• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 At Fiesole
 The morning and evening star
 Dick Hardin in Philadelphia
 Windsor Castle
 Out of the sky
 How the Scotch-Cap family saved...
 Lizzy of La Bourget
 Patches
 Worth your weight in gold
 The legend on the pane
 A Colorado woman's museum
 The boy emigrants
 In the closet
 Sea-jellies
 How general Washington got his...
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The little dog with the green...
 Young contributors' department
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 The army of bird-defenders
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 3, no. 12
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00039
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 3, no. 12
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature
Literature for Children
 Notes
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: VID00039
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
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    At Fiesole
        Page 745
        Page 746
        Page 747
        Page 748
        Page 749
        Page 750
    The morning and evening star
        Page 751
        Page 752
        Page 753
        Page 754
        Page 755
    Dick Hardin in Philadelphia
        Page 756
        Page 757
        Page 758
    Windsor Castle
        Page 759
        Page 760
        Page 761
        Page 762
        Page 763
        Page 764
        Page 765
        Page 766
    Out of the sky
        Page 767
    How the Scotch-Cap family saved its bacon
        Page 768
        Page 769
        Page 770
        Page 771
        Page 772
    Lizzy of La Bourget
        Page 773
    Patches
        Page 774
        Page 775
        Page 776
    Worth your weight in gold
        Page 777
        Page 778
    The legend on the pane
        Page 779
        Page 780
    A Colorado woman's museum
        Page 781
        Page 782
        Page 783
        Page 784
    The boy emigrants
        Page 785
        Page 786
        Page 787
        Page 788
        Page 789
        Page 790
        Page 791
        Page 792
    In the closet
        Page 793
    Sea-jellies
        Page 794
        Page 795
    How general Washington got his clothes
        Page 796
        Page 797
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 798
        Page 799
    The little dog with the green tail
        Page 800
        Page 801
        Page 802
    Young contributors' department
        Page 803
    The letter-box
        Page 804
        Page 805
    The riddle-box
        Page 806
        Page 807
        Page 808
    The army of bird-defenders
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text




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PRINCESS VICTORIA.
From a Painting by Sir George Hayter. (See "Windsor Castle," page 759.)


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VOL. III.


NICHOLAS.


OCTOBER, 1876.


No. 12.


AT FIESOLE.

BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.


FIESOLE is a quaint old town which perches on After this mention of a doll, what will you say
a hill-top above the valley of the Arno and the city when I tell you that Molly was almost thirteen ?
of Florence. You must not pronounce it as it is Most girls of thirteen scorn to play with dolls, but
spelt, but like this-Fu-es-o-lee. From the Florence Molly was not of their number. She was childish
streets people catch glimpses of its bell-towers and for her years, and possessed a faithful little heart,
roofs shining above the olive orchards and vine- which clung to Maria Matilda as to an old friend
yards of the hill-side. A white road winds upward whom it would be unkind to lay aside.
toward it in long, easy zigzags, and seems to say, "First, there was Paris," Molly would say to
"Come with me and I will show you something her. "No, first there was Deef, where the people
pretty." all talked so queerly that we could n't understand
Not long ago there were two girls in Florence to a word. That was funny, Matilda, was n't it?
whom, plainly as road could speak, the white road Then don't you recollect that beautiful church
seemed to utter these very words. Pauline and which we saw when we went past Ruin ?" (Molly
Molly Hale were the names of these girls. It was meant Rouen, but I am sorry to say her pronuncia-
six months since they had left America with their tion of French names was apt to be bad.) "And
father and mother, and it seemed much longer, Paris too, where I took you to walk in the gardens,
because so much had happened in the time. First, and papa let us both ride in a whirligig. None of
the sea voyage, not pleasant, and yet not exactly the home dollies have ever ridden in whirligigs, have
unpleasant, because papa got better all the way, they? They wont understand what you mean un-
and that made mamma happy.. Now papa would less I draw them a picture on my slate. Then we
be quite well at, once, they thought. His people got into the cars and went and went till we came
(for papa was a clergyman) had sent him away for to that great dark tunnel. Were n't we frightened ?
that purpose. They were not a rich people, but and you cried, Matilda-I heard you. You need n't
each gave a little, and altogether it made enough look so ashamed, though, for it was horrid. But
to carry the pastor and his family across the sea we got out of it at last, though I thought we never
and keep them there one year, with very prudent should; and here we are at the padrona's, and it's
management. The Hales, therefore, did not travel ever so nice, only I wish papa would come back."
about as most people do, but went straight to Italy, For Florence had proved too cold, and papa had
where they hoped to find that sun and warm air joined a party and gone off to Egypt, leaving
which are an invalid's best medicines. .mamma and the children to live quietly and cheaply
"Going straight to Italy" means, however, a at Signora Goldi's boarding-house. It was a dingy
great many pleasant things by the way. Molly was house in the old part of Florence, but for all that it
always reminding Maria Matilda, her doll, of the was a very interesting place to live in. The street
sights she had seen and the superior advantages in which the house stood was extremely narrow.
she enjoyedover the dolls at home. High buildings on either side shut out the sun, the
VOL. III.-50.


_~







746 AT FIESOLE. [OtTomR,


cobble-stone pavement was always dirty, but all day
long a stream of people poured through it wearing
all sorts of curious clothes, talking all sorts of lan-
guages, and selling all sorts of things. Men with
orange-baskets on their heads strolled along crying,
"Oranges, sweet oranges !" Others, with panniers
of flowers, chanted, "Fiori, belli fiori !" Peddlars
displayed their wares, or waved gay stuffs; boys
held up candied fruits, wood-carvings, and toys;
women went to and fro bearing trays full of a
chocolate-colored mixture dotted with the white
kernels of pine-cones. This looked very rich and
nice, and the poor people bought great slices of it.
Pauline once invested a penny therein, but a single
taste proved enough; it was sour and oily at once,
and she gave the rest to a small Italian girl, who
looked delighted and gobbled it up in huge mouth-
fuls. Whenever they went out to walk, there
were fresh pleasures. The narrow street led di-
rectly to a shining sunlit river, which streamed
through the heart of the city like a silver ribbon.
Beautiful bridges spanned this river, some reared
on graceful arches, some with statues at either end,
one set all along its course by quaint stalls filled
with gold and silver filagree, chains of amber, and
turquoises blue as the sky. All over the city were
delightful pictures, churches, and gardens, open
and free to all who chose to come. Every day
mamma and the children went somewhere and saw
something, and, in spite of papa's absence, the
winter was a happy one.
Going to and fro in the city, the children had
often looked up the Fiesole hill, which is visible
from many parts of Florence, and Pauline had con-
ceived a strong wish to go there. Molly did not
care so much, but as she always wanted to do what
Pauline did, she joined her older sister in beg-
ging to go. Mamma, however, thought it too far
for a walk, and carriage hire cost something; so
she said no, and the girls were forced to content
themselves with "making believe" what they would
do if ever they went there, a sort of play in which
they both delighted. None of the things they
imagined proved true when they did go there, as
you shall hear.
It was just as they were expecting papa back,
that, coming in one day from a walk with Signora
Goldi, Pauline and Molly found mamma hard at
work packing a traveling-bag. She looked very
pale and had been crying. No wonder, for the
mail had brought a letter to say that papa, travel-
ing alone from Egypt, had landed at Brindisi very
ill with Syrian fever. The kind strangers who
wrote the letter would stay with and take care of
him till mamma could get there, but she must
come at once.
"What shall I do ?" cried poor Mrs. Hale, ap-


pealing in her distress to Signora Goldi. "I can-
not take the children into a fever-room, and even
if that were safe, the journey costs so much that it
would be out of the question. Mr. Hale left me
only money enough to last till his return. After
settling with you and buying my ticket, I shall
have very little remaining. Help me, padrona!
Advise me what to do."
Signora Goldi's advertisement said, "English
spoken," but the English was of a kind which Eng-
lish people found it hard to understand. Her kind
heart, however, stood her instead of language, and
helped her to guess the meaning of Mrs. Hale's
words.
Such peety she said. Had I know, I not
have let rooms for week after. The signora said
' let,' and she sure to go, so I let, else the ficcolf
should stay wiss me. Now what ?" and she rubbed
her nose hard, and wrinkled her forehead in a
puzzled way. I have she cried at last, her face
beaming. How the piccolini like go to Fiesole
for a little ? My brother who dead, he leave Eng-
leis wife. She lady-maid once, speak Engleis well
as me !-better! She have fensione-very small,
but good-ah, so good, and it cost little, with air
si buono, sifresco / "
The signora was drifting into Italian without
knowing it, but was stopped by the joyous exclama-
tions of the two girls.
"Fiesole Oh, mamma! just what we wanted
so much cried Pauline. Do let us go there! "
"Do, do!" chimed in Molly. ,"I saw the
padrona's sister once, and she's so nice. Say yes,
please mamma."
The yes "was not quite a happy one, but what
could poor Mrs. Hale do ? No better plan offered,
time pressed, she hoped not to be obliged to stay
long away from the children, and, as the signora
said, the Fiesole hill-top must be airy and whole-
some. So the arrangement was made, the terms
settled, a carriage was called, and in what seemed
to the girls a single moment, mamma had rattled
away, with the signora to buy her ticket and see her
off at the station. They looked at each other dis-
consolately, and their faces grew very long.
"We 're just like orphans in a book," sobbed
Pailine at last, while Molly watered Matilda's best
frock with salt tears. The signora had a specially
nice supper that night, and petted them a great
deal, but they were very homesick for mamma and
cried themselves to sleep.
Matters seemed brighter when they woke up next
morning to find a lovely day, such a day as only
Italy knows, with sunshine like gold, sky of clearest
blue, and the river valley shining through soft mists
like finest filtered rainbows. By a happy chance,
the Fiesole sister-in-law came to Florence that


746


[OCTOBeR,


AT FIESOLE.






AT FIESOLE.


morning, and drove up to the door in a droll little
cart drawn by a mouse-colored mule, with a green
carrot-top stuck over his left ear and a bell round





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his neck. She gladly agreed to lodge the children,
and her pleasant old face and English voice made
them at once at home with her. There was just
room in the cart for their trunk, and about five


in the afternoon they set out, perched on the nar-
row bench in front, one on each side of their new
friend, and holding each other's hands tightly be-
hind her ample back. Signora Bianchi was
the sister-in-law's name, but "padrona" was
easier to say, and they called her s6 from the
beginning.
The hill-road was nowhere steep, but each
winding turn took them higher and higher
above Florence. They could see the curvings
.of the river, the bridges, the cathedral dome,
and the tall, beautiful bell-tower, which they
had been told was the work of the great artist
Giotto. Further on, the road was shut in
Between stone walls. Over the tops of these
hung rose-vines, full of fresh pink roses,
though it was early March. Pauline and
S Molly screamed with pleasure, and the pa-
drona, driving her mule close under the wall,
B dragged down a branch and let them gather
the flowers for themselves, which was delight-
ful. She would not stop however when, a
little later, they came to fields gay with red
and purple anemones, yellow tulips, and
oddly-colored wild lilies so dark as to be
almost black; there were plenty of such on
top of the hill, she said, and they must not
be too late in getting home. The black
lilies were giglios-the emblem or badge- of
the city of Florence; the children had not
seen them before, but they remembered the
form of the flower in the carved shields over
the door of some of the old buildings.
The road ended in a small paved piazza,
which is the Italian name for an open square.
All about it stood old buildings, houses and
churches, and a very ancient cathedral with
a dirty leather curtain hanging before its
door. Passing these, the mule clattered
down a narrow side-street, or rather lane.
The streets in Florence had seemed dark
and dirty, but what were they compared with
this alley, in which the wheels of the little
cart grazed the walls on either side as it
passed along ? Ricketty flights of outside
stairs led to the upper stories of the build-
ings; overhead, lines of linen, hung out to
dry, were flapping in the wind. An ill-
smelling stream of water trickled over the.
rough cobble-stone pavement. Jolt, jolt,
jolt !-then the mule turned suddenly into
a dark place which looked like a shabby
stable-yard. It was the ground-floor of the
padrona's house, and this was the place where
Pauline and Molly were to stay They looked at
each other with dismayed faces.
But the padrona called them to follow, and led


747







AT FIESOLE. [OCTOBER,


the way up one stone stair-case after another till
they came to the third story. Here things were
pleasanter. It was plain and bare; the floors were
of brick, there were no carpets, and the furniture
was scanty and old. But the rooms were large and
airy, and through the open casement bright'rays
of sunshine streamed in. Pauline ran to the win-
dow, and behold, instead of the dirty lane, she saw
the open piazza, and beyond, a glimpse of the blue
hills and the Florence valley She called Molly,
and, perched on the broad sill, they watched the
sunset and chattered like happy birds, while the
padrona bustled to and fro, preparing supper and
. spreading coarse clean linen on the beds of a little
chamber which opened from the sitting-room. The
padrona's kitchen was about the size of an American
closet. The stove was a stone shelf with two holes
in it, just big enough to contain a couple of quarts
of charcoal. It was like a doll's kitchen, Molly
thought; and Pauline stared when she saw the
padrona produce a palm-leaf fan and begin to fan
the fire, as if it were faint and needed to be re-
vived. But as she gazed, the charcoal was coaxed
into a glow, the little pots and pans bubbled, and
hey, presto! supper was ready, with half the trouble
and a quarter the fuel which would have been
needed to set one of our big home ranges going.
It was a queer supper, but very good, the children
thought; their long drive had made them hungry,
and the omelette, salad, and polenta, or fried mush,
tasted delicious. Everything was nice but the
bread, which was dark in color and had an un-
pleasant sour taste. The padrona smiled when she
saw them put aside their untasted slices, and said
that she too used to dislike Italian bread, but that
now she preferred it to any other.
The padrona was delighted with her young vis-
itors. She had long been a widow. One of her
sons was in the army, and seldom at home; the
other helped her about the house and tilled a little
meadow which belonged to them. She had no
daughter to keep her company, and the sweet,
bright-faced American girls pleased her greatly.
She helped the sisters to undress, and tucked them
into their beds as kindly as any old nurse, and they
fell asleep with her pleasant voice in their ears.
"Good-night and good dreams, little miss."
The moirow brought another fine day, and the
.girls improved it for a ramble about the quaint
town. It seemed to them the very oldest place
they had ever seen-and, in fact, Fiesole is older
far than Florence, of which it was first the cradle
and afterward the foe. They stood a long time
before the windows of the straw-shop, choosing the
things they would like to buy if they had any
money Pauline fell in love with a straw parasol,
and Molly hankered after a work-basket for mamma.


Both of them felt that it was dreadful to be poor,
but there was no help for it. Then they climbed
to an upper terrace and sat a long time looking on
the fine view it commanded, and talking in gestures
to some brown little children who came up to beg
from them. After that, they lifted the curtain over
the cathedral door, and stole quietly about the
ancient church. It was dark and shabby and worm-
eaten; but as they wandered to and fro, they
came upon beautiful things-tombs of sculptured
marble with figures of saints and madonnas, wreaths
of marble flowers, bits of old carved wood as black
as ebony. It was strange to find such treasures hid-
den away in the dust and gloom, and to think that
there they were, dusty and gloomy and old, before
Columbus discovered the very new continent which
we call America A queer smell breathed about
the place, a smell of must and age and dried-up
incense. Pauline and Molly were glad to get away
from it and feel the fresh air and the sunshine
again. They rambled on to the western slope of
the hill, and a little way down, where the land
descends in terraces to the wooded valley below,
they came upon the ruins of a Roman amphi-
theater. They had never seen an amphitheater
before, but they guessed what it was from a picture
which mamma had shown them. On the ledges
which once were seats, where spectators seated in
rows had watched the lions and the gladiators fight,
crowds of purple violets now lifted their sweet faces
to the sky.
After that the amphitheater became their favorite
walk, and they went back every day. The padrona
warned them against sitting long on the ground or
staying out till the sunset dews fell, but they heeded
what she said very little; 'it seemed impossible that
so pleasant a spot could have any harm about it.
But at last came a morning when Pauline recol-
lected the padrona's warnings, with a great fright-
ened heart-jump, for Molly waked up hot and
thirsty, and, when she lifted her head from the
pillow, let it fall back again and complained of
being dizzy. The padrona made her some tea,
and after awhile she felt better and got up. But
all that day and the next she looked pale and
dragged one foot after the other as she went about,
and the third day fever came upon her in good
earnest. Tea did no good this time, and she lay
still and heavy, with burning hands and flushed
cheeks. The padrona tried various simple medi-
cines, and Pauline sat all day bathing Molly's head
and fanning her, but neither medicine nor fanning
was of use; and as night came on, and the fever
grew higher, Molly began to toss and call for
mamma, and to cry out about her pillow, which
was stuffed with wool and very hard.
I don't like this pillow, Pauline-indeed I


AT FIESOLE.


[OCTOBER,








1876.] AT FIESOLE.


don't. It makes my neck ache so I Why don't
you take it away, Pauline, and give me a nice soft
pillow, such as we used to have at home? And I
want some ice, and some good American water to
drink. This water is bad. I can't drink it. Make
the ice clink in the tumbler, please-because if I
hear it clink I sha' n't be thirsty any more. And
call mamma. I must see mamma. Mamma 1"
And Molly tried to get up, and then tumbled
back and fell into a doze for awhile, while poor
Pauline sat beside her with a lump in her throat
which seemed to grow worse every moment, and to
bid fair to choke her entirely if it did n't stop. She
did not dare to sob aloud, for fear of rousing Molly,


clung to this friend in need as to the only helper
left in the wide world. Beppo, the padrona's son,
walked into Florence and brought out a little Italian
doctor, who ordered beef-tea, horrified Pauline by
a hint of bleeding, and left, promising to come
again, which promise he did n't keep. Pauline was
glad that he did not; she felt no confidence in the
little doctor, and she knew, besides, that doctors
cost money, and the small sum which mamma left
was almost gone. Day after day passed, Molly
growing no better, the padrona more anxious,
Pauline more unhappy. It seemed as if years and
years had gone by since mamma left them-almost
as if it were a dream that they ever had a mamma,


,I ,-*
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but the tears ran quietly down her cheeks as she
thought of home and mamma. Where was she?
How was papa? Why did n't they write ? And,
oh dear! what should she, should she do, if Molly
were to be very ill in that lonely place, where there
was no doctor or any of the nice things which
people in sickness need so much? No one can
imagine how forlorn Pauline felt-that is, no one
who has not tried the experiment of taking care
of a sick friend in a foreign land, where the ways
and customs are strange and uncomfortable, and
the necessaries of good nursing cannot be had. .
Nobody in the world could be kinder than was
the padrona to her young invalid guest. Night
after night she sat up, all day long she watched
and nursed and cooked and comforted. Pauline


or a home, or any of the happy things which now
looked so sadly far away.
Then came the darkest day of all, when Molly
lay so white and motionless that Pauline thought
her dead; when the padrona sat for hours, putting
a spoonful of something between the pale lips every
little while, but never speaking, and the moments
dragged along as though shod with lead. Morn-
ing grew to noon, noon faded into the dimness of
twilight, still the white face on the pillow did not
stir, and still the padrona sat silently and dropped
in her spoonfuls. At last she stopped, laid down
the spoon, bent over Molly, and listened. Was
any breath at all coming from the quiet lips ?
Oh, padrona, is she dead ?" sobbed Pauline,
burying her face in the bed-clothes.


1876.]


AT FIESOLE.








750 AT FIESOLE. [OCTOBER,


"No, she is asleep," said the padrona. Then
she hid her own face and said a prayer of thankful-
ness, while Pauline wept for joy, hushing herself as
much as possible that Molly might not be disturbed.
All that night and far into the morning, the
blessed sleep continued, and when Molly awoke the
fever was gone. She was very white, and as weak
as a baby; but -Pauline and the padrona were
happy again, for they knew that she was going to
get well.
So another week crept by, each day bringing a
little more strength and appetite to Molly, and a
little more color to her pale face, and then the
padrona thought she might venture to sit up.
They propped her into a big chair with many pil-
lows ('"brickbats" Molly .called .them), ,and had
just pulled, her across the room to the window,'
when a.carriage rattled on hl rJtin.i below, some-
body ran upstairs, and into the room burst mammik :
Yes, the little mamma herself, pale a; MI:.ll :i.Jnit,
from the fright she had gone through; but so over-
joyed to see them, and so relieved at finding M6olly
up and getting well, that there was :nothing for it
but a hearty'cry, in. which all took p rt anrd i. l, i.
did them all a great deal of good. .
Then came explanations. Papa was a great deal
better. The doctor thought the fever would do
him good in the end rather than harm. But he
was still weak, and mamma had left him to rest at
the hotel in. Florence while she flew up the hill to
her children. Why did n't she write? She had
written, again and again, but the letters had gone
astray somehow, and none of the girls' notes had
reached her except one from Molly, .written just-
after they went to Fiesole. I may as well say
now that all these missing letters followed them to
America three months later, with a great deal of
postage to be paid on them; but they were not
of much use then, as you can imagine !
There was so much to say and to hear that it
seemed as though they could never get through.
Pauline held mamma's hand tight, and cried and
laughed by turns.
It was dreadful she said. "It was just ex-
actly as if you and papa and everybody we knew
were dead and we were left all alone. And I
thought Molly would die too, and then what would
have become of me? The padrona has been so
kind-you can't think how kind. She sat up nine
nights with Molly, and always said she was n't
tired; but I knew she was. I used to think it must
be the nicest place in the world up here at Fiesole,
but I never want to see it again in all my life."


"Don't say that, for Molly has got well here.
And the good padrona too! You ought to love'
Fiesole for her sake."
"So I ought. And I do love her. But you'll
not ever go away and leave us anywhere again,
will you, mamma ?
"Not if I can help it," replied mamma, speak-
ing over Molly's head, which was-nestled comfort-
ably on her shoulder. There were tears in her
eyes as she spoke. It had not been possible to
help it, but the tender mother's heart felt it a
wrong to her children that they should have been
without her in sickness.
It was another week before Molly could be moved.
Mamma drove up twice during that time, bridging
;oranges arid wine and allsorts of r .:.- thin. 'and
the last'time a parcel with a present in, it for the
children to give to the padr6na." It was a pretty
silk shawl and a small gold pin to fasten'it. Pauline
and Molly were enchanted to make this gift, and
the padrona admired the shavl extremely, but Mrs.
Hale sorrowfully longed to be richer that she might
heap many tokens of gratitude in the kind hands
which had worked so lovingly for her little girls in
their trouble.
"I' can't beat to say good-bye," were Molly's last
words as. she leaned from-the carriage for a parting
hug. Dear padrona,- how I wish you would, just
come with us to America and' live there. We
would call you ''aunty," and love you so, and be
so glad, you can't think Do come "
But the pidr;n.r.., siilring ad te-rf',l shook her
head and declared that she could never leave her
boys and the hill-top and old neighbors, but must
stay in.Fiesole as long as she lived. So with many
kisses and blessings the good-byes were uttered,
and out of the narrow street and across the piazza
rattled the carriage, and so down the hill-road to
Florence.
Pauline and Molly are safe in America now.
They tell the girls at school a great deal about
what they saw and where they went, but they don't
talk much of the time of Molly's illness, and when
Matilda Maria, who lives in a drawer now, enter-
tains the other dolls with tales of travel, she skips
that. It is still too fresh in-their memories, and
too sad, for them to like to speak of it. But some-
times after they go to bed at night, they put their
heads on the same pillow and whisper to each
other about the old church, the amphitheater, the,
padrona, those days of fever, and all the other
things that happened to them when mamma went
away and left them alone at Fiesole.


750


AT FIESOLE.


[OcToBER,






THE MORNING AND EVENING STAR.


THE MORNING AND EVENING STAR.

BY RICHARD A. PROCTOR.

".Fairest of stars, last in the train of night of Venus were supposed to do a great deal of good
f better thou belong not to the dawn, to those who were born when she was shining
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere." brightly. But in our time, men no longer fancy
-MILTON. that because a.star looks beautiful like Venus, it
ALL 11i.i .uh the spring ino:,ith', and onward brings good lpck; or that because a star-looks dim
to the eid .f ilinme. the ,:-ering str .ih; br, t:!irla .. and yellow, like. Saturn, it brings bad: fortune.
in the ..-t, lo',.li'.p.issing downward along the Tih v kinoi that Venus is a globe like''our own
track '. I,;.:h [the un had followed.. She had been e.:ih, hi:;r, round the sun just as the earth does.
growing .bjighlter and br;lht.l: up t.~ the end. of Our earth seen from Venus l]oks lil.ke a.star, just
May, and for a week or so l:'nreir. but then she as Vracni, I. lk.:. a jtar o us.. .Andif:there are
began to lose luster, night.after night.,. She also any crtures loirig on Vrenus who can study the
drew nearer aid' nearer to the. sun's place on the stars.as we do,'they have quite.as much reason for
sky, so .as to set sooner and sooner after him..: rl-iir'kni.g that the globe on which.we live brings
At last she was no more seen. "But if, during this, them good luck, as we have for. thinking that their
September and .October, and afterward till next :globe brings us good luck.'
spring, you get up before sunrise, you will see the It is strange that of all the stars we see, Venus
morning star in the east, shining very brightly in is the only one which is. in reality like the earth in
September, but gr-.duallv with less and less splen- size;. All the others are either very much smaller
dor, until at I rgih. late,in spring. next year, it will or very much larger.. Most of ih. ni-in fact all
be lost to view. This morning, star is the:same the stars properly so called-2are great globes of
body which beforehad shone. in- the evening. It fire like our sun, and are thousands of times larger
shines half the time as an evening star, and .half than the globe we live on. A few others are like
the time as a morning star; or, to be more exact, I Venus and the earth in not being true stars, but
ought to say that after shining for a long time as bodies traveling round the sun and owing all their
an evening star, and being. lost for a time from light to'.him. But it so happens that not one even
view, it shinesfor-just'as long a time as a. morning. of these is nearly of the same size as the earth;
star, then is again lost from view, then shines for they are all either very much larger or very much
as long a time as before, in the evening, and. so siialler: Venusis the only sister-world the earth
on continually. :It. also changes in brightness all has,: among all the orbs' which travel round the
the time, in this way: sun. There may be others in the far off depths
For rather more than eight months you see of space, traveling round some .one or other of
it in the evening, getting brighter: and brighter, those suns which we call "stars," but if so, we can
slowly, for the first seven months, and then getting never know that such sister-worlds exist, for no
fainter much Inori quic:i1-, until at last you lose telescope could ever be made which would show
sight of it. In about a fortnight you see it as a them to us;
morning star, getting brighter and brighter quickly And as Venus is the earth's sister-world, so is
during rather more than a month, and then getting she her nearest neighbor, except the moon, which
slowly fainter and fainter during seven months, is the earth's constant companion. The globes
after which it can no more be seen. So that it which form the sun's family, go round him in paths
shines about eight months as a morning star. which lie nearly in 'the same level. Venus is the
After this it remains out of sight for about two second in order of distance, our earth the third,
months, and is then seen as an evening star. And and Mars (a bright red body, of which you will
so it goes on changing from a morning to an even- see a good deal next year) is the fourth. So that
ing star, and from an evening star to a morning Mars is our next neighbor on the outside, and
star continually, and always changing in bright- Venus our next neighbor on the inside; but the
ness in the way just described. path of Venus lies nearer to ours than that of Mars.
The star which shows these strange changes is Fig. I shows the shape and size of the paths of
called by astronomers Venus, and is the most Venus and the earth, s being the sun, the inside
beautiful of all the stars. Venus was called the circle (with eight little globes shown upon it) being
Planet of Love; and in old times, when men the path of Venus, and the outside circle the path
thought that the stars rule our fortunes, the rays of the earth. The earth takes a year going round


1876.1






THE MORNING AND EVENING STAR.


her path, while Venus goes round hers in about
seven months and a half, so that just as the two
hands of a clock going round at different rates
come together at regular intervals, so Venus and
the earth come at regular intervals on a line with
the sun, as shown at E and V, in Fig. I. But it
will be easier to see what changes must happen in
the appearance of Venus, if we suppose the earth
to stay still as at E, and Venus to go round from


side toward the earth, and looks like 4. At this
time she looks much brighter than when she was
on any part of the path from V, to V,. But now
she draws up to the place v5 where her dark side is
turned fully toward the earth. Her face is like
the horned moon during this part of her course,
but grows larger and larger, until when she is at
v5 it would be as large as 5 in Fig. 2, if it could be
seen. But at this time it is out of sight, just as


FIGURE I.


the position v, to all the other places v,, v3, etc.,
shown in the figure. It takes her about nineteen
months to get through all these changes. When
she is at V, she is very far away, as the figure
shows. Her bright face-that is, the face the
sun shines on-is turned toward the earth full
front, and the face she shows is therefore like I in
Fig. 2. She goes on to v2, drawing nearer, and
turning a small part of her dark half toward the
earth; so she looks as 2, Fig. 2. At vs she is
still nearer, and turns still more of her dark half
toward the earth; looking like 3, Fig. 2. At
v4 she turns rather more than half her dark


the moon is before she shows as a new moon.
Afterward Venus goes through the same changes,
but in the reverse order, getting smaller and smaller,
but turning more and more of her bright face
toward us, as shown at 6, 7, 8 and I, Fig. 2. If
you remember that Venus takes nineteen months
in passing through all these changes, you will see
how it is that for about seven months she gets
brighter and brighter as an evening star (this is
while she is moving from near v, to V4). She then
continues about a month more as an evening star,
but growing fainter (while she is moving from V4 to
near v,). After this she becomes a morning star,


752


[OCTOBER,







THE MORNING AND EVENING STAR.


growing brighter for a month or so (while she is
moving from near Vs to v6). And lastly, for eight
months more, remaining a morning star, she gets
gradually fainter (while she is moving from v, to v,).
When you look at Venus without a telescope,
she always looks like a bright point of light, be-
cause she is so far away. But with a telescope,
even a small one', the changes of shape and size
shown in Fig. 2 can be easily seen. They were
first seen by Galileo, the great Italian astronomer,
in the year 16io. If we could only see Venus's
bright face instead of her dark one, when she is
nearest to us, we could learn more about her; but
as it is, Venus cannot be seen at all when nearest,
and the more of her bright face she turns toward
us the farther away she gets. Yet we have learned
some things about her which are very curious, and
a few which no one ever could have thought we


PART II.
IN the first part of this article, I have given an
account of the various changes of appearance pre-
sented by the beautiful star which sometimes shines
as Hesperus, the star of evening, and sometimes
as Lucifer, the morning star. Let us now consider
what this star really is, so far, at least, as we can
learn by using telescopes and other instruments.
Venus has, in the first place, been measured,
and we find that she is a globe nearly as large as
the earth. Like the earth, she travels round and
round the sun continually, but not in the same time
as the earth. The earth goes round the sun once
in twelve months, while Venus goes round once in
about seven and a half months; so that her year,
the time in which the seasons run through their
changes, is four and a half months less than ours.
If Venus has four seasons like ours,-spring, sum-


FIGURE 2.


should know. Venus looks very beautiful to us,
but our earth must look far more beautiful to
creatures living on Venus. For if you look at
Fig. I, you will see that when Venus is nearest
to the earth, and turns her dark side to the earth,
the earth turns her bright face to Venus.
Now if Venus looks so bright as she does when
only turning toward us a small half-face like
4 or 6 (Fig. 2), and when shining on a bright
sky, how glorious must the earth appear when
turning a bright disc as large as 5 (Fig. 2), to-
ward Venus, and shining on a black sky. For,
observe,-when Venus is at V,, Fig. I, the earth
E is on that side of her which is just opposite the
sun. The earth is therefore seen at midnight. So
that beautiful as our sister world looks to us, our
own world looks still more beautiful to Venus. It
shines at midnight in her sky as a star far brighter
than our star of morning and evening, and close
by it the moon must be quite clearly seen, now on
one side, now'on the other. One cannot but won-
der whether there are creatures on Venus who
admire this beautiful sight in their skies, or try to
find out if that distant world, our own earth, is the
abode of other living creatures.


mer, autumn, and winter,-each of these seasons
lasts eight weeks. Venus-also, like our earth, turns
on her axis, and so has night and day as we have.
Her day is not quite so long as ours, but the differ-
ence-about twenty-five minutes-is not very im-
portant.
So far there is nothing- in what we have learned
about Venus which does not agree well with the
idea that the planet is a world like our earth, where
people like ourselves might live very comfortably.
For it would not matter much to us, probably, if
the year were shortened by four or five months,
and the day by half an hour-supposing always
that trees and vegetables were so made that they
could thrive under the change. In fact, if anyone
leaves the temperate regions to visit the tropics, he
has to undergo a greater change. For here in
England (where I am writing), and throughout the
United States, the seasons change from the heat of
summer to the cold of winter, and back again to
the heat of summer, in twelve months; but at the
equator, the greatest heat occurs in spring and
autumn, or at intervals of only six months. So far
as the length of the year is concerned, an American
or an Englishman could very well bear the change






754


THE MORNING AND EVENING STAR.


[OCTOBEI


to the temperate zone, of Venus, where the interval would be a miserable home for us if, her path were
between the successive seasons of greatest heat as close to the sun as that of Venus..
amounts to seven and a half months. We see, then, that either there must be some
But when we consider some other points, we see peculiarities about Venus which prevent the sun


that Venus, beautiful though she looks, would not
be a comfortable home for us. In the first place,
we know that if we draw nearer to a fire we get
more heat from it. Now Venus is much nearer to
the sun-the great fire of the solar system-than
our earth is. She receives, then, much more heat
from him. In fact, it is easily calculated that if our
earth were set traveling on the path of Venus, we
should receive almost exactly twice as much heat
from the sun as we do at present. This'would be
unbearable, except, perhaps, in the polar regions;
and even there the summer, with that tremendous
sun above the horizon all through the twenty-four
hours, would be scarcely bearable. Besides, what
a contrast between the hot polar summer and the
cold polar winter, when for weeks together the sun
would not be seen at all. Altogether, this earth


from heating people there as he would certainly
heat us if our home were there, or else the creatures
which live on Venus must be different from our-
selves and the other animal inhabitants of our earth.
Unfortunately, we cannot make telescopes large
enough to show us what is going on upon that
planet, and there is no reason for hoping that such
telescopes can ever be made. What we know,
however, about the planet's condition does not seem
to show that creatures living there would be more
comfortable than we should be if the earth were
put where Venus is. Just the contrary, so far as
we can judge. You know that the seasons on our
earth are caused by the fact that she turns on a
slanted axis. If her axis were upright, there would
be no seasons; if it were more slanted, the con-
trast between summer and winter would be greater.







THE MORNING AND EVENING STAR.


Now Venus has her axis much more slanted than
the earth's, so that her seasons must be very marked
indeed. Thus the heat of her summer weather
must be even more terrible than we thought just
now.
But there is yet another point to be noticed.
You know that on the upper slopes of lofty mount-
ains, there is snow all the year round, even in the
torrid zone. That is because the air up there is so
rare that it does not act like the denser air lower
down, which is a sort of clothing for the earth,
keeping the heat from escaping. Now if the air
of Venus were very rare, something of the same
sort might happen on that planet. Just as people.
who live in torrid zones seek the high mountain
slopes in the hottest seasons of the year, and find
there a temperate climate, so the inhabitants of
Venus might find it possible to bear the sun's in-
tense heat if the air of the planet were rare like
that above the snow-line in our mountain regions.
But it seems that, on the contrary, the air of
Venus is even denser than ours. And it seems also
to be a moist air, which is just the kind of air that
keeps the heat in most. The air of Venus is, in
fact, so dense and moist that it must be very un-
comfortable to live in, quite apart from the intense
heat; that is to say, it would be very uncomfort-
able for creatures like ourselves.
You will ask, however, how it can possibly be
known that the air of Venus is dense. And you
will wonder still more how astronomers can pretend
to know that the air is moist. If no telescope can
show living creatures on the planet, how can the
planet's air be seen, and how can it be known
whether the air is dense or rare, wet or dry?
Although I cannot explain to you exactly how this
has been found out (because to understand it you
would have to study several rather dry books), I


the sun at regular intervals of about nineteen and a
half months. Sometimes when this happens, she
can be seen with a telescope crossing the sun's face,
as shown in Fig. 3, where A is the black body of
the planet entering on the sun's face, s; B is the
planet in the middle of its path on the sun's face;
and c is the planet passing off the sun's face. This
happened on December 9, 1874, and will happen
again on December 6, 1882, in such a way that
every one in America will be able to see Venus on
the sun, if the weather is clear.
Now, last December, when the planet was as at
A, a bright arc of light was seen round the part of
the planet which had not yet entered upon the
sun's face. This arc was not a mere faint light,
but strong sunlight. When the planet was as at c,
a similar arc of light was seen, as shown in Fig. 3.
There is only one way in which this arc of light
can be accounted for, and that is by the action of
air upon Venus bending the sun's rays, as shown
in the second picture of Fig. 4, so that the sun is
seen round the corner. Our air shows. us the sun
in this way, when he would be quite out of sight if
there were no air; for when you see the sun's disc
just touching the horizon, it is the air which really
brings him into view, by bending his rays round
the curved surface of the earth.
So we are quite certain that there is air of some
kind on Venus. And we can even tell how much
there is. Your countryman, Professor Lyman, has
made observations of this kind (not exactly the
same as are illustrated in Fig. 3, but depending
upon the same bending power of the air on rays
of light); and from what he has seen, it appears
that the air on Venus is about twice as dense as the
air on the earth.
But how can it possibly be shown that the air of
Venus is moist? Why, if you remember that the


*_____ -












FIGURE 4.
can tell you enough to show how it is possible for sunlight has passed through that air, you will un-
astronomers to find out these things. derstand that this light when it comes to us may
From what was explained in the first part, you tell us what sort of air it has passed through. In
could see that Venus comes between the earth and the first picture of. Fig. 4 there is shown an eye, a


755








756 DICK HARDIN IN PHILADELPHIA. [OCTOBER,


tumbler with liquid in it, and a light. If the liquid
is water, and a few drops of wine are added to it,.
the eye immediately perceives that the liquid has
become faintly colored; and you can easily see that
this does not depend on the distance of the tumbler
and the light. So long, at least, as the light reaches
the eye, it can convey its message, telling the eye
that some colored fluid has been added to the
water. Now there is an instrument called the spec-
troscope, by means of which the eye could not only
learn this, but also precisely what fluid had been
added. Consider, then, the second picture of Fig. 4.
Here we have the eye as before, Venus with her
air all round her instead of the tumbler of water,
and the sun instead of the lamp. Can you not
now understand that if there is moisture in the
heavy air of Venus, the eye, properly armed with a
spectroscope and a telescope, can learn the fact
from the sun's rays which have passed through that
air ? That is what astronomers actually did last
December, when the globe of Venus was passing,


as in Fig. 3, between our earth and the sun.
There cannot be moisture in the air of a planet
unless there are seas and oceans on the planet's
surface. No doubt, then, Venus has her continents
and oceans, her islands and promontories, and in-
land seas and lakes, very much as our earth has.
Then there must be rivers on the land and currents
in the ocean; there must be clouds and rain, wind
and storm, thunder and lightning, and perhaps
snow and hail.
Whether the planet is an inhabited world or not,
it would be difficult to say. Perhaps it is a world
getting ready for use as a home for living creatures.
Some astronomers think that the sun is gradually
parting with his heat. If, millions of years hence,
the sun should only give out half.as much heat as
now, perhaps Venus would be as comfortable a place
to live in as our earth is now. That may seem to
us a long time for a planet to wait, but it is.not long
to Him in whose eyes "one day is as a thousand
years, and a thousand years are as one day."


DICK HARDIN IN PHILADELPHIA.

BY LucY S. RIDER.


Philadelphia, March 28, 1876.
DEAR MOTHER: We got here. I like to live
here. We went into a sleeping-car, and a black
man let down a little cupboard, and made a bed in
it. I slept in a top cupboard, and Uncle Ben down
below. It had sheets just like a bed, only you
bumped your head pretty often.
I climbed up. It was worse than a tree. There
was a lady, and she had to sleep up high too. She
did n't climb. The man brought some stairs, and
she went to the top and worked herself in.
There was a little baby, and it cried worse than
Tooty, and some man snored, and my bed joggled,
and I thought I'd sleep with Uncle Ben. His bed
did n't joggle. He is never afraid.
There is a horse-car in New York, and we rode
in it. It has bells. A man can stop it any time.
I can stop it. The other teams get on the track
too, but the driver has a Awhistle, and the other
man gets off.
A man comes in, and everybody gives him some
money. He has a silver thing that rings to make
him honest. Uncle Ben says he would like to put
one on some folks. May be he will give me one.
The women come in, and stop and. look at some


man, and he stands up and she sits down, except
the ones with an old bonnet on.
There is a road called Broadway. There is no
grass. There is a stone floor and folks, and teams,
like going home from meeting.
Uncle Ben showed me the house where they
make my ST. NICHOLAS. It is a big house. Mr.
Scribner lives in it. I saw his name 'way up on
top in gold letters. It says Scribner and Co."
That means him and company. He has got lots
of books.
Every little while there is a big man in the road,
with a blue coat- on, and a round stick as long as
my leg, and he is a policeman, and he walks up
and down, and everybody has to do just as he says.
He walks across the road with the ladies, and they
are not afraid. He has a silver star on his coat,
and a belt with a silver buckle, and silver buttons.
I am going to be a policeman after I get through
college. Your son, .
DICKERSON HARDIN.

Philadelphia, Afril 8, 1876.
DEAR MOTHER: I am well. Aunt Martha is
well, and Willie is well too. Willie wears shirts


756


DICK HARDIN IN


PHILADELPHIA.


[OCTOBER,






DICK HARDIN AT PHILADELPHIA.


and collars just like Uncle Ben, and neck-ties. He
gave me a neck-tie. They have stiff bosoms in
them. They do not have to be made. Aunt
Martha buys them at the store. I wish I had a
shiny shirt to wear with my neck-tie.
They have all brick houses here, with white
boards for blinds. It makes it night inside when
you shut them up. They do not pump up the
water. It comes out in pipes, like my squirt-gun,
only bigger, and more fun. It makes it fly half-a-
mile, I guess.
There is a woman with a big dish on her head.


* HE IS A POLICEMAN (I DREW THIS LAST TIME)."


She walks fast, and does not hold it on, but it stays
on. She sings a kind of song that says,
"Shadow! shadow!
Nice, fresh shadow!"

and that means that she has some shad to sell, and
Hannah buys some.
There are men too, but they have a cart and a
horse instead of their head, and they sing a kind
of tune too, but you can't tell what they say pretty
often.
Aunt M. (for Martha) thinks she will write you
the letter next week. She s'poses that will be
keeping my promise, and because this is a long
one too. Willie don't like to write letters. I tell
him I guess he would write letters if his mother let


him come to the Centennial. Then he said you
was a jolly good woman, anyway.
He'd better believe. Your son,
DICK HAR
P. S.-There was n't room for the rest of the
name, but I thought you would remember.


Philadelphkia, April22, z876.
DEAR MOTHER: Me and Willie went down to
the Independence Hall. Aunt Martha says that is
where they made the first Fourth of July.
There is a marble statute before the house that
stands for George Washington. He is leaning onto
a stump, and has holes cut in his eyes. There is a
gold fence in the room, to keep folks from touching
the things. There is a table with seven drawers,
and a big old chair, and some other chairs, and
they signed it on it.
There was a man behind the fence. I think he
was a-general. He had gold spectacles.
There was more 'n a hundred pictures on the
wall, and two flags. One was yellow, and they had
that on the ships; and one was red and white, and
that was on the land; and there was a snake on
them, and he said, "Don't tread on me." Benja-
min Franklin was in a gold frame on the wall.
There is another man up over him, in his shirt-
sleeves, because he is a minister; and another man
with his trousers tucked into his stockings. They
are very tight. There is a sofa that Washington
had; but nobody cannot sit on it. It looks hard.
May be it was softer then. We saw the big bell. It
has a crack and some Bible on it. The man behind
the fence had some wood bells to sell. They had
a crack too, but the tongue was gold. I wanted to
buy one for Tooty, but we did not have enough.
Your son, D. HARDIN.
P. S.-We had only 33.

May 12, 1876.
DEAR MOTHER: It has opened. There is a
yellow place to go in, and a little hole to drop the
money in, and a thing that goes around.
There is a tall thing too that goes around when
the folks want to go out. It has arms, and you are
afraid it will catch you.
I went in. I heard the band, and that was the
parade. Uncle Ben put me on a ladder, and I
saw it. The sash was blue, and the men looked
splendid with the red tassels on them.
President Grant came first, with a lady, and she
bowed to the people; and then Mrs. Grant came,
and then some generals, and then some men with
hats made of fur, about as high as Tooty. There
was a muddy place, and they talked and some folks
sung, and they shot off some guns and bells that


1876.]






AT PHILADELPHIA.


opened it. Then they went to another place, and
the President pulled something, and it hissed, and
all the machinery began to go, and it made a great
noise. So good-bye. Your son,
DICKERSON H.

May 25th, 1876.
DEAR MOTHER: Me and Willie go up to the
Centennial every Saturday, all alone. Men never
get lost, but little boys
get lost. We never get
lost. There is a long
place, and that is the
Main Building. It has
flags on it. Every
house has flags on it.
There is a gold monu-
ment in the M. B.
"HE GAVE ME A NECKTIE." (you know what that
means), and it says it was dug in five years, and
it is sixty-five tons, and you must not touch it.
There is lots of policemen, and there is a red stripe
in their trouser-legs, and they don't have to pay
to go in.
I drew this picture of Willie and me last month,
but did n't put it in the letter.
I saw a cane that had a little gold man on the
top of it. There was some chickens' feet with gold
on them, to pin a shawl with, and a real goat's
head with a hole in the top to put snuff in. Uncle
Ben says snuff is good for goat's heads.
There was a bear, and he was stuffed and stood
up straight, and held a tray, and said he was a
dumb waiter on the card; but I guess he could
growl once.
There is a organ that plays by turning a handle.
I think we might sell the piano and get one. You
don't have to learn to play on it; you just turn the
handle. It has little things that hop up on the
under-side to make the music. The man plays a
beautiful tune. I could play a beautiful tune if I
had it. The man said so.
There is a little silver boy on horseback, and he
pours a drop of water out of a silver cup all the
time. Everybody holds their handkerchiefs under
it, and then it smells sweet.
Your boy, D. H.
P. S.-How is the baby?

June 2, 1876.
DEAR MOTHER: There is a Remorial Hall, with
a woman on the top, and some eagles. There is a
soldier and two black horses in front, up on a
block, with a woman on one side, and a wing on
the other, and a big tail. She is big.
There are statutes inside. There are some
people without any clothes on. There is Washing-


ton, but he is cut off, so he has n't got any legs;
and there is a little boy that has pounded his fin-
gers. There is a little horse, and a man came and
said, "Where is the lady that belongs to that-little
horse ?" But she had gone. There is a room full
of old dirty heads and things that were dug up.
The folks hold a telescope up to their eyes. It has
two round places, and you look through. There
are 'bout a million pictures, and you must not
point a stick,at them; it says so, or you'll get
'rested. There are some boots made of a alligator
Skin. A alligator is a snake. There is one in a
glass box. There are some whales too. When
they are little the mouth reaches almost to his tail,
but when they grow big it is smaller. There are
some folks that have shot a elk. They- stand up
and have guns, but they are not real folks. There
is a fountain where four women hold a dish on their
heads, and there is another fountain made out of
snakes. The snakes hold their heads down, and
the water comes out of their mouths, and squirts
back. They are pretty, so good-bye.
Your son, D. H.
P. S.-They are not alive.

Philadelphia, June 16, 1876.
DEAR MOTHER: I am glad you are coming.
Bring Tooty and bring the money in my bank.
There is a Japanese place, and there is some turtles
in a glass box, and I am going to buy one. They
cost 25 cents, and they stick out their heads and
feet and tail. There are canes for 20 cents. They
are very good for a young man. The Japanese
folks have funny eyes, and don't talk very well. I
know one. He asked me what was my name, and
I asked him what was his, but I don't remember.
They have little things
that stick their tongue out
at folks. They are 15
cents. I asked him if he
wanted another clerk, but
he did not. There is a
old woman churning and
a man whipping a horse; 0
but they are only toys. I C
think they might do for
Tooty. There is a meter
that fell down out of the
sky. It is a black stone. MES YOU AT.
There is a looking-glass
that makes you fat. My legs are as short as
Tooty's, but big around, and I step about two miles
it looks like. I'11 put in a picture I made of it.
There is only a little more about it, and I guess
Aunt Martha will write that. I got your letter.
Your son, .D. HARDIN.
P. S.-Please don't forget the money in my bank.


DICK HARDIN


[OcToBER,






WINDSOR CASTLE.


WINDSOR CASTLE.

BI MRS. OLIPHANT.


CHAPTER VI.
QUEEN VICTORIA.
IF you have been at all interested in the history
of English rulers past and gone, who have each
had their day in the old Castle of Windsor, and
lent interest to its gray walls, I do not doubt that
you will feel an equal, or perhaps even a warmer,
interest in hearing something about their present
representative, that lady whom we in England call


a picture in the Castle, which, although not a very
good picture, catches the eye from this interest of
subject merely. It is called The Queen's First
Council." There she sits, the young girl of eighteen,
very simple, simpler in the girlish dress of that pe-
riod than any girl of eighteen looks nowadays, in the
midst of the grave circle of experienced statesmen,
looking so young, so innocent, so unlike the rest,
that it is impossible not to be touched by the sight.
That is a long time ago, and it is said now that


W FROM THE NORTH TRRACE-THE VALLEY OF THE THAMES.
VIEW FROM THE NORTH TERRACE--THE VALLEY OF THE THAMES.


Our Sovereign Lady, Queen Victoria, and whom
everybody has heard of all over the world, not only
as a great queen, but as a good woman. The
Queen is one of those fortunate persons to whom
the world does full justice, a thing which does not
always happen even to good people. Some, indeed,
who do not take the popular fancy, never get justice
done them at all, until, perhaps, some enthusiast
arises who searches out the record and sets them in
their right place ; but the Queen, perhaps because
of the interest of her position when she first suc-
ceeded to the throne, has always been appreciated.
Her position was so interesting that it was not
wonderful if all spectators were attracted. There is


among the statesmen of the present day there are
few so experienced or so judicious as the Queen,
who has won that name for herself by the attention
she has always given to public business, and the
long training she has had under the best masters;
and, perhaps, by the cool head and clear intelli-
gence which is in the Coburg family, to which she
belongs by the mother's side. Queen Victoria was
born in the year 1819, in the month of May, the
only child of George III.'s fourth son, the Duke of
Kent. Curiously enough, of all that large family,
seven sons and several daughters, there are very
few immediate representatives left in the world.
George IV. had but one daughter, the Princess


759


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WINDSOR CASTLE.


Charlotte, who died very sadly, poor young soul,
. in the height of her happiness, a young wife, her
little baby dying with her. William IV., who suc-
ceeded him, had two daughters, who died in their
infancy; so you see that Providence, one way or
another, had determined upon a queen for us.
I wish I had time to tell you about the old
king, George III., who had more to do with Wind-
sor Castle than almost, any of his predecessors;
and, indeed, he had a great deal to do with you
also-for, I suppose, it was his obstinacy more
than anything else which enraged the great
American colony, and prompted your grandfathers
to make that stand for independence and separa-
tion from the mother country which has ended
in your great republican America. So that you
ought to have more interest than usual in good


THE LITTLE VICTORIA.


old virtuous, narrow-minded, stubborn "Farmer
George," who lived in princely Windsor, like an
honest country squire, a good, dull, happy, domes-
tic life, and gossiped and poked about everywhere
-meddling, friendly, troublesome and kind; with
a -great many sons and daughters, and a good,
plain, homely wife. Gainsborough painted Queen
Charlotte and her daughters with powdered hair
and simple smiles on their faces, plain women,
but with natural, friendly looks; and they all lived
together in Windsor, and did needle-work in the
evenings, and yawned a good deal, and had grave,
beautiful concerts of Handel's music for their only
amusement. Poor Princesses The music was
beautiful, but I fear they were very dull as they sat
round the table and "knotted," which was the
fancy-work of the time. Their brothers went out
into the world and amused themselves, and were


not good at all; but Princess Augusta, and Princess
Sophia, and the rest, were very good and had very
little amusement.
All at once, however, this dull, royal, domestic
drama turned into a tragedy. The good father
went mad, the family broke up, and Windsor Castle
was made into a kind of prison, through which
this poor, old, crazed King went roaming in melan-
choly distraction, sometimes drawing long wailing
notes out of his organ, moping about the great,
old, vacant suites of rooms where he was left to
himself. Nothing could be more pitiful than this
family story. When King George was young and
his children were little, he used to take them all out
to walk on the Slopes-such a train of them in their
elaborate dresses, with high-heeled shoes and hoops,
little swords at the little princes' sides, and cocked
hats; and the princesses with funny little mobcaps
upon their powdered heads. And the people came
from far and near to look at them and make their
bows and courtesies to the royal family, all friendly
and smiling. That was in the beginning of his
career, when he was King of America too, and all
your grandfathers were our fellow-subjects. But
fancy what a sad change there was when this old,
mad king, like Shakspeare's King Lear, was left
alone, his family all gone away from him, the little
princes turned into bad, unkind men, the dutiful
daughters dispersed, and he alone wandering with
wild eyes and long white beard through the deserted
rooms, bewildered and crazed and knowing nothing
except that he was miserable. Poor old, foolish,
friendly King George He was never a great or
dignified king; but when he went mad, the sacred-
ness of great misfortune and sorrow came upon
him, and you may fancy how melancholy our
Castle looked when all the life was thus hushed
out of it, and only this melancholy, wild-eyed,
white-bearded old man was left in his madness
there.
However, all that was changed before Queen
Victoria's time. King George III.'s family had
almost died away, surviving only in the persons of
two respectable, not very clever old gentlemen, and,
some old ladies, when the: little princess came to
the throne. There is a pretty story told by her
governess, which was published not very long ago,
and which I am sure you will be pleased to hear,
of how this little girl of twelve summers felt when
she found out quite suddenly that she was to be the
Queen. It is in a letter addressed to Queen Vic-
toria herself.
"I said to the Duchess of Kent that your Majesty ought to know
your place in the succession. Her Royal Highness agreed with me,
and I put the genealogical table into the historical book. When Mr.
Davys [the Queen's instructor, afterward Bishop of Peterborough,
was gone, the Princess Victoria opened, as usual, the book again,
and seeing the additional paper, said, 'I never saw that before.' It


76o


[OCTOBER,







WINDSOR CASTLE.


was not thought necessary you should, Princess,' I answered. 'I Is not this a pretty story ? Cannot you fancy
see I am nearer the throne than I thought.' 'So it is, madam,' I the little girl, overawed by the great thought of
said. After some moments the Princess resumed: 'Now, many a
child would boast, but they don't know the difficulty. Thereis much being a queen, and understanding how wonderful
splendor, but there is more responsibility.' The Princess having it was, yet finding nothing more solemn to say in

/~a~* Y YYXY I;"-al.


THE PRINCESS VICTORIA WHEN FIRST TOLD THAT SHE WAS TO BECOME QUEEN


lifted up the forefinger of her right hand while'she spoke, gave me
that little hand, saying, I will be good. I understand now why you
urged me so much to learn even Latin. My cousins Augusta and
Mary never did; but you told me Latin is the foundation of English
grammar, and of all the elegant expressions, and I learned it as you
wished; but I understand all better now,' and the Princess gave me
her hand, repeating, 'I will be good' "
VOL. III.-51.


her simplicity (and, indeed, if she had searched the
world for elegant expressions, what could she have
found better?) than those dear child's-words I
will be good I thipk there could not be a more
charming little historical scene. I cried mud







WINDSOR CASTLE.


on learning it," is the note which the Queen's hand
writes on the margin. No doubt the little maiden
was frightened into seriousness and drew her breath
quick when she first knew what was before her-
Queen of an empire upon which, as we are fond
of saying, the sun never sets "-yet only twelve
years old, a little girl in a white frock, with big
blue eyes opening wide with wonder. Think how
you would feel who are the same age, if anything a
tenth part as wonderful were told to you !
Princess Victoria was but eighteen when her
uncle William IV. died, and she became -:Lul .I..
Queen of England. We are very steady-going


marked anywhere had she been only Miss Victoria.
She had not much color in her youth; and it was a
time of simplicity, as you will see by the portrait,
when girls wore their pretty hair in a natural way
without swelling it out by artificial means, or build-
ing it up like towers on their heads, and when their
dresses were very simple, almost childish in their
plainness. All this increased the sentiment of
youth and naturalness and innocence in the little
Queen; but I remember very distinctly when I
saw her first, being myself very young, how the
calm, full look of her eyes impressed and affected
me. She was then a young mother and approach-


r2 _[2 : -_', ,1,'. .
II 'J '. I
r -




PARE .ENTRANCE_ TO I3OCKINOEA- --, AL-,NLiONDON

-:-.--_= _.- _=,--------------




PARK ENTRANCE TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE, IN LONDON.


people, you know, in the British Islands, and don't
excite ourselves easily; but if the country had not
been smitten with some enthusiasm for this young,
slight creature, with those royal blue eyes looking
full and fearless upon all the world, Englishmen
would not have been what they are. You may
fancy how touched and fatherly the statesmen felt
who had to submit all their plans to her, and get
her girlish approbation, and watch her first steps
in life. Lord Melbourne, who was the Prime Min-
ister then, had "tears in his eyes," we are told,
several times, as he watched her. I do not suppose
the Queen was ever beautiful, though that is a word
which is used to describe many persons whose
features would not bear any severe test of beauty;
but yet her face was one which you would have re-


ing the maturity of womanhood. Those eyes were
very blue, serene, still-looking at you with a
tranquil breadth of expression which somehow con-
veyed to your mind a feeling of unquestioned
power and greatness, quite poetical in its serious
simplicity. I do not suppose she was at all aware
of this, for the Queen does not take credit for being
so calmly royal; but this was how she looked to a
fanciful girl seeing Her Majesty for the first time.
And then after the beginning, so full of touching
interest, there came to this little maiden on the
throne the prettiest simple love-story. The Queen
has told it herself with touching and tender simplic-
ity to her people, whose sympathy she was sure of,
as a mother might tell her children, with tears and
smiles, how their dead father wooed her. A queen


[OCTOBER,







WINDSOR CASTLE. 763


is so separated, so isolated, without equals like the
rest of us, that when her heart is full you can fancy
what a relief it must be to her to say it out to all
her kindly people-the women who have loved like
herself and wept like .herself, and all the unknown
friends whom she is more sure of than almost any
one else can be. Poets do the same. Many of the
best books and the finest poems ever written have
been more or less a secret appeal to those unknown
friends, those hearts which can understand and
sympathize. The books which Queen Victoria has
published, or sanctioned the publication of, are
like this. She has no doubt of our tender friend-
ship for her, our Queen, nor that we will be ready
to take an interest in all that has happened to her;
so, now that her individual romance is over, she has
taken us all into her confidence, as it seems so
natural that she should do, but as perhaps no one
else ever did before. Therefore, without any breach
of privacy, as she has herself told it, I can give you
an account of this romance as it happened six and
thirty years ago.
Just three months after Princess Victoria was
born, another child came into the world, who was
her cousin, the son of her mother's brother, Prince
Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, a pretty, gentle boy,
who grew into one of the best and most blameless
of men. He was not born to such great fortunes
as the little Victoria, but he belonged to one of the
wisest and most able families existing, and before he
and his cousin were more than children, it began to
enter into the minds of the fathers and mothers, and
still more of the wise uncle, Leopold, who was King
of the Belgians, that here was a pair who would be
each other's fit helpmates, and would make a per-
fect marriage. They did not say very much about it,
but they educated the young Prince as carefully as
they were educating the young Princess, and taught
him to think of life as something noble and serious,
to be used for the good of his fellow-creatures, and
not merely for pleasure to himself. When he was
grown up and had become a handsome young man,
he went to England to visit his aunt, who was Prin-
cess Victoria's mother. And there these two met,
young,. blooming, hopeful creatures, both of them
loving everything, as St. Paul says, that was hon-
est and lovely and of good report; fond of music,
fond of art, and deeply touched with a sense of
their own responsibilities and the high duty to
which they were born. They met, unconscious of
the plans that had been formed when they were in
their cradles, and made each other's acquaintance
in the frank and simple intercourse of relationship.
At that moment, though destined to such great
fortunes, they were but a boy and girl together. In
the meantime, however, contrary to the usual rule,
it was the girl upon whom the more serious weight


of life fell first. The youth went away to travel
and study; the little maiden, modest and awe-
stricken, yet brave in her deep sense of the respon-
sibility of this honor to which she was born, had to
mount the steps of the throne and seat herself there,
all tremulous in grandeur and solitude, at an age
when the biggest event that happens to most girls
is a first ball! Her dearest friends, even her mother,
had all to be left a step behind, below that lonely
eminence. The ordinary rules of a girl's life, the
sweet dependence, the support and control which
keeps youth safe and.blessed, have all to be reversed
and changed when the girl is a reigning queen.
And this made the strangest change in the pre-
liminaries of the romance that followed. Her
cousin, Albert, who had kept a tender thought for
Victoria in his heart, sending her now a flower,
now a little picture, as he wandered about in Switz-
erland and Italy, through those thousand places
where every one longs to go, came back three years
after to England, with more definite hopes in his
mind. And on her side the young sovereign had
been pondering. She had made up her mind, she
thought, not to marry, at least for the time. She
was so young still, just twenty, and though she had
begun to feel that it was a hard task to be a queen,
and that of all chilly and unkindly seats there was
none so lonely and cold as a throne, yet she was
coy, as a girl has a right to be, and would not
marry-not yet-not till she was older. So she
said, and so, no doubt, she thought; and the lover-
cousin came with his heart beating, but no words
to plead his suit with, for what was he, a poor young
German prince, her uncle's second son, to offer
love to a queen? How it happened I cannot tell,
but strangely enough, the Queen's unwillingness to
marry all melted away like frost under the sunshine
when this fair-haired young knight came into her
enchanted palace. She did not say another word
about being so young. But then there ensued a
tremulous moment of uncertainty. It was her part,
not his, to say the word vhich should make all clear
between them, and you may suppose how the young
Queen faltered and trembled over that necessary
advance. At last-all the spectators about, you may
be sure, watching with breathless interest-Prince
Albert was told that the Queen wanted to see him.
How it came about exactly only the two know who
were most concerned, but it did not take long to
settle matters.- These last few days have passed
like a dream to me," the Queen wrote to her uncle
after this agitating moment was over. "I am so
much bewildered by it all that I hardly know how
to write; but I do feel very happy." As for the
young lover, he struck, as he ought, a bolder note.
"The eyes see heaven open. The heart is drowned
in blessedness," he writes, quoting Schiller, his










favorite poet. And how bright was all the world After a while the house began to fill, and little feet
around them-the October sun still warm, the of children went pattering about the galleries and
woods all green, yet touched with autumn, mists towers. Victoria plays with my old bricks, and I
of sweet completion and harvest fullness, softening see her running and jumping-as old, though I


_- .. '.9- -_ ----
.-- 'v ',y".^ '^ *: -,-' -, ... .
.: .. .
" -.- .J '.'-* -- --


-<'I







.4
I A


VIEW OF OSBORNE HOUSE.


the outlines of the broad, warm, sunny landscape !
For it was at our old Windsor that all this pretty
romance took place, and the royal lady offered her
shy hand, all tremulous in sweet agitation and trou-
ble, to the eager lover who dared not ask for it.
The old Castle ought to have looked the brighter
ever after for such a pretty scene.
And after they were married, with all the pomp
and joy that you can imagine, all London turning
out to see them, and people crowding along the
whole twenty miles of road to watch for the car-
riages coming, it was in Windsor that they passed
the few short days of happy seclusion which was all
that could be permitted to a royal bride. Those
gray, ancient towers, that had seen so many royal
races, became a real home, with the happy young
pair coming and going, Her Majesty learning to
get up early in the morning (which, with artless
girlish regret, she tells us had not been a habit of
hers), and taking delightful walks in the park,
brushing the dew from the grass, and finding out
day by day how sweet life was, and love and kind
companionship. "At Windsor the Prince was in
his element," we are told. I feel," were his own
words, "as if in Paradise in this fine fresh air."


fear still little, Victoria of former days used to do,"
says the Queen. They had plenty of work, the
two young people,-for you must not think that if
a woman is idle the trade of Queen will suit her,-
as they had a great deal to do and a great many
troubles and annoyances to put up with, as people
have everywhere, whether they be great or small;
but God was very good to them and they were very
happy. The house grew fuller and fuller with boys
and girls, all smiling and strong, and St. George's
has never looked more beautiful and splendid than
when everything was brightened up for the chris-
tening of the heir of England, the Prince of Wales,
who now, you know, has an heir of his own. The
Queen's little boys and girls were perhaps not so
quaint as George III.'s funny little princes and prin-
cesses in their cocked hats and hoops, but you may
imagine how merry and howbright theymade Wind-
sor, and how the strangers and visitors, who are
always coming to see our old Castle, rushed to get
sight of the children, and liked to hear how well
looked after they were, and what good, careful
parents were the young Queen and young Prince.
I should not wonder if you too liked to hear about
those children, who were just like yourselves except


WINDSOR CASTLE.


[OCTOBER,


~-~-~-~-~-
~~1~~-;,_~--~_~I. i-;~;;~;~;~- ~~~~; ~-~I
----------- ---~;~-~;
---~ ;-
------- -;--







1876.] WINDSOR CASTLE.


that they were princes and princesses. The Queen
tells us a great deal about the Princess Royal, she
who one day will be Empress of Germany, when
she was quite a little girl-how good "Vicky" was,
and how it amused and delighted herself to feel
that her child was old enough to travel with her;
" it puts me so in mind of myself when I was 'the
little Princess,' she says. And then she tells us
how "Vicky stood and bowed to the people out of
the window." This was the little lady's first jour-
ney, and she was not quite four years old. You
see how soon a baby can learn what it is to be a
great personage, and how a princess is bound to be
courteous, as, indeed, every lady is, even when she
is only four years old. Here is another anecdote
of Vicky, who was also called Pussy," as I dare
say many of you girls are, or have been:

"Our Pussy learns a verse of Lamartine by heart, which ends with
'le tableau se deroule B mes pieds.' To show how well she under-
stood this difficult line, I must tell you the following ban-mot. When
she was riding on her pony, and looking at the cows and sheep, she
turned to Madame Charnier (her governess), and said: 'Voill le
tableau qui se deroule a mes pieds 1' Is not this extraordinary for
a child of three ?" .

I think it was a wonderful performance for such
a baby; and it is said now that the Princess Royal,
Crown Princess of Prussia (but in England we
like to give her her old title), is the cleverest of
all the Queen's family, and has great good sense
and talent. Perhaps it is because she was the eld-
est that there is more about her in the Queen's book
than about the others; for when there is a large fam-
ily, it becomes impossible to remember all the funny


up than these children of England. Little nobodies
may be permitted sometimes to be saucy to their
inferiors (which, you know, is very bad breeding
in any one), but you may be sure the children at
Windsor were never allowed any such vulgar privi-
lege. They had to do as they were told, and to
be kind and respectful, and you may see by that
story about Pussy how very early they began.
Even when the Queen was traveling about round
the shores of Scotland in her yacht, she used to
find time to give little Victoria a lesson, and to
hear her read in her history book; and when the
boys grew older, the Prince Consort was very earnest
about their instruction. Here is one thing they
did, and I think most of you boys would like this
kind of education too:

As part of the system which the Prince upheld as inseparable from
sound education, of making the pupil put into practice what he has
learned in theory, the Prince's two eldest sons, while still boys, had
also to construct, with their own hands, a fortress, small in size, but
complete in all its details. All the work, including the making of the
bricks, was executed by the young Princes' own hands. It re-
mains a creditable monument of their constructive skill close to the
Swiss cottage at Osborne, which was used by the Prince as a museum
and school of practical science and industry in the education of the
royal children.

I must tell you what Osborne is, of which this
mention is made. It is a pretty house in the Isle
of Wight, which the Queen and the Prince bought
and improved, to be their very own, all made by
themselves, and belonging to themselves, more
homely than princely Windsor. ST. NICHOLAS has
given you a very good picture of this pretty sea-side
place, where the big waves come in rolling and


... -e '' '. -. -, *
VIEW OF BALMORAL.

things the children do, and their cleverness; whereas thundering upon the shore, and the air comes wild
the young father and mother have their minds free and salt and delightful from the great sea.
to treasure up all these wonders when there is but They built also another house in the Highlands,
one. Never were children more .carefully brought among the mountains, which is called Balmoral;


765






WINDSOR CASTLE.


and as the Prince directed everything himself at
both these places,-laying out the grounds, and
superintending the building, and putting the stamp
of his own fine taste upon everything, -the Queen
loves them so much that we are sometimes jealous
for our beautiful royal Windsor, and think Her
Majesty neglects the Castle. Alas! there is a
reason why Windsor is very sad to her, sadder than
any place upon earth, though it witnessed so much
of her happiness. After they had been married
for twenty-two years, and while they were both still
in the very strength and fullness of their life, with
their children growing up, and their house full of
happiness, quite suddenly, when scarcely any one
had begun to be frightened about his illness, this
good Prince, who had made Queen Victoria so
happy, died.
You should have heard the universal cry that
went up over all the country on that terrible
day. "The poor Queen "-everybody, high and
low, said the same words. What would she do?
How could she live when he was gone ? The very
skies seemed to darken over England in sympathy.
And from that day the skies have never been so
blue, nor the sunshine so sweet to the Queen. For
years, though she did her duty always, she hid her-
self, so far as a queen could, from the light of day;
and all the splendors that become a Court have
been toned down ever since in harmony with the
mourning dress which she has never put off, and,
I suppose, never will. There are many people in
England who complain of this, and grudge that
the head of society should thus withdraw her coun-
tenance from all that is gay and bright in the
national life. But when time has gone a little fur-
ther on, and the reign of Queen Victoria lies in
the past, like the reign of Queen Elizabeth, history,
you may be sure, will make a very affecting chap-
ter out of this romance of royal life-the true love,
the young happiness, the faithful sorrow of the
Queen.
It is chiefly in consequence of this last sad event
that the life and the brightness have again fled
away from Windsor. The Queen still comes here
for some part of the year, and now and then a
foreign prince makes a brief visit, and the Castle


wakes up to something like the gayety of old; but
it is not the same. Now and then, too, the mar-
ried sons and daughters come and fill the old house
with their children-fresh voices, always cheerful,
with again and again a new Victoria, to renew the
recollection of the others. I cannot tell you how
many these children are; already they have grown
beyond counting, and make a little tribe in them-
selves. But better than the stately towers of
Windsor the Queen loves Highland Balmoral, with
its Scotch-French turrets-this "dear paradise," as
she calls it, where all has become my dearest
Albert's own creation; or Osborne, by the sea,
where he delighted in the song of birds, and
especially of nightingales, listening for them in
the happy, peaceful walks he used to take with the
Queen in the woods, and !-,i I,, to them in their
own peculiar long note which they invariably an-
swer." These are the Queen's own words; and
those two private houses, so to speak, which the
Prince made, are the places she loves best.
But our Castle, hospitable and calm in its stately
old age, does not resent even this desertion. The
trees rise round the gray walls as green as ever;
the music peals as sweetly through St. George's;
the sun shines as in its brightest days. These
towers reign in a tranquil, unbroken sovereignty
over the broad rich country as far as eye can reach;
more proudly royal when the great standard floats
from the Round Tower, yet never less than kingly;
as fine an embodiment of state and strength and
beauty as ever was made in stone. How many
lives have come and gone under their shelter How
many touching stories of happiness and suffering,
and love and pity, cling to the old walls, which are
so much older than most things; older than steam-
ships and railways, and all other modern discov-
eries which we are so proud of; older than your
America-nay, older than Shakspeare and all our
poets England had no literature, and the great
Republic of the West no existence, when the
circle of the Keep first wore the English flag to
show that the king was there; and we shall all of
us be moldered into dust and forgotten, before
decay will be able to gnaw away this almost ever-
lasting stone.


766


[OCTOBER,






1876.] OUT OF THE SKY. 767




OUT OF THE SKY.

BY M. M. D.



-- -














Ho birdie, come play!
Ho birdie, do stay
Just one little minute!
You've been to the sky,
Away up so high,
And know all that's in it;
You've pierced with your flight
Its wonderful light-
What makes it so blue?
Now tell me, oh do,
Little birdie !"

The bird stopped awhile
To rest on a stile,
With mosses upon it;
And ere very long,
He poured forth a song
As sweet as a sonnet.
But never a word
My waiting ear heard;
Why the sky was so blue,
Though he told all he knew-
Stupid birdie !

I went in to look
For the facts in a book,
SAll told to a letter;
Yet somehow it seemed-
Though may be I dreamed-
The bird told it better.
Oh, never a word
My willing ear heard,
Why the sky was so blue,
Yet he told me quite true-
Knowing birdie !






HOW THE SCOTCH-CAP FAMILY SAVED ITS BACON. [OCTOBER,


HOW THE SCOTCH-CAP FAMILY SAVED ITS BACON.*
(A Tale of hke Revoklution.)

BY ETHEL C. GALE.


T was September in 1781.
.. The little rocky promontory
S,,' of Scotch-Cap-so called
-' from its shape, was covered
: Y"j P-" with the soft sheen of a fast
,pl..., drying dew. On the high-
j 'lj est point of the Cap stood
L a frame house, two stories
S high on the front side, with
rear roof sloping long and
low. The unpainted wood
.- was just taking on the pret-
'" ",'.! test of soft gray tints, but
S otherwise all was still as un-
picturesque as newness always is. Beyond a wagon-
track in front of the house running to the east
beach, a thick growth of chestnuts, oaks and elms
stretched for more than a mile toward the south
shore. To the west, the woods were broken only
by very small patches of clearing, protected by
rude brush-wood fences, and bright with the ripen-
ing crops of corn and buckwheat, or noisy with
flocks of half-wild hens and turkeys, pecking among
the oat stubble.
Around the house was a cleared space of several
rods square, but beyond this clearing rose a wall
of dull green cedar-trees. In these woods the
cows and sheep found whatever pasturage they
might.
North and west of the house the ground was
level, but on the east and south it dipped so ab-
rudltly that one standing on the door-step could see
over the tree-tops for twenty miles away across the
bright waters of the Sound (here at its widest) to
the sand-cliffs of Long Island; or, looking ten
miles to the eastward, could watch the coming of a
sail round Guilford Point.
In the clearing, with one hand shading her blue
eyes, stood the young dame of Scotch-Cap, wistfully
gazing at a sail fast disappearing round the wooded
point at the south-westward. She was comely,
tall, and so well-proportioned that she seemed
rather slender than robust. But her lithe ease of
motion, her assured step, and the firm texture of
her well-formed hand and arm, betokened a mus-
cular strength unusual among even the hardy
women of the coast. At this time, it must be re-
membered, nearly all of the men of our sea-coasts


were sailors in the service of their country ; and
their wives, with the poor help of some fellow too
shiftless to "follow the water," or of some super-
annuated sailor, or one on shore for a week or two,
and with the aid of their young children, were
forced to plow and plant, and hoe and reap, as well
as cook and wash,'and spin and weave and sew.
With all these things to do, the young dame was
content to clothe herself in the scantiest of butter-
nut-colored gowns, and to bind up her thick,
soft, shining yellow hair in the loosest and simplest
fashion.
By her side were four children. The eldest, a
stout, energetic, sun-browned lad of twelve years;
the youngest, a pretty little girl in her second
summer; the others, boys of ten and eight years of
age.
Out of the woods shambled a loose-jointed figure,
topped with a coarse straw hat that shaded but did
not hide a face, the two-fold expression of which
was of craft and greed.
Good-mornin', Mis' Steele. Glad to see ye
so well. Did n't know how wouldd be, though,
seeing the Cap'n was off ag'in. I didn't know's
he was to hum, till I saw the Chloe Ann a-makin'
off, or I'd ha' be'n round to seen him."
Guess I'll go clammin' neow, seeing' 's I'm
deown here, an' the tide's eout. Could n't lend
me a hoe, could ye ?"
Yes," said the dame, pleasantly, only mind
and not leave it down on the beach for the tide to
carry off, like the last one you had. This is the
only one I have now."
"Wal, I'll be keerful; an' I'll bring ye back
some clams if you want."
Thank you," replied the dame, I would like
some," and her visitor shambled off. After a few
steps, however, he turned:
"I say," he cried, "hev ye heerd the news?
There's two or three of His Majesty's frigates
deown Stratford way, so they say. Hope they'll
never think t' land here; it's so lonesome like for
wimmen folks. But they'd never dew yew no
harm; that is, so long 's yew did n't say nur dew
nothing' t' exarsperate 'em, ye know. Bein' 's I'm
a good fren' tew ye, I'd 'vise ye, if they was tew
come, jist tew let 'em hev anything they wanted,
an' not try tew hide nothing That's the best way."


* This story is true. It was told me when I was a child, by an old man-once the very boy who kept watch upon the roof--E. C. G.


768







1876.] HOW THE SCOTCH-CAP FAMILY SAVED ITS BACON.


769


"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Steele, energetically, shall have a sparrib. But the porkers sha' n't
as the shambling figure at last shuffled itself out drown, either, for they 're the only meat we shall
of hearing. There's nobody can give advice get this winter. I 'm glad your father took with
quite so easy as a fool, unless it's a knave; and I him all the oats and rye we could spare. We must
believe he's both. I suppose he thought I'd heed manage some way to save what there is left."
him, just because he offered to pick up a few clams! "Who would think that a great war would
But I'11 take his counsel as folks do their morning make so many little troubles, mother ? I wish it
dreams, by contraries, was over."
If the British are in the Sound at all, they So do I," replied the dame, with a sigh. "But
sail up this way; and if they do they'll be sure to not until we have our freedom. Otherwise, I 'd


{{ ....2
;II
'tI. II I

,ii.

: 1-.-11' ''i' '
I *I It I .1

'" -":";" "" :'" 1 *i'
...,_............ ... ... .' ,, i ...... ','


TORY JAKE AND THE LITTLE SENTINEL.


stop at the beach spring for fresh water; and then
Jake '11 tell 'em what he suspects about the Chloe
Ann's being a privateer, so that the red-coats will
pillage the house, and he'll get the information
money."
He 'd like some of our fat pigs, as well as the
money, mother, for his own are as thin as July
shad," responded the eldest boy. He half starves
everything he owns."
"He wont get our pigs without working for
'em," said the dame with decision; I'1I sink 'em
in the Sound before Tory Jake or his masters


rather that the war, hard and cruel as it is, should
last till doomsday. There are some things worth
going bare for."
Mother, how came Tory Jake to know where
the British are ? "
I don't know, Ollie, but I 'm glad he gave us
warning. We must hurry, too. To-day we must
hide the grain and every other thing that they or
Jake would be apt to want, and to-night the hogs
must be killed."
"Hogs must be killed, mother! Why, who
could do it ? There is n't a man anywhere near






770 HOW THE SCOTCH-CAP FAMILY SAVED ITS BACON. [OCTOBER,


here now but Jake and his brother, and to get
them would be like bringing the wolves to the
sheep."
"Of course it would," replied the mother. You
and I and the boys must do it."
"You-and I-and the boys ?" repeated Oliver.
"Why, mother, we might perhaps do the rest,
but we can never scald and hang up those big
hogs."
Never's a long day," said the dame, proudly.
" The wife of the bravest sailor on this coast has
never yet learned to say can't."
Then his children and yours shall never learn
to say it, either," said Oliver; and kissing each
other, mother and son moved briskly toward the
house.
There is, first of all, the grain-forty bushels
of rye and fifty of oats."
Shall we bury it, mother ? "
No. I'm afraid it would take too much time
to dig a hole large enough."
"There's the dry well, mother. We could put
the grain in there, and then fill in with stones till
it looked just like a heap of stones."
That's a good thought, Ollie; at least for the
oats. As for the rye, I 'd be a little afraid to trust it
there; for you know when it rains water runs in
the well, then the rye would sprout and be useless
for bread.
Let me see. That well,-I used to wish your
father had never tried to dig it, going so deep and
never finding water,-that well is twenty feet deep
and three feet across. The oats would fill it a little
more than half full, and then there's all that way
to fill in with stones. Here, Horace! Georgie!
Tie Betsey in her high chair by the table, and give
her some clam-shells to play with, while you take
your little hand-cart and fill it with stones, and
empty it close alongside the dry well."
The dame and Oliver were already in the house-
garret, where, for want of a barn, the grain was
stored, and were putting the oats into bags to be
lowered first to the ground, and then into the
well.
Mother," said Oliver, "you know we need n't
fill in the whole distance with stones. We can fill
in with bundles of oat-straw to within a foot of the
top, and then pile on the stones."
"Well thought of, Ollie.' That will save ever so
much trouble, and some of the straw too."
As soon as the oats and straw were in the well,
the little boys were left to pile stones over its
mouth, that there might seem to be only a heap
from the clearing.
Meanwhile little Betsey's chair had been moved
to the front door, where she was told to watch for
"Uncle Jake," and ask him how many clams he


had brought for her dinner. "This," said the
dame, will give us warning of his coming. He
must n't see what we are doing."
"Mother," said Oliver, despairingly, "I can't
think of any place for the rye."
"I've thought of four places for it," said his
mother, "places where I don't believe any one
would think of looking for it. No," she added,
as if in answer to a doubt of her own. "No, I
don't think that even the British would rob a
poor woman of the beds under herself and chil-
dren."
Beds, mother? said Oliver.
Yes. We will empty the four straw beds, and
then put in each of them four sacks of rye. Each
sack holds two and a half bushels; would hold
three, only I think it would be better to give a little
more room. After the four sacks are in each bed,
there will still be room to fill up the spaces with
straw."
"That 'll be tip-top, mother." And as fast as
they could, mother and son worked away until little
Betsey's sweet pipe to Untie Dake" warned them
to go out, thank him for the few clams he brought,
and receive the hoe.
Now that we 're rid of him," said Mrs. Steele,
"I suppose we must have some dinner, though
we've little time to get it or eat it. Just make a
chip fire, Ollie, in the rock fire-place, and hang on
a kettle of water to open the clams and boil the
eggs in. They'll be the quickest got ready of
anything."
The rock fire-place was a little in the rear of the
house. Here, upon a large flat stone, which
formed a hearth-stone, a fire burned merrily up
against the smoke-blackened sides of two rocks,
each about four feet high, which made an obtuse
angle. Across from rock to rock, lay a broken-
pointed iron crow-bar, on which hung the iron pot,
or the brass boiler, or the copper tea-kettle, as
either was needed. For, in pleasant summer
weather, cooking 'and washing were done out-of-
doors.
"Now," said Mrs. Steele, after the hurried din-
ner was over, "I must hide my butter. Perhaps
we can bury the jars under the ash-heaps in the
cellar. I think I remember hearing your father
say that there was one place in the rock floor
where there was earth enough to bury things. I
guess it must be in the corner under the ash-heap,
for there is nothing but solid rock everywhere else.
At any rate, we had best shovel up ashes enough
to see."
"Mother," said Oliver, I 'm most glad the
barn was burnt down last spring."
Why, Oliver ?"
Because, as there was n't any barn to draw the






1876.1 HOW THE SCOTCH-CAP FAMILY SAVED ITS BACON. 771


hay into, or to feed the cattle in this winter, father
stacked the salt-meadow hay in that rocky cedar
grove near the east shore. That's such an out-of-
the-way hollow that I don't believe even old Take
knows anything of it."
By the way," said his mother, did your father
and you ever make the shed down there that you
talked about ?"
"Yes, 'm. Why, mother, how did it happen
that you have n't seen it ?"
Oh, you know when your father is at home to
look after things out-of-doors, I take the chance to
get things ahead indoors. I remember hearing
you talk about it, and thinking I'd go down there.
I've never seen the place, I believe."
"Well, no wonder. It was just a hit that we
found it this summer. There's about an acre of
nice smooth land, with a natural wall of high rocks
all around it; only in one place there's a sort of
gate just big enough for a hay-cart to squeeze
through. The cedar-trees grow so thick on top of
the rocks that you can't see through 'em. I 'm
sure I did n't, till I fell into the.hole when I was
looking after the cows one day. So there's where
we stacked the hay and built the shed."
Thus talking, mother and son were busily shovel-
ing away the ashes from the great heap left from the
last winter's big fires, until they came to the earth
floor. Here they very carefully buried the butter
jars.
Mother, had n't we better put in your silver
spoons, and grandpa Goldthwaite's silver tankard,
and your brooch with the purple stones in it, and
the money that father brought home with him last
time ?"
I think so, Ollie, and your father's papers too.
We'll wrap them all up in that big piece of sheet-
lead in the garret. And then," she added, with a
sigh, ifthe house is burned from over our heads
they will be safer here than in any other place I
can think of."
The night brought no sleep. While the boys
were milking the cows, and Mrs. Steele was pre-
paring for the proposed work of the night, there
care first the sound of a horse's gallop, and then
of a tremulous halloo. Going quickly to the door,
Mrs, Steele found a mounted messenger, sent by
the select-men of the township, to warn all in ex-
posed situations of impending danger. The enemy,
he said, were not down Stratford way," as Tory
Jake had reported, but at New London. Yester-
day, the sixth of September, they had captured
Fort Griswold, after a most heroic resistance, mas-
sacred the garrison of one hundred and fifty men


after they had surrendered," and then burned the
towns of New London and Groton.
The British commander," said the messenger,
"set an example of cruelty and treachery even
worse than those of the savages, by murdering the
brave Captain Ledyard with the sword he had just
honorably surrendered.
But what better could be expected? pursued
the messenger, "when we know that the whole
fifty or sixty ships, and some say as many as five
thousand soldiers,f are under that black-hearted
villain and traitor, the accursed Benedict Arnold ?
But," he went on, "I was sent to you in particu-
lar, because, as Arnold knows all this coast well
(the more's the pity and shame), he'll know about
the spring by the beach here,-the best water on all
the coast,-where ships can come so close, and if
they land here to water ship, the wife of the captain
of the Chloe Ann might be in danger. So Parson
Perry told me to tell you his house was open to you
and the children, if you choose to come, and wel-
come."
"Tell him," said Mrs. Steele, gratefully, "that
I thank him with all my heart for his kind offer,
and I know he means it vell; but, if my husband
should desert his ship without striking a blow,
he 'd be a traitor to his country. And if I desert
the house he confided to my charge, without an
effort to protect it, I'd not be much better. I am
his deputy, and must do what he would do."
But, Mrs. Steele, what can you do? A woman
with four children! Remember Fort Griswold,
and burning Groton and New London "
Yes," she replied, with pale face and burning
eyes, "I do remember them all. But you know
that where the British find a deserted house they
always burn and destroy whatever they can't carry
off. But, bad as they are, I don't think they'd
burn the roof over the heads of a 'defenseless
woman and children."
"Well, 'a willful' woman maun hae her way,'
as my Scotch grandfather used to say; and I'm
sure I don't know but you are right. Anyhow, I
must ride around to the Point and the Neck to give
warning to the Wilmots and Blackstones."
So saying, the messenger turned his horse and
galloped off through the woods. For a moment,
the mother's heart sank at being left again in the
loneliness of Scotch-Cap, six or seven miles from
any neighbors, save traitorous Jake Cooke and his
brother. In an instant more her resolution arose
strong within her. I will do the best I can for
my children," she said to herself. Turning, she
met Oliver, pale and resolute.


Eighty-five were killed outright, and sixty wounded, most of whom afterward died of their wounds.
t There were in reality thirty-two ships, of which'twenty-four were transports, carrying between 1,700 and x,8oo soldiers.







HOW THE SCOTCH-CAP FAMILY SAVED ITS BACON. [OCTOBER,


"I heard you, mother," he said, and I'm glad
we 're going to stick it out."
Putting their arms around each other, the mother
and son, looking oddly near in age,-the boy had
suddenly grown so manly;-went in to finish their
preparations and begin their task.
The work was to be done behind the house. In
the cleared space there, coming and going, in and
out of the shadows and the fire-light, four figures
moved busily about. Over the fire in the rock
fire-place hung two enormous three-footed iron
pots of scalding water; near by stood the half
of a molasses hogslead for a scalding-tub; while,
skeleton-like in the fire-light, rose the rough gal-
lows made of barkless cedar poles.
Five heavy hogs, and only one woman and three
boys to kill, scald, hang and dress them, in the
depth of night It required more heroism, believe
me, to do this hard, disagreeable, and dirty task,
than has been spent many a time upon deeds of
great renown.
It was a long night's work and a weary one; but
by sunrise the fire was smoldering in ashes, and
all traces of the butchery were carefully buried in
the garden; the hogs had been taken down with
great difficulty from the gallows, upon which, with
equal difficulty, they had been hung, laid one by
one upon the wheel-barrow, and slowly wheeled
into the house.
Mother and boys were all weary enough, as may
be supposed, from their twenty-four hours of hard
work, but there could be no rest yet, for the pork
must be divided and packed. This was done by
Mrs. Steele and Oliver, while Horace was boy-of-
all-work, and Georgie was sent to keep a bright
look-out from the scuttle, at the same time keeping
a watchful eye upon little Betsey, sleeping on the
garret floor beneath him.
Mother," said Oliver, "I don't see that the
pork in that big barrel will be any safer than the
poor pigs would have been, if we had left them
alive."
"That's so, dear; but you see I 'm cutting the
pieces very large and putting them into the strong-
est possible brine. The moment a strange sail is
seen rounding Guilford Point, we must take every
bit out of the barrel and'hang it up in the chim-
ney. As soon as the pork is in the brine, we must
put a ladder up in the chimney and drive spikes to
hang it on."
The great chimney was twelve feet square. In
one side was built the big brick oven; in two other
sides were small fire-places; on the remaining side
was the large kitchen fire-place, nine feet broad by
four feet deep, and five feet high. Through this
great mouth it was easy to put up a ladder and
lay a couple of planks across the inside of the


chimney, resting on projections in the masonry.
Standing on these planks, Oliver and his mother
drew the ladder up. Resting its foot firmly on the
planks, Oliver could again mount it and drive spikes
around the inside of the wide chimney, so that,
whatever should hang there might get the full
benefit of the smoke without being injured by the
blaze from the fire, or exposed to the gaze of
inquisitive eyes below.
The spikes being driven, mother and son de-
scended by means of an extemporized scaffolding
of tables and chairs, that the ladder might be left
up the chimney ready for an emergency.
The dreaded emergency did not come on that
day or the next, and all had time to recover some-
what from their great fatigue. But early on the
morning of the third day, the "look-out-from-the-
mast-head," as Georgie called himself, reported
three strange sails rounding Guilford Point.
The pork was unpacked, and hung around the
chimney; ladder, planks and scaffolding were
taken down, and a fire was started on the hearth,
with big kettles of lye and grease bubbling over it
(for only soap-making could explain so large a fire
in warm weather), before the vessels reached the
Scotch-Cap beach.
Only one of the three schooners cast anchor in
the little Scotch-Cap harbor, the others continuing
their westward course.
The captain proved a kinder man than many of
the coasters who were in those days the terror of
the Connecticut coast; and though he did not hin-
der his men from carrying off money, provisions,
arms or anything that might be useful to the King's
service, he would not permit useless destruction or
violence.
If the house had been deserted," he said to
Mrs. Steele, "I suppose I could n't have kept my
men from pillaging and burning it; but as you
have had the pluck to stay here, you sha' n't be
troubled."
Diligent search, however, was made for valua-
bles, and the ash-heap in the cellar was prodded
with long sticks to find hidden treasure. But the
sailors did not think of shoveling it away. 'The
unwelcome guests only delayed to take in fresh
water for the ship, and to enjoy a dinner of.fish,
wild ducks and turkeys, the fowls having been shot
by the sailors.
Oliver had already driven the cows and sheep
down to the hidden pasture, so they had not been
discovered. But Tory Jake-full of confidence in
the favorable disposition of His Majesty's forces
toward one so well affected as himself-had the
mortification to behold his own three cows driven
off and killed, notwithstanding his tearfully earnest
protestations of loyalty.


772






LIZZY OF LA BOURGET.


THE ARRIVAL OF THE BRITISH.


That evening, soon after the departure of the
British, the Scotch-Cap family saw flames shooting
up across the harbor from the dwelling of the
Wilmots, which, being abandoned by its inmates,
was burned after having been pillaged.


"I'm so glad we stuck it out, mother," said
Oliver, and father'll be glad too when he comes
home and finds nothing gone but a few turkeys."
"Wont he laugh," said Horace, "when he hears
what a time we had to 'save our bacon ?' "


LIZZY OF LA BOURGET.

BY H. H.


I TELL you the tale as 't was told to me;
'T is a tale that I dearly love to tell,-
The tale of Lizzy of La Bourget,
Of faithful Lizzy who ran so well.

This Lizzy of La Bourget was a mare;
She was all snow-white except two black feet;
Her sire was an Arab steed coal-black;
Hei dam was a wild Cossack pony fleet.


Her Arab blood made her tireless and strong;
Her Cossack blood made her loving and true;
Oh, Lizzy of La Bourget could love
As warmly as human beings do.

She followed her peasant master to work;
Obeyed at a sign, or call of her name;
All day she tugged at his cart or plow,
And bounding at night she homeward came.







774


PATCHES.


She was never groomed, but she shone like silk,
And fattened well on the scanty fare;
She played with the children like a dog,
And the children fed her with her share.

When the war broke out, and.her master went
To fight with the French, good Lizzy went too,
And many a battle, night and day,
She carried him bravely, safely through.

But at last there came a turn in the tide,
For Lizzy and master disastrous day,-
The day on which a battle was fought,
A bloody battle at La Bourget.

The cavalry regiment, horse and man,
Were caught in an ambush, and hemmed in;
The Frenchman captured them every one,
And held them, a ransom large to win.

The captors were tipsy; 't was late at night;
The foolish men drank, because they were glad.
Alone, by a half-open casement low,
Sat Lizzy's master, weary and sad,

When sudden he heard a sound that he knew;
He could not mistake-it was Lizzy's neigh;
She had broken loose, and was seeking him,-
Oh, brave, good Lizzy of La Bourget!

The captors were tipsy,-they did not hear
Their prisoner call '' Lizzy," in whisper low;


[OCTOBER,


They did not notice the joyous neigh;
The first they knew, with one ringing blow,

The casement was burst from its hinges strong;
The captive had leaped on his horse's back,
And :.1uhi, the darkness he raced, he flew,
With a hundred bullets on his track.

No bridle, no spur; but well Lizzy knew
The life of her master lay in her speed;
She ran like a whirlwind, and paid to the shots,
No more than to summer rain-drops, heed.

No compass, no guide; naught knew the hussar
Of right, of left, in his perilous way;
But safe, sure instinct his Lizzy had;
She knew the road back to La Bourget.

A night and the most of a day she ran;
She had no water, she was not fed;
And when she arrived at La Bourget.
You well may think she was almost dead.

But a shout arose from each man who saw
Her dash into camp with her gallant stride;
And the General himself came out to see
The horse and master of such a ride.

The fight had been fierce, and many men won
Great fame in the heat of that bloody day;
But long after they are forgotten all,
The world will know Lizzy of La Bourget !


PATCHES.

BY ROSA GRAHAM.


STRAWBERRIES nice fresh strawberries !"
There was such a soft melody in the cry, that
Aunt Ruth stopped her ironing to listen. Twice
repeated, and then a quick step'trotted up the
path, and an odd little face peeped in at the win-
dow.
Strawberries, ma'am? Want some nice fresh
strawberries to-day ? "
Aunt Ruth could ill afford berries so early in the
season, but she came forward in answer to the
pleading look.
Please, ma'am," continued the child, brokenly,
" please to buy one box. Patches is so tired "-
and a tear dropped upon the fruit.


A fountain swelled in Aunt Ruth's kind heart;
she wasted no time in words, but lifted the child,
basket and all, through the window, and settled
her in the cosey rocking-chair. And before Patches
could recover from her astonishment, the same
hands brought to her a bowl of milk, and a plate
heaped with doughnuts.
The eyes danced hungrily; but Aunt Ruth,
without heeding the child's timid "thank you,"
motioned to her quite imperatively to eat, and
ironed away furiously at Win's shirt-front.
Win found the shadow of a scorch on that bosom
the next Sunday.
It was righteous indignation did it," explained







PATCHES. 775


Aunt Ruth, "and I wish it could always leave as
good a mark."
Patches drank the milk and promptly disposed
of two doughnuts; then stopped and sighed.
Aunt Ruth eyed her keenly. Had enough?"
she asked, with a show of brusqueness.
Patches hesitated. Yes, ma'am, thank you,"
bubbled to her lips, but burst into thin air as a
plump doughnut tumbled accidentally toward her.
"No, ma'am," she replied, decidedly.
The fact is, Patches at that moment felt equal to
the occasion.
Aunt Ruth, with a sudden gesture, emptied the
plate into her lap. Eat," she said; which Patches
did, indefinitely, while Aunt Ruth stood watching
her in open astonishment.
Mercy said that good lady, under her breath.
"I verily believe the child is hungry. What a
bursting shame What an abomination to the
Lord "
A tired, hungry child No greater crime could
the world be guilty of, in Aunt Ruth's estimation.
Patches ate, and Aunt Ruth reflected. The child
puzzled her; the honestly heaped boxes of berries
puzzled her still more. It was evident not one had
been abstracted; and yet this starved baby had
been traveling all the day, with sight, sense, and
smell square on the tempting fruit !
Patches seemed to divine her thoughts, and
glanced toward the berries with a triumphant smile.
"It was awful hard not to," she said, "but I
never touched one."
"And why did n't you ?" burst forth Aunt Ruth,
with a vigorous iron-slap that made both Patches
and the berries jump. "Why did n't you, I'd like
to know? Berries were made to eat."
A wondering reproach crept into Patches' face.
It would n't have been right," spoke the sweet
little voice.
The iron rested on the white-covered board, and
Aunt Ruth stepped to Patches' side.
Who taught, you that?" she asked, huskily.
Nobody, ma'am; I just knew it."
There was a moment's silence, Patches gazed
curiously at Aunt Ruth's sober face, but the striking
of the clock caused her to start and take up the
basket.
I must go now," she said. It is so late, and
Tim wont like it if I don't sell all the berries.
They 'll be stale by to-morrow, you know, ma'am."
"Who is Tim ?" asked Aunt Ruth, gently, and
where do you live, little girl?"
Tim is the grocer I sell things for, and I live at
Milton, with' Tim's wife, ma'am."
Live at Milton And you are going there to-
night?"
Yes, ma'am."


The childish voice quivered, and the little stock-
ingless feet curled wearily sideways.
Aunt Ruth could stand it no longer. With a
bound she snatched the basket from Patches' hand,
and emptied the contents into the nearest re-
ceptacle, which chanced to be the bread-bowl.
There she exclaimed. Patty-Patsy-or
whatever you said your name was -- "
"Patches, please, ma'am," and the child stared,
astonished at her good fortune.
Patches !"
Yes, ma'am. That's what the boys call me,
because I wear such patched clothes. I used to cry
at first, but I don't mind now."
And have n't you got any other name ?" Aunt
Ruth burst forth indignantly, but with tears in her
eyes.
"I don't know, ma'am. Somebody, a good
while ago, I think used to call me Mamie, but I
can't remember, ma'am. I asked Tim, but he
can't tell, either."
"And who is Tim? Your brother?"
Oh, ma'am, no. He's only the man I live
with. I aint got any relations."
Ah and Aunt Ruth gave vent to an involun-
tary sigh of relief. "Well, see here, Patches,-
that'll do till we find a better," she muttered in an
undertone,-" between you and me, you're not
going one step toward Milton to-night. You 're
going to stay here with me, help eat these berries,
and sleep in the snuggest little bed .I ever made in
my life. Win shall carry the money over to Tim
after tea, and in the morning we'll see!" And
Aunt Ruth kicked the strawberry-basket into the
corner with a gusto that meant something, as our
story will show.
Whatever that something was, it developed into a
settled determination when, on undressing Patches
that night, she found the little feet streaked with
blisters, and the worn-out shoes ugly with nails.
Early next morning Patches awoke from a dream
of the old hard life with glad surprise. Her sleep-
dewed eyes opened plump on a pair of soft gaiters,
near which lay a set of snow-white stockings, and
a calico dress, faded but whole. The naily shoes,
the patched, dust-stained frock, were nowhere to
be seen.
Patches could but think that some kind fairy had
visited her in the night; but she jumped up quickly,
and in great glee arrayed herself in the garments
she honestly thought fit for a princess.
Aunt Ruth was picking over the berries when
Patches burst into the kitchen, and her great heart
swelled at the sight of the child's joyful face.
Oh, ma'am, are these for me-these beautiful
things ?"
Win laughed outright, but Aunt Ruth could only


1876.]







776


PATCHES.


answer curtly, and hasten breakfast, lest she should
" burst with righteous indignation."
The meal ended, a shadow crept into the little
face. "I must go now," she said, with a choked
sigh. Tim will expect me early."
Look here, Patches," exclaimed Aunt Ruth,
quite severely, "you 've never got to go away
from here as long as you live--that is if you want
to stay. There's no Tim expecting you at all.
Win and I drove over last night while you were
asleep, and arranged it all; so you see you don't
belong to anybody but yourself now-that is if
you're willing. I 'll be fair, though. I 'll give you
your choice. Which will you do ? Stay here and
be taught, and fed, and clothed as is fit for a
Christian child, or take the old strawberry-basket
and go back to Tim? "
Aunt Ruth waited with mock gravity for the
decision.
Two tears were coursing slowly down the child's
cheeks. She came to Aunt Ruth's side, and said:
Oh, ma'am, is it true ? Wont I ever have to


go back to Tim ? Wont I never have to go away
from here as long as I live ?"
And for answer Aunt Ruth gathered her up in
her motherly arms, and between sobs and kisses,
exclaimed :
Never, never, never, so long as there's'a world
to hang on to "
And so it was settled. Patches, henceforth to
be called Mamie, staid with Aunt Ruth, and de-"
veloped into such a bright, healthy girl, that in six
months her old associates could scarcely recognize
her. She was by nature an industrious little body,
and tried her best to lighten, the labors of the good
woman to whom she owed so much. Aunt Ruth
fed and clothed and taught her, and came to love
her so dearly, that Win used to say jocosely that
her own flesh and blood was nowheres alongside
of her adopted daughter."
Mamie has grown to maidenhood now, and as
Aunt Ruth gazes fondly on the sweet young face,
her heart rejoices in the hour that brought little
Patches to her door.


i,
11
i-
/h
/"'
yiL7


THE cat and dog resolved to be good,
Truly kind and forgiving.
" What's the use," they sweetly said,
"Of such unpleasant living?"


So Pussy took her dear Tray's arm,
And out they sallied over the farm;
And all who saw them laughed with glee,
And wondering, said, Can such things be?"


A I-! C c


_J1






WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD.




WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD.

BY M. M. D.


YES, Miss Mamie, dat's jes' what de missus
sed to me. 'Aunt Patsy,' sez she, 'you's jes' wuf
yer weight in gole.' An' so I wuz, Miss Mamie; I
know'd it. Poor weak ole cull'd pusson as I is, I
know'd she war tellin' d' exac' trufe. De Lord
knows 't aint no vain-gloruf'cation fur ole Patsy
t' say dem words. I don' take no pus'nal credit
'bout it, Miss Mamie. Cookin' takes practice, but
it's got to come fus' by natur'. De ang'l Gabr'el
hisse'f could n' make a cook out o' some folks. It's
got to be born inter yer like. I'se mighty 'umble
and fearful ub myse'f 'bout some things, but not
'bout cooking Dat I un'stan'; an' dat's what
made me wuf my weight in gole. Missus did n'
hab no sort trouble' 'bout nothing' af'er once dis chile
come. She sed so. Aint no use talking' 'bout it-
dere's her 'cise words to prove it.
Well, de work wuz mighty heavy in dat house.
Stocks o' company, and massa war one ob dem
perwiders dat don' hab no sort notion how many
pots kin go onto de stobe, and seem t' t'ink de oben
was 'mos' big as de barn. Many's de time I got so
tired seem'd to me's if I'd drop; but af'er missus
sed dat, I did n' mind nuffin'. 'Patsy,' sez I, when
I seed myse'f getting' done up, 'yer goo' f' nuffin'
lazy nigger, wha's matter wid yer? Don' yer know
yer's wuf yer weight in gole ?'-and dat ud fotch
me squar' up. Many's de time I'se sed dem words
to myse'f sence dat day, but wid dis diff'ence:
Missus, dear soul! she done gone to Ab'am's bosom
four year 'go; an' ole Patsy eber sence's bin mos'
too fur on wid dis ere cough to be much 'count to
white folks-and so I keep sayin' to myse'f, 'Yer
wuz wuf yer weight in gole. Don' nebber forgit
dat.'"
And, all this time, the brightly kerchiefed and
check-aproned speaker was going on briskly with
her work, while I sat looking at her with an amused
smile ?
Not a bit of it. She was in bed, dying of a slow
consumption, and my heart was full of reverence
as I stood gently fanning her. She was talking
beyond her strength, but I knew it was useless to
check her while her thoughts were with this treas-
ured saying of her missus." Presently she sank
into a doze. I stood there, afraid to move lest I
should wake her.
In a few moments she opened her eyes.
Bress yer heart, Miss Mamie, don' stan' dere
no longer. Ole Patsy don' want ter be nussed like
she war a queen."
VOL. III--52.


Her eyes were so bright and her tones so cheer-
ful that I thought she was going to laugh; but,
instead, she said softly:
"'T aint fur much longer; de Lord'll soon sen'
his char'ot an' take me to glory."
She ceased speaking. I knew by her face, though
not a sound could be heard, that she was singing
under her breath one of the dear old negro hymns
that we had been used to hearing when she was up
and at work; and then she fell into another doze.
Two weeks from that day the chariot came.

Happy old Aunt Patsy (Even with the memory
of her illness and suffering fresh in mind, I always
think of her as "happy old Aunt Patsy," for had
she not been worth her weight in gold ?) The dear
old soul always had laid great stress, not at being
prized at her weight in gold, but in being really
wuf it. That was tii;?'-..:.t. And the best of it
was, that her weight being mainly in her being a
good servant, it increased just so much in pro-
portion as she excelled. Simple-hearted creature
though she was, she would have scorned the idea
of weight, in this connection, being a matter of
mere flesh and bones. No, it was Patsy the cook
who was weighed in the balance.
It seems to me now, that if I had seen Aunt
Patsy when I was a little girl, and heard her tell
her story, it would have been a great help. It
would have taught me, in one easy lesson, that to
be worth your weight in gold is a great advan-
tage, and that the best way of becoming worth
your weight in gold is to learn to do some one thing
thoroughly well. Aunt Patsy could cook. That
is a fine thing in itself. Cooking is a good business
when one has a living to make, and a valuable
accomplishment when one has a living ready made.
Every one of us girls, little and big, young and old,
should know something about it, and should seize
all good opportunities to improve in the art. But
I am not going to ask you to learn to cook; that
is, not now, especially if it is not "born into you."
I only throw out as a friendly suggestion that every
girl should make it an object, as Aunt Patsy did,
to learn to do one thing well at a time. If, as a
start, she selects some style of housework, so much
the better. Let it be sweeping and dusting; let it
be bed-making; let it be clear-starching, silver-
cleaning or butter-making, or even a single branch
of cookery, such as bread-making, or that rare art,
potato-boiling. Let her aim at real excellence in







WORTH YOUR WEIGHT IN GOLD.


any one of these, taking the most exact pains, look-
ing out day by day for ways of improvement, aim-
ing to excel herself at each effort, until, at last,
" Jenny did it" (or whatever her fortunate name
may be) shall stand as a guarantee for excellence
in this or that special department. Let Jenny's
butter or Jenny's bread be the best her father and
mother ever tasted; or let them feel that no one
else can so brighten the silver, or the tins, or furni-
ture; that it is sure to be all right if Jenny but
sweeps the halls and stairs, or Jenny but makes the
pudding,-" It's her specialty, you know,"-and
you will see, if you are Jenny, what satisfaction there
is in it.
Then, when one style of work is mastered, an-
other can be taken up and made a study; and so
on, till you are worth your weight in gold to your
family. Mind, I do not mean to' say that while
these special endeavors are going on you are to do
all other work carelessly and without interest. Not
so, of course. I mean only that one branch at a
time shall receive most care and attention till it is
mastered to the utmost of your ability. Nor do I
mean that you are to spend all of your young life
in housework. An average of half an hour a day
devoted to such work, or even less, all through
one's girlhood, will in many cases be all that is
necessary or desirable. But certainly a little girl is
to be pitied who never has a chance to learn prac-
tically the rudiments of housewifery. I hope none
of you who read this are so unfortunate.
There are other fields of effort which you may
cultivate. Sewing or music, reading, fancy-work,
drawing, certain school-studies, gardening-which-
ever of them seems most attractive to you-will serve
as a starting-point. I have dwelt principally upon
the art of cooking, because Aunt Patsy set me talk-
ing; but there are many fair paths opening in
every direction. Take the one nearest by, whether
it lead to the kitchen, the parlor, the library, or
out-of-doors. But be sure to be thorough as you
go along. Don't shimble-shamble through every-
thing, and then wonder that those who love you
best are not quite satisfied with your progress-
that you do not really add to any one's comfort or
interest; in short, that you are not worth your
weight in gold.
I love books best, but can I be a help to any-
body at home if I sit and read all day ? you may
ask.
And I answer, you cannot. If you read too much,
you are not ,.-,..i- well. If you read too steadily,
you are not reading well. And if you read books
that do not make you more intelligent, more sunny,
more charitable and Christian than you otherwise
would be, you are reading very badly indeed. If
you sit curled up on a sofa, selfishly neglecting


some duty, and filling your mind with false ideas
of life, and arousing thoughts that in your secret
heart you know are not good for you, you are
doing not only yourself an injury, but every one
else with whom you may henceforth be brought in
contact.
But if at seasonable times, and after proper in-
tervals of play or bodily exercise, you read in an
inquiring, sincere way books that entertain or in-
struct the best part of you (we all soon find out
what that best part of ourselves is), and that have
been selected under guidance of some one com-
petent to-help you, then you are doing others good
as well as yourself by your reading. You can hardly
go up or down stairs when in the mood such read-
ing engenders without doing somebody good. If
it is only the cat on the landing, she '11 get the
benefit of it somehow. A sunny, healthy mind
sheds beams of light unconsciously; and then there
are the cheery word, the pleasant smile, the ready
spirit of fun, the thoughtful question or answer, the
entertaining bubbles of talk that rise to the surface
of a mind set sparkling by good books worthily
read. You will soon find the value of it all; or
some one else will.
It is not so much what good thing we do, though
that is of great consequence, but how well we do it
that determines our success. A pragmatic, con-
ceited manner, or a too selfish eagerness, will spoil
any pursuit. There is such a thing, you must
know, as being unpleasantly pleasant, meanly gen-
erous, incompetently competent, or even wickedly
pious. If you will think a moment, you will see
that it must be so. The wrong side of the prettiest
fabric is always very near its smooth surface. If
you do not keep the right side up with care, the
wrong side will show itself. It is so with all desires
and efforts for self-improvement. They have their
wrong side.
Some persons, if once started on a road, will be
so confident of their way that they 'll forget to make
the proper turnings; and there are persons who,
if left to themselves, would from very earnestness
hack a finger to pieces in getting out a splinter.
That's over-zeal. Such persons are not worth
their weight in gold to anybody. Then there's the
self-satisfied kind, the worst kind of all, perhaps.
Self-satisfaction is a wall that, builded by a girl's
own vanity, shuts her in completely. She cannot
get outside of it herself, and no one cares to scale
it in order to get at her. A state of entire self-
satisfaction is the loneliest thing on earth. Self-
approbation is another matter. It is worth trying
for because it is, in itself, good. But we must build
steps with it, not walls.
That is what Aunt Patsy did. She cooked better
and better every day. She.worked hard for self-


778


[OCTOBER,







1876.1


THE LEGEND ON THE PANE.


779


approbation, and slowly made steps of it. Steadily Lord would be pleased that Old Patsy had been
she mounted, always humble and fearful of herself, of use to somebody, and she was ready to go when
but always hearing her mistress's words, "worth the chariot came.
your weight in gold; and when at last she stood "Swing low, sweet chariot,
on the top step of her little flight, she felt sure the Coming for to carry me home."










THE LEGEND ON THE PANE.

BY OLIVE A. WADSWORTH.


DOWN in the old ancestral home,
Where sweet salt sea-winds blow,
And twice a day the crystal tide
Goes pulsing to and fro,
A dim old chamber, shadowy-bright,
Dear in its tarnished glow,
Stands as it stood, in simple pomp,
A hundred years ago.

Quaint is the Blue-room's ancient grace,-
Named from the azure tints
That zigzagged vividly across
Great-granddame's wedding chintz.
Here cherished guest was bade to rest,
The sweets of home to know,
Within this flowery, bowery nest,
A hundred years ago.

On every side, in rainbow hues,
The cheerful draperies fall,
A paradise of birds and leaves
And cherries on the wall,
And trellis-work of heavenly blue
Meandering over all;
They gleam from out the great arm-chair,
Where two may sit and sew, -
The people were so very wide
A hundred years ago.

Such wild luxuriance of leaf
Would set a gardener mad;
Such mammoth cherries only may
In Wonderland be had;
Such portly robins plucking them,
Each bigger than a crow !
Oh, nature was most prodigal
A hundred years ago.






780


(OCTOBER,


THE LEGEND ON THE PANE.

The stately bed, with testered top,
And tapestries fold on fold,
Mysterious, deep and shadow-filled,
Turns timid hearts a-cold;
For countless ghosts might cower there,
Or wander wan and slow,
As once they lurked and walked, perhaps,
A hundred years ago.

But on the narrow window-pane
No ghost has left his sign;
A little Great-aunt's little hand
Engraved the wavering line.
What marvel that her youthful heart
Must needs proclaim its woe,
For lovers had to go and fight
A hundred years ago.

No other cross, she sadly felt,
Was ever quite the same !
She meant to write, "Life is a blank,"
And sign it with her name.
She carved it with her diamond hoop,-
His gift should grave her woe,
And tell what deep despair prevailed
A hundred years ago.

But ah! it slipped! The diamond slipped,
And burlesqued all her grief !
And girlish laughter, long and light,
Brought sorrow swift relief;
And brothers gibed, and mother smiled,-
The diamond would n't go 1
She tried, and tried in vain, for still
The mocking letters show
How "life" was said to be a "bean"
A hundred years ago.

The little Great-aunt's little hand
Has turned to phantom dust;
The diamond hoop is dimmed beneath
A century of rust;
The loyal lover long ago
Went up among the just;
And still the shadowy Blue-room stands,
With birds and fruits aglow,
As primly gay as on that day
A hundred years ago.

And still, as then, in happy youth
Joy soon succeeds to woe ;
And still around the dear old home
The wild salt sea-winds blow;
And still th' unchanging crystal tide
Goes pulsing to and fro;
And still men's hearts are what they were
A hundred years ago.







A COLORADO WOMAN'S MUSEUM.



A COLORADO WOMAN'S MUSEUM.

BY H. H.


You will ask yourselves, "What does that mean
-a woman's museum ? and you will think, I sup-
pose, that it means only a collection of curious
things which some woman has bought and arranged
in glass cases. Ah, it is quite different from that.
I will try to tell you about it, and perhaps by the
help of the pictures, and what I say, you will get
some idea of how wonderful a museum it is.
There are many things in this museum-shells,
minerals, coins, curious armor from Japan, queer
garments from Alaska, tapa cloth from the Sand-
wich Islands, and a great many other curiosities,
more than I can remember, or could have room in
the ST. NICHOLAS to tell you about. I am going






.. ... .. -

'1~j


THE BISON.
to tell you only about the stuffed animals and birds.
These are the most interesting things in the mu-
seum, and the wonderful thing about them is, that
they all were stuffed and many of them killed by
the woman who owns the museum. Think of
that !-of a woman's being able to fire her rifle as
well as any old hunter could, and then, after she
has brought down her bear or her wild-cat, know-
ing how to skin it and stuff it so that it looks
exactly as if it were alive. This is really the most
wonderful thing of all. You know very well how
stuffed animals generally look. You know they
are dead as far off as you can see them; but
these animals all look as if they might walk off
any minute they liked. Mrs. Maxwell (that is the
name of the woman who has made this remarkable
museum) is really a sculptor of animals. Most


people who stuff animals, take the skin, I fancy,
very much as a sausage-maker takes a sausage-
skin, and simply cram into it as much as it will
hold without bursting; and an animal's skin will
hold a great deal without bursting, for it is very
elastic. I have heard that the skin of any animal
will bear stretching till it is one-third larger than
the animal was when alive. Well, if a dead ani-
mal's skin is as elastic as that, it is.very easy to see
how, in stuffing it, one might entirely spoil its
shape and make it look unnatural. I have seen
many a stuffed aninial that did n't look any more
like what it was when it was alive, than a sausage
looks like a pig !
Mrs. Maxwell stuffs her animals on a totally
different plan, and this is why I say she is a sculp-
tor of animals. The first thing she does is to mold
the animal out of plaster, of the size and in the
position she wishes. Then she fits the skin on the
plaster shape. In the case of large animals, such
as the bison or buffalo, she makes the figure partly
of hay as well as of plaster, and what sort of a
bison this results in you can see by the picture. I
have never seen a live bison, but if I ever do, I do
not believe he will put his head down and glare out
from under his horns in one whit fiercer a way than
this one does.
When I went into Mrs. Maxwell's museum, the
first thing that caught my eye was a little black
and tan terrier dog, lying under the table. He
was a remarkably pretty dog, and, as we walked to-
ward him, he fixed his eyes on us with a very keen
and suspicious look, I thought. But he did not
stir. I said to myself, Why, what is the matter
with that dog? Why does n't he get up ?" And
then I saw that he was only a stuffed dog Then
I wished I had had a real live dog with me, to see
if he would n't have been deceived too. I think
he would.
Now I must tell you how the large groups of
animals are arranged, for one reason that they look
so natural is that Mrs. Maxwell has made an "out-.
doors for them at one end of the room. She has
had built up a sort of wooden frame-work, in the
shape of rocks. This is covered with a coarse can-
vas cloth, which has been prepared with glue or
some sticky substance. Over this, coarse shining
sand of a dark gray color is sprinkled thick; and as
the cloth is sticky, the sand remains. At a very
little distance nobody would know the rocks from
real rocks of dark gray stone. Then she has set







A COLORADO WOMAN'S MUSEUM.


real pine and fir trees among them, and little
clumps of grasses, and mounds of real dirt. You
can see all these in the pictures.
One of the most effective groups is the one where
you see a large animal springing from a tree.


A GROUP OF ANIMALS.
That is a mountain lion. They are 6ften found in
the woods of Colorado. He is leaping down in
pursuit of the poor stag, which you see just to
the right. The stag has run till he can run no
longer; he is falling down on his knees, and his
tongue is lolling out of his mouth, he is so out of
breath. Just below these is a happy family of deer
-father and mother and two little fawns. The
little fawns are only a few days old. They are
beautifully mottled with white spots on light brown.
The -doe is bending her neck down and licking one
of them as affectionately as a cat licks her kitten,
and the father, just behind, is holding up his head
and looking off very proudly, as much as to say,
"Who's got a prettier family than I have, I'd like
to know "
Below them are some porcupines, musk-rats,
weasels, and small creatures; and off on the left,
two splendid great bears, one a grizzly fellow that
you would n't like to meet in the woods. Once,
when I was riding in the woods on the rim of the
Yosemite Valley, I saw the tracks of a grizzly bear
in the sand. He had been there only a short time
before us, for the tracks were very fresh. They
looked just like the print of a giant's mittens, and
they made us all feel very uncomfortable.
Another happy family in this museum is that of
the mountain sheep-father, mother, and an only


child. The father looks like a huge goat, with
queer curling horns. The Colorado hunters see a
great many like him; scrambling around on the
rocks in high and precipitous places. Below him
in the group is a fox, just ready to spring on a
mouse, and near by is a wild-cat creeping out of a
cave, and making up her mind to have a gray
rabbit in front of her for dinner.
This group is not shown you, but you will have
many a good laugh over those that the engraver
has copied so admirably. As I sit here in my
Colorado home, it does my very heart good to
think how many thousand children will shout over
the pictures of the monkeys playing cards, and of
the little house out of which Mr. Brown Squirrel
and Miss Yellow Duckling are coming arm-in-arm
to take a walk. Mrs. Maxwell calls this "The
Moonlight Walk." The duckling is all covered
with bright yellow down, and is not more than
three or four inches high. I think she must have
been caught as soon as she was fairly out of the
shell. The squirrel is a head taller, as he ought
to be, and has the most comical air of gallant pro-
tection toward his lady-love. They both look so
droll, that nobody can help laughing at the first
sight of them.
The monkeys, too, are very droll. One old fel-
low, with a pipe in his mouth, is scratching his
head in his perplexity to know what. card to play.
The one next him is peering out from behind his
cards, and watching the opposite monkey's face
most keenly, to discover, if he can, what cards he
holds; and while they are all too absorbed in their
game to see what is going on, a sly little rascal of

/ ."-_ _- --__ -.


IMP.













"THE MOONLIGHT WALK."

a monkey is climbing up the leg of the table and
taking their goblet.
But of all the groups, I am not sure that the
prairie-dog's hole is not the very best. I see dozens


[OCTOBER,







A COLORADO WOMAN'S MUSEUM.


of such mounds every day when I drive out, in
Colorado, and on all the warm sunshiny days I see
just such little prairie-dogs popping their heads out
of the hole to find out who is going by, and there
are always one or two more courageous ones who
sit up on their haunches and look boldly at us. I
have never happened to see either an owl or a







7 -









AN EXCITING GAME.

rattlesnake on the mounds, but it is a well-known
fact that they live in them. Mrs. Maxwell says she
has often seen them come out of the holes, but
" what their arrangements are for living there" she
does not know, and nobody ever can know.
There would not be room here to tell you about
half of the animals, neither can I tell you about the
stuffed birds. They are as wonderful as the ani-
mals, and there are hundreds of them--all the
birds of Colorado, and a great many of other coun-
tries. You will see by the two groups on the next
page, however, that they look just as natural as the
animals, and not at all like the usual double guide-
post arrangements of stuffed birds. They look like
flocks that had just alighted on a dead tree. You
must not forget to look at the old mother-quail at
the foot of one of these trees, with her little chickens
all about her, one on her back and one sticking
its head out through her wing. You'd think, if
you called, Chick,. chick, chick," they'd all come
running to get corn.
Now I can tell you about only two more things-
an owl and a bird's nest. The owl is alive; it is
Mrs. Maxwell's pet. She had two, but, unfortun-
ately, her live bear ate up one of them. She found
these young owls in their nest, when they were
tiny little creatures, all covered with soft fluffy down.
I saw them just after she found them, a year ago.
They looked like little balls of gray feathers, with
two big glass beads sewed on them for eyes.
Now, this little owl's downy feathers are all smooth
and flat, and two small feather horns, looking just


like cats' ears, have grown out of his head; and
though he is only a few inches high, he looks as
wise as any owl in the world. If you rub him
gently on his head between his ears, he shuts his
eyes right up and goes to sleep; but however
sound asleep he seems to be, if you touch him on
his back ever so lightly, he wakes up, makes a
sharp angry noise, and whirls round and round
quick as lightning, to bite your finger. Whenever
he did this, he reminded me of a kitten going
round and round after its tail. His head seems to
be set on a pivot, for, without moving his body, he
can turn it clear round, and see anything he wants
to see behind him. He can also wink with one
eye, while the other eye looks at you in a fixed
stare. When he does this, his expression is more
impudent than any human face could possibly
wear. We laughed till the tears came into our
eyes, watching this comical little creature.
I think that tears almost came into my eyes also
when I looked at the bird's nest I am going to tell
you -of. They would not have been tears from
laughter, however; they would have been tears
of tender wonder and admiration for the little bird
who built it.
Up in the mountains some thirty miles north-
west of Denver is a wild cation called Bowlder
Caton. A cation is a steep-sided valley between
two mountains; sometimes it is little more than
a rift between two precipices of rock. In this
Bowlder Canon there is just room for a carriage-
road and a swift little river, which is hardly more


THE PRAIRIE-DOG'S MOUND.

than a brook. Half-way down this cation another
cation opens into it, and another swift little brook
comes leaping down and fairly bounds into the first
one. A few rods up this second cation is a fine
fall, or succession of falls, known as Bowlder Falls.






A COLORADO WOMAN'S MUSEUM.


One day, a young man, sitting near these falls,
saw a small bird fly apparently into the falling
sheet of water. Presently it came back, was gone


GROUP OF BIRDS, NO. I.
a short time, returned, bringing something in its
beak, and a second time darted into the spray and
disappeared. This young man was an enthusiastic
lover of natural history, and he determined to find
out what that bird was doing behind Bowlder Falls.
If you only could see the place, you would wonder
he ever had courage to venture where he did. He
had to build a sort of bridge, and he had to wade
in between rocks, where the stream was swift
enough to knock him senseless in a very few min-
utes if he lost his footing; he really risked his life
to track that little bird to her home. And do you
not think he was rewarded when he found, snugly
stowed away in a hollow behind the sheet of falling
water, the nest, with the young birds in it?
Poor little bird! One would have thought she
had found the very safest sort of a place which the
whole world could offer; and so she had-safe
against storm, against wild animals, against sports-
men, against everything except a naturalist !
The nest is made of clay and green moss; its
mouth looks like the mouth of an old-fashioned
brick oven; and there are all the little birds, with
their mouths wide open, just as they waited for


their mother to bring them food that day. The
mother, too, he shot and brought away with the
beautiful little house she had built. I think I could
not have had the heart to. kill her, even for the
sake of the science of natural history. However,
many things which seem cruel in themselves, must
be done, or else we should never learn the truth
about the wonderful creatures of which the world is
full. But while I stood looking at the nest, I would
have given a great deal to put it back under Bowl-
der Falls again, with some happy little live birds
in it, getting their dinner from their wet and drip-
ping mamma. And the more I thought about it,
the more I wondered whether it were really right
for us ever to kill a living creature except for food.
If there were a race of beings as much larger and
stronger than we, are, as we are than the birds, we
would think it pretty hard, would we not, if they
were in the habit of pulling our houses down over
our heads, and killing us and our children, merely.
that they might classify us aid label us and keep
us in their museums?
If you visit the Centennial Exposition at Phila-


GROUP OF BIRDS, NO. 2.

delphia, you may see these stuffed animals and
birds in the Kansas and Colorado building, where
Mrs. Maxwell has arranged them for exhibition.


784


[OCTOBER,






785


1876.]1


CHAPTER XXVII.
NEWS AND DISCOVERIES.

"LETTERS letters !" shouted Arthur, with great
glee, one night, as the tired miners came up to
their cabin from the claim. They had had good
luck during the past few days; but even the sight
of much gold, now no longer strange, could not
wholly relieve the feeling of weariness of long and
exacting labor. The glimpse of a bundle of letters
from home, which Arty shook in their faces as
they approached the cabin, banished all fatigue.
Nothing was so precious as these much-worn
packets of news and loving messages from friends
far away. They hal been handled a great deal
since they arrived in San Francisco. Bearing the
marks of travel, as well as the queer red and blue
stamps of the express companies, these letters had
hunted for the young emigrants all the way from
Sacramento and Nye's Ranch through various dig-
gings and camps. A bright-eyed, alert-looking
young fellow, mounted on a scrubby but speedy
mustang, had dashed into town, dropped a few
packages at "Freeman & Co.'s Agency," bandied
compliments with the loungers about the place,
mounted his steed again, and had loped off in a
more leisurely way toward Sardine Gulch.
Dropping his preparations for supper, Arty had
raced across "the branch" to the store, where he
was rewarded with a huge package of letters, for
which the enormous express charges seemed to
him a small price. Letter-carriage'in those days
was costly; nobody knew what the rates were;
they varied every week, but anywhere from a dollar
to five dollars for a single letter-the original post-
age on which was ten or twenty cents-was not
an unusual charge. The boys murmured some-
times, after they had read their infrequent letters
many times; but nobody thought of grumbling un-
til the first excitement of receiving letters was over,
and the brisk young express-rider was far away.
A pleasant excitement reigned in the cabin of
the young miners while news from home was read
and discussed. The Sugar Grove folks had re-
ceived their California gold with great pride and
delight. The neighbors had all been in to look at
it before it was taken to town and sold. Other Lee
County people, scattered through California, had
sent home gold, but the brothers of Barnard and
Arthur wrote that no such gold as this had ever
been seen before in those parts. How proud and


thankful they were! The mortgage on the farm
was now to be paid off; brother Sam was to have
the double-barreled shot-gun (which he had long
coveted) before the season for prairie-chickens came
again. The mother had bought a new rocking-
chair for father; and there was even some talk of
having a hired girl to help about the house.
Arty read and re-read these simple details of the
far-away home-life with glistening eyes, and then
looked out on the ragged mining-camp, the turbid
creek, the hill-sides covered with furze and chap-
paral, and wondered if it were possible that these
existed on the same planet that held his old home
-the tidy Lee County farm.
Hi, who was now able to get about his work after
a feeble fashion, grew pensive over his letters, and
began to think that home was, after all, a better
place for him than this, even though he should not
carry a fortune to it. Mont encouraged this idea;
and he too looked up, with a bright face and
with tenderness in his eyes, from the finely written
pages which had come to him all the way from
New England.
Most of all, however, were the boys interested in
an extraordinary letter which Johnny received from
a lawyer in Richardson. Farmer Stevens had put
into this man's hands all the facts about Johnny's
parentage and supposed wrongs, and he had traced
up the case as far as possible. Mr. Stevens wrote
to his boys that there was a good prospect of re-
covering the .property which Johnny's faithless
guardian had taken possession of, but some legal
documents were needed; and the lawyer had writ-
ten to Johnny of all that had been done. This is.
the lawyer's letter, written in a stiff, upright hand:
Richardson, Lee County, Ills., April 9, 18-.
Master J. F. Bluebaker.
RESPECTED SIR: I have to communicate to you the following facts
concerning your case, which I have undertaken at the instance of
Obadiah L. Stevens, Esq., a worthy citizen of Sugar Grove township,
this county, with whose sons, or other relatives, I understand you are
associated in business.
To wit: Jane Ann Bluebaker, maiden name Jenness, your mother,
as I now understand the case, was left a widow with one child, name,
John Francis Bluebaker, about seven years ago. The widow resided
near Oregon, Ogle County, this State, where she held legal posses-
sion of landed property, stock, fixtures, agricultural implements, the
schedule of which now exists in the Probate Court records of said
Ogle County, Oregon being the shire town thereof. In due process
of nature, Mrs. Bluebaker died, leaving her infant son to the guardian-
ship of her brother, one John F. Jenness, a veterinary surgeon, com-
monly called a horse-doctor, of LickSprings, Vermilion County, this
State.
The property hereinbefore mentioned passed with the hey (who was,
I understand and beg leave to say, yourself) into the custody of said
Jenness. This person, being the only surviving relative of Mrs. Blue-


THE BOY EMIGRANTS.




THE BOY EMIGRANTS.

BY NOAH BROOKS.







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


baker, your respected mother, except yourself, seems to have conceived
the idea of secreting or otherwise fraudulently disposing of the lad-
meaning yourself. Jenness, commonly called Dr. Jenness, as nearly
as I can discover, had already managed to convert to his own use
and behoof a portion of the income cf the estate of the late Blue-
baker; and, if the facts which come to me are trustworthy, he em-
ployed one William Bunce and Ephraim W. Mullet to carry the boy,
meaning yourself, to California and "lose" him on the way. For
this unlawful service said Bunce and Mullet were to receive an outfit
for California, and the boy was to be provided with a sum of money
which would subsist him for a time if left in a strange place; but it
may occur to an unprejudiced person that the money given to the
boy, which was in gold, might also have been intended to tempt the
ruffians to dealing foully with him.
These facts are partly derived from the admissions which the said
W. Bunce has made to the Messrs. Stevens, Morse and Fender, in
California. But they are, with additions, confirmed by the affidavits
of one Polly Gardner, an inmate and housekeeper in the family of the
late Jenness. I say the late Jenness, because that person was killed
by being thrown from his wagon, in February last. Proceedings
may be instituted to recover for you the unexpended portion of your
estate, as soon as you choose a legal guardian and have forwarded to
your attorney (in which capacity I should be pleased to serve you)
the necessary papers. I am unfamiliar with the laws in your some-
what unsettled country; but presume.that a power of attorney given
to Mr. Stevens, from your guardian when chosen, would enable him
to institute proceedings to recover.
I have the honor, sir, to subscribe myself,
Your ob't serv't,
CYRIL H. DUFFER, Att'y-at-Law.
P. S.-It may interest you to know that the estate hereinbefore
referred to is variously estimated by experts, who are neighbors, at
from twenty-five thousand dollars to thirty thousand dollars value.
C. H. D.
"What a prosy old duffer!" cried Tom, when
the reading was concluded.
Twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars !" said
Hi, pu iL i,; l hand painfully to his head. "That's
a power of money. More'n I ever hope to take
home with me. Thirty thousand That beats me."
"You're rich before us, Johnny," said Arty,
with an honest glow of satisfaction. "But," he
added with concern, you 'll have to leave us and
go home to look after your property."
Oh, no," Mont explained. He need not go
until he gets ready. We can go down to Sacra-
mento, or to the new mayor at Marysville, and have
the papers fixed up for him. By the way, Johnny,
what are you going to do about a guardian ?"
"A guardeen," repeated. Johnny, with a troubled
air. "Who '11 be my guardeen ? Will you, Arty ?"
Everybody laughed, and Mont said:
No, Johnny, you must have a guardian who is
twenty-one years of age. Arty's too young."
Then I'11 take Barney," said the boy, quickly;
and appealing to Barnard, he said: Will you be
my guardeen, Barney? I must have one, and I
don't know anybody else, scarcely, but you."
"Yes," cried Barney, heartily, "I'll be your
guardian. But I shall have to give bonds, I sup-
pose. Shall I, Mont ?"
Mont, thus appealed to, thought all that could
be arranged satisfactorily, but he was not sure
about the bonds; and Johnny, with a gleam of
light in his sober face, put his hand in Barnard's,


and said: Is n't it-something like a father-in-law,
this guardeen ?"
The matter was, on the whole, easily arranged.
It was not necessary to go to Sacramento in order
to secure the necessary legal papers. An accom-
modating magistrate was found nearer home; and
though the machinery of the law was somewhat
rude in the region of Hoosiertown, it satisfied the
needs of the young miners, and the papers were
made out and sent home.
You can call him 'pap,' I suppose, now," said
Tom, curiously, when Barnard was declared to be
the lawful guardian of Master John F. Bluebaker.
"And a young-looking father he is, too !" struck
in Arty, who was highly amused with this novel
turn of affairs. Call him guarddy' Johnny; it's
just as good as anything else."
"I never called anybody 'pap,'" said the poor
boy. I never knew anybody to call 'father;'
but I'll do just what Barney says."
"Never mind," said Barnard. "Call-me what-
ever you please. But I don't want any handle to
my name. 'Barney,' or even 'Barney Crogan,' is
good enough for me, although that young scape-
grace of a brother of mine did put on the Crogan."
Now don't put on any airs, Barney Crogan,"
joined in Nance, who took part in all the family
councils on the subject of Johnny's future pros-
pects. "Crogan you be, and Crogan you'll stay,
guardeen or no guardeen, you can jest bet yer-I
mean, that is, you may be very sure," and Nance
coughed violently to hide her confusion.
"Hello I cried Tom, rudely, "if Nance did n't
come nigh saying 'you bet yer life,' jest like she
used to. Laws sakes alive! Miss Nancy Dobbs,
how peart you have growed and the boy minced
along 'the cabin floor, stepping on the tips of his
bare toes and drawing up his shoulders, as if imi-
tating some imaginary fine lady.
The girl flashed up suddenly, and before Tom
knew what was about to happen, she gave him
such a cuff that he tumbled headlong into a corner,
where he fell ingloriously into a confused huddle
of pots and pans.
"Come, now! I say, Nance, jest you strike a
feller of your size, can't you ?"
And, red with anger, Tom scrambled out of the
way and regarded Nance with some defiance as well
as mortification.
The boys laughed at Tom's discomfiture, but
Nance, with some mortification in her turn, said:
"I beg pardon, Tom; I didn't mean to cuff
you. But if you give me any of your chin-I mean
if you sass me that way-well, no matter what I
mean." And she walked off without another word.
There, now !" said Hi, angrily; "you've been
and vexed the best gal in Hoosiertown, and it '11


786


[OCTOBER,







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


serve you right if she don't come into this shebang
ag'in for a week."
Say the only gal in Hoosiertown and you '11 hit
it," replied Tom, surlily. "'Cause you're sweet
on Nance, must she give me a whack on the side
of the cabesa like that? Whew but she's got a
heavy hand, though!"-and Tom rubbed his head,
with a comical air of misery.
"If you did n't know I was weakly," said his
brother, with a very red face, "you would n't dare
to sass me like that. Take that, impudence and
here Hi's tin cup flew over Tom's head, that young
gentleman having dodged just in time.
But, though Hiram was yet "weakly," he was
now able to work quite regularly in his claim. He
had insisted on timbering the rude tunnel; he had
a dread of its caving in upon him "again," as he
expressed it-for Hi had never been able to get
rid of the idea that he had been injured by the
falling of the roof of his tunnel. As a matter of
opinion, he "allowed" that Dr. Carson was right;
but he spoke of his wounds as the result of '" that
'cave." He was afraid the roof would drop again."
But the roof did not drop, Hiram," said the
doctor one day when Hiram was discussing the
prospects of his claim.
"How did my head get hit, then ?" petulantly
demanded Hi. "That's what I want to know."
"And that's what I want to know," replied the
doctor, fixing his keen eyes on Hi's face. You
are found wounded and bleeding in the road, a
quarter of a mile from the claim. You say you
have been caved in upon by the tunnel. But the
tunnel is not disturbed in the least. To this day it
is all sound overhead. Nobody supposes you would
tell a wrong story about your misadventure, Hiram.
But how were you injured? That's the question."
Hi had only one story to tell. And if Dr. Carson
had any theory of his own (and very likely he had),
he gave no hint of what it was. In his occasional
"spells," as Tom impatiently called them, Hi
maundered on about his jacket being heavy and
the day warm; and he almost always pleaded with
some imaginary comrade that "it" was "in the
other pocket."
Mont tried at such times to get Hi to explain.
" What is in the other pocket, old fellow ? Where
is your pocket?" -But Hi only struggled painfully,
and begged, "Don't hit me ag'in Oh, don't 1"
It was pitiful. I give it up," said Mont. It was
no use trying to draw the secret from him.
Hi murmured and grumbled a great deal about
his lost bag of dust. Nevertheless, he was now
meeting with, good fortune in his claim. He worked
at a great disadvantage. Tom was not a valuable
assistant, and Hi's health was very feeble indeed.
He seemed to have lost much of his old ambition,


though he grew covetous and avaricious. Some-
times, he was obliged to leave off work for several
days at a time. When he went back to his claim,
he felt more like sitting down in the mouth of the
tunnel and musing-while Tom went gunning for
gophers-than striking with pick or shovel.
"Just my ornery luck," he said, discontentedly,
one day, as he sat complaining to himself by a
heap of dirt thrown out from the tunnel. He aim-
lessly threw the lumps of sand and dried earth at a
stake which marked a miner's "corner" near by.
And as he sat tossing the dirt, his thoughts were
not in the diggings. He was thinking of Nance.
"Powerful nice gal! muttered Hi to himself.
"Chirky and peart, but dreffle sassy. My gosh,
what a tongue "-and Hi threw another lump at
Gubbins' corner stake. "Just my ornery luck!"
Then he got half-way up, and, trembling with
excitement, crawled on his hands and knees to the
little heap of earth, fallen apart where it struck the
stake. He snatched the crumbly mass in his hands.
It was whitish-yellow, sprinkled with small angular
bits of pure white stone; but all through it were
lumps, streaks, and jagged wires of gold.
"Gosh all Friday! I've struck a quartz lead!
I've struck it! I've struck it!" And Hi, in a
delirium of joy, pressed the precious handful to his
lips, as if to devour it.
Tom, who was patiently waiting by the side of a
gopher-hole on the hill-side above, his pistol ready
for the appearance of its persecuted tenant, looked
down and saw his brother's.extraordinary actions. .
"Another spell onto him, I s'pose," complained
Tom, and he sauntered down to Hi's relief.
Poor Hiram looked vacantly at his brother when
he came down, brushed the glittering dust off his
face with a great effort, and said: "Don't hit me
ag'in It's in the other pocket! "

CHAPTER XXVIII. '
DEVELOPMENTS.
THE news that a rich quartz lead had been dis-
covered on Brush Hill created a tremendous excite-
ment in Hoosiertown. Only a few claims had been
located in that region, and those that were worked
were considered as paying only fairly. Before
night every foot of ground along the hill was taken
up. Very little was then known about quartz-
mining. Here and there, deposits of decayed yel-
lowish quartz rock, richly speckled with gold, had
been found. These had usually been dug out
speedily with pick and shovel. The rock was
easily pulverized, and, being pounded in an iron
mortar, or even between two smooth stones, the
golden grains in it were thus loosened and secured.
But much of this flint-like quartz was pure white


787







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


and as hard as adamant. The miners looked at it
covetously and passed on to find gold in a more
accessible condition.
Lately, however, there had been some experi-
ments at quartz mining with machinery in the
southern mines. There ran a rumor that fabulous
sums had been made by pounding up the gold-
bearing quartz in the Mariposa country, where
some new kind of machinery had been put up for
that purpose. Then, too, there came inflaming
reports of rich quartz mines being found and
worked in Tuolumnc. The rock was crushed by
"arastras," as the Mexicans called, them, a simple
invention of old times. The arastra was something
like a huge grindstone, revolving on an axis, one
end of which was made fast to an upright, but
turning, post in the center of a circle; the other
end was moved around by mules or cattle. The
great stone, revolving over the broken quartz which
was laid in a large circular trough, crushed all
before it. Powdered quartz and free gold were
gathered up in a wet paste, and the precious stuff
was then separated from the refuse.
Very soon, quartz mining became all the rage,"
and everybody wanted to try it. The rude mortar
and arastra served to extract only the larger par-
ticles of gold; probably, more was wasted than
was saved. The miners, in their eagerness to
crack open the rocky ledges, snatch the large pieces
of gold and go away, threw aside everything that
did not promise them an immediate return.
The fame of the Mariposa and Tuolumne quartz
ledges had reached Hoosiertown and Brush Hill
diggings. Some restless prospectors had dug down
below the surface wherever they had found lumps of
white rock sticking up through the soil, like a coat-
sleeve out at the elbow. But nobody had found
gold-bearing quartz; it was thought an unlikely
thing that it should exist here. And when Hi's
discovery was announced, everybody said at once
that they always knew there was quartz in that
hill." In Hi's little tunnel, now famous, he found
a thin vein of rock just cropping above the irregular
floor of the chamber. It was a loose, friable sort
of rock, full of cracks and holes, easily scraped off
with a strong shovel, yellowish-white and gray in
color, and mottled with gold. Hi had previously
shoveled up some of this loose stuff, which soon
became covered with dirt, and was dumped out
with what was thought to be worthless stuff. When
Hi accidentally cracked open one of these rich
lumps of golden rock, it flashed on him that he
had at last found what the whole country was look-
ing for-a quartz lead.
"A fool for luck," said some of the Hoosiertown
miners when they found that Hi had blundered on
a mine of gold. Then they rushed out to Brush


Hill and covered it over with stakes and notices of
claims. Men who were making fortunes in the
river diggings, or in the ravine claims, dropped /
everything else and seized upon quartz mining as
affording the very shortest road to riches. It was
early in the forenoon when Hi, weak and overcome
by his sudden discovery, had fallen in a fit. Tom,
with great amazement, had wiped the golden dust
and dirt from his brother's face, and had dragged
him into the cool shadow of the tunnel, where he
gradually recovered. It was noon when Hiram,
feverish and trembling, was able to examine his


"HI PRESSED THE PRECIOUS HANDFUL TO HIS LIPS."
vein of quartz and gold, and tell his nearest neigh-
bors of his luck. Before the sun went down that
night, Brush Hill was looked upon as a bank on
which hundreds of men were to -present checks in
the shape of picks and shovels, and draw gold in
any quantity.
Hiram was the hero of the hour. He bore his
fame with indifference, and announced his readi-
ness to sell out and go back to the States.. Every-
body wanted to buy. Nobody was willing to say
what the claim was worth. Some men thought it
ought to bring one hundred thousand dollars.
There were those who said that capitalists at the


[OcTOBER,


"'- 1
L-







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


Bay, as San Francisco was called, would jump at
a chance to give two millions for it.
"Two millions!" whispered Hi to himself.
"What a heap of money! Is there so much in
this yere world ? "
However, nobody offered to buy the mine at any
price, and Hi and Tom went on slowly digging in it.
One Sunday morning, when Hoosiertown was
given up to the cleaning, cooking, mending, and
letter-writing, with which that day was always occu-
pied in the mines, a rough-bearded, red-shirted,
booted miner rode down the divide just south of
Table Mountain, and made his way into Hoosier-
town. Stopping at the express-office, a log hut of
noble dimensions, he inquired for the boys from
Crowbait, whosumever they might be."
He was directed to the cabin where Mont, Bar-
nard, Hi, and the three boys were gathered about
the door. Without wasting words on the loungers
at the express-office, he cantered across the branch,
dismounted, and saluted the party with, Howdy?
Nice day."
Seating himself on Arty's chopping-block, he
opened his errand.
Which of you fellers is Hi Fender ?"
That's my name," answered Hi.
How's yer head?" he asked, with a curious
grin. "I'm from Cherokee Flat, t' other side of
the divide."
"All right," said Hi. "Glad to see ye: My
head's improving thank ye. How's herself?"
"It's just like this," said the stranger, in a
queer and inconsequent way. "We caught a feller
a-robbin' Kentucky Bob's sluice, over to Cherokee,
last night. Bob let drive at him and shot him in
the leg-winged him, so to speak. Dark night,
yer see, or Bob 'd done better. Anyhow, the thief
could n't get away, and we boys turned out and
tied him up for the night. This morning' he war
tried. Do yer fuller me ? "
His listeners assured him that they understood
him, and he went on.
When he was gone through with, we lighted
on a bag of dust stowed away in his traps. Look
yar," and the man opened a buck-skin bag and
poured into the crown of his hat a handful of coarse
gold. This yar," he said, parting some grains
of light-colored yellow metal from the other, "is
Cherokee gold. All on our side of the divide, least-
ways as fur as we've prospected, is like that thar.
This yar,"-and here his stumpy finger poked out
some coarser bits of dark reddish gold,-" this yar
came from your side of Table Mountain. Brush
Hill gold, bein' a gold-sharp, I mought say."
Nobody spoke.
Now yer see that when we went through this
yar galoot, we found his buck-skin full of all sorts


and kinds. Sure as shooting he had bin playing' it
low down on any number of honest miners. Not
bein' an honest miner himself, he had bin goin' for
everything in sight on both sides of Table Mount'in.
D' yer foller my meaning' ?"
Mont, rather impatiently, said that they did, and
would like the rest of his story.
"Pre-cisely," said the man, "and jest what I
was coming' to when you interrupted me. Seein' as
how this chap did n't hev long to live, we gave him
warning' to make a clean breast of it, which he did.
He had n't sold no dust, but had packed it away -in
holes and crevices, where we found most of it.
This yar dark gold, from the south of the divide,
he allowed was some out of a lot that he got away
with belongin' to a chap named Fender. Yar it
is writ out, yer see, by the clerk of the meeting .
'Hiram Fender,' which is you, according' to 'pear-
ances "-and the man saluted Hi, with gravity.
Hiram looked at him painfully and with a troubled
expression, and said:
"I allow he must have found my bag when I
dropped, the day I was caved in on."
Nary time, stranger. He confessed that he
laid for you better 'n four days, a-waitin' fur you to
get where he could knock you over and go fur yer
buck-skin. One day, he war on the nigh side of
Table Mount'in as yer went down the trail from
yer claim. Yer slouched along right under whar
he war, leastways so he allowed to us. Then he
rocked yer. The first dornick took yer plum' on
the cabesa, and yer dropped in yer tracks. He let
fly another at yer, climbed down the bluff, went
through yer clothes, nipped yer buck-skin, and lit
out. Leastways, so he let on to us at the meeting. "
Good heavens! said Mont, "this is an amaz-
ing story "
Arthur, whose eyes had opened wider and wider
while the story was being told, exclaimed:
Do you know this man's name ?"
Well, I disremember; usual he war called Lame
Bill, but I allow it war some such name as Bunch."
Bunce cried the boys.
You've hit it. Bunce war his name."
Was his name ?" said Barnard. You don't
mean
"Pre-cisely. What little he had to say, he said
a-standin' on a wagon-box, with rope around his
neck, and it over a convenient sycamore handy by.
The boys war buryin' of him when I left."
Lynched ?" said the boys, with horror.
Lynched it war. But everything regular. He
could n't hev asked for no squarer game. Chair-
man, clerk, rope committee, and everything ac-
cordin' to rule. Oh, we're a law-abidin' lot on our
side of the divide."
This was slightly sarcastic, for there had been


Z89








790 THE BOY EMIGRANTS. I OCTOBEz,


some scandalous irregularities reported of the
Hoosiertown people.
Law-abidin' people and travel on the square .
Your friend Bunch went off like a lamb."
Did he really say that he dropped rocks on my
head ?" asked Hi, who could not believe this story.
Sartin, sartin. Did n't yer feel 'em ? "
No," said Mont. Hi has never had a clear
idea of what happened. The first blow made him
insensible, probably, and his brain was so affected
by the hurt that he had a notion that he had been
caved in on while in the tunnel. He never knew
what hurt him."
"Sho, now "
"It's a strange case. Did Bunce say how Hi
behaved when he was robbed of his bag of dust ?"
I disremember pertickeler. But he did say
that while he war a-goin' through yer pardner thar,
that he sorter freshened up a bit and sung out to
Bunch, so he did, and says, 'Don't hit me ag'in;
it's in the other pocket'-meanin' the dust, yer
see. With that, Bunch he clips him another, which
finishes him, he allowed. Then he grabs the buck-
skin, does Bunch, and breaks for tall timber."
The story is complete, Hi, my boy," added
Barney. "I guess Dr. Carson had it all figured
out except as to the robber. You know Arty saw
Bunce from the hill."
I 'm clean beat, and don't know anything about
it," said Hiram, discontentedly. And he sat back
from the group with the air of one who has no
further interest in a discussion.
"And yar," said the stranger, producing an
empty buck-skin bag, yar is a bag that we allowed
belonged over yar. Hit's got 'Boston' onto it,'
and you chaps hail from thereaway, they say."
My bag exclaimed Arty. "I marked that
on there and gave the bag to Hi. Was there any-
thing in it ? "
No," said the man. "Hit war stowed inside
of another buck-skin. Both on 'em war buried
near a lone pine, where we found 'em 'cordin' to
directions."
It was then explained that the meeting' at
Cherokee had directed this envoy to leave with
Hiram Fender the gold which had been sent over.
It belonged to nobody at Cherokee. It was about
equal in weight to the darker gold found among
Bunce's deposits. The rest had been confiscated,
by popular vote, for the relief of a distressed miner
who was laid up with the rheumatism.
One more question before you go," said Mont.
"Did Bunce confess any other crimes before he
was-hanged ?"
Heaps, heaps on 'em," replied the man. But
none that I set much by. Except he denied that
he stole Columbus's money at Loup Fork, as one


of our fellers said he did. It war his pardner, Eph
Mullet, that did that. Leastways, so Lame Bill
allowed. Hit don't matter now, anyhow."
So saying, he swung himself into his saddle,
touched his horse's flank, clattered over the branch,
down the trail, and disappeared in the thickets
which covered the divide.
The boys looked at each other with a feeling of
awe. Bill Bunce had at last met with his fate.
He would lie and steal no more. With his awful
taking-off had come the explanation of Hi's mys-
terious disaster. Here was conclusive proof that
Hi had been living under a strange delusion. In-
deed, he was still deluded. His comrades were
satisfied that he had been waylaid, cruelly wounded,
and robbed by Bunce. Arty and Johnny had seen
the crime from the hill, though they had not seen
Hiram in the road below. Arty went over the
whole story again, point by point.
Hi only said: Boys, it gets me. I give it up.
I s'pose you're right. But I allow I shall never
know how it happened."

CHAPTER XXIX.
RECKONING UP THE GAINS.
HI's "luck" did not seem to desert him, although
nobody made a distinct offer to buy his quartz lead.
There was much talk about capitalists coming up
from the Bay in search of just such investments as
this. Somehow, they never came, and Hi went on
with his work, his comrades occasionally giving
him a helping hand. A week had passed since his
great discovery, and the people who had taken up
claims on Brush Hill were becoming discontented
with their failure to "strike it rich." Hi steadily
took out gold-bearing quartz in paying quantities ;
the gold was pounded out in a big-iron mortar,
brought at great expense from San Francisco.
One day, Tom was industriously picking away at
the loose vein of rock inside the tunnel, when he
uttered a wild shriek, which made Hi drop his
basket and hurry to the spot. Tom had cleft off a
thin layer of rock which had slanted downward
beneath the surface. About six inches below this
was another similar layer, and between these two,
as far as uncovered, was a reddish-gray deposit of
rotten rock veined and mottled through and through
with virgin gold. It was nearly one-half gold, glit-
tering, sparkling, and in all sorts of shapes. Some
of it was like ferns, in long and leafy sprays; some
was like sheets of foil crumpled by pressure; and
some was in thick splinters, as if it had been ham-
mered into the crevices of the rock, ages ago, be-
fore these quartz crystals had begun to decay.
Hi uttered a howl of delight, and seized the pick
from Tom's unwilling hand. In a moment, he


790


THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


[OCTOBER,







THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


had laid bare the vein, which did not extend quite
across the tunnel, and- was of unknown depth.
Trembling with eagerness, he held the candle
down to the shining mass, and said: "Millions !
millions millions "
"And I struck it," added Tom, proudly.
So you did, Tommy, my boy," said Hi, fondly.
" So you did, and a right peart striker you are.
You shall have a specimen out of this for a buzzum-
pin, so you shall; and we '11 go back to Sugar
Grove and hold up our heads with them proud
Gashwilers and Perkinses and all the rest."
And Hi lovingly laid a golden leaf in his hands
and doubled it up, as if in mere wantonness of
wealth. It was a wonderful thing to be able to
handle one's own gold like that-just as if it were
sheets of common tin.
"Now, you Tom, just keep your mouth shet
about this. Don't let it get around. We 'll have
the whole camp down on us if ye do."
"What!" cried Tom, opening his eyes very
wide. Not tell Mont and the boys ? "
Sartinly not! sartinly not !" replied his brother,
and his face grew haggard and anxious as he re-
garded the glittering vein. Nothin' to nobody.
D' ye hear that? "
"Yes, I hear," said Tom, who was bursting to
rush out and tell the news.
That night, Hi went staggering home with the
proceeds of his day's work, mingled with bits of
broken quartz with gold sticking to them.
What luck to-day ?." asked Dr. Carson, check-
Sing his horse as he rode past the two brothers.
"Oh, just ornery, just ornery, Doctor. Times
is dreffle mixed up here," answered Hi, with some-
thing like a whine.
"Golly what a whopper cried Tom, as the
doctor rode off with a pleasant word for the boys.
Keep yer head shet, will ye, young one. You
are the talkinest creetur I ever came acrost. Did n't
I say that things was mixed ? Aint that getting'
around the truth without strainin' it ?"
But Hi felt guilty; and when he remembered
how Dr. Carson had guessed out the truth about
the affair of Bunce, he was afraid that he might
somehow divine the golden secret of the mine.
When Hi and Tom reached the cabin, they
found the rest of the party in great excitement.
Arty had that day found in the claim two nuggets,
or chispas, worth at least five hundred dollars each.
"Are n't they beauties, Hi?" asked Johnny;
and he rolled the potato-shaped lumps over and
over on the supper-table.
"Hang it all, boys," said Hi, with a sudden
burst of candor. I did n't mean to tell. But just
look at this yere." And he poured out the glitter-
ing contents of his sack.


"There now !" exclaimed Tom. You've been
and gone and told, and I kept shut about it "
Did n't mean to tell ?" said Mont, with a look
of surprise. "You don't mean to say that you
would keep the good news from. us, Hi ?"
Hi blushed and explained that he wanted to keep
the news from the rest of the camp. He could not
keep it from the boys when he saw how frank they
were. But it was all out now. Would the boys
say nothing about it:for the present ?
There was no need. The very next day, Hi,
scooping out the contents of the rift of rock in
which his treasure lay, suddenly struck his pick
against a hard wall. It was the virgin quartz-
pure, white, adamantine, and without a flaw or
seam. In this shallow fissure the decayed gold-
bearing quartz had been shut up for ages. A day's
work had been sufficient to scrape it all out; and
the pocket was empty.
Hi nervously plied his pick and shovel in all
directions. For hours he dug and scratched at the
rock, above, below, to the left and to the right.
In vain; only barren quartz met him on all sides.
Hi wiped his heated head and shoulders and sat
down to rest, saying: There's no use talking Tom.
This yere claim's played out. I 'm goin' home."
And, in spite of Tom's remonstrances, Hiram
deliberately shouldered his bag of ore and mining-
tools, and set his face toward the tunnel's mouth.
Reaching the open air, he blew out his candle, laid
it carefully away in a crevice of rock, as if he was
going away for the night. But, turning about, he
said: "Good-bye, old tunnel. You've given me
sorrer, and you've given me gold. We part friends.
I'm bound for the States! "
To the States re-echoed the boys in grand
chorus, when Hiram, that night, announced his
.sudden determination.
"Yes. I've made my pile, you see. Not mil-
lions, nor even hundred thousands, but more'n I
ever thought for when I started. It don't pay, this
livin' in a hole in the ground."
Well, I must say," said Barney, with delibera-
tion, this is a new freak for you. What has hap-
pened to change your mind about making that
million that you thought you had struck ?"
"Oh, I say, I wonder if it is n't because Nance
and her folks are going home ?" broke in little
Johnny, with great simplicity.
"Yer know too much, youngster," interrupted
Hi, wrathfully; but he blushed red, nevertheless.
"We may as well all go together," said Arty.
We 've sent home five thousand dollars, all told.
Have n't we got as much more, share and share
alike, Barney Crogan ?"
They took account of stock, went over all their
gains, and found that they would have, after selling






THE BOY EMIGRANTS.


their claim, forty thousand dollars. This was a
fortune to the boys. Divided, it gave Barney and
Arthur twenty thousand dollars between them, and
the same to Mont and his little partner.
Hi and his brother, notwithstanding their occa-
sional spurts of luck," had not accumulated quite
so much. Hi's sickness had disabled him, various
expenses had eaten into the profits, and the gold
never turned out to be so much in value as it
looked.
The boys decided to go home.


players within: Can any of this gay and garrulous
crowd tell a passing stranger where to find the
Boston Boys?"
"Reckon you'll find 'em down about the Bay
somewhar, stranger. It's your deal, Kaintuck,"
and the man went on with his play.
Sho you don't tell me so! Gone to the Bay!
Made their pile?"
They've made right smart, I hear," explained
one of the lounging group. Yer see Nance, she
went with the old man Dobbs. Then the feller


STARTING HOMEWARD.


CHAPTER XXX.


HOMEWARD BOUND.
PEOPLE moved suddenly in those days. A miner
would go to his cabin at night, grimy with a day's
work, and leaving his pick and shovel in his claim.
Next day, clad in a "biled" (or white) shirt, and
uncomfortable in store clothes," he would wave a
farewell from the top of the stage, or from the
back of his mule, as he took his way to Sacra-
mento, San Francisco, and the States.
Late in September, Jehiel Bush, seedy but cheery,
dropped his mining kit in front of the Hoosiertown
express-office, and said to a noisy party of card-


that struck it up on Brush Hill, he went. Then
that' smart Boston chap, he went, and the whole
kit and caboodle of'em went."
To the States ? said Bush, aghast.
That's the size of it, strangerr"
Bush looked down dejectedly, and murmured:
"And I'm clean busted! Oh, it gets 'em it
gets 'em i One gal like that can clear out a hull
camp."
So saying, he shouldered his pack and moved on.
In those days there were steamers plying be-
tween San Francisco and Panama, laden with home-
ward-bound gold-hunters. Now and then, there
was a fearful disaster, and hundreds of men, with


[OCTOBER,






IN THE CLOSET.


their faces turned toward home, sunk in the waters.
In a little space, a ship-load of hopefulness, life,
manhood, and treasure was swallowed, in the sea.
But, safely creeping down the coast, across the hot
and gorgeous isthmus of Panama, and up the bois-
terous Atlantic, went our young adventurers.
It was a happy day when the boys, so lately from
the rough wilds of California, found themselves in
the glitter and excitement of New York. The
streets seemed foreign to them, and the great stores
were almost awful in their magnificence. But their
thoughts ran out to the West, where father, mother,
brothers and sisters waited for them day by day. It
was hard parting with Mont; but he manfully in-
sisted that it was only for a time. They should
meet again, and soon. He had lost his taste for
city-life; he would go out West and settle down in
Lee County, by and by. So he sped home to his
mother.
In the houses of Stevens and Fender, at Sugar
Grove, there was great rejoicing when the fortunate
young gold-seekers, like seamen from the waters,
came home in triumph. Farmer Stevens and
Oliver had gone into, town with their new farm-
wagon, and, meeting the wanderers at the stage,
had brought them out, bag and baggage, and with
great acclaim, Arty standing up with a flag hand-
kerchief on a ramrod, as the party drove up the
farm-road. It was like the last act in a play, when
all is happiness, reunion and congratulation. The
boys who had gone out with slender equipment,
followed by hopes and fears, prayers and fore-
bodings, had come again, rejoicing and.bringing
their golden sheaves with them.


"And this is little Johnny?" said the good
mother, when Barney and Arty had been welcomed
again and again.
"Yes, mother," broke in Arthur. "And he
shall never go away, shall he? Say that 's so,
quick, because you know," and the lad dropped his
voice, "he's got no home unless it is with us."
Johnny shall stay with my boys ever and
always, if he likes," said the mother.
Barnard, with a little air of authority, added:
"I 'm Johnny's guardian, and he shall stay with
me."
"My son! said the home-mother, her kindly
arm about the orphan's shoulder. The lad's blue
eyes were moist as he kissed his new mother. He
was at home at last.
How Johnny came into his own again, and how
he sent back to Mont all that was left of his own
share of the gold, when he was once more settled-
these and other things can be left to the imagina-
tion of the dear young folks who have followed the
varying fortunes of the Boy Emigrants.
Prosperity has come back to the Grove from the
Golden Land. Barney, Arty, and Johnny tell their
adventures over and over again in the comfortable
home of the Stevens family, and to willing ears.
Old man Fender thought that Hi had "missed
it" by leaving his mining partners and striking out
for himself. If Hi had not been ignorant, he said,
he would have been more patient and more success-
ful. So, as he leans over his fence-rail, smoking
his pipe at eventide, he looks at the thrifty Stevens'
farm, and mutters:
Tell yer what-eddication's a great thing "


THE END.


IN THE CLOSET.

BY LAURA E. RICHARDS.


THEY 'VE taken away the ball,
Oh dear !
And I '11 never get it back,
I fear.
And now they've gone away,
And left me here to stay
All alone the livelong day,
In here.

It was my ball, anyway,-
Not his;
VOL. III.-53.


For he never had a ball
Like this.
Such a coward you '11 not see,
E'en if you should live to be
Old as Deuteronomy,
As he is.

I'm sure I meant no harm-
None at all !
I just held out my hand -
For the ball,


1876.)






SEA-JELLIES.


And somehow it hit his head;
Then his nose it went and bled;
And as if I'd killed him dead,
He did bawl.

Nursey said I was a horrid
Little wretch,
And Aunt Jane said the police
She would fetch;
And cook, who 's always glad
Of a chance to make me mad,
Said, Indeed, she niver had
Seen setch 'I

No, I never, never will
Be good !
I'11 go and be a babe
In the wood!
I'11 run away to sea,
And a pirate I will be!
Then they 'll never call me
Rough and rude.

How hungry I am getting,-
Let me see !


I wonder what they're going to have
For tea !
Of course there will be jam,
And that lovely potted ham.
How unfortunate I am!
Dear me !

Oh! it's growing very dark
In here,
And the shadow in that corner
Looks so queer !
Wont they bring me any light ?
Must I stay in here all night?
I shall surely die of fright,
Oh dear!

Mother, l ,rlii.-; will you never
Come back?
I am sorry that I hit him
Such a crack.
Hark Yes, 'tis her voice I hear!
Now. good-bye to every fear,
For she's calling me her dear
Little Jack.


SEA-JELLIES.

BY J. RICHARDSON.


THEY are commonly called jelly-fish; but, strictly
speakiri g they are no more fish than toad-stools are
trees. They live and move in water, but there their
likeness to true fish is at an end.
They are sometimes called sea-nettles, because
they sting, at least some of them do, and woe to the
swimmer, whether man or fish, that runs against
one of these; their touch is like a stroke from an
electric cat-o'-nine-tails-thousand- and- nine- tails
rather, for each of the innumerable whip-like ten-
tacles burns like a fine streak of lightning.
They are of all sizes, from microscopic specks,
too small to be seen with the naked eye, to huge
monsters many feet across, with streaming tentacles
fifty or a hundred feet long. Off the Massachusetts
coast, Mrs. Agassiz saw one having a body eight or
ten feet across, and tentacles some scores of feet in
length trailing behind. But that was a trifle to
those which travelers tell of seeing in tropical seas.
A trustworthy writer describes one which was cast
upon the Bombay shore by a storm-an enormous
mass of jelly weighing many tons. It was nine
months before it entirely melted away and dis-


appeared; and while it was decaying travelers had
to avoid the spot, changing the road that ran by it
nearly a quarter of a mile to escape the sickening
stench that came from the' putrid mass.
Voyagers tell of sailing through shoals of them,
covering the sea for miles and miles, so close to-
gether that they impede the progress of a vessel, as
the weeds of Saragossa Sea did the ships of Colum-
bis. And a beautiful sight it is at night when a
ship encounters them, for they are often phosphor-
escent, and at such times the vessel turns a lumin-
ous furrow and leaves a trail of brightness in its
wake.
In arctic seas microscopic .jcllie are incon-
ceivably abundant, swarming in 'such countless
myriads that the water is thick with them. Some-
times, for hundreds of square miles, the sea is
deeply colored with them-a sort of animated jelly-
soup, on which the giant whale lives and fattens,
straining out his microscopic, yet most abundant
food, by means of the enormous whalebone sieve
which he carries in the roof of his great mouth.
In the picture herewith is shown a school of


794


[OCTOBER,









X876.] SEA-JELLIES. 7!


~ '..v-- -

I, ,i -: -
, I' .. .r- -
:B


MEDUSE, OR SEA-JELLIES.


- jil,
* 1.~~







HOW GENERAL WASHINGTON GOT HIS CLOTHES.


moderate-sized sea-jellies, the two nearest swim-
ming, one toward the left, the other directly down-
ward. They swim with a pulsating motion, which
may be compared with the opening and shutting
of a parasol, usually with lazy gracefulness, but
when disturbed they dive to deep water with sur-
prising quickness. In most of them the mouth is
placed in the center, on the under side, like the
hble in the frame-work of a parasol through which
the stick passes. They have no hard parts, jaws
or teeth, yet they are able to devour small fish,
worms, minute crustacea, even each other, making
themselves all mouth, if necessary, to swallow their
captives.
They have another name, medusre, suggested by
their long tentacular appendages, which are some-
times coiled close to the body, sometimes thrown
out to a great distance, sometimes but half un-


folded, writhing and twisting like the snaky locks
of the fabled Medusa. Yet there is no snaky re-
pulsiveness about meduse. On the contrary, they
rank among the most beautiful of living creatures.
"When floating in the ocean," says an eloquent
writer, "most of them appear like crystal bowls of
purest transparency, veined and patterned with the
most brilliant colors, their rims ornamented with
fringes, furbelows, and arbuscles of such delicacy
and intricacy of workmanship, that even the most
experienced in nature's works marvel how it is that
such textures, too frail to bear the slightest hand-
ling, are kept entire amid the restless element of
their nativity."
And a poet says:
There's not a gem
Wrought by man's art to be compared to them;
Soft, brilliant, tender, through the wave they glow,
And make the moonlight brighter where they flow."


HOW GENERAL WASHINGTON GOT HIS CLOTHES.

BY N. PERKINS.


DOUBTLESS the young lads who read the ST.
NICHOLAS are*familiar with the principal events in
the life of General Washington. As it is the cus-
tom just now to recall pleasing events of the past
century, I propose, in this little sketch, to give a
pen-picture of sunny days at Mount Vernon before
the Revolutionary war.
At the time of which I write, George Washing-
ton was thirty-one years of age. He was a tall,
well-proportioned young man, of fine appearance,
great physical strength, and fond of athletic exer-
cise. He had everything which money could buy,
but, better still, he possessed those qualities which
make a true-hearted, noble and loyal man, and
which cannot be purchased at any price. Every
one on his plantation loved and honored him.
His household was a very large one, and comprised
among its inmates a chief steward, an overseer,
and a great number of colored servants. In addi-
tion to these, the number of slaves employed on his
plantation, with their families, constituted quite a
colony by themselves.
In the year 1759, we find Washington living'at
his quiet home on the banks of the Potomac, in
the house left him by his elder brother Lawrence.
He had passed safely through many engagements
with the Indians and French settlers, had made
his only sea-voyage (to the Barbadoes), and had


so miraculously escaped injury in battle that he
was believed to have a charmed life. But though
wealthy, Washington was byno means an idle man.
He devoted himself to the cultivation of his estates,
and especially to the raising of wheat and tobacco.
He had a brick-yard on the plantation, and was
also interested in certain fisheries which were ex-
tensively carried on in the Potomac.
Washington was fond of entertaining his friends,
and many were the pleasant re-unions which took
place in the old homestead. There were no public
means of conveyance in those days, and visitors
had necessarily to come in their own private
coaches, bringing their servants with them. Every
one kept his carriages and horses as a necessary
part of, the household. The coaches were large
enough for a small family to ride in, and to hold
their baggage too. Such a coach, with its brightly
painted body and gay hammer-cloths, with colored
coachman and footman, was kept for Mrs. Wash-
ington to ride about in with her friends. Many
and many a Sunday has that old coach driven up
to the little weather-beaten Episcopal church,
which still stands in Alexandria, and Mrs. Wash-
ington, with her visitors, attended there the service
of the Church of England. Honored indeed were
those friends who were recipients of hospitality at
Mount Vernon. Even now the tale is told of


796


(OCTOBER,







HOW GENERAL WASHINGTON GOT HIS CLOTHES.


merry feasts in the large dining-room, of drives
through the Virginia woods, and sailing parties on
the Potomac, which were the sources of enjoyment
a hundred years ago.
If Washington was a kind and hospitable enter-
tainer, he was also a just and upright master. He
never failed to keep a strict watch over his place and
servants. There was no eye-service among his slaves.
He was untiring in his labors, and displayed on his
plantation, and in his home, the same activity,
method and scrupulous neatness that characterized
his life in the field. He was not too proud to min-
gle with his people, and frequently would engage
with them in the work-shops, making a plow at the
forge with his own hands, or shaping some garden-
tool in the carpenter's shop. In this way he knew
his people well, and gained from them confidence
and respect.
At this time the rebellion of the Colonies had
not taken place. The inhabitants of the different
settlements were loyal adherents of King George
III. The mother country supplied the American
colonists with all the luxuries and many of the
necessaries of life. In return, the colonists sent
back, in the British ships, the products of their soil
-tobacco and grain. Cotton at that time had not
been cultivated, and the first export of that article
to Great Britain did not occur until the year 1770.
There were no means of weaving cloth in the Col-
onies, save as it could be done by small hand-
looms. Everything of that nature came from
London. Twice a month, vessels would arrive from
England with such supplies. The dresses of the
ladies, and the clothes of the men, had to be
ordered from shops three thousand miles away, and
be subjected to the risk and delay of transportation
by sailing-vessels. In one of Washington's letters
to his London agents, he complains that if goods
ordered are not sent by vessels coming to the Po-
tomac, they sometimes remain in other ports three
months before he can get them. Think of that,
you boys, who can so easily step into a tailor's shop
and be measured for a suit, expecting to see the
finished garments in three or four days, "without
fail! How much the young ladies of those days
valued a new dress, although when it arrived it
might be six months behind the London fashions !
The London merchants found Washington a
good customer, and no doubt did their best to sup-
ply all his wants. If he was particular in ordering
his supplies, he was equally particular to ship the
best productions of his plantation to foreign ports.
So favorably was the Mount Vernon flour known,
that whenever a cargo of that brand arrived in
foreign ports, it was passed without inspection-a


high compliment to the integrity of Washington.
Twice a year Washington sent his orders for cloth-
ing, and other necessary articles for his family, to
his agents in London, Messrs. Robert Cary & Co.
To show how very particular he was in all his deal-
ings, it is an historical fact that he required his
agents to forward the bills specifying each article
purchased of different tradesmen on his account,
and these he carefully copied into a book, and also
transcribed verbatim the receipts in full of every
person to whom his money was paid.
The following letter is still preserved by a gen-
tleman in London. It was written in 1763, from
Mount Vernon, and enclosed were strips of brown
paper fastened together, and marked with letters
and figures in Washington's own handwriting:
Virginia, 26th ofApril, 1763.
MR. LAWRENCE: Be pleased to send me a genteel suite of cloaths,
made of superfine broadcloth, handsomely chosen. I should have
enclosed you my measure, but in a general way they are so badly
taken here that I am convinced it would be of very little service. I
would, therefore, have you take measure of a gentleman who wears
well-made cloaths of the following size, to wit: Six feet high and
proportionably made, if anything rather slender than thick for a
person of that hight, with pretty long arms and thighs. You will
take care to make the breeches longer than those you sent me last;
and I would have you keep the measure of the cloaths you now
make by you, and if any alteration is required in my next, it shall be
pointed out. Mr. Cary will pay your bill, and
I am, sir, your obedient servant,
Go. \WASHINGTON.
Vole.-For your further government and knowledge of my size,
I have sent the enclosed; and you must observe yt from yt coat end
No. i and No. 3 is ye size over y- breast and hips; No. 2, over
ye belly; No. 4, round ye arms; and from ye breeches end to No. a
is for waistband; b, thick of ye thigh; c, upper button-hole; d, knee-
band; c, for length of breeches. Therefore if you take measure of a
person of about six feet high, of this bigness, I think you can't go
amiss. You must take notice that enclosed is ye exact size, without
any allowance for seams, &c. Go. WASHINGTON.

Doubtless if we could find Washington's house-
hold accounts for the year 1763, we should see
recorded therein the receipt of this "sute of
cloaths," with full description of them, and the price
paid therefore. Possibly they may be the very ones
spoken of in Irving's History of Washington,
where is recorded, among the orders sent his Lon-
don agent: "A riding-frock of handsome drab-
colored broadcloth, with plain double-gilt buttons,
a riding-waistcoat of superfine scarlet cloth, with
gold lace, with buttons like those of the coat, and
a blue surtout coat."
Whether we can put this and that together,"
and believe them to be the same, is of little conse-
quence. We know that Washington was always
scrupulously well attired, and that all his super-
fine" clothes came from England, and therefore
we conclude that Mr. Lawrence was able to find a
man "six feet high, of correct bigness," and one
"who wore well-made cloaths."


797






JACK-IN -THE-PULPIT.


J 1ua!K-iN -I HE-1, ULPIT.


VACATION is over, and school is in. Good. My
chicks are rested now, and ready to enjoy them-
selves in new study. But there's plenty of play-
time, I am thankful to say, during school-terms;
the green fields don't turn white the moment the
teacher's bell rings. Now, I '11 tell you about

OBJECT-CARDS.

OBJECT-CARDS are quite the fashion this season
among the children of the red school-house. Do
you know what they are, my chicks ? Not being
able to hear your answer distinctly at this distance,
I must take the safe course and tell you. You
simply fasten any interesting natural object on a
card, and write under it, as well as you can, just
what the object is. Sometimes you 'll have to hunt
up the name in a book, sometimes you'll get it
from father, mother or friend, and oftener you'll
know it yourself; for it is quite likely to be some
object that you have been in the habit of seeing
nearly every day of your life. One of the little girls
sewed a spray of rye on one card, oats on another,
wheat on another, barley on another, buckwheat
on another, all picked and labeled by herself at
various times, and you've no idea what a sensation
they made. Little friends and big were glad enough
to take up these cards and study out the exact
differences between them. Many said they then
noted the distinctive features of the various grains
for the first time. A little boy who went to the
sea-side brought home cards with many pretty
shells gummed upon them, one or two shells to a
card. He had to look in a work on conchology
before he could name his specimens. His sister
made a fine set of pressed-leaf cards-maple, oak,
cherry, apple, sycamore, elm, beech, and so on,
till she had over a hundred, representing as many


different kinds of tree. One boy had a set of
butterfly-cards, another of beetles; but I did n't
quite approve of them. One girl had sets of bark-
cards, showing over thirty varieties of bark (she
and the tree-leaf girl should go into partnership),
and another had a set of pine-cone cards-bristling
things that had to be kept in a roomy box. The
cones were neatly sliced in half, lengthwise, and
the flat side was glued to the card.
I cannot begin to tell you half of the styles of
object-cards that the children of the red school-
house have made, and still are making. The Little
Schoolma'am read in the newspaper about a sort
of progressive object-card that is used in some of
the Belgian and Swedish schools. On one card is
seen the flax-seed, the flax-blossom, the thread
made of flax, and the woven linen. Others show
the ore of a metal placed beside some finished
article manufactured from the same. In fact, many
branches of natural history and manufactures, as
you see, can well be studied by making sets of
object-cards. There is no danger either of making
them too simple. The moment any natural object,
however common, is looked at inquiringly, it be-
comes interesting.
Now, my chicks, take a hint from this. Enter
our open-air school and begin to make object-
cards. Report to your Jack whenever you have
anything to tell about.

THE LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM'S PICTURE.
Canaan, August 5th, 1876.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM- I think I have found he answer
to your question on page 671 of the August ST. NICHOLAS. It is Sir
Humphrey Davy, .. .....-r .1-.:...l who was born in England in
1778, an d d ied a t C ..:- ,. i.
Among the most important results of his observations were the
decomposition of the alkalis and earths, and the discovery of an en-
tirely new class of metals. He also rendered a memorable service to
cheo,-,,- t.. hi' rTr *, -n "Oxymuriatic Acid."
I! i,.. ,, ..r .. -,,;. .. i, correct, I remain your friend,
C. A. D.
The Little Schoolma'am thanks C. A. D. and all
the other children who have sent answers to her
question; but she wishes to call attention to an
important omission in C. A. D.'s letter. Who can
discover it ?
PICKLES.
SHARP things, are n't they?-but children usu-

ally like them, I know. Now, how do you suppose
they got their funny name ? It's very queer, but
I'11 tell you how I found out. A droll-looking old
fellow, one of those who are always digging out
things,-from books, I mean,-sat down with a
young lad in my woods the other day for a good
long talk. I tell you, I kept my ears open to
catch any scrap of wisdom he might let fall; for,
since I 've had such a big circle of listeners, I
have to be on the watch, and I know those quiet-
looking chaps, with rusty coat and spectacles, know
a great deal.
Well, I heard him tell the lad that the first man
who salted and preserved herrings, so as to keep
them nicely, was named Beukelzoon (Dutch, of
course, as anybody can see). This name was short-
ened to Beukel (sensibly, I'm sure). Now, you


798


OCTOBER,







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT


ask some Dutchman to pronounce that name, and
see how much it sounds like Pickle.
Any way, that's where the word came from,-
so the wise man said.

OLD ABE, THE WAR EAGLE OF WISCONSIN.

WITH Jack's permission, my young friends, I
have the pleasure of showing you a beautiful picture
of "Old Abe, the War Eagle of Wisconsin." It
was taken from life on purpose for ST. NICHOLAS,
and I can certify that it is a good likeness of the
grand old bird as he sits on his perch at the Cen-
tennial Exposition. Every boy and girl who goes
to the great show at Philadelphia is anxious to get
a sight of this famous bird. During the late war
he went for three years with the Eighth Regiment


g~ J.Al4 i.


of Wisconsin Volunteers through the thickest of
the fight, sharing in turn their hardships, dangers,
and victories.
He belongs to the Wisconsin regiment still, and
though they purchased him for only one bushel of
corn, no amount of money can buy him now. He
is named after Abraham Lincoln'; and a Union
soldier, who is very proud of his office, has the
charge of him at the Exposition, where Northern-
ers and Southerners alike admire his beauty and
bravery.
A book which is sold at the Centennial tells his
entire history, from the day on which the Indian
" Chief Sky found him, a baby eagle, in his nest,


to the present time, when he stands in martial
dignity and fixes his piercing eyes upon the crowds
that daily gather to do him honor.
Long live Old Abe, and may his end be peace-
ful! SILAS GREEN.

THE TERMITES.
YOUR Jack wishes to thank Mary E. Moore,
Charley W., D., Arthur Weston, William G., and
others for their letters about the termites, in answer
to the question in "Every One to his Taste," in
the June ST. NICHOLAS. He would like to show
you all of the notes, but these two must suffice:

Montrose, N. J., May 25.
DEAR JACK: The ants you asked about in the June number, in
"Every One to his Taste," are termites, or white ants, a genus of
insects of the order nezroptera, and of the family termitide, or ter-
mitince. They live in great communities, chiefly in the tropical
countries. The termites that make their nests on the ground make
them in a conical shape, twelve feet, and even thirty feet high, in
groups like a little village. These termites are used for food in
Africa, and are said to be very good. The female is supposed to
lay thirty-one millions of eggs in a year.-Yours truly,
GEORGE H. DALE.

San Luis Obispo, Cal.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT : I write to answer your question about
the ants. They belong to the order neuroptera, "and are popularly
but erroneously known by the name of white ants, because they live
in vast colonies, and in many of their habits display a resemblance to
the insect from which they take their name." Their proper name is
termites. "One good quality is, however, attributable to the termites.
The insect is eatable, and even by Europeans is pronounced to be
peculiarly delicate and well-flavored, something like sweetened cream.
The termites are prepared for the table byvarious methods, some per-
sons pounding them so as to form a sort of soft paste, while others
roast them like coffee beans or chestnuts" (Wood's Natural History).
I could tell you a great deal more about them, as, besides the book
I have quoted from, we have Homes without Hands," by the same
author; but as you only asked for the name, I fear even this is too
much.-Yours, GEORGIE HAYS.

TO BE LEARNED BY HEART.

HERE, my beloved, is something which your Jack
sends you, to be learned by heart. It is one of
those easy lessons for beginners that become very
hard to master as time goes on:
"Remember that every person, however low, has
rights and feelings. In all contentions let peace be
rather your object than triumph. Value triumph
only as the means of peace."

ABOUT THE MUD-FISH.

THIS letter came too late to be shown to you last
month, but you shall have it now:
Day's Landing, Cal.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I think I can tell you something
about that strange fish you mentioned in the July ST. NICHOLAS.
It is not exactly a fish, though it has a fish-like form, covered with
scales; but it has four little legs (that do not look very much like
legs either), and it belongs to a class called batrachia, order lepi-
dota. There are three species known; they are found in South
America as well as in Africa. The South American species is called
the mud-fish-Lefidosirenz paradoza; the lepidosiret aniecieus is
found in the river Gambia.
Hoping that this bit of information will be of some benefit to my
ST. NICHOLAS cousins, I sign myself your sincere admirer,
MARTIE S. D.
Ella T. B. and Henry Finn also send descriptions
of the mud-fish, and Georgie Hays, of California,
sends a long and interesting account, from "Wood's
Natural History."








THE LITTLE DOG WITH THE GREEN TAIL.

ONCE upon a time, there came to the town where all the little dogs live, a
strange little dog, wh6se tail was of a most beautiful bright green color-so
very bright that it shone like an emerald. Now, wh\-th all the other little
dogs saw this, they were filled with admiration and envy, and they all ran to
the strange little dog and said:
Oh, little dog what makes your tail so beautifully green ? Pray tell
us, that we may make ours green too, for we never saw anything so lovely
in all our lives."
But the strange little dog laughed and said: There are many things far

_.. ,1 'I I-- ,-


St y r the g d
So all the little dogsran down into the meadow where the grass was













growing, and they said: "Oh, grass, grass! what makes you so green?
1















But all the little blades of grass shook their heads, and said: "We can
/ i A! \- -' -,, -








greener than my tail. There is the grass down in the meadow; go and ask
Ythat wht m s it gr, and perhaps it wull tell you..




So all the little dogs went to work as fast as they could, and dug hole grass wasin
thegrowingd; and they said:n they got into them and covered themselves! what makes you so greenwith
You might try that, and perhaps it would make you green too."








the ground; and then they got into them and covered themselves up with
earth. But very soon they found that they could not breathe; so they were
all obliged to come up again. And when they looked, at each other, they
earth.i Bu eyso he on htteycudntbeth; hywr
allr~ obie tocmeu aanlAdwhnthylokd at ac ohe, he


800


FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


[OCTOBER,






s876.] FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 50I

saw to their sorrow that they were not green at all, but just the same colors
that they were before-some black, some brown, and some spotted. So then
they all went again to the strange little dog, and said:
Oh, little dog, little dog! we have been to the grass, and it has not
helped us at all. Now, do please tell us what makes your tail so beautifully
green, for we never can be happy till ours are like it.'
But the strange little dog only laughed again, and answered: My tail is
not the only green thing in the world. There are the leaves on the great
oak-tree; they are very green indeed. Go and ask them what makes them
so, and perhaps they will tell you."
So all the little dogs ran as fast as they could to the great oak-tree, and
called out to the little leaves : "Oh, little leaves what makes you so beauti-















THE LITTLE DOGS TUMBLE OUT OF THE TREE.
fully green ? Do tell us, that we may all get green tails like the strange
fully ge ? Do l ui ,l








little dog's."
But the little leaves all shook their heads, and said: "We know nothing
about that. We came out of our buds last spring, and then we were very
pale. But we danced about, and the more we danced the greener we grew.
Perhaps, if you come up here and dance, you will grow green too."
So all the little dogs climbed up the tree as fast as they could, and tried
to dance about on the branches. But they were not .fastened on like the
little leaves, so they all fell down and hurt themselves very much; and when
they got up and looked at each other, they were not any greener than before.
So then they all cried bitterly, and they ran once more to the strange little
dog, and said: Oh, little dog, little dog! we have tried the way that the
leaves told us, and we have only hurt ourselves dreadfully, and have not got





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


green at all. And now, if you do not tell us, we shall all die of grief, for we
never can rest again till our tails are green."
But the strange little dog only laughed more than ever, and said: "What
stupid creatures you are, to think that there is nothing green in the world
except my tail. There is the Sea; he is twenty times as green as my tail.
Go and ask him, and he will surely tell you all about it, for he is very wise
and knows everything."
So all the little dogs ran as fast as they could down to the shore; and
there was the great hungry Sea prowling up and down, twirling his white
moustaches and tossing his white hair, and looking very green and very


-- ---" -
4 \'._ 7 -- -ri 0l











STHE LITTLE DOGS GO DOWN TO THE SEA.
fierce. The little dogs were very much frightened, but they took courage
when they thought of the beautiful green tail, and they said, trembling:
Oh, great Sea the strange little dog told us that you were very wise
and knew everything, and that you would tell us how to make our tails green
like his."
The great Sea smiled wickedly, and answered: Oh, yes, my children, I
can tell you. I am green myself, and I make everything green that touches
me. So let me take you in my arms a moment, and you will all become
beautifully green just like me."
So the great hungry Sea held out his long green arms, and beckoned to
them with his white hands; and the poor little dogs all shut their eyes and
jumped in, and in less than a minute the Sea gobbled them all up, so that not
one was left. And there was an end of all the little dogs. And the strange
little dog went back to the place he came from, with his green tail curled up
behind him; and he never was seen or heard of again.


802


[OCTOBER,








YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.


YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.


THE THREE GIANTS.

THIs is a story that papa told us. He said I could write it out for
the ST. NICHOLAS. If I do not tell it well enough, I wish the Little
Schoolma'am would do it, for I think it is a good story.
Once there lived a giant. He was very big, and many hundred
years old. He was a giant who was not contented unless he was
fighting. When he was young he fought with a club; as he grew
older, he had armor, a sword, and a lance. When guns came into
use, he used them. He could handle a cannon as easily as we can a
pocket-pistol.
He had two sons. The oldest was very ambitious and enterprising;
the other was of a more quiet disposition. It was not the fashion
among giants to let their children do as they chose when they were
of age. They wanted to rule them as long as they lived. The am-
bitious giant did not like this; he wanted his own way, as is the case
with most children. He could not run away, because he was so large.
There was no place in the world in which he could hide where the
old giant would not find him. He concluded he would have to fight it
out. He tried to get his brother to join with him, but he would not.
He fought a great many times. At last, the old giant got tired of it;
he thought, this son made him so much trouble, he would let him go.
This was about a hundred years ago. Since then he has grown very
rich, and has done many wonderful things. Meanwhile, the other
brother has been at work in a quiet way. He spends the most of his
time working a farm, under the direction of his father.
Here papa asked us if we could guess who these giants were. He
said the farm of the younger giant was not far away, while with the
other we were still better acquainted. He is sometimes called Uncle
- Then Johnny guessed it was Uncle Sam, or the United States.
Then I knew the other brother was Canada, and that the old giant
was Old England. Then papa asked us which we thought would
come out best at the end. We were patriotic enough to think the
United States would. Papa said it depended much upon children
like us. When we were older we should all help lead the giant many
years. A. S.


A HUNDRED YEARS.

ONE hundred years, oh now we see
The joyous fruits of liberty l
One hundred years, and now we stand
The people of a mighty land !
Our borders wide, from East to West,
Bear witness that the crucial test
Of freedom has not failed. .

Our country's name is not unknown
In arctic climes and deserts lone;
By poets are our glories sung,
In strange as well as native tongue;
From many lands sad pilgrims come
To find in ours a rest and home,
And liberty to all.

And now a hundred years have passed,
We're yet unvanquished to the last;
Unconquered still, and still as brave
As when on land, on ocean's wave,
We fought for homes, for peace and love,
And, trusting in the God above,
Gained our glorious cause.

So then to celebrate our birth,
And show the peoples of the earth
The greatness of the mighty land
Where rule and love go hand in hand,
We ask them now to come and see
The country of the brave, the free,
In its centennial year.
We give our welcome unto all,
The rich, the poor, the great and small;
As well to nation of an hour
As unto royal pomp and power;
To silent poles and sunny lands,
Where Arabs fierce and pilgrim bands
Cross the deserts drear.

Come England, merrie" land of old,
Mother of kings and heroes bold;
Come Scotland, Wales, and Ireland too,
And see the people sprung from you;


And with you, France, whose tuneful name
Won from us all a lasting fame,
Through one, her honored son.

Welcome, Spain let o'er the past a veil
Be thrown, and hushed be Cuba's wail.
Brave Prussia, dear old Fatherland,
We greet you with a clasping hand.
To you best wishes, fair Italian shore,
And to your Rome, of priestly lore
The center and the home.
And now, let all the world obey
The summons which we : : to-day;
And in our own beloved :- .
Let all the struggles, strifes and hates,
Which have between the South and North
As hideous :-.:.lrr- ft crept forth,
Be buried ...I I -r

And so with cheered and trusting hearts,
We'll forward go and fill the parts
That raise our country higher still,
And show that courage, strength, and will
Alone can make us great and good,
And bowing not to shrines of wood,
But to our nation's God. s. w., JR.


CAMPING OUT.

EARLY one September morning, father, my brother Hugh, a gentle-
man, and I set out to a little trout stream about eight miles distant.
Father, Hugh, and I went in a spring wagon; Mr. Mac, the gentle-
man, on a horse. We soon got there. Father and Hugh set about
fishing, while I unhitched and fed the horses and unloaded the wagon.
Mr. Mac staid behind to shoot squirrels. I was soon ready to fish,
so I took-my rod and fished. I had fished about an hour and had
not had a bite, and was not going to fish any more, when I was jerked
into the water. But I jerked too, and I had a large trout nearly on
land when my rod grew very light, and I looked. The trout, hook,
line, and all were gone, I did not know where. By this time it was
time to have some dinner, so I went and got it ready. We were all
very l:-. .1 ate a good deal. Mr. Mac had shot some squirrels
and J J l .'., which we plucked and roasted on some sticks. It
was now quite dark, so we went to bed-Hugh and I in the wagon,
father and Mr. Mac on the ground near the fire. We were up with
the sun, and ready to fish again; but one of our horses had got loose,
and so I had to look for it. After a walk of about five miles, I found
it eating some new-mown hay. I soon rode him back to camp,
hitched him up, and we were soon on our way home. Our game
amounted to fifty-two trout, six squirrels, and three wild pigeons.
F. ii.

THE NAUGHTY TURKEY.
BY A VERY LITTLE GIRL.
ONCE upon a time, when the pigs were swine, and the turkeys
chewed tobacco, there lived an old man, who kept turkeys and
chickens and geese and ducks. One day, the old man, who lived in
a cottage in the country, told his fowls he was going out for a long
ride (for he kept a horse), and would probably be gone as long as a
week. He gave the key of the house to the care of the largest of the
turkeys, and told him to be sure and not lose it; also to keep the fowls
in good order. The turkey promised, and the old man went away.
When he had gone, the turkey to whom so much care had been
intrusted, strutted about the yard very proudly indeed. Said he:
"Now our master is gone, and I have the care of the place, I say
let's have some fun."
"All right," said the other fowls, in chorus; "only what shall we
begin with ?"
Well," said Sir Strut (that was the big turkey's name), "we will
go into the house."
Accordingly, they went into the house, and did as follows: First,
they found their way to the cupboard, where they got out some of the
eatables and had a feast. They next went upstairs and had some
good games of play; they ran everywhere, turned everything topsy-
turvy, cackling and clucking at a great rate. When night came, they
roosted on the backs of the chairs. After about five days, they had
eaten up all the grain the old man had left for them. So they gath-
ered together to discuss.
Well," said Sir Strut (it was the day before the old man was to


1876.1


803








THE LETTER-BOX.


return), "I have not thought of it before, but seems to me we will
have an awful time to put the house in order again."
Yes," said the fowls; and instead of trying to clear up the house
as well as they could, they all commenced to sigh, and sighed that
and the next day.
Suddenly, the old man arrived, much to the fowls' alarm. He
asked the trembling Sir Strut for the key. He slowly drew it out from
under his wing, and handed it to his master. The old man was sur-
prised at the behavior of his fowls, but soon found out the cause of
their alarm when he entered the house. He was right angry at Sir
Strut for not behaving better, and for punishment put him in a large
chest for an hour. When he was let out, he behaved better for the
future, and the old man, with his turkeys and chickens and geese and
ducks, lived in peace to the end of his days. R. H. W.



THE HOMELESS CAT.

WHAT was that ran along by the eaves,
And hid itself in that darkened place;
That crouched so low, that ran so swift,
And looked so sad in its thin, black face?

His voice broke forth in a mournful plea,
As he crouched him away where none might see;
All day he hid in that lonesome place-
His scarred old form and his sad old face.


'T was the old black cat that has no home,
That hides and trembles till night has come,
And then he hunts in the hushed-up street,-
No sight, no sound, but his poor black feet.

There up and along the still, dark way
He hunts, and hurries all night till the day;
Sometimes in the cellars he catches a rat,
And sometimes he meets some other lost cat;

And sometimes he meets a family pet,
Whose form is lusty with morsels sweet.
Poor cat with the scars and the torn old ears,
No wonder he creeps, no wonder he fears I

Last night in the stables the hostler threw
A stone as he passed, and laughed at the mew,-
The wild, sad mew, as he slunk down the street,
In the cold and darkness, new foes to meet

Oh, speak to him kindly, his eyes are so sad;
Don't scare him away, no food has he had;
He has n't a friend in the cold, dreary street,
But gets hissings and blows from all he may meet,

Under the house is his damp, chilly bed;
And no one will cry when the old cat is dead.
Then speak to him kindly, and help him, oh do!
The old cat is hungry. God made him and you. j. H.


THE LETTER-BOX.


MANY of our readers will sympathize with the fancies of D. E. M.,
who sends the Letter-Box
THE GAMES I LIKE.
I like a rousing game of ball,
No matter how base so it's played with a will;
I like "shinny," and marbles, and ..I.... a'haul,"
And playing at soldier, if I lead 'i. .ii

I like sending a kite far up out of sight,
Where only the man in the moon can see;
I like "pulling her in," with my whole main and might,
But I don't like to get her caught fast in a tree.
I like "tag" in all weathers, and "stumping"'as well-
That is if the fellows are all of a size;
And jumping off hay-stacks (with no one to tell)-
That is if the pitchfork don't get in your eyes.

But better than marbles, kite, "shinny," or hay,
And better than drilling or stumping or ball,
I like a good rollicksome game of croquet,
When the girls who are playing are not very small.

I like leap-frog and hop-scotch-glorious fun !
Summer and winter, spring-time and fall;
And better than anything under the sun
Are skating and coasting-hurrah for them all!

Cohasset.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write and tell you about
a little exhibition :l1 utp a few months ago. We saw that
piece entitled "Q., : -.f. -9-i. in the April number for 1876, and
that, with some of the animals in the April number for 1875, music,
and a few other tableaux, made quite a nice little exhibition.
We had ten cents admission, and made over six dollars. It went
off very finely, and every one seemed to like it.
I like the ST. NICHOLAS better than any other magazine. G. T.

Daytona, Volusia Co., Florida.
DFAR LITTLE SCHOOLMIA'AMt: We live here on a peninsula half a
mile wide, with Halifax River on one side and the Atlantic on the
other. We are on the coast, opposite the head of St. John's River.


We go bathing sometimes, and hunting turtle-eggs, which are very
funny soft-shelled things.
There are quantities of shells, corals, sea-anemones, star-fish, etc.,
on the beach. I have an aquarium just like the one described in the
February ST. NICHOLAS, only I have crabs in mine. We have had
a great many 1 ... 1...- ..... all winter out-doors. There have
been but two '. I. i a large orange grove, and in the
season I have more than I can eat. There are wild groves too, all
around, with sour fruit on all the time. We could well afford to
"scrub our floors with oranges," as Jack tells about.-Yours lovingly,
CARRIE W. MITCHELL.

WE are indebted to the courtesy of J. E. Davis, Esq., author of
"The Annals of Windsor," for some of the illustrations to the present
installment of "Windsor Castle."


Shady Side, Pittsburgh, Aug. 2d.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not believe I have ever seen a letter
from Pittsburgh in the Letter-Box, but this will show you that there are
children here who take and love you. We are always delighted when
you come every month, and we take turns in reading and looking at
you. I am studying French, and hope I shall soon be able to trans-
late your stories in that language. I have been to the Centennial,
and I believe I liked England's display in the Main Building best of
all. I also liked that of France and Russia very much indeed.
Please put down my name, and the names of my two brothers,
Kennedy and Samuel, as Bird-defenders.
SLIZZIE B. MOORHEAD.

THE name of Laura Moss was unintentionally omitted from the
Roll of Honor in Deacon Green's report on the Declarations of In-
dependence, published in the August number.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have enjoyed you very much, and I say
- that you are the best boys' and girls' magazine out. I like the Jack
Hazard stories and "The Boy Emigrants best, and I say that if the
boys and girls have lost Andersen, they need not fret if they have
two such writers as Noah Brooks and J. T. Trowbridge, who write
such excellent stories that one never tires of reading them.
CHARLES S. RICHu.


[OCTOBER,








THE LETTER-BOX.


THE following letters seem to show that, though the birds destroy
great numbers of insects, the victory is not always on their side. A
wasp or a bee is a very different kind of prey from a fly, and altogether
too formidable an enemy for a small singing-bird to engage with.
But it even appears from these cases that the insects are sometimes
the attacking party.
Cold Spring.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Yesterday our bird was hung out on the
stoop, and was singing away, when all of a sudden he stopped and
began to beat his head against the wires. We took him down and
found that a wasp had stung him on the top of the head. After we
had put water on his head, he began to get better, but may not live.
-Yours truly, W. L. M.
Mandeville.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl twelve years old, and I
dearly love your magazine. I want to tell you about a little humming-
bird that was stung to death by a bee. I was out in the garden one
evening, when I heard a buzzing in the honeysuckle vine, and went
to see what was the matter, when I saw a tiny little humming-bird on
a branch, and a large bee buzzing angrily around it. I frightened
the bee away, and took the bird into the house, where I saw it had
been stung by the bee. I tried to revive it, but it only struggled a
few minutes and then died.-Wishing long life to ST. NICHOLAS,
yours truly, DOLLY W. K.

CHILDREN'S CHAIRS ONE CENTURY AGO.
New York, July 6, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please show the children these
Centennial chairs, which Miss Donlevy has drawn for me "from life."
They were made for two little folks (brother and sister) just one hun-
dred years ago, and have been in the same house ever since-an old
stone cottage still standing in Rockland County, New York. Both
chairs are made of oak; they have never been varnished or painted;
and they are stanch and strong to this day. Children one hundred


years ago, you see, knew nothing about spring seats or fancy rockers.
A good strong straight-backed affair was all they wanted.
On last New Year's Eve, two dear great-grandchildren sat in these
chairs before a log-fire in the wide old-fashioned chimney-place, while
fifty of their aunts, uncles, and cousins told with delight how they too
had enjoyed the same chairs in their childhood.-Yours very truly,
GRANDMOTHER.

Newark, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wish to describe to you the birds in our
neighborhood. The principal birds around here are the cat-bird,
robin, chippy, wren, crow 1 .. i ,., i humming-bird, thrush, blue-
bird, swallow, black-bird, -. I J 1.. i .
The cat-bird is of a dark gray color, and destroys a great many
cherries.
The robin is a very beautiful bird; the color of his back is mottled,
while that of his breast is a dull red. He is a little larger than the
cat-bird.
The chippy is a very small bird, of a sort of mottled gray and black.
It lays eggs speckled brown and white.
The wren is considerably smaller than the chippy, and very nearly
the same color.
The crow is a large bird, with feathers of a glossy jet black. You
can usually spy him in some distant corn-field, which he delights to
visit.
The hawk is still larger than the crow, often measuring three feet
from wing to wing. We have a pair of wings measuring three feet
six inches. There are two kinds of hawks around here. The first is
the chicken-hawk, who lives altogether on chickens, pigeons, etc.


The other is the fish-hawk, whose name tells you what he preys upon.
The quail is a bird very much hunted, but nature has provided him
with a good pair of legs, that he can use to advantage; and often
when he is badly wounded in the wing, he can escape by means of
his running powers. He is of a brown color, and not very large.
The humming-bird is the smallest bird I know of. He is usually
seen around trumpet-creepers and sweet flowers. He can be shot
only with water, as the smallest shot tear him to pieces.
The thrush is about the size of a robin, but of a brown color.
The blue-bird is the first of the spring. His name tells you his
hue. He is a little smaller than the cat-bird.
The swallow builds his nest in chimneys and corners of barns.
His back is black, while his breast is white.
The black-bird lives in marshy places. The female bird is black
all over, and the male has a white breast.
The wild-duck also resides in marshy places. He is about the size
of the crow, with a very long neck. His color is gray.
Yours truly, D. H.


J. P. B., whose initials are pleasantly familiar to readers of the
Riddle-Box, sends that department a very ingenious "Quadruple
Acrostic." It is quite hard to solve, however, as puzzles of equal
merit usually are, and so we have concluded to print both acrostic
and answer here. By this means, too, the excellence of the puzzle
will be seen at once, and more clearly than if it were printed in the
customary manner and the answer held over for a month.

QUADRUPLE ACROSTIC.
(Fill two blanks in succession with words having the same initial
and final.)
My initials "one" and finals "two" being reckoned,
My first to all will call to mind my second;
And both the present year will oft be spoken,
As each of patriotism may stand a token.
Easy as for the chattering to -
Is it, in this famed words to draw
In praise of my -; both its first,
As well as finals, proving that burst
From lips as glibly as one asks the -.
To credit me I'm sure none will refuse,
When I assert my finals loved the -
(Even as the- loves music) from his youth.
is was a zeal no could forestall;
Nor, for defeat, like would he fall.
No to hide at the power that burned,
the foe, when help, we turned
And, seeking -, found deliverance from strife.
No secured our nation's life.
Without he struck the mighty blow,
From Which my first results-one hundred years ;
Letting a nation on his prowess -,
--in heart, though like a lamb in mien.
ANSWER.
CENTENNIAL, WASHINGTON.
C -ro- W C -a- W
E -r- A E -nigm- A
N -ame- S N -ew- S
T -rut- H T -hrus- H
E -nnu- I E -1- I
N -u- N N -oo- N
N-earin-G N -eedin- G
I T I-mpoten-T
A -d- O A -g- O
L -ea- N L -io- N

Logansport, July i8th, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Iam only a little girl, but mamma says your
magazine is published for little children, and I want to tell you all
about little Dick. Dick was my canary-bird, and yesterday morn-
ing the cat caught him, and last night mamma found him dead in his
cage. I cried when the cat hurt him, and last night I cried myself
to sleep. This morning we put him in a little box, lined with pink
merino, and we trimmed it with geranium leaves and white verbenas.
Then we dug a little grave and put him in. Mamma helped me plant
the flowers on it. Papa says, Don't cry, little daughter; you shall
have another bird." But the new one wont be Dick.
I have no little sister, only a little brother, and we have taken the
ST. NIH. T r- T -, 1. 1- .ig while. It belongs to Hadie, and the
IoutM's C c -.. ..Lc to me. I spoke "The Dead Doll" at
the closing of school, and we lent our books to all our little friends.
Mamma is going to have them bound for us. We buy them at the
book-store, and Hadie is going to get up a club for the next year. I
want you to write me a little verse about my dead bird, then I can
always have it.
From one of your little readers, MAMIE RHOADES.


805








THE RIDDLE-BOX.


Princeton, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I want to ask you two things. Will you
please answer them in the Letter-Box ?
Now for the first question. How can I clean dirty coins so that
I can read them, and keep gold and silver coins clean ? As I have a
collection of about five hundred coins, it is quite important to know
how to have them nice and clean and legible.
And also this-Can a Bird-defender have a canary? I have a
canary, and yet am a Bird-defender. But a lady sent it to me as a
present, and of course I could not refuse it. And if I let it go free in
the open air, it will perish or account of the climate. So don't you
think I am justifiable in keeping him? But I am afraid I am writing
too much, so good-bye, dear ST. NICHOLAS.-I remain, yours truly,
A. G. CAMERON.
To clean tarnished gold, silver, and copper coins, procure a box of
electroo silicon at a grocer's, and mix a small quantity of the pow-
der with alcohol so as to make a thin paste. Rub the coins with a
brush dipped in this, precisely as in cleaning silver with whiting, and
then wash in warm soap-suds, and lastly in clean water. Rub the
coins dry with chamois-skin to finish the work. Any ordinary stains
may be readily removed by this process.
A Bird-defender can keep a canary.


THE following story was sent by A. E. M., and was written by her
little brother just six years old:
A roaring bull went up in a tree, and a man after him, and a mad
dog after the man. Then the bull jumped down and tossed the man
and the mad dog in the air. Then he ran home. When the man
came down, he ran away, and the dog ran in front of the man, and
the man tripped over him and failed in a river, and a great big whale
heated him all up.

Atlanta, Ga.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I know a boy who says that, as roosters
are fowls and not birds, it is not wrong to make them fight. I think
it is both wrong and cruel. Please give me your opinion on the sub-
ject; I hope, when he hears your decision, he will be convinced and
become a Bird-defender.-Very truly yours, A LITTLE GIRL.
"Roosters" are fowls, and fowls are birds, and that boy ought to
know better.


AFTER the pages of Jack-in-the-Pulpit for this month were in type,
we received word from the Little Schoolma'am begging us to say that
the "important omission" to which your attention is called on p. 798
does not occur in all of the many notes containing answers to her
queries on p. 671 of the August number. The following boys and
girls gave the "missing item" in full: Allie Bertram, J. Johnson,
James N. Benton, Robert L. Groendycke, "Bob White," Jennie
Louise Bird, Alfred E. Forstall, Fannie Ford, M. M. Hoppin, Carroll
E. Edson, Walter E. Fish, Scientific," A. G. Cameron, Willie Hay-
don, E. A. Law, Humphreys Kortrecht, Lena J. Moore, Louise P.
Russell, Phoebe Loving, Henry H. Huss, Charles H. Hull, A. B.
Ropes, Milfred R. B., Alfred A. Whitman, J. J. Lawrence, Frank E.
Davis, Charlie Dale, Hiram Hathaway, Jr., and Charles M. Morris.



H. M. D. wishes ST. NICHOLAS to tell the boys and girls of a de-
lightful book which he has just been reading-" The Life and Times
of Sir Philip Sydney," published by J. B. Ford & Co., New York.
.He says it is so very entertaining, and so clearly written, that "you
think you are only having a good time when in reality you are learn-
ing history."
'H i ,r: ..i-". i.. i i -.. l....: of this little work, we very gladly in-
do,.: F i I .:.p...I. r A study of the character of Sir Philip
Sydney will show boys what is most worthy of emulation, and girls
what to look for in their boy friends. You cannot follow Sir Philip in
every way, but you can be good and brave and courtly to-day, boys,
as well as if you were living in the times of Queen Elizabeth.



MANY of our big boys and girls will have a treat in reading an
excellent volume of stories lately issued by Roberts Brothers. It is
written by Susan Coolidge, who, as you all know, is a frequent con-
tributor to ST. NICHOLAS; and though its title is "For Summer
Afternoons," it is just as good for October as for June. Susan
Coolidge does n't know how to be dull. Her books are as fresh and
bracing as the air of her own New England hills.


THE RIDDLE-BOX.


INCOMPLETE SENTENCES.

FILL the first blank with a certain word, and the second with the
same word beheaded and curtailed.
i. The engineer made a of the ship, and the poet wrote an
- the same day. 2. These are for our purpose. 3. He
showed much to the needs of others when he forced the beggar
from his -- 4. The came too to do his work to-day. 5.
Upon this there are many works of- 6. How you are
to know my CYRIL DEANE. '

A HIDDEN TOUR.
Fragments from a School-girPs Diary.
EACH complete sentence includes the name of a city, or town, or
river, or country in Europe.
i. When we landed, H. flourished his sabre, mended for the occa-
sion. 2. This city is more apt to be slighted than over-estimated.
3. Here we heard music of which each motive lingers in the memory.
4. Here we bought sandwiches of ham most curiously flavored. 5.
Here we met our uncle, unexpectedly, on stepping from the cars. 6. Is
where we all caught severe catarrh in endeavoring to lose none of the
prospect 7. A hasty glance at the "phrase book," and then said
enrico: L'ogneyun serray mantenong de bong-eh-smell!" 8.
Here Maria bought yards of ribbon, not to mention gloves and hand-
kerchiefs. 9. As we approached this place, the cleverness of our
courier Jacob lent zest to all our enjoyment. ro. We met here a lady


of rank, fortune, and most fascinating appearance, t. We here found
that, as we were entirely dependent on our "mann," he imposed upon
us sometimes. 12. Here, for two days, H. carried a sick robin, gently
tucked into a basket. 13. Here everything bad.enjoys perfect immu-
nity. 14. This place provoked the following original remark from
Jones: "Tut! gardens are no great novelty." x. Near this place,
after a collision, we heard a Scotchman murmur: "Mun I change
cars anny mair ?" r6. Here all of us "wished to live to be ninety,"
rollicking party that we were 17. To this place we went over on a
special train. 18. Here all who visit have nice times. 1g. Here we
saw a gentleman of the P. R., a guest whose company was not an
agreeable acquisition. 2o. Here we heard this from a French tourist:
" I vill zee Londres, den ze rest ofze Vest End!" s2. Here we had
often to recall that the German verb to live is "leben." 22. Here we
enjoyed a tournament of wit, ten burghers vociferating at once. 23.
Here we saw a splendid review,-cavalry without number, lines of
infantry,-all the departments in perfect condition. GUMMIDGE.


EASY IIETAGRAM.
(BY A VERY LITTLE GIRL.)
CHANGE initial letter of a girl's name, and find a time; again, and
find a word meaning destiny; again, and find an entrance; again,
and find an emotion that you should avoid; again, change initial let-
ter, and find something which we all should dislike dear ST. NICHOLAS
to be. LIZZIE KIERNAN.


806


[OCTOBER,







1876.] THE RIDDLE-BOX. o07


CONNECTED DIAMONDS.

FIRST diamond: a. In a store. 2. A card. 3. To frighten. 4. A
time. 5. In a museum.
Second diamond: I. In a circus. 2. Before. 3. Common birds.
4. An animal. 5. In a dwelling-house.
Centrals connected: Ugly things sometimes found in fields.
c. D.

SQUARE-WORD.

i. A PRECIOUS stone. 2. An evergreen tree. 3. A girl's name. 4.
A heavy metal. ISOLA.

RIDDLE.

-- U -


- --- .- -
-----
s~~~~~ ---- ~ ~.-~ -


AN interjection; vowel sound;
Another exclamation;
A game of cards; verb; relative;
A ruler of a nation ;
And, lying snug within them all,
A little preposition
That's never out when lawyers read
A learned deposition. .
These eight I find within a word,
Not moving e'en a letter;
Though using each oft as I please,
To make my riddle better.

So, in the next, I find a sound
That oft leads to the right, sir;
Followed by that which to the heart
Of lover gives delight, sir.
And then a little adverb, quite
As harmless as a daisy;
Besides, an animal which oft
Is stupid deemed, and lazy.

Now put the two down side by side,
Without a shade of mixture;
You 'll find a something brought to mind
Quite clearly in this picture.


CONSONANT PUZZLE.

INTERSPERSE consonants in the following line of vowels (without
disarranging the order of the vowels), so that nine States and one
Territory will appear:
EEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUEOAOIAIIIIIIIIA.
F. N. C.
ABBREVIATIONS.
i. BEHEAD and curtail a plaintive poem, and leave a part of the
body. 2. Behead and curtail a small fruit, and leave a quick, smart
blow. 3. Behead and curtail a precious stone, and leave a domestic
animal. 4. Behead and curtail a coniferous tree, and leave a part of
a circle. 5. Behead and curtail a Turkish officer, and leave a forest
tree. 6. Behead and curtail a bird used for food, and leave a pinch
with the nails or teeth. 7. Behead and curtail a motive power, and
leave a beverage. 8. Behead and curtail a color, and leave a resinous
substance. 9. Behead and curtail a small animal, and leave a num-
ber. o1. Behead and curtail a large basket or hamper, and leave a
small animal. ISOLA.
BEHEADED RHYMES.

WHY, what a very strange -
To offer stews at such -
Of course each one may have his -
But rather than eat meat and -
Which costs so much, I'd live on x.

EASY ENIGMAS.
I.-EIGHT LETTERS.
A BoY held a 5, 6, 7, 8 close to the eyes of my whole, to 5, 4, 2, 8
at him better, and laughed to see him 3, 2, I and x, 5, 6, 7, 8.

II.-ELEVEN LETTERS.
You find my whole in the s, sn, 3, 5, 4. He keeps a4, 6, 3, 1, 9
lookout, and when he 6, lo, 3, 2, 5 the least noise 6, 7, 9, 4 quickly
beyond your I, ss, 3, 5, 8. j. P. B.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
THE initials and finals give the names of two places where battles
were fought during the Revolutionary war.
I. An Indian chief 2. A mythological ship. 3. A singing bird.
4. A part of the body. 5. A garden vegetable. 6. A kind of brass.
7. A domestic animal. 8. A forest tree. ISOLA.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.

I. A CONSONANT. a. Frozen water. 3. Is used to propel vessels.
4. A reptile. 5. A consonant. H. E.

PUZZLE.
THERE is a word of seven letters which signifies to be worthy of
distinction. If it be divided (without transposition of letters) into
two words of two and five letters respectively, they signify a want of
a household convenience and ornament. If divided into words of
three and four letters respectively, they signify incapacity.
L. W. H.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.

Mv first is in ice, but not in snow;
My second is in ash, but not in pine;
My third is in sail, but not in row;
My fourth is in drink, but not in wine;
My fifth is in evil, but not in wrong;
Mly sixth is in like, but not in same;
My seventh is in tune, but not in song:
My whole is a very pretty name. A. B.

SYNCOPATIONS.

x. SYNCOPATE a tropical plant, and leave a beverage. 2. Syncopare
a relative, and leave an insect. 3. Syncopate a ish, and leave a
covering for the head. 4. Syncopate an article of clothing, and leave
an animal. 5. Syncopate an animal, and leave a dwelling. 6. Syn-
copate a metal, and leave a boy. 7. Syncopate an excuse, and leave
a vegetable. 8. Syncopate a plant, and leave a color. 9. Syncopate
a flower, and leave an animal, To. Syncopate a ponderous volume,
and leave a part of the body. IoSOA.


EASY CHARADE.
I Amn a word of three syllables. My first and second united form a
kitchen utensil. My third is a toy, and is used in the army. My
JOEL s. whole is a fashionable entertainment. P.








THE RIDDLE-BOX.


[OCTOBER,


GEOMETRICAL TRANSPOSITIONS.
A NEW PUZZLE FOR OLDER BOYS AND GIRLS.

(Transpose what is expressed by each figure into a single word which will answer to the definition given beneath the figure. Thus: the
first, figure represents "triangle on Q U D," which can be transposed into grandiloquent.")


Diverting.


Pertaining to the circus.


A






A girl's name.


N T






Waiting-times.


To feign ignorance.
To feign ignorance.


An historic river.


Y







I'


Illiberality.


MO










An irregular crystal.


With deliberation.
J. P. B.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN SEPTEMBER NUMBER.


TRANSPOSITIONS.-r. Laming, malign. 2. Stray, trays. 3. Abode,
adobe. 4. Keen, knee. 5. Inks, sink, skin. 6. Statement, testament.
7. Disprove, provides. 8. Beset, beets. 9. Phrase, seraph. To. Smote,
tomes, motes, ix. Serves, Sevres, verses, severs. 12. Trace, crate.
REBUs.-" Man looks before and after, and sighs for what is not."
ENIGMA.-Baltimore.
REMAINDERS. -Florida
Tri -F- les
Mo -L-ded
Thr-O-ugh
Gar -R- ets
Lab -I- als
Tri -D- ent
Gre -A- ter
DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.-The Letter-Box, The Riddle-Box.
WORD-SQUARE.- CHANT
HONOR
ANNIE
NOISE
TREES
RIDDLE.-Box.
EXCEPTIONS.-T. Album, alum. 2. Boy, by. 3. Wreath, wrath.
4. Roman, roan. 5. Horse, hose. 6. Rose, roe. 7. Table, tale.
DOUBLE DIAGONAL PUZZLE.-Bird's nest, Satisfied.
BLUEBIRDS
BI LOCULAR
BARRISTER
H 0 0 WI NKS
BLESSINGS
BLUFFNESS
PRICELESS
MECHANIST
DEPENDENT


BEHEADED RHYMEs.-Craft, raft, aft. Shark, hark, ark. Spill,
pill, ill. Blow, low, ow(e). Charm, harm, arm.
ILLUSTRATED PROVERB.-Forewarned, forearmed.
ANAGRAMS.-r. Administrators. 2. Agreements. 3. Pension. 4.
Apprentice. 5. Pension. 6. Mortgage.
PICTURE PUZZLE.-"Owe nothing, be behindhand in nothing, and
be on time."
HoUR-GLAss PUZZLE.-Tidal, Ladle, Order.
TROLL
IRA
D
LEA
ERROR L
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.-Delightful St. Nicholas.
D -eliciou- S
E -legan- T
L -inde- N
I-gnis Fatu-I
G -alli- C
H -ashees- H
T -oront- 0
F -inga- L
U -mbrell- A
L-uminou- S
DOUBLE DIAMOND PUZZLE.-
0
E At U
BANNS
DERIDED
DEBUT
DUE
S


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, previous to August iS, from Emil P. Albrecht, Allie Bertram, Laura
Hannabery, Eddie M. Semple, "Ella and Edith," "Bob White," Ellen M. Field, Harry K. White, Emma Elliott, "Zerlina and Zitella,"
Mamie A. Rich, John F. Haseltine, Lulu Howes, Arthur D. Smith, A. Carter, Nettie Hall, Anna P. Warren, J. M. Paton, Jeannie Sprunt,
Mary H. Wilson, "Ardent Admirer," George B. Van Volkenburgh, Virginia Davage, "Alex," Edward Roome, Fred Eastman, Ella Grigg,
D. L. Lodge, Mary I. Ellis, Marion J. Ellis, Albert E. Hoyt, Lucy S. Schwab, "Cousin Willie," Louise Hinsdale, Jenny R. Miller, Anna
Laura Buckingham, B. B. Ross, Jr., John B. Greiner, Nessie E. Stevens, "Apollo," Louis M. Ogden, Marie Emery, Lottie Warbasse,
"Violet," Helena M. D., Arnold Guyot Cameron, Walter Raymond Spalding, Therese Mosenthal, Carrie V. Douglas, Delavan W. Gee,
Bessie G. Le Moyne, Louis Cope Washburn, Carrie Mitchell, Alfred R. Mitchell, Brainerd P. Emery, Willie F. Abbett, Moll Pitcher, Fannie
H. Ford, Howard Steel Rodgers, Willie Dibblee, Eddie Devinne, Robert L. Groendycke, Jerusha M. Coult, E. L. Shays, "Grace and
Allie," Addie L. Rondenbush, Adelaide, A. Pronty, Fanny F. Gardner, Lucy Aller Paton, Juno," Lulu Way, Florence Brewer and Sadie
Hamilton.


Pompous.
Pompous.







THE ARMY OF BIRD-DEFENDERS.


THE ARMY OF BIRD-DEFENDERS.

THIRD SUPPLEMENT TO THE GRAND MUSTER-ROLL.

(The Grand Auster-Roll was fublisoed in ST. NICHOLAS for June, le75. The.first sufilement appeared in July, and tli second
ti August, of the same year.)


Sallie Wilson, of Philadelphia, sends the following long list: Sallie
Wilson, Josie B. Schell, Arolean F. Schell, Marion E. Schell, Mary
Kelly, Mamie J. Monaghan, Susie A. Monaghan, Minnie Dreher,
Minnie Lomax, Katie Lomax, Annie Lomax, Celia Cozen, Laura V.
Price, Harry W. Naulty, Lillie Walters, Henrietta Wenerd, Maggie
Doyle, Julia Kean, Emma Fellenbaum, Lizzie Culbertson, Nellie
Munyon, Essie McGuire, Maggie Wallace, Tacy Stagner, Maude R.
Johnson, Susie R. Pugh, Emelie Pascoe, Katie Kirk, Annie E. Kirk,
Bella Canning, Clara Hoffinan, Lizzie Scattergood, Clara Myers,
Fannie Myers, Mary Rodgers, Katie Moore, Annie Percy, Annie
Marley, Mary McClosky, Lizzie O'Neil, Lizzie McClinchy, Frank
McGonigal, Ellie McGonigal, Rose McGonigal, Katie McGonigal,
Tessie McGonigal, Annie McGonigal, Jennie McGonigal, Ignatius
McGonigal, Jim McGonigal, Dennie McGonigal, Annie Caral, Emma-
Brown, John Brown, Bill Brown, Susie Clard, Willie Gable, Carrie
Gable, Harry Loback, Coll Biemum, Carrie Brown, Ellie Nugent,
Alice Nugent, Davy Nugent, Mamie Nugent, Joe Buckman, Regina
Flanigan, Sallie Flanigan, Maggie Kelly, Katie Kelly, Mary Power,
Mary McNeils, Kate Brumaker, Clara Heron, Annie Murry, Mary
Boyd, Mary Sheperd, Mary Patton, Pauline Patton, Mary O'Don-
dell, Lizzie O'Dondell, Willie O'Dondell, Katie Percy, Mary Percy,
Maggie Perry, Mary Cramp, Mary Daly, Ellie Daly, Jennie Johann,
Alice Anderson, Florence Mercy, Mamie Sausfield, Rose Brown,
Sarah Dougherty, Mary Dougherty, Jennie Corrigan. Maggie Woods,
Maggie Miller, Mary Ryan, Mary Gabil, Harry Gabil, Harry Moll-
kead, Kate Emiten, Annie McLoughlin, Susie McLoughlin, Katie
English, Maggie McGarvy, Mamie Rian, Katie Rian, Katie Brown,
Katie McGee, Mary McGee, Lizzie Roman, Bessie Rob, Mary Don-
van, Susie McTague, 'Mary Casset, Fressie O'Neil, Emilie Lyons,
Race Brown, Annie Denner, Agnes Denner, Alice Conelly, and
Agnes Comy.
E. Benj. Cushing sends a list of one hundred and thirteen names
for Company A, First Regiment Texas Bird-defenders: B. Rice,
D. C. Rice, E; S. Wickes, Terry Smith, Dan Cushing, Dahney Tabb,
Ed. Taylor, Oscar Reynaud, J. Shearn, Jr., E. McAsham, W. K.
Mendenhall, Bennie Barke, Walter Tabb, O. Edgarley, W. Edgar-
ley, George Burse, Ben Wettermark (lieutenant), James McKeever,
Eddie McKeever, J. H. Wright, O. Fenn, E F. McGowan, P. H.
Hardcastle, A. F. Sharpe, Jr., C. G. Glass, H. D. Taylor, Jr., W.
R. Taylor, John Stewart, Burrell Stewart, A. S. J. Hohenthal, T. H.
Franklin, H. House, Jr., L. Levy, J. A. Adery, F. W. Adery,
S. McDonough, F. McDonough, R. A. Scurry, George R. Bursee,
Egan Bennifeil, C. Hand, J. T. Hall, Jr., S. H. Moore, B. Gonzalez,
W. G. Burke, John Underwood, Floya King, Prodel King, Ed. Smith,
Mug Smith, Alf Smith, Henry Smith, Robt. McCloney, Willie Win-
field, Shine Pennefiel, Wm. Stuart, Frank Fenn, Major Anderson,
May Johnson, Lillie Burke, Willie Gillette, Virginia Gillette, Lilla
Gillette, Anna Allen, Tana Couradi, Carrie Bryan, Elice Watterman,
Anna Forsgard, Emma Johnson, Lola Johnson, Lila Baynaud, Sarah
Lofton, Gussie Edgarley, Emma Mitchel, S. Bond, Tom Bond, Jr.,
L. Martin, John Flewallen, Percy Mitchell, Joe Hamilton, William
Fuqua, W. Bailey, Geo. Brown, Geo. McAtee, Lucy Everett, Sarah
Gillette, Jennie Harris, Matt Hall, Alice Butler, Fannie Phillips,
Liza Anderson, Lucy Childers, Sarah Moore, Rachel Smith, Jennie
Palmer, Louise Hopkins, Eloise Szabb, Stella Jones, Lotta Jones,
Shirley Whitaker, Courtney Whitaker, Nettie Cushing, Mattie Burke,
Fannie Burke, Johanna Johnson, Harry Mitchell, John Parrott, Sam
Lego, Percy D. Moore, C. C. McGowan, Willie Grey, and Sam
Wastheimer.
Mollie Wade, of Newton, N. J., sends this list: Carrie Wentworth,
Ernest Wentworth, May Wentworth, Maud Clifford, Belle Clifford,
Harry St. Clare, Mabel St. Clare, Ray St. Clare, Clinton Rogers,
Frank Harrison, Herbert Harrison, Dick Harrison, Minnie Harrison,
Will Re Monn, Grace Re Monn, H. Louis Hanford, Jessie De Lon,
Frank De Lon, H. Howard Willard, Jr., Blanche Russell, Harry
Stockton, Jr., Edith Stockton, Bertha Hastings, Maud Hastings,
Ned Hastings, Clara Howard, Carl Howard, Rob Atherton, Jr.,
Annie Rober, Marie Baldwin, -Mattie Stoll, Louise Reynolds, Gert-

VOL. III.-40.


rude Reynolds, Frank Reynolds, Clarence Reynolds, Bessie Reynolds,
Harvey Reynolds, Harry Reynolds, Eva Reynolds, Joe Reynolds,
H. D. Horton, Jr., Katie Horton, Rod Horton, Frank Insley, Rhoda
Crawford, Isabel Crawford, Lillie Pellet. Fred Pellet, J. R. S. Howard
Sanford, Berde Sanford, Pearl Clifford, Frank Hewett, Percy Clifton,
Nellie Denver, Frank Denver, Carrie Goldthaite, Edith Mansfield,
Rose Mansfield, Herbert Scribner, Fan Martini, Stella Conway,
Charlie Conway, Art. Conway, Louise Dayton, Tillie Dayton, Theo.
Wade, Cleveland Wade, Mollie Wade, Katie Watson, Will H. Har-
ford, M. Minnie Leon, H. Joe Leon, Clifford Leon, Sam Bonner,
Dora Bonner, Kittie Willis, and Mabel Willis.
Sadie B. Williams and Ella R. Robb, of Elizabethtown, Kentucky,
join, and send other names as follows: Amanda Park, Ella Foerg,
Annie Nourse, Mollie Wood, Laura Wintersmith, Sallie Getting,
Bettie McMutury, Katie Cisell, Allie Vandupe, Lena Moore, Ella
Bunnell, Nannie West, Nannie Quigley, Alice Chenault, Bettie Eng-
lish, Julia Park, Missie Warfield, Mattie Hill, Nellie Hill, Birdie
Weaver, Lizzie English, Nannie Campbell, Annie Jagger, Lillie
Brown, Rose Heagan, Katie Grimm, Annie Grimm, Sam Dick, Lulu
Showers, Lizzie Sweets, Carrie Sweets, Mattie Collins, Maggie Stan-
ger, Jessie Bryce, Allie Stoval, Carter Brown, Nannie Wood, Hallie
Hall, Mollie Crow, Ella Crow, S. Campbell, E. A. Rowell, William
Hammond, Charlie Campbell, James Allen, Charlie Allen, Ed. Runer,
Jos. P. Vance, Ed. Campbell, Wm. Spence, Kate Jacob, Annie Eliza
Cresap, Lulu Dyer, Ella Nourse, Essie White, Nat Danial, Della
Barnes, Rosa Danial, Lillie Phillips, Rob Phillips, Kate Nevit, Jen-
nie Hawkins, Mollie Quiggins, Eloie Dyer, Mary Edney, Willie
King, Lizzie Tolson, Belle Percy, Della Campbell, Archie Dick, Jim
Heagan, Jane Perry, E. G. Robb, W. D. Robb, S. A. Campbell,
Carrie Albert, and Mattie Cofer.
Jennie K. Doyle, of Buffalo, sends the following names: Mrs.
Newman, Clara Harwood, Katie Sexaner, Matilda Herman, Mary
Crowley, Fanny Swans, Maggie Jones, Katie Mang, Maggie Ewald,
Mary Scheany, Christine School, Maggie Darmstater,'Kate Newman,
Kate R. Hanson, Mrs. A. De Voe, Mrs. Kinnear, Nettie Kinnear,
Blanche Kinnear, Nettie Miller, A. Siret, C. A. Kinnear, Mrs. Shat-
tuck, Clara Wolf, Oliver Wolf, Mary Wolf, Delia Kraus, Allie Kraus,
Grace Parker, Ella Baker, Hattie Oaks, Nellie Soule, Fanny Crow-
ley, John Kraus, Nellie Crowley, Alice Nelson, Alice Doyle, Susie
Parker, Lizzie McArthur, Cora Mattice, Mary Larnered, Cornelia
Norton, Fannie Moulton, Lillie Rasdon, Maggie Rasdon, Mary
Gray, Lillie Davis, Jennie Fulman, Phoebe Evans, Charlie Stoddard,
Jessie Brown, Fannie Mister, Jennie Frankestrine, Minnie Frankes-
trine, Aggie Maentrey, Lizzie Crowley, Mary Bush, Annie Hager,
Minnie Caskley, Annie K. Doyle, Hattie Morrey, Jennie K. Doyle.
Nellie Panchen, ofJersey City, sends her name with a number of
her friends': Nellie Panchen, Theora Barber, Nettle Huggins, Emile
Mernard, Jessie Constant, Julia La Boyteau, Julia Sawent, Annie
Menge, Jessie Welwood, Addie Stickel, Lizzie Williams, Katie Har-
tigan, Lucretie Hewitt, Annie Hewitt, Mary Grant, Lydia Paterson,
Fannie Van Pelt, Francis Verhoff, Gussie Reuter, Emma Renter,
Jennie Kessler, Emma Graves, Fannie Reehill, Minnie Smith, Charlie
Smith, Eddie Smith, Willie Smith, Ollie Coles, George Coles, Alex.
Coles, Eddie Stodought, Harry Clarkson, Lewis Mernard, Willie Van
Riper, Libbie Panchen, Mollie Taylor, Lillie Reeves, Mattie Sey-
more, Cynthia Huggins, Orly Huggins, Kate Constant, Hattie Stod-
ought, Sarah Francis, Kate Van Riper, Libbie Elmendorf, J. Van
Riper, W. Elmendorf, Harry Schoonmaker, William Matie, Frank
Welwood, Eddie Hill, Frank Bell, Willian Hill, C. Reeves, William
Reeves, Addie Hathaway, Frank Davis, Elmer Haskill, Mamie
Brown, Susan Little, and Hattie Lockwood.
Annie U. Wood, of Buffalo, N. Y., sends this list: Annie U. Wood,
Lizzie C. Wood, William H. Wood, Lillie Farquhar, Henry Saunders,
May Loomis, Mattie Ingersoll, Lillie Cheney, Belle McCartney,
Edna Hyde, Clara Dollinger, Charley Dollinger, Mary Robertson,
Annie Allen, Nellie Roberts, Lulu Morgan, Lizzie Andrews, Maggie
Hogan, Katie Albro, Ella Johnson, L. M. Stevenson, Miss Collins,
A. F. Hitchcock, Wilmett Turner, Addison Smith, Theodore Smith,






THE ARMY OF BIRD-DEFENDERS.


Hattie Wood, Alice Parker, Elmer Parker, Frank Williams, Clark
Roberts, Clara Stangel, Flora Smith, Nellie Smith, John Caudell,
Hattie Gale, Hattie Clark, Lillie Swarts, Willie Clark, May Bidwell,
Katie Roberts, Katie Clark, Hattie Roberts, Jennie Robertson, Frank
Rose, Luella Hall, Nellie Thayer, Alice Baker, Alice Gorham, Katie
Chatfield, and Frank Gorham.
Willie O. Lovell, of Malden, Mass., sends the following names:
Howard Cook, Bertie Turner, Willie Lovell, George King, Belle
Turner, Nora Twoomey, Lucy Durand, Lawrence Shepard, Susan
Durand, Frederick Hall, Albert Hamnett, Willie Came, Edwin
Knight, Charlie Chamberlain, Edwin Litch, Gregory Charlton, Ger-
trude Rhoades, Emma Lovell, Everett Marchant, Arthur Scribner,
Edward Shepard, Lynde Sullivan, Bessie Turner, Lawrence New-
hall, Ambrose Aldrich, Frederick Brown, Charles Fogg, Louise
Rafferty, Dana Johnson, Amelia Johnson, George Osborne, Everett
Lovejoy, Carrie Bickford, Frederick Horner, Harry Allen, Ida
McKenzie, Clarence Josselyn, Allie Green, Frank Bagnall, James
Fernald, Leon Robie, Frank Fisher, Walter Lewis, Willie Beardslee,
Harry Stanion, John Cronin, Carrie Brooks, Rebecca Garfield, Ebbie
Wells, Harry Keith, Frank Johnson, Fannie Brown, Mary Putnam,
and Willie O. Lovell.
Louise Scribner, of Newton, N. J., sends the following list: Lou'se
Scribner, Leigh Scribner, Jr., Ida Scribner, Frank Scribner, Maude
Carleton, Janie Carleton, Louis Mitchell, Will De Long, Ethel De
Long, Ned De Long, Eloise Henkei, Bertha Russell, Arthur Hope,
Fred Hope, Ruby Hope, Maggie Hope, Fan Hope, Hattie Hope,
Daisy Robinson, Blanche Darling, Alice Westbrook, Laura West-
brook, Adele Heidenthal, Walter Heidenthal, Frank Fletcher, Fred
Heitz, Richard Le Roy, Dick Hanrington, Ada Willard, Clara Wil-
lard, LilliWillard, Milton Willard, Harry K. Willard, Stephen S.
Hubbard, Frantz McCoy, Mabel Howell, Monroe Howard, Rosa
Leigh, Charlie Leigh, Herbert Langley, Evelyn Percy, Harold Percy,
Rose Percy, Rio Percy, Lio Percy, La Forge Bonnel, Bessie Rose-
dale, Daisy Rosedale, Nellie Stearns, Madeleine Fawn, Claude Snow,
Claudia Snow, Edith Frost, Marguerite Frost, Theo. Frost, Victor
Frost, Charlie Arlington, Grace Atherton, Leonore Norwood, Edna
Eric, and Clare St. Lo.
Lulie Miles, of Newport, Maine, sends the following list: Alice
Harriman, Effie Miles, Annie Miles, Mattie Harriman, Sophia Harri-
man, Sarah Severance, Ada Day, Myrtie Day, Jennie Fernald, Lillie
McFarland, Hattie Russell, May Williams, May Bean, Abbie Jud-
kins, Nora Jenkins, Lizzy Willey, Annie Hasty, Vesta Oakes, Mamie
Pike, Julia Rowe, Lulie Loud, Mattie Merrill, Delia Merrill, Theo.
Joice, Ellie Moore, Efie Moore, Cora Manning, Augusta Barnes,
Mary Harriman, Alie Knights, Dimple Merrill, Dora Howard, Carrie
Pickeren, Josie Springer, Lulie Miles, Charley Sargent, Ruil Larri-
bee, Bert Chase, Frank Gurney, George Merrill, Nat Springer, Frank
Jenkins, Alfred Miles, Lindsay Hasty, Willie Stedman, Percy Oakes,
Hollis Luce, James Harriman, Frank Bayman, Orsa Lowell, and
Robert Jenkins.
Annie Cutler, of New Haven, Conn., sends these names: Annie Cut-
ler, Sophie Olmstead, Susie Olmstead, Kittie Blair, Miss Mary Blair,
Nannie B. Trowbridge, Alice B. Fdrbes, Lottie R. Fisher, Ella Wil-
liams, Louise Alden, Ethel Gale, Sadie Brush, Lizzie Brush, Annie
Dexter, Maud Ingersoll, Ethel C. Walker, Hattie Woodruff, Maud
Magill, Marion Thurston, Jennie Chapman, Florence Graves, Belle
Murdock, Bertha Hawes, Mabel Hawes, Susie Candee, Etta Win-
chell, Carlton Graves, May Wehner, Helen Morris, Nemmie Morris,
Charley Morris, Mrs. Morris, Mrs. Tuttle, Julia Hart, Howard Hart,
Hattie Peck, Sumner Peck, and Alice Chapman.
Nellie Hoge, of Bellaire, Ohio, sends the following list: Nellie
Hoge, Alice Felton, Belle Montgomery, Ella Gorby, Annie Hoge,
Bessie Hoge, Mary Megaw, Ida Wetherald, Maggie Faris, Ida
Thompson, Lyle Thoburn, Willie Stuart, Willie Smith, Calvin Mac-
Cullough, Maggie Westlake, Lyde Heatherington, Katie Muth,
Mack Gray, John Jennings, Mary Powell, Laura Anshutz, Sallie
Mills, Pheny Schven, Martha Crystal, Jennie Crisswell, Mary Marsh,
Florence Williams, Delora Osborne, Mary Hall, Lella Snively, Mary
Richardson, Luella Fulton, Viola Osborne, Julia Faupel, Maggie
Nelson, Louisa Halen, Annie Miller, and Willie Dee.
Anna S. Shannon, Mary W. Price, and Allie L. Carter send the
following list: Mollie J. Freeman, Spencer Douglass, Caroline T.
Smidt, Isabella Tayler, Charles M. Price, Henry C. Johnson, Horatio
G. Manville, Mattie Tompkins, Maud Young, Lizzie Ferguson, Jen-
nie L. Jones, Annie E. Anderson, Emma J. Moore, Alice L. Howe,
Laura E. Anthony, Amelia M. Draper, Peter A. Hays, Geo. Moon,


Simeon Hunt, Lillie Underwood, Aaron Edmunds, Caroline D. Nor-
ton, Richard McCarty, Caroline M. Vroman, Lizzie M. Vedder, Ella
O. Cook, Della C. Greene, Alfred .- .rl ...-:: Catharine O. Kent,
Minnie T. Goodrich, and Annie L. Lewis.
Willie Simpson, of Prattville, Ala., sends this list: Jessie Howell;
Julia Smith, Nora McWilliams, Ellen Rush, Annie Bowen, Lula
Smith, Mary Smith, Mary Rush, John Simpson, Lizzie Rush, Hattie
Morgan, Carrie Morgan, Emma Jenkins, Zula Gardner, Katie Gard-
ner, Mary Sims, Julia Spigner, Tabula Davis, Annie Howell, Katie
Doster, Eunice Hazen, L. M. Whetstone, Sallie Jones, Freddie and
Charlie Hildreth, Hallie and Sallie Hamilton, Emmet Smith, Hattie
Pearce, Corinne Doster, Daisy Golson, Octavia Rush, Edna Davis,
Olive Booth, Mary Pratt, Bell Northington, Mary Simpson, Charles
Hazen, Charles Rush, Lula and Ada Ellis, Ellen Morgan, and Percy
Howell.
Katie E. Gilligan, of Plainfield, sends the following names: Sydney
D. Gilligan, Josie D. Gilligan, Romolo Belcazar, Constance Burke,
Ellie Gilligan, John Stevens, Bob Stevens, Anna Stevens, Minnie
Stevens, Bessie Stevens, Ada Marsh, Emily Groff, Irene Affeck,
Howard Naylor, Willie Moore, Georgie Moore, Maggie Warnock,
Minnie Stephenson, Annie Gillies, Beulah Ketcham, Jessie Munger,
Emma Keller, Jennie Leeland, George Cramer, Katy Stryker, Mamie
Woodhouse,. Norma Freeman, Jennie Vosseller, Louie Kaufman,
Grace Daniels, Jennie Harriott, and Katie Gilligan.
C. Jennie Knight and Mary F. Carew, of South Hadley Falls, send
the following names: C. Jennie Knight, Mary F. Carew, Joseph
Carew, Frank Carew, Sr., Frank Carew, Jr., George Carew, Jennie
Benton, Mary B. Dwight, Virginia A. Hawkins, Thomas Pendigast,
Richard Knight, Jane M. Knight, Alice C. Knight, Alice Cummings,
H. W. Taylor, W..T. Hollister, George Camp, James Sinclair, May
Walker, Mary Sinclair, Jennie Douglas, Kittie Walker, Efie Walker,
Edith Allen, Eddie Long, Mary Q. Colman, Grace M. Knight,
Georgia S. Hitchcock, Edith Avery, and Lizzie L. Whitney.
Willie H. Van Allen, of Holland Patent, Oneida Co., N. Y., joins
the army and sends the following list of names: D. D. Van Allen,
Fanny J. Van Alien, Fred Chasseil, E. F. Carrier, Owen Owens,
Freda Crane, Jennie Williams, George Peabody, Laura Peabody,
Eeldie Peabody, E. C. Peabody, E. W. Peabody, Mary Owens, Wal-
lace Owens, Robert Evans, Robert R. Owens, Willie Sizer, David
Davis, Willie Rowlands, John E. Jones, Welcome Jones, Annie
Williams, Charlie Moulton, David R. Davis, Marion Robinson,
Richard Davis, Tommy Davis, Mary Williams, Hattie Olin, J. McK.
Brayton, Grant Rollins, and Gurdon Pride.
Jessie Boning, of Paoli, Wis., sends her own and other names, as
follows: Helen Boning, Margaret Boning, Lilly Boning, Jessie Boyd,
Peter Boyd, Jessie Greene, Archie Greene, Jessie Parkhurst, Varnie
Parkhurst, Ellen Parkhurst, Alice Ulrich, Sarah Berg, Johnnie Berg,
Flora Crocker, John Meyers, Adolphus Meyers, Mary Meyers, Elmer
MIatts, Helen Matts, Alma Matts, Alice Matts, Florence Matts,
Willie Clark, Willie Gaefke, Anna Gaefke, Lizzie Qaefke, Fritz
Gaefke, Elmer Cooper, Alminie Cooper, John Warner, Edna War-
ner, Frank Bethel, Albert Keve, Oscar Minch, Carl Minch, Alphes
Seward, Alonz Greene, Henry Boning, and John Boyd.
W. M,, Tewksbury, of Newburyport, sends the following list:
Mary Clark, Mary Kidder, Elizabeth Christopher, Gertie Fogg, Susie
Fogg, Carrie Gonzales, Lizzie Gonzales, Gracie Gonzales, Flora
Fisher, Ida Spencer, Ella Spencer, Lil Brookes, Aggie Cheney, Bella
Morris, Lizzie Cotter, Milton Clark, GeorgieGraves, Frankie McKin-
ney, Willie Tewksbury, Walter Morgan, L. G. Bonney, Benny
Brooks, I. L. Stickney, Benny Chandler, James Morse, G. H. Lourel,
Willie Abbot, G. Forsaith, John Vanney, Charlie Chase, W. Jewell,
Henry Kinball, and Willie Morgan.
Adelia A. Nichols, of Chicago, Ill., sends this list: Amelia F.
Nichols, Kittie W. Haven, Alice Haven, Carrie Densmore, Kittie
Danforth, Harry Danforth, Albert Palmer, Adam Koehler, Fannie
Mauran, Ellen Swartley, May Thompson, Libbie Rood, May Crock-
ett, Katie Strader, Cora Pierce, Louie Watson, Richard Watson,
Mamie King, Bell King, Nellie Leach, Carrie Tait, Hattie Wilson,
Olive White, Shreeve Badger, George Cole, and Adelia A. Nichols.
Maud McLean, of Rochester, Minn., sends the following list: John
Cook, May Cook, Jane Cook, Charlie Wilson, Annie Wilson, Emily
Wilson, Mate Cross, Myra Cross, Annie Cross, Helen Lete, Louise
McLean, Marshall McLean, Maud McLean, Charley Vandouyen,
Stella Vandouyen, Emma Vandouyen, Charlie Chadburne, Etta Chad-
burne, Archie Stevenson, Win. Mayo, Wm. Murdock, Elwin Briggs,
Cordie Jones, Nathalie McLean, Dorcas Carr, and Yora Baxter.







THE ARMY OF BIRD-DEFENDERS. 111


Belle Eddy, of Albion, N. Y., joins and sends other names as fol-
lows: Yune Bedell, Jennie Bishop, Grace Billings, Lottie Billings,
Cora Billings, Minnie Powers, Hen. Holland, Clio Smiley, Sue Berry,
Kate Berry, Edwin Bidlenan, Harlon Billings, Geo. Billings, Sammy
Smiley, Frank Smiley, George Smiley, Frank Colburn, Charlie Col-
burn, Johnnie Bishop, Frank Bishop, G. Benton, Lavant Bedell,
Steph Bedell, and Frank Bedell.
Richard L. Hovey, of Washington, D. C., sends these names:
Walter S. Dodge, Mattie Dodge, Horace Austin Dodge, Daisy Mills,
Ballard N. Morris, Emma Morris, Kate Griggs, Dodie Griggs, Belle
Price, Ida Price, Wm. S. Knox, Anna Bray, Mr. John Bray, Gen.
C. E. Hovey, Mrs. Gen. C. E. Hovey, Mr. Farnham Spofford, Mrs.
F. Spofford, James A. Hovey, and Jennie Dodge.
Willie Hyde, of Pottsville, Pa., sends the following names: Florence
Ryan, Maria Bracken, Mary Beatty, Sallie Walker, Tillie Garretson,
Maria Thompson, Bessie Thompson, Clara Dengler, Paul Sheafer,
Phoebe Atkins, Laura Lanagan, Silver Ghay, Tillie Patterson, Florrie
Hyde, Emily Beck, Katie Boyer, Willie Whitney, Mallie Moorhead,
Julia Smith, Maria Garretson, John Carpenter, Willie Beck, and
Willie Hyde.
Carrie B. Salmon, of Fulton, sends her own name with those of the
following friends: Minnie B. Salmon, Frankie A. Lake, Lilian E.
Lake, Gussie F. Shaw, Bertie Hoff, Putnam H. Allen, Addie Shaw,
Gertie Nichols, Ada F. Thayer, Gracie L. Smith, Julia Kimball,
Jessie Kimball, Gertie Dada, Willie Hoff, Charlie White, Bertha Lee,
Hattie M. Bradshaw, Bertha E. Elder, and Bessie Davenport.
Louie Flagg, of Cedar Grove, R. I., joins and sends other names
as follows: Alice R. Brigham, Edward F. Brigham, Belle Adams,
Addie A. White, Nellie A. Hammond, Luena J. Winsor, Ella A.
Dunham, Hattie E. Hathaway, Charlie F. Martin, Hattie J. Peck,
Sarah McMillan, Mary A. E. Ferris, Cassie Ferris, Susan D. White,
Nellie M. Chace, Nellie White, Cora T. Brown, and Geo. D. Peck.
Lewis T. Austerwell, of St. Louis, sends these names: Ida W.
Thomas, Alfred Taussig, Mary Bean, Florence Austerwell, Isaac N.
Hayden, H. Edward Thompson, Annie J. Bean, Mattie Taussig,
Forrester Hardy, Alice D. Austerwell, Ashton G. Bean, Alice H.
Thompson, Julia V. Austerwell, Chas. T. Thompson, Junia Auster-
well, William Wills, and Ellen Wills.
Laura Lyon, of Ithaca, N. Y., sends the following list: Mary
McGaugh, Kate McGaugh, Nellie Russel, Gussie Clark, Minnie
Clark, Lulu Heggie, Mamie Finch, Rose Mulligan, Eliza Robinson,
Lucy Lyon, Phil Lyon, Mary Lyon, Susan Lyon, Marcus Lyon,
and Laura Lyon.
Alice Gale, of Minneapolis, Minn., sends the following list: Bell
Gale, Eddie Gale, Laura Philip, Anna Gale, Harlon Gale, Harry
Philip, Florence Brooks, Gerry Leonard, Belle Cadwell, Kate Haw-
kins, Minnie Bracket, Nelly Young, Mattie Phelps, Marion Gale,
Tamar Gale, Anna Kokes, Maria Hardy, and Alice Gale.
Mary D. Gunn, of Lexington, Ky., sends the following names:
Emma Kenney, Lena Hoeing, Lizette Hayman, Fannie Todd,
Ophelia Childs, Almira Woolfolk, Mary Woolfolk, Mattie Berkley,
Sallie Young, Annie Williams, Willie Gunn, and Mary D. Gunn.
Norman G. Dakin, of Laporte, Indiana, sends this list: Norman
Dakin, Minnie Ash, Louie Weaver, Lloyd Weaver, Allie Dakin,
Annie Taber, Hattie Ash, Addison Cattron, Fred King, Ellie Wier,
Fred Wier, Allie Cochran, Ollie Ludlow, Josie Will, and Rosa Will.
Ned M. Hayden, of Wolcottville, Conn., sends these names: Ned
M. Hayden, Helen E. Hayden, Carrie B. Lathrop, Merritt McNeil,
Jerry Phelps, Henry Clark, Freddie Lyons, Benny Hopkins, John
Davy, Clinton Goodwin, Lenny Wheeler, Charlie Finn, Henry Bell.
Julia Ashley, of Providence, R. I., sends these names: Julia B.
Ashley, Fannie O. Ashley, Laura E. Healy, Nellie Hutchins, Annie
L. Wilde, and Jennie P. Barton.
May Smith, of Brooklyn, sends the following names: Alice Bough-
ton, Herbert Boughton, Eva Claflin, Alice Howel, Nellie Brimsmaid,
Hampton Howel, Louis Smith, Julia Smith, and May Smith.
Lizzie Mease, of Pleasantville, sends these names: Jessie Sheffield,
Delia Germer, Nettie Newkirk, Lida Peterman, Nettle Miller, Mattie
Holeman, Nettie Brinker, Emma Smith, Eddie Mease, Watt Mease,
Mrs. Mease, Mrs. Skinner, Rena Lapham, and Lizzie Mease.
C. R. Fultz sends these names: C. Fultz, F. Fultz, G. Fultz,
S. Vivian, S. Crafts, A. McClosky, L. Abbott, A. Hamblin, G. Free,
man, W. Toomy, and W. Miller.
Olive Ann Frerat, of New Orleans, sends the following names:
Julia Scott Ogden, Hatty B. Britton, Edith Davies, Nelly Hall, and
Bertha Frankenbushi


Abbie N. Gunnison, of Dorchester, sends this list: Lottie M. Gun-
nison, Jennie A. Carr, Charlie Hewns, Walter Hewins, Alfred P.
Rexford, Lizzie D. Coolidge, Minnie L. Stone, Amanda R. Wood,
Nilla Howe, Annie Howe, and Abbie N. Gunnison.
James A. Hill, of Hackensack, N. J., sends the following names:
Harry Labagh, Irvie Labagh, Louey Labagh, and Jennie Labagh.
Eva G. Wanzer, of Chicago, sends these names: Wallie Wood,
Katie Wood, Lizzie Pridham, Jessie Pridham, Carrie Hubbard, Jen-
nie Hubbard, Emma Finch, Willie Wanzer, and Eva G. Wanzer.
Montie Horton, of Amesbury, Mass., sends the following names:
Lillie Little, Grade Bailey, Fannie Burlingame, Josie Burlingame,
Fannie Osgood, and Montie Horton.
Blanche Lientz, of Cedar Lawn, sends these names: Mattie Carkie,
Carrie McKinney, Ella Wilhite, Ella Lientz, Rollin Lyman, Mary
Lyman, Annie McQuitty, Ottie Hickman, and Mollie Sampson.
Lillie May Farman, of Claremont, N. H., sends these names:
Willie Bean, Nathan Fay, Charlotte Hubbard, Willie Hubbard, Fred
S. Carr/Ida M. Carr, and Lillie May Farman
Eldridge W. Hutchins, of Billirica, Mass., sends the following list:
Emily Hazen, Charlotte Hazen, Jessie Underhill, Annie T. Shedd,
Carrie Baker, Lucy Baker, Lizzie Morrissey, and E W. Hutchins.
Jodie A. McCullough, of Line Creek, S. C., sends these names:
Ida Charles, Anna Stepp, Clar McCullough, Jodie A. McCullough,
Ida Brooks, and Sullie Eppes.
Ida E. Skidd, of Mobile, Ala., sends this list: Minnie Mackay,
Adelia Mackay, Olive Russel, Gracie Mighell, Jennie Flinn, Mary
Mighell, Eugenia Skidd, Alice Flinn, and Cornelia Schoots
Harry C. Wiles sends the following list: Harry C. Wiles, Thomas
Corbin, Willie Corbin, Chas. Hall, Abraham Phillips, Johnny Wil-
liams, Charles Halstead, and Willie Smithey.
H. C. J. J. Cameron, of Camden, N. Y., sends the following list:
Aggie Huyck, Lena Goodyear, A. W. F. Clapp, Nellie Carman,
Kittle More, Sarah Witchley, Jennie Park, Dora Upson, Frank Ray-
mond, Mary Robson, Jennie More, and Jimmie Stark.
Harry G. Perkins, of Fitzwilliam, sends this list: Fanny A. Cahill,
Aggie Cahill, Susy Haskell, Hatty White, Fanny Batcheller, David
Fullam, Edith Perkins, Helen A. Parker, and Harry G. Perkins.
John Gilbert, of Catawissa, Pa., sends these names: Lambert
Osmun, Martha Long, Kate Sharpless, Sarah Gilbert, Fannie Keiler,
Mary L. Gilbert, Jennie Brobst, Anna Gilbert, and John Gilbert.
Mrs. A. J. Miller, of Patterson, Ga., sends these names: Westicot
Miller, Sarah Miller, Monte Miller, Waver Theus, Silvanius Theus,
Ida Theus, Martin Thcus, Mamie Carter, Lizzie Carter, and Julia
Carter.
Birdie and Mabel Bennett send the following list: E. L. Grant,
J. R. Grant, Charlie Grant, Mabel Bennett. Charlie Bennett, Birdie
Bennett, Ed Parker, L. S. Prest, Belle Smith, Katie Smith, Fanny
Smith, Sadie Smith, Tom Garnett, and Laura Garnett.
Jennie and Susie Russell, of Cobbleskill, join, and send the follow-
ing additional names: Lillie Ross, Maud Raymond, Grace Emerson,
Louise Laurence, Minnie Lester. and Rose Wilcox.
Fanny T. Quinby, of Pittsfield, Ill., sends these names: Dora
Greathouse, Georgiana Gaugh, Ida Grimes, Lillie Kellogg, Alice
Grimes, Lulu Quinby, Lizzie Gallaher, May Crisswell, Laura Mills,
and Fanny Quinby.
"Olive," of Hastings, N.Y., sends these names: Katie Koch,
Floy Brooks, Lillie Stull, Erie Westlake, Anna Ridgway, Anna Reist,
Katie Hershey, Sadie Searight, Alice Beans, Eddie Brooks, Ada
Reihman, Ella Crawford, Fannie Stryker, Agnes Bard, Viola Han-
num, Hattie Hannum, and Fannie Nabb.
Alice A. Carter sends these names: Alice Carter, Nina Carter,
Jennie Woodman, Emma B. Keith, Emma A. Jones, Constance
Keith, Carrie Holbrook, Lucia Peabody, Carrie Y. Keith, Lulu Law-
rence, Nettie Wilton, and Gracie Eliot.
George E. Stockle, of Cherry Creek, Nevada, sends these names:
Edna Scramblen, Mabel Eastwood, Florence Mollinella, Jerold Cal-
der, Frank Burjoice, Jakie Shiller, Elbert Sissin, Arlo Eastwood, Sam
Burjoice, and Geo. E. Stockle.
Georgie N. Kerbey, of Braddock's Field, Pa., joins and sends the
following names: George W. Kerbey, Cora P. Kerbey, Bessie S.
Kerbey, Charley Swemm, Julia Swemm, Johnny Swemm, Bobby
Lucas, Charley Lucas, Fannie McConnell, Florence McConnell,
Winnie Wilkinson, Mary Wilkinson, and Lulu Wilkinson.
Bessie Kuhn sends these names: Bessie P. Kuhn, Anna M. Bos-
ley, Anna C. Carner, Nettie Wheeler, Elmer Carner, Neil Wheeler,
Jas. W. Allison, Edna Meeks, Annie L. Sharp, and W. S. Sutton.






IV THE ARMY OF BIRD-DEFENDERS.


Mary M. Harris, of Moreton Farm, joins and sends other names as
follows: Sarah A. Harris, Bella Kewley, Johnny Kewley, Willie
Kewley, Lizzie Kewley, Julia Kewley, Sarah J. Renolds, Maggie
Harris, Selah Harris, Mary M. Harris, and Annie M. Morton.
Jennie E. Holland, of Hope, Ind., sends these names: Hattie
Fishel, Emily Laisy, Augusta Rensswig, Mary Laisy, Ida Laisy,
Georgia Keating, and Jennie Holland.
Bessie Morrill, of Cincinnati, sends these names: Albert Henry
Morrill, Bessie Morrill, Nellie Morrill, Katie Stewart, Katie Ledyard,
Helen Annan, Jessie Brown, Flora D. Brown, Lottie Brown, and
Edie Brown.
Fred C. McDonald, of White Plains, sends the following list:
Lizzie B. McDonald, Julie R. Fisher, Annie S. Fisher, Mamie B.
Fisher, M. Rosalie Cunningham, J. Henry Armbruster, Gertrude P.
Schmid, Julia A. Quinby, and Fred C. McDonald.
Grant McNeil, of Akron, 0., sends these names: Grant McNeil,
Sarah G. McNeil, Jennie A. Gale, Jenny L. Echoren, Helen Echoren,
Mrs. M. G. McNeil, Eddie Angler, Ollie Cahow, and Oral Cahow.
"Their Teacher" sends the names of these Oswego boys: Wallie
Dempsey, James Hillock, Charles Burt, Frank English, Jimmie
Barry, Johnnie Hillock, and George Sloan.
Besides all these lists, the following names have been received:
James Montgomery, Morton Montgomery, Jennie Scofield, Arthur
C. Miller, Antoinette C. Starkweather, E. and A. Herron, Eliot H.
Moore, Carry Preston, Achsah Preston, Robert Preston, Alexander
Preston, Laura Stotsenburg, Frank C. Higgins, Nellie Chapin,
Chester Yeaman, Marion Yeaman, Lelia Yeaman, Maggie M. Ross,
Nellie Kellogg, Florence Cleaves, May B. Moulton, Fred Bell, Don-
ald Bell, Bessie -and Nellie Morrell, Willie B. Mount, Ella Mount,
Clara Hiscock, Minnie Mansfield, Mary King, Katie Windle, Emma
A. Hance, Minnie Morgan, Mabel and Ethel Wyant, Lila E. Burton,
Clara Muncey, Ralph Clapp, Alexander Laist, L. L. Ropes, Bertie
Child, Olivia G. Sherman, Alice M. Sherman, Annie O. Gerry,
Johnnie and Marnie Pennington, Lottie Hatch, Louis M. Pratt,
Edgar B. Sampson, Annie-Dean, Sarah Carlisle Lord,. Florence M.
Easton, Bessie Vroom, May C. Deane, Eddie F. Pickett, Grace
Greenough, Willie Greenough, Mary Gaddis, Harry Stephens Wash-
ington, Charles Milnor Washington, Belle Betts, Marshall R. Pugh,
Lida A. Clark, Freddy McCrosky, Herbert V. Abbott, Harriet F.
Abbott, Ernest Abbott, Hattie L. Emerson, Allina G. Emerson, Sue
M. Littell, Charlotte S. Blanchard, Hollie Goodsill, Sadie Goodsill,
Constance Clifford, George H. Dale, Eleanor L. Reed, Bertie Reed,
Effie Reed, Mollie Russell, Cornelia Russell, Charlie W. Barnes,
Alfred J. Barnes, F. Mabel Webber, Richard L. Hill, Jr., Willie
Hill, Allie Hill, Joe Hill, Bessie Hotchkiss, Allie Potter, Bessie L.
Dickson, Charlie M. Child, Weldon Coltrin, Carrie Salters, Agnes
Drew, Bertha Torrance, Lloyd Salters, Rollin Salters, Ethel Salters,
Louis M. Sawdon, Edwin I. Sawdon, Nellie S. McCord, May Har-
vey, Annie Harvey, Hattie Harvey, May Darling, Katie Todd,
Nettle Pitt, Virginia Jones, Abby Allen, Alice Godfrey, J. Lauriston
Howland, Fannie C. Cushing, Jessie Moon, Egbert P. Watson,
Harry E. Miller, Daisy P. Miller, Emily F. Miller, Elizabeth Dyer,
Charlotte Dyer, John Dyer, Jr., Mary Jung6, Susan Jung6, William
Jungi, Anna Jung, Lizzie S. Howard, Bessie Daingerfield, Harry
James Gilmour, Louis and Finley Shepard, Hattie M. Plummer,
A. M. Stillman, Norman Leslie Archer, S. Louise Jessup, Minnie
B. Mulford, Carrie Vandercook, George A. Laughlin, Willie Laugh-
lin, Ottie Laughlin, Eugene E. Peirce, Florence C. R. Biddle, Marion
Miller, Fannie Miller, Sallie E. Harrold, Ida J. Harrold, Ella B.
Smith, Anne C. Harper, Allie F. Vineyard, Rosa M. Deuchar, Mrs.
Fannie McClain, Emma P. Morton, Ella A. Morton, Jennie C. Mor-
ton, Fanny H. H. Kennedy, Henry M. Beal, Maggie Robertson,
Katie Robertson, Ida S. Irwin, Louie McMynn, Lucy D. Denison,
Mamie E. D. Cumming, Katharine D. Schaus, Mabel Schaus, Fanny
Packard, Helen H. Green, Willie Reynolds, Eva Bishop, Minnie
Stanwood, Leslie Ashley, Georgie V. Hunt, Bernice Curtis, Alma
Jones, Mamie,Newell, Annie Newell, Emma Newell, Johnnie John-
son, Amy C. Johnson, James Frazer, Katherine H. Leonard, Clifford
Smyth, Grayson G. Knapp, Lulu Haywood, Genevieve Haywood,
Aggie Johnson, Jennie Barrett, Sue M. Littell, Mary E. Palmer,
Annie Montgomery Horton, Annie Du Bois, Amy Du Bois, Ella Du
Bois, Peachy Bacon, Georgie Bacon, Fanny H. H. Kennedy, Mamie
L. Rowland, Marion O. Rowland, Charles B. Howard, Fannie J.
Pusey, Willie H. Atkinson, Fanny N. Osburn, Lily Uniacke, Katie
Uniacke, Robert R. Gibson, Edith E. Stone, Annie Atkinson, Mary
L. Middleton, Madeleine D. W. Smith, L. D. Schiffer, Fannie Mil-


ler, Marion Miller, Edwin C. Garrigues, Lee Brand, Charlie Brand,
Johnnie Brand, Addie Lawrence, Gracie Arden, Lulu Stone, Willie
Lawrence, M. Ella Wright, Anne Henderson, Mary Elizabeth Hen-
derson, Guy E. Pattison, Fannie and Jeanie Brady, Corrie F. Smith,
Ellie Arbuckle, Ray Arbuckle, Fred Arbuckle, Jennie Arbuckle, Joey
Taplin, Charley Taplin, Eugene C. Holton, Lily Van Riper, Julia
Grice, Lulu J. Way, Katie L. Bigelow, Carrie L. Bigelow, Jenny D.
Wheeler, Neddie E. Wayland, Rawleigh Colston Blackford, Charles
M. Blackford, Willie Larzelere, Leigh Larzelere, William Nelson,
George Nelson, Joseph Nelson, Cambol Bowley, Fanny Britton,
Jenny Messer, Florence Wilkinson, Frank Britton, Richard and
James Morley. Gertrude Turner, Fred Bright, Bessie Bright, Paul
Bright, John Bright, Clara Bright, Clare Randolph, Marion Taylor,
David H. Shipman, E. May Stedman, Ella Stedman, Mamie Hay-
dock, Mary Vose, Emmie Vose, Ellen C. Emerson, May Nicolovius,
Sadie A. Wood, Bertha Wood, Emily Wood, Alice Wood, John V.
T. Wood, Bessie Baker, Lillie Baker, Daisy Wood, Tommy W. Fry,
Robt. T. Brewer, Caleb W. Hammill, Helen A. Brewer, Mary L.
Hammill, C. S. Butterfield, Johnny A. Fry, Herbert P. Kelly, Nor-
ton R. Bond, Howard P. Forrest, H. Stanley Lesher, Robert P.
Hayes, Myra O. Sutton, Ettie Sutton, Georgie V. Hunt, Mamie B.
French, Willie A. French, Emily Shaw Sargent, GeorginaWarhurst,
Lulu Clinton, Arthur Leon Giblin, Albert H. Southwell, Mattie S.
Evans, Emma Amelia Gould, Mattie Vaughan Holladay, Annie W.
Hayward, Hattie-Winfield, Robert H. Birdsall, Thornton Birdsall,
Annie K. Emery, Fannie Binswanger, Clifford Brown, Ellsworth
Griffith, Marion W. Bond, Frank Bowman, Grace Gould, Alice
Gould, Ellen Bowers, Fred Worthington, Ralph Bowman, Anna
Wood, Sarah Wood, Ella Davenport, Leonora Davenport, Ada Gass-
well, Gussie Sisson. Helissa Swinney, Bettie Thacker, Belle Sebastian,
Susie Bellah, Ida Harkey, Lizzie Rondebush, Harry G. Chamberlin,
Lulie F. Schock, Geo. W. Gluck, Frank A. Gluck, Mary A. Gluck,
Willie Reynolds, Carrie L. Bidleman, Eddie C. Bissell, Walter Nor-
ton, Emma Turner, May Turner, Belle Camp, Eva Shaw, Mabel
Shaw, Libbie Owen, Delia Judd, Eliza Teeter, Harry Lincoln, Gertie
Lincoln, Marjorie Hallett, Grace R. Newton, Winsor Brown, Gracle
Brownell, Hattie Brownell, Harry Brownell, Jennie L. Brownell,
Charles H. Hull, Mary I. Hull, Rissa Stockwell, Mattie Stockwell,
Geordie Stockwell, Johnnie and Clara Miller, Eddie Smith, Clara
Meisel, Lila B. Aiken, W. B. Aiken, Charles Yschiffely, Allie Pizey,
Georgiana Hollister, Carrie A. Granger, Ruthie E. Granger, Rosie
B. Granger, Hattie Learned, Stella T. Johnson, Lizzie L. Howard,
Cora L. Shailer, Edith Harrison, Katy E. Raud, Katie W. Nash,
Willie Perrine, James E. Bartlett, Lilian Constable, Edwin W. Fay,
Nannie C. Long, Clara Long, Helen S. Mackintosh, Fred Collins,
Grace S. Emerson, Cora N. Emerson, Carrie M. Kernochan, Josephine
Kernochan, Minnie M. Walker, Lulie H. Walker, Henry Owen Fet-
ter, Cecilia Rice, W. L. Young, Nessie Stevens, Bessie G. McLaren,
John B. Greiner, Mamie Cummings, Belle Fawcett, Nina Eggleston,
Harlow Billings, Nellie Robinson, Lottie Griswold, May G. Holmes,
David Holmes, Georgie Holmes, Edith Foster, Florence Foster, Alice
Foster, H. W. Lung, James P. Waring, Isabelle B. S. Nichols, Mary
E. Coffin, Fannie Tillotson, Susie May Ryder, Alice M. Douglas,
Lillie McGowan, Katie Milner, Ellie T. Brewster, R. W. Spalding,
Samuel Spalding, Mary De Bard, Helen De Bard, Dora Seaton,
Mallie Seaton, Tom E. Williard, Hattie E. Forshew, Madeleine D.
W. Smith, Charles W. Reed, Clara Temple Livermore, Jennie Bur-
lingame Livermore, Susie B. Waring, L. E. B. Noxon, Hyland C.
Murphy, Elsie F. Eilers, Emma Eilers, Carleton D. Merphy, Carrie
B. Wells, Edwin Haviland, Jr., Clarence Haviland, Willie Biddle,
Andrew Biddle, May Young, Leila Williams, Eugenie Cole, Emma
Butler, Antoinette Matthews, Grace Walker, Agnes Askew, Blanche
Morrison, Lila Wood, May Meyers, Clara Phillips, Isabel McKenzie,
Laura Griffin, Grace Higbee, Cassie Hamilton, Charles Butler, Willie
Butler, Lindsey Barbour, Robert Richardson, Jeanie Finlay, Lizzie
C. McMartin, Archie McMartin, Mary McMardn, Bertha Allen,
William H. Atkinson, Robbie W. Atkinson, Steven P. Cabot, Moses
Williams, Jr., May Fisher, Mary S. Kennedy, Fred Cook, May
Smith, Charlie Hotchins, Belle Kellogg, Willie Coddington, Freddie
Coddington. Robbie Coddington, Silas S Stone, Gerrie Harter, Bruce
Throckmorton, Mamie E. Throckmorton, J. Craig Crawford, Georgie
Madden, Eva A. Madden, Sebia Goodle, Anna Jevenson, J. B.
McCartney, Nellie Kellogg, Johnnie Seeley, Florence Seeley, Lu-
cretia C. Holloway, Alice Ames, Eleanor Beattie, Nellie Fairbairn,
Lucy Y. Thompson, Minnie May Schilling, Nettle W. Cobb, Maddie
Hawley, Clinton Weed, and Belle Little.




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