commander
of the fleet. Alexander immediately took a ring off his finger, and,
giving it to the commander, told him that as long as he kept that
ring he should be lord and husband of the ocean, and that he and his
posterity, on the anniversary of the victory, must espouse the sea.
Therefore, in memory, of this grant, the custom of throwing a ring
was annually observed. A splendid barge was built called the Bucen-
taur, and in this magnificent ship the doge, attended by a thousand
gondolas and barges, sailed-to a place in the Adriatic called theApos-
tie Gates, situated at the entrance of the gulf The patriarch who
went with him poured holy water into the sea, and the doge then
dropped a ring of great value, repeating these words: 'We espouse
thee, 0 sea, in token of real and perpetual dominion over thee.' "
I hope this account will be satisfactory. G. B. K.

LIZZIE M. D. sends us the following
I'm going to write an epic,-ho and this is the first line;
The second this, and please observe how strong it is, and fine.
And this the third: A king is born ; he loves, he fights, he dies.
So, ere the fourth, the whole is told, or else the writer lies.

Sacramento City.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been making your Holiday Har-
bor, published in your magazine in the December number of 1874.
I used instead of card-board the wood of a strawberry box, and I
find it answers the purpose, if anything, better than card-board,-
provided you have a sharp knife,-for this reason, it is very hard to
cut card-board, and when you do cut it, it is very hard to cut evenly;
but with strawberry-box wood and a ruler, you can cut very easily.
Will some of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS, that have already made
the Holiday Harbor out of card-board, try strawberry boxes, and I
think they will like it better than card-board, for the reason already
mentioned.-Respectfully yours,





THE primals and finals name two summer amusements-one for
girls and one for boys.
x. Marco bought the farm cheap. 2. I was in Rome on Easter
Sunday. 3. I saw some gay dresses at the Carnival. 4. I expect to
visit Quito this year. 5. A tour in Italy is pleasant. 6. Have you
been near Naplese 7. What a grand cathedral has been built in
New York!
Words having the following significations are concealed in the
above: x. A pony. a. A Shakspearian character. 3. The last. 4.
To leave. 5. A Bible name. 6. To gain by labor. 7. An append-
My first, when shot, is never hurt,
E'en though its feathers fly;
My next we do when plucking fruit
From branches hanging high;
My third we like the fruit to be
If it is fair and sound;
My fourth, a clay which painters use,
Of different colors found;
My fifth, a question you would ask
If searching something were your task. j. p. a.

FILL the first blank with a certain word, and the second with the
same word beheaded.
r. My sister went to see the 2. The of the -
was sixpence per pound. 3. Father the wagon last week.
4. In the center of the cross was a large 5. The -
entered the carriage and took a -. 6. She went to the but
was not to remain there long. 7. -- can hebe? He surely is
not-. H. C.
I SIGNIFY to dress by heat;
But change my head, I'm good to eat.
If changed again, I am a fish,
Which, cooked, you '11 find a pleasant dish.
Another head, if you should please,
The last could swim in me with ease.
Then, if you change my head again,
I mean to cause or to constrain.
Change it again, and you will find
An implement of useful kind.
Once more, and I'm on your account.
Again, my meanings will amount
To half a dictionary page;
To learn them will require an age. L. w. H.

Containing 25 Hidden Cities of the United States.
IT was in August, a half century ago, that I offered for sale my
farm, preparatory to going West in the fall. Rivers were not then
traversed by steamers, nor the land by rail-cars, so that neither the
rich nor folks who were poor could travel rapidly, as now. I was to
be accompanied only by my wife, Ella, and my dog, Ponto. I pur-
chased a chart for direction.
On a Saturday I said to my wife, "We will do our last washing to-
night, and start Monday. We will take only such things as are new;
have no useless articles to encumber us. We shall do very well now
with but little, and perhaps sometime be rich." Monday we started,
and Ponto led off for weeks through the forest, but our progress was
slow. Ella rode upon horseback as well as myself. One day my
horse, in attempting to drink, stepped upon a little rock, stumbled,
and I nearly fell into the brook. Lynx eyes were watching, unknown
to us, and had I not fallen I should have been pierced by an arrow
which struck a tree just above my head with a dull bang, or thud.
Turning quickly, I discovered an Indian disappearing n the bushes;
but a single shot from my pistol gave that Indian a polish which.ren-
dered unnecessary any more painting on his part. He could not
have expected such a rebuff, alone though he was; but not till I pon-
dered on my narrow escape did I begin to get mad. I, so near my
future home, to be so attacked! It showed a poor prospect of the
delights of a home so rural. Eight days more, and we should be at
; ..r..-. : end, if no accident happened.
,T 'i-.- !,ext day we were stopped by a large party of Indians
armed with bows and tomahawks, who surrounded us like a mob. I
let them do as they chose, for resistance was useless, and we were

taken to their village. I Luckily for us, one night we were left without
a guard, while they were celebrating some great event; and, in the
noise and confusion occasioned by their whoops and halloos, we got
off in safety. In a few days, but after many privations, we reached
our long-sought-for port Land cost nothing, and we were soon pros,
perous. Our harvests were prolific; level and fertile was the land
which I had chosen, and I am now reaping the benefits of my toil.
Hundreds of acres of wheat, corn, and farmer's stuff, rank for the
harvest, can I now call my own.
Forests were on every side when my life was in its spring;
Fields of waving grain and produce now to me their treasures bring.
MY first is little but mighty;
My next is myself or a part;
My third you may pitch at your pleasure;
My whole you may be in your heart. L. w. H.

ACROSS: I. A consonant 2. A personal pronoun. 3. A bird. 4.
The founder of an ancient city. 5. To besiege or attack. 6. A color.
7. A consonant.
DOW : i. A consonant. 2. To plunder. 3. An ancient poet. 4.
Puzzles. 5. Made angry. 6. A small piece of iron used in machinery
to fasten bolts. 7. A consonant. IVANHOE.

My first a plant, with pods which hold
Wealth that is quickly turned to gold;
The value of my next, 'tis found,
Lies in the part beneath the ground;
My third a tree-of it we prize
The nut, and that which round it lies;
My fourth has wealth in wood and fruit,
My fifth has value in its root;
If money from my sixth he gained,
From every part 't will be obtained.

Downward, from left to right-you 'll find
An acid fruit with acrid rind.

J. P. u.

THE initials and finals name two characters in Sir Walter Scott's
writings. I. To communicate, or make known. 2. The name of a
great queen. 3. Something that we could not live without. 4. One
of Shakspeare's characters. 5. One of the West Indies. 6. A mix-
ture or medley. 7. A flag or banner. ISOLA.

THIS enigma is composed of sixteen letters. The 4, 6, 5, 7, 3 is
what a young lady is very liable to become. The o, 2, 1, 13, 4,
15 is useful, where open fire-places are used. The 16, z, g, 8 is to cast
off, to let fall, or may be something near your house. The x is the
beginning of a turtle and the end of a serpent. The whole is the
name of a noble army whose mission is peace, not war.

My whole is the name of a great hero.
My first is in walk, but not in run;
My second in happiness, not in fun;
My third is in spear, but not in gun;
My fourth is in light, though not in sun;
My fifth is in win, but not in won;
My sixth is in pound, and also in ton;
My seventh in spinning, but not in spun;
My eighth is in daughter, but not in son;
My ninth is in roll, but not in bun;
My tenth is in green, and also in dun. R. w. G.

TAKE the first syllable from a word meaning a guide, and leave a
clergyman; from a word meaning that which is correct, and leave a
clergyman; from a word meaning to give, and leave a clergyman..
T. P. B.





(The central picture represents the whole word, from the letters of which the words represented by the other pictures are to be formed.)

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"NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-" Knowledge is power." DOUBLE ACRosTIc.-Ethan Allen.
CHARADE.-Indefatigable. E -urek- A
s H -ul- L
ACE A -gat- E
WHEAT N-apoleo-N
SCEPTER INCOMPLETE SENTENCES.-I. Study, stud. 2. Ruby, rub. 3.
ALT AR Flamingo, flaming. 4. Homer, home. 5. Plank, plan. 6. Farm, far.
N ET INITIAL CHANGES.-Batch, catch, hatch, latch, match, watch.
R MELANGE.-I. Pearl, earl. 2. Pearl, pear. 3. Pearl, peal. 4.
EASY TRANSPOSITION.-Table, Lamp, Chair. Earl, Lear. 5. Pear, reap, pare. 6. Peal, leap, pale, plea. 7. Reap,
HALF WORD-SQUARE.- P A R R OT rap. 8. Pear, pea. 9. Pale, ale. o1. Plealeaea. Earl, ear.
A L OO F BROKEN WORDS.-I. Profit, able-profitable. 2. Alter native-
ROOT alternAtive. 3 Inn ovations-innovations. 4. Commend a Tory-
R T commendatory. 5. Hand, led-handled.
o F PREFIX PUZZLE.-Prefix: Im. Impeach, impress, impanel, im-
T pair, impost, impatient, impose, implant, impart, impale, impediment,
A CHARADE FOR x876.-Centennial. impostor.

Adelaide Underhill. M. W. Collet, Robert L. Goundyke, and Tom Loomis answered correctly all the puzzles in the June number.
ANSWERS TO SPECIAL PUZZLES in the same numberwere received, previous to June 18, from Willie Dibbl... '.T ..;.. r Acheson, Eugene
L. Lockwood, M. F. Rohnert, Arthur B., Brainerd P. Emery, Mamie E. Cummings, H. R. Wilson, Eddie 1-.1 .:. ri. .., Florence A. Mer-
liam, Mary H. Wilson, Jenny R. Miller, E. S. W. Blanke, E. P. S. Robinson, John R. Lapham, "Anubis," William Chauncey Hawley,
"Alex," Bessie Foster, Eddie Roleson, Brenda Balmain, Alexis Coleman, 'T, F .,-rl.,r May Wallace, Arthur D. Smith, Emma Elliott,
Alfred Edward Vultee, S. B. H., C. W. Hornor, Jr., Harry Edmonds, Ho' I i .... h Engelbert, Arnold Guyot Cameron, Katie S.
Hughes, Evelyn Dudley, Amy W. Finney, Willie E. Furber, E. D. J. :-i ....-, -i .r.. L. Hamilton, Eleanor N. Hughes, "Apollo,"
Jesse A. Chase, Alma Bertram, and Lizzie Kiernan.

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