St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 1


Material Information

St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 1
Series Title:
St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title:
Saint Nicholas
Physical Description:
68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Literature for Children
Children's literature
serial   ( sobekcm )


General Note:
Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note:
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

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
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This item has the following downloads:

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    The kingdom of the greedy
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    A reminiscence of Abraham Lincoln
        Page 8
        Page 9
    Granny's story
        Page 10
    A little Boston girl of 1776
        Page 11
        Page 12
    The bees that went to the sky
        Page 13
    All about lead-pencils
        Page 14
        Page 15
    The owl that stared
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
    Listening - A queen, and not a queen
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Good times (pictures)
        Page 24
    Story of a "tolerbul" bad boy
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
    A parable
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
    Far away
        Page 37
    Carlo and the milk-pan (pictures) - Borrowing a grandmother
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
    Flowers in winter, and how to make the most of them
        Page 42
        Page 43
    The Sunday baby
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
    Tinsie's conclusion
        Page 48
        Page 49
    A centennial pen-wiper
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    Dickon has a boat (words and music)
        Page 54
    Wine or cider jelly
        Page 55
    A true story in which Mrs. Hound talks about her puppies
        Page 56
        Page 57
    Children of the week
        Page 58
    Young contributors' department
        Page 59
    The letter-box
        Page 60
        Page 61
    The riddle-box
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




(By P. J. STAHL.)


THE country of the Greedy, well known in his-
tory, was ruled by a king who had much trouble.
His subjects were well-behaved, but they had one
sad fault-they were too fond of pies and tarts. It
was as disagreeable to them to swallow a spoonful
of. soup as if it were so much sea-water, and it
would take a policeman to make them open their
mouths for a bit of meat, either boiled or roasted.
This deplorable taste made the fortunes of the
pastry-cooks, but also ofthe. apothecaries. Families
ruined themselves in pills and powders; camomile,
rhubarb, and peppermint trebled in price, as well
as .other disagreeable remedies, such as castor -,
which I will not name.
The King of the Greedy sought long for the
means of correcting this fatal passion for sweets,
but even the faculty were puzzled.
Your Majesty," said the great Court doctor,
Olibriers, at his last audience, "your people look
like putty They are incurable; their senseless
love for good eating will bring them all to the
This view of things did not suit the King. He
was wise, and saw very plainly that a monarch
without subjects would be but a sorry king.
Happily, after this utter failure of the doctors,
there came into the mind of His Majesty a first-
class idea. He telegraphed for Mother Mitchel,
the most celebrated of all pastry-cooks. Mother
Mitchel soon arrived, with her black cat Fanfre-
luche, who accompanied her everywhere. He was
an incomparable cat. He had not his equal as an
adviser and a taster of tarts.

Mother Mitchel having respectfully inquired what
she and her cat could do for His Majesty, the King
demanded of the astonished pastry-cook a tart as
big as the Capitol-bigger even, if possible, but no
smaller When the King uttered this astounding
order, deep emotion was shown by the chamber-
lains, the pages and lackeys. Nothing but the
respect due to his presence prevented them from
crying Long live your Majesty in his very ears.
But the King had seen enough of the enthusiasm
of the populace, and did not allow such sounds in
the recesses of his palace.
The King gave Mother Mitchel one month to
carry out his gigantic project. It is enough," she
proudly replied, brandishing her crutch. Then,
taking leave of the King, she and her cat set out
for their home.
On the way, Mother Mitchel arranged in her
head the plan of the monument which was to
immortalize her, and considered the means of exe-
cuting it. As to its form and size, it was to be as
exact a copy of the Capitol as possible, since the
King had willed it; but its outside crust should
have a beauty all its own. The dome must be
adorned with sugar-plums of all colors, and sur-
mounted by a splendid crown of macaroons, spun
sugar chocolate, and candied fruits. It was no
small affair.
Mother Mitchel did not like to lose her time.
Her plan of battle once formed, she recruited on
her way all the little pastry-cooks of the country,
as well as all the tiny six-year-olds who had a sin-
cere love for the noble callings of scullion and
apprentice. There were plenty of these, as you

[Copyright, 1876, by Scribner & Co.]


No. I.



may suppose, in the country of the Greedy; Mother
Mitchel had her pick of them.
Mother Mitchel, with the help of her crutch, and
of Fanfreluche, who miaowed loud enough to be
heard twenty miles off, called upon all the millers
of the land, and commanded them to bring together
at a certain time as many sacks of fine flour as they
could grind in a week. There were only wind-mills
in that country; you may easily believe how they
all began to go. B-r-r-r-r-r what a noise they
made The clatter was so great that all the birds
flew away to other climes, and even the clouds fled
from the sky.
At the call of Mother Mitchel, all the farmers'
wives were set to work; they rushed to the hen-
coops to collect the seven thousand fresh eggs that
Mother Mitchel wanted for her great edifice. Deep
was the emotion of the fowls. The hens were in-
consolable, and the unhappy creatures mourned
upon the palings for the loss of all their hopes.
The milkmaids were busy from morning till
night in milking the cows. Mother Mitchel must
have twenty thousand pails of milk. All the little
calves were put on half-rations. This great work
was nothing to them, and they complained pitifully
to their mothers. Many of the cows protested with
energy against this unreasonable tax, which made
their young families so uncomfortable. There were
pails upset, and even some milkmaids went head
over heels. But these little accidents did not chill
the enthusiasm of the laborers.
And now Mother Mitchel called for a thousand
pounds of the best butter. All the churns for
twenty miles around began to work in the most
lively manner. Their dashers dashed without ceas-
ing, keeping perfect time. The butter was tasted,
rolled into pats, wrapped up, and put into baskets.
Such energy had never been known before.
Mother Mitchel passed for a sorceress. It was all
because of her cat Fanfreluche, with whom she
had mysterious doings and pantomimes, and with
whom she talked in her inspired moments, as if he
were a real person. Certainly, since the famous
"Puss in Boots," there had never been an animal
so extraordinary; and credulous folks suspected
him of being a magician. Some curious people
had the courage to ask Fanfreluche if this were
true; but he had replied by bristling, and, showing
his teeth and claws so fiercely, that the conversa-
tion had ended there. Sorceress or not, Mother
Mitchel was always obeyed. No one else was ever
served so punctually.
On the appointed day, all the millers arrived with
their asses trotting in single file, each laden with a
great sack of flour. Mother Mitchel, after having
examined the quality of the flour, had every sack
accurately weighed. This was head work and hard


work, and took time; but Mother Mitchel was un-
tiring, and her cat also, for while the operation
lasted he sat on the roof, watching. It is only just
to say that the millers of the Greedy Kingdom
brought flour, not only faultless, but of full weight.
They knew that Mother Mitchel was not joking
when she said that others must be as exact with
her as she was with them. Perhaps also they were
a little afraid of the cat, whose great green eyes
were always shining upon them like two round
lamps, and never lost sight of them for one mo-
All the farmers' wives arrived in turn, with
baskets of eggs upon their heads. They did not
load their donkeys with them, for fear that in jog-
ging along they would become omelettes on the
way. Mother Mitchel received them with her usual
gravity. She had the patience to look through
every egg to see if it were fresh.
She did not wish to run the risk of having young
chickens in a tart that was destined for those who
could not bear the taste of any meat, however ten-
der and delicate. The number of eggs was com-
plete, and again Mother Mitchel and her cat had
nothing to complain of. This Greedy nation,
though carried away by love of good eating, was
strictly honest. It must be said, that where nations
are patriotic, desire for the common good makes
them unselfish. Mother Mitchel's tart was to be
the glory of the country, and each one was proud
to contribute to such a great work.
And now the milkmaids, with their pots and
pails of milk, and the butter-makers with their
baskets filled with the rich yellow pats of butter,
filed in long procession to the right and left of the
cabin of Mother Mitchel. There was no need for
her to examine so carefully the butter and the milk.
She had such a delicate nose, that if there had
been a single pat of ancient butter or a pail of sour
milk, she would have pounced upon it instantly.
But all was perfectly fresh. In that golden age
they did not understand the art, now so well known,
of making milk out of flour and water. Real milk
was necessary to make cheese-cakes and ice-cream
and other delicious confections much adored in the
Greedy Kingdom. If any one had made such a
despicable discovery, he would have been chased
from the country as a public nuisance.
Then came the grocers, with their aprons of
coffee bags, and with the jolly, mischievous faces
the rogues always have. Each one clasped to his
heart a sugar-loaf nearly as large as himself, whose
summit, without its paper cap, looked like new-
fallen snow upon a pyramid. Mother Mitchel, with
her crutch for a baton, saw them all placed in her
store-rooms upon shelves put up for the purpose.
She had to be very strict, for some of the little


fellows could hardly part from their merchandise, corners, took pains to find this out. Between our-
and many were indiscreet with their tongues behind selves, Mother Mitchel made believe not to see
their great mountains of sugar. If they had been them, and took the precaution of holding Fanfre-
let alone, they would never have stopped till the luche in her arms so that he could not spring upon
sugar was all gone. But they had not thought of them. The fruits were all put into bins, each kind
the implacable eye of old Fanfreluche, who, posted by itself. And now the preparations were finished.
upon a water-spout, took note of all their misdeeds. There was no time to lose before setting to work.
The spot which Mother Mitchel
S -_- -- had chosen for her great edi-
fice, was a pretty hill on which
"-'-'-- -- a plateau formed a splendid
-- ''- ,' '---- site. This hill commanded
i the capital city, built upon the
,i slope of another hill close by.
After having beaten down the
.. .. _earth till it was as smooth as a
S' .floor, they spread over it loads
S.. of bread-crumbs, brought from

-l c in our garden walks. Little
i, birds, as greedy as themselves,
S' came in flocks to the feast, but
.' they might eat as they liked,
: it would never be missed, so
-' thick was the carpet. It was
S., a great chance for the bold
little things.

tart were now ready. Upon
-^' .11 ',.,a['r "" "l!J :.[ ..'-" 1 .." '.-''i '"'" ,",".i n i they m .ght Ne e watheys ikthed,

r-, order of Mother Mitchel they
began to peel the apples and
pears and to take out the pips.
The weather was so pleasant
j athat the girls sat out-of-doors,
upon the ground, in long rows.
S, t The sun looked down upon
them with a merry face. Each
of the little workers had a big
earthen pan, and peeled in-
S_.cessantly the apples which the
boys brought them. When
the pans were full, they were
carried away and others were
brought.. They had also to
carry away the peels, or the
girls would have been buried
in them. Never was there
BRINGING THE MILK AND THIE BUTTER. such a peeling before.
From another quarter came a whole army of Not far away, the children were stoning the
country people, rolling wheelbarrows and carry- plums, cherries and peaches. This work being the
ing huge baskets, all filled with cherries, plums, easiest, was given to the youngest and most inex-
peaches, apples, and pears. All these fruits were perienced hands, which were all first carefully
so fresh, in such perfect condition, with their fair washed, for Mother Mitchel, though not very par-
shining skins, that they looked like wax or painted ticular about her own toilet, was very neat in her
marble, but their delicious perfume proved that cooking. The school-house, long unused (for in
they were real. Some little people, hidden in the the country of the Greedy they had forgotten every-



thing), was arranged for this second class of work- plum-stones But no one risked it. Fanfreluche
ers, and the cat was their inspector. He walked was not to be trifled with.
round and round, growling if he saw the fruit In those days, powdered sugar had not been in-
popping into any of the little mouths. If they vented, and to grate it all was no small affair. It
had dared, how they would have pelted him with was the work that the grocers used to dislike most;




both lungs and arms were soon tired. But Mother grated them till they were too small to hold. The
Mitchel was there to sustain them with her une- bits were put into baskets to be pounded. One
qualed energy. She chose the laborers from the would never have expected to find all the thousand
most robust of the boys. With mallet and knife pounds of sugar again. But a new miracle was
she broke the cones into round pieces, and they wrought by Mother Mitchel. It was all there!



It was then the turn of the ambitious scullions to
enter the lists, and break the seven thousand eggs
for Mother Mitchel. It was not hard to break them
-any fool could do that; but to separate adroitly
the yolks and the whites demands some talent, and,
above all, great care. We dare not say that there
were no accidents here, no eggs too well scrambled,
no baskets upset. But the ex-
perience of Mother Mitchel
had counted upon such things,
and it may truly be said that
there never were so many
eggs broken at once, or ever
could be again. To make an
omelette of them would have
taken a saucepan as large as
a skating pond, and the fat-
test cook that ever lived could
not hold the handle of such a
But this was not all. Now
that the yolks and whites
were once divided, they must
each be beaten separately in
wooden bowls, to give them
the necessary lightness. The
egg-beaters were marshaled
into two brigades, the yellow
and the white. Every one
preferred the white, for it was i
much more amusing to make
those snowy masses that rose
up so high, than to beat the
yolks, which knew no better
than to mix together like so --
much sauce. Mother Mitchel, i
with her usual wisdom, had
avoided this difficulty by cast-
ing lots. Thus, those who
were not on the white side
had no reason to complain
of oppression. And truly,
when all was done, the whites
and the yellows were equally
tired. All had cramps in
their hands.
Now began the real labor
of Mother Mitchel. Till now,
she had been the commander-
in-chief-the head only; now, she put her own
finger in the pie. First, she had to make sweet-
meats and jam, out of all the immense quantity
of fruit she had stored. For this, as she could
only do one kind at a time, she had ten kettles,
each as big as a dinner-table. During forty-eight
hours the cooking went on; a dozen scullions blew
the fire and put on the fuel. Mother Mitchel,

with a spoon that four modern cooks could hardly
lift, never ceased stirring and trying the boiling
fruit. Three expert tasters, chosen from the most
dainty, had orders to report progress every half
It is unnecessary to state that all the sweetmeats
were perfectly successful, or that they were of

exquisite consistency, color, and perfume. With
Mother Mitchel there was no such word as fai/.
When each kind of sweetmeat was finished, she
skimmed it, and put it away to cool in enormous
bowls before potting. She did not use for this the
usual little glass or earthen jars, but great stone
ones, like those in the Forty Thieves." Not only
did these take less time to fill, but they were safe



from the children. The scum and the scrapings
were something, to be sure. But there was little
Toto, who thought this was not enough. He would
have jumped into one of the bowls, if they had not
held him.
Mother Mitchel, who thought of everything, had
ordered two hundred great kneading-troughs, wish-
ing that all the utensils of this great work should
be perfectly new. These two hundred troughs,
like her other materials, were all delivered punctu-
ally and in good order. The pastry-cooks rolled
up their sleeves, and began to knead the dough,
with cries of "Hi! hi! that could be heard for
miles. It was odd to see this army of bakers in
serried ranks, all making the same gestures at
once, like well-disciplined soldiers, stooping and
rising together in time, so that a foreign embas-
sador wrote to his court, that he wished his people
could load and fire as well as these could knead.
Such praise, a people never forgets.
When each troughful of paste was approved, it
was molded with care into the form of bricks, and
with the aid of the engineer-in-chief, a young
genius who had gained the first prize in the school
of architecture, the majestic edifice was begun.
Mother Mitchel herself drew the plan; in following
her directions, the young engineer showed himself
modest beyond all praise. He had the good sense
to understand that the architecture of tarts and
pies had rules of its own, and that therefore the
experience of Mother Mitchel was worth all the
scientific theories in the world.
The inside of the monument was divided into as
many compartments as there were kinds of fruits.
The walls were no less than four feet thick. When
they were finished, twenty-four ladders were set up,
and twenty-four experienced cooks ascended them.
These first-class artists were each of them armed
with an enormous cooking-spoon. Behind them,

on the lower rounds of the ladders, followed the
kitchen-boys, carrying on their heads pots and
pans, filled to the brim with jam and sweetmeats,
each sort ready to be poured into its destined com-
partment. This colossal labor was accomplished
in one day, and with wonderful exactness.
When the sweetmeats were used to the last drop,
when the great spoons had done all their work, the
twenty-four cooks descended to earth again. The
intrepid Mother Mitchel, who had never quitted the
spot, now ascended, followed by the noble Fanfre-
luche, and dipped her finger into each of the com-
partments, to assure herself that everything was
right. This part of her duty was not disagreeable,
and many of the scullions would have liked to per-
form it. But they might have lingered too long
over the enchanting task. As for Mother Mitchel,
she had been too well used to sweets to be excited
now. She only wished to do her duty and to
insure success.
All went on well. Mother Mitchel had given her
approbation. Nothing was needed now, but to
crown the sublime and delicious edifice, by placing
upon it the crust, that is, the roof or dome. This
delicate operation was confided to the engineer-in-
chief, who now showed his superior genius. The
dome, made beforehand of a single piece, was
raised in the air by means of twelve balloons, whose
force of ascension had been carefully calculated.
First it was directed, by ropes, exactly over the top
of the Tart; then at the word of command it gently
descended upon the right spot. It was not a
quarter of an inch out of place. This was a great
triumph for Mother Mitchel and her able assistant.
But all was not over. How should this colossal
Tart be cooked? That was the question that
agitated all the people of the Greedy country, who
came in crowds-lords and commons-to gaze at
the wonderful spectacle.

(To be continued.)




THERE was an interesting though unimportant
scene in the life of Abraham Lincoln, of which I was
an eye-witness. It was on the occasion of the visit
of about twenty Indian chiefs to the Executive
Mansion, delegated by their respective tribes to
treat personally with the Great Father in the adjust-
ment of their affairs. They were habited in their
attire of feathers and paint, and each one was im-
pressed with the greatness of the occasion, the most
eventful, probably, of their lives. Their interpreter
placed them in the form of a crescent in the spacious
East room, on the floor, as they would have been
ill at ease on chairs. Thus they sat on the carpet
in decorous silence and waited the arrival of the
Chief Magistrate.
A number of people had been invited to be
present at the interview, among whom were officers
civil and military and foreign diplomats, accom-
panied by their wives in fashionable toilet. Sev-
eral of the latter, whose feet had not long left the
asphalt of the Boulevards of Paris, looked on the
copper-colored men-two or three using eye-glasses
-with peculiar interest; the objects of it, however,
sat under the close observation with calm dignity,
as calm as if they had been in the habit of sitting
amidst the gaudy splendors of an East room, and
of being looked upon, every day, by distinguished
men and handsome women; the absence of any
manifestation of surprise being a characteristic of
Indian nature.
At length Abraham Lincoln came into the room
and stood before the dusky crescent, while a group
of well-known men gathered behind him, to hear
what was about to take place, space being made
by ushers about the chiefs, the President and the
immediate group behind him. The interpreter
occupied a place near Lincoln, to turn the aborig-
inal language into English as it fell from the lip.
The ceremony began by a personal presentation of
each chief to the Great Father, each one going up
to the powerful white chief and shaking hands-
not extending the hand after the Caucasian man-
ner, but holding it high and dropping it softly
down into the Presidential palm. The names were
furnished as they came forward by the interpreter
-White Bear, Big Wolf, Red Fox, and so on.
The face of Lincoln was plainly seen by most of
the people present, for it was higher than that of
any other. When he came into the room, it was, as
usual, pale, and tinged with the sadness which was
its principal characteristic in repose. He folded his

hands before him, and stood rather awkwardly as
he waited for the interview to begin. After making
his compliments and shaking hands, each Indian
returned to his seat on the carpet in the crescent
of his brethren. When all had performed the
ceremony, each one in turn made his speech to the
President, standing up for the purpose, and sitting
down when done, in parliamentary fashion, prob-
ably through instructions from the interpreter.
The first one who essayed to talk grew nervous,
and in a hurried way asked for a chair in the
spirit of a wrecked mariner who seeks for a plank.
When it was furnished him, he took his seat and
resumed the entangled thread of his discourse. As
this trifling incident took place, a smile passed over
the faces of the spectators, and was reflected in that
of Lincoln. This smile, indeed, deepened into an
audible laugh in the rear; but when the ear of the
President caught it, his face immediately straight-
ened into seriousness and sympathy with the dis-
concerted Indian. He did not at once begin, and
the interpreter said:
"Mr. President, White Bear asks for time to
collect his thoughts."
The President bowed, and another smile went
round at the plight of the perturbed Indian, but
did not appear in the face of Lincoln.
Soon, White Bear rose to his feet, went at it
again, and after a fashion got through with what
he wanted to say, at which there was a murmur of
The burden of their speeches was the same.
They had all come such a long distance, and so
quickly, that they felt as if they were birds. To
see the Great Father had been the wish of their
lives. They were poor, and required help. They
had always respected their treaties, and were the
friends of the white man. They wanted to be
prosperous and rich like their white brother. Big
Wolf, particularly, enlarged on this theme. He
said that he would like to have horses and carriages,
sausages such as he ate in the hotel in Washington,
and a fine wigwam-"like this," added he, as he
designated the highly ornamented apartment in
which he stood. At this, the President could not
restrain the desire to share in the general smile.
Red Fox was the attorney and orator of the
delegation. He dwelt on the gratification he ex-
perienced at seeing the Great Father. It was the
proudest and most important event of his existence.
Had he been familiar with the Neapolitan proverb,



"See Naples and then die," he would doubtless
have paraphrased it to suit the occasion. There
was, however, a cloud in the otherwise clear sky
of his enjoyment. He had an apprehension that
when he returned to his people in the Far West,
they might not believe that he had seen the Great
Father and talked to him face to face as it was his
great privilege to do then and there. Hence he
would like to return to his people laden down with
presents,-" shining all over like a looking-glass,"
-to prove to them the friendly relations which
existed between himself and the Great Father.

as the interpreter turned his words into the tongue
of the red men. Their curiosity was fully aroused.
Even the spectators looked inquiringly at Lincoln,
to know how he was going to provide horses and
carriages for those who thus bluntly asked for them.
"You all have land," said Lincoln. "We will
furnish you with agricultural implements, with
which you will turn up the soil, by hand if you
have not the means to buy an ox, but I think with
the aid which you receive from the Government,
you might at least purchase one ox to do the
plowing for several. You will plant corn, wheat,


There was no resisting this, and there was some
good-humored laughing, but the faces of all the
Indians remained serious and reserved.
"Mr. President," said the interpreter, "the
chiefs would be glad to hear you talk."
To which Lincoln intimated that he would
endeavor to do so.
My red brethren," said Lincoln, "are anxious
to be prosperous and have horses and carriages
like the pale faces. I propose to tell them how
they may get them."
At this the dusky men were all attention, and
manifested their satisfaction by the usual Indian
guttural sounds.
"The plan is a simple one," said the President,

and potatoes, and with the money for which you
will sell these you will be able each to buy an ox
for himself at the end of the first year. At the end
of the second year, you will each be able to buy
perhaps two oxen and some sheep and pigs. At
the end of the third, you will probably be in a con-
.dition to buy a horse, and in the course of a few
years you will thus be the possessor of horses and
carriages like ourselves."
This plan for becoming proprietor of horses and
carriages was not relished, for it meant work, and
the faces of the Indians bore a disappointed ex-
pression as the President unfolded it.
"I do not know any other way to get these
things," added Lincoln. It is the plan we have


pursued-at least those of us who have them.
You cannot pick them off the trees, and they do
not fall from the clouds."
Had it not been for the respect which they owed
to the speaker as the Great Father, it was plain
that they would have exclaimed against his words
with the untutored energy of their Indian nature.
As he was well acquainted with that nature, having
served as captain in the Tippecanoe war and spent
his early life on the frontier, a suspicion entered
my mind that he was blending with the advice a
little chaffing. To change the subject and restore
them to good humor, he requested one of the
attendants to roll up a large globe of the world
which stood in a corner on a three-legged support
on wheels. The President placed his hand on the
globe and turned it round, saying:
We pale faces believe that the world is round,
like this."
At this point Lincoln caught the inquiring eyes
of the Indians fastened like a note of interrogation
on the legs of the globe.
"Without the legs," continued Lincoln, in
answer to the mute interrogation, with a twinkle
in his eye. "We pale faces can get into a big
canoe, shoved by steam,-here, for instance, at

Washington, or Baltimore near by,-go round the
world, and come back to the place from which we
With due respect to the Great Father, they evi-
dently thought, to give it a mild term, that he was
given to exaggeration. He started off again, to tell
about the North Pole, the torrid zone, the length
and breadth of the United States, and how long it
would take a man to walk from one end of it to the
other, in which he got somewhat entangled; then
seeing a well-known man of science on his right,
Lincoln placed his hand on his shoulder, gently
urged him forward to a position in front of the
Indians, to whom he said:
But here is one of our learned men, who will
tell you all about it."
Saying this, Lincoln bowed and withdrew, and
the savant, taken by surprise, endeavored to extri-
cate himself from the difficulty as best he could, by
continuing the theme where the President left off.
One somber event followed the Indian reception.
Big Wolf, who had expressed the desire to have
sausages like white men, satisfied his appetite in
the hotel on this food without stint, and it was this
product of our civilization which was his bane. In
a word, sausage killed him.



YES, lads, I'm a poor old body;
My wits are not over clear;
I can't remember the day o' the week,
And scarcely the time o' year.
But one thing is down in my memory
So deep, it is sure to stay;
It was long ago, but it all comes back
As if it had happened to-day.

Here, stand by the window, laddies.
Do you see, away to the right,
A long black line on the water,
Topped with a crest of white?
That is the reef Defiance,
Where the good ship Gaspereau
Beat out her life in the breakers,
Just fifty-six years ago.

I mind 't was a raw Thanksgiving,
The sleet drove sharp as knives,
And most of us here at the harbor
Were sailors' sweethearts and wives.
But I had my goodman beside me,
And everything tidy and bright,
When, all of a sudden, a signal
Shot up through the murky night,

And a single gun in the darkness
Boomed over and over again,
As if it bore in its awful tone
The shrieks of women and men.
And down to the rocks we crowded,
Facing the icy rain,
Praying the Lord to be their aid,
Since human help was vain.



Then my goodman stooped and kissed me,
And said, It is but to die:
Who goes with me to the rescue?"
And six noble lads cried I "
And crouching there in the tempest,
Hiding our faces away,
We heard them row into the blackness,
And what could we do but pray?

So long, when at last we heard them
Cheering faint, off the shore,
I thought I had died and gone to heaven,
And all my trouble was o'er.
And the white-faced women and children
Seemed like ghosts in my sight,
As the boats, weighed down to the water,
Came tossing into the light.

Eh, that was a heartsome Thanksgiving,
With sobbing and laughter and prayers:
Our lads with their brown, dripping faces,
And not a face missing from theirs.
For you never can know how much dearer
The one you love dearest can be,
Till you've had him come back to you safely
From out of the jaws of the sea.

And little we cared that the breakers
Were tearing the ship in their hold.
There are things, if you weigh them fairly,
Will balance a mint of gold.
And even the bearded captain
Said, "Now let the good ship go,
Since never a soul that sailed with me
Goes down in the Gaspereau."



IF you had been in Boston one hundred years
ago, you might have seen, one pleasant April morn-
ing, a clumsy, yellow-bodied, four-wheeled chaise
lumbering and clattering over the cobble-stone
pavements of Orange Street. On the front seat
sat a small black driver, grinning, squirming and
ejaculating in a marvelous manner. On the back
seat was a prim lady, with a pursed-up mouth and
very elevated eyebrows. So expressive of indigna-
tion was her face, that the gray hair drawn sharply
up over the cushion topping her forehead, seemed
about to lift itself up and float off on the sweet
spring air.
Beside the displeased-looking lady was a restless
little sprite in scarlet cloak and hood, whose small
head wagged from side to side in wondering scru-
tiny of the streets and houses which her little
bright eyes had not looked on for nearly a year.
After the battle of Lexington, Boston was in a
state of siege, and a great many of the inhabitants
on the patriot side early availed themselves of
the permission to leave the town with their effects.
The British occupied the beleaguered town for
eleven months, and when they could hold it no
longer, hurriedly departed on the morning of the
17th of March. The exiled families were now re-
turning to their deserted homes and hearths.

The yellow post-chaise had picked its way cau-
tiously into Boston over the Neck, Sam looking out
sharply for the iron crow's-feet, with which the
British had strewn the road. This peril passed,
Sam was ordered to make a detour before he drew
up at the door in Marlborough Street, that the ladies
might have a glimpse of their beloved Common.
Hi! yi I zi! grunted Sam, as his rolling eyes
surveyed the devastation made by the troops.
" Fences down, big trees down, yarth all cut up
and cris-crossed like mince-meat I'd like to get
hold o' dose Britishoors !"
In default of a "Britishoor," Sam swelled him-
self up and laid the whip on to the luckless horse,
so that the poor beast started off at a break-neck
pace through Paddock's Mall and down a cross-
way into Marlborough Street. He stopped short
at last before a gambrel-roofed house that stood at
the end of a little court-yard, fancifully paved with
beach stones, and lined on either side by a row of
Little Abigail quickly scrambled out of the chaise
after her mother, nearly smothering with hugs and
kisses the portly black woman in a plaid turban,
who stood on the broad door-step to greet them.
Welcome home, missuses Praise be to Prov-
idence, our walls, and roof, and chimleys is a


Sstannin' pooty much as we'se lef' 'em. But every
other thing 'bout de house looks 'z if de caterpillar
and de locus' and all de res' of de plagues of Egypt
had lit on 'em, and crawled over 'em toof and nail.
But, howsomever, small marcies is matter of thanks-
giving in dese times of war and tribulation."
We will leave Mrs. Ward and black Phillis to
make the tour of the ill-used house, which during
their absence had been occupied by British officers,
while little Abigail darts off to look for her London
doll, Gloriana, hidden for many months in a small
secret closet in the wall.
Abigail's stout high-heeled shoes clattered up
over the oaken stairs from landing to landing, and
the little girl made heedless haste from room to
room, skurrying at last into a queer three-corned
chamber, where she scrambled up into a tall chair
and felt, with nervous eagerness, along the dingy
paneled wall. She touched the spring she sought,
and a small door flew open, revealing a deep, low,
triangular closet, in the midst of which sat majes-
tically the London doll, Gloriana, presiding over
a few moldy fragments of tarts and cakes.
Oh, my Gloriana cried little Abigail, in
a frenzy of delight. "There you are just exactly
as lovely, and live, and precious as I left you last
Abigail seized the precious Gloriana and hugged
her to her heart, whereupon a fine sprinkling of
shreds of golden hair, and bits of silken over-dress
and petticoat, powdered little Abigail's scarlet cloak.
Alas, the little mice had not only been busy with
Gloriana's tarts and cakes, but had unblushingly
nibbled the doll's wig and garments.
"Never mind your clothes, Glory dear, I can
make you new ones," chirped Abigail, cheerfully,
shaking the shreds from her cloak. "If the mice
had'gnawed your lovely nose, that would have been
a great mischief; but you are beautifuller than
ever. Oh, how I used to cry, some nights, out in
Milton, when I heard the cannon boom-booming !
I was so afraid a ball might go right through your
precious, precious head. How scared and mis'ble
I was, too, when I locked you up here in such a
hurry. Don't you remember how old Phillis stuck
her head in the room and says, Toss that poppet
into the panel closet, and put your clothes into the
brass-bound trunk? We're off for Milton in an
hour, on the last pass to be had for love or money.'
Can't you hear her queer black pronouncements
this very minute, Gloriana, telling me 'not to waste
one vallerble second, if I didn't want the British
bayonets poking into my back?' Ha ha! Come,
let's go down-stairs and look at things."
Down the crooked, winding back-stairs hurried
Abigail and the liberated Gloriana.
A bright fire of strange-shaped sticks blazed on

the kitchen hearth, where stout oaken logs were
wont to be piled.
How queer!" piped Abigail, surveying the fire.
Queer, missis ? Sartin. Mos' like 't is the
blessed Wes' Church steeple itself," sighed Phillis,
blowing dolefully with the bellows. I heard tell
they cut it down for fire-wood. Poor folks' houses,
too, chopped down by the dozen to keep the
wretched Tory pots a-b'ilin'. Dat 'ar warmin'-pan,
look a' dat! Phillis threw down the bellows and
seized the tongs, heaping coals on the bake-kettle
cover as if it were a red-coat's head. "All jags and
smooches! It's my 'pinion the Britishers fit with
it 'stead of bayonets. So as dat 'ar used to shine.
Look at dat dresser, too. Plates and mugs mus' a
been jes' flung roun' in high scrimmage from morn-
in' till night. Never a one set 'spect'bly up on end
since I lef' dis yer kitchen, I know. If you'd a
seen the time I had scouring-up here and settlin'
things, you'd said I'd shore been down with de
small-pox, or some killing' ail, long afore dis."
Mamma piped Abigail from the dining-
room, about which she was now fluttering with
Gloriana. "Just see how the dining-table looks-
and the curtains Oh, mamma! "
Dey cut up raw meat on dat 'hogany table;
yes, missis, so Governor Hancock's man Tom told
me," burst in Sam, gazing on the table with eyes
of horror,-the table which, with the assistance of
many cuffs and fillips from Phillis, he had been
used to keep as bright and spotless as a mirror.
"An' de curtings He says they blowed out in de
rain and de sun from morning' till night. Oh, my! "
Sam, gaping and gazing at the battered house-
hold goods, his hands in his pockets and his woolly
head thrown back, looked a very statue of dismay.
Now came in, quite breathless, Benjamin, Abi-
gail's brother; his cocked hat under his arm, and
his long-skirted coat unbuttoned.
"I've been everywhere, Abigail! Up Sentry
Hill, down to the Mill Pond, all through King
Street, and back again to the Jail; on to the Com-
mon and into the Old South.' You ought to see
the Old South! Pews all torn out, and-- "
Pews torn out! gasped Abigail, all a-tremble
at the thought of sacrilegious hands having been
laid on the church.
"Torn out, and a riding-school fixed up at one
end! I tell you what, Abigail Ward, you never
saw such a sight. Come right along with me. It
beats seeing Percy galloping up and down Long-
Acre on his white horse, getting his fine Fusiliers
under way for Lexington, that day old Carter dis-
missed us, and said: 'School's out, boys. War
has begun !' Was n't that a lively day."
Abigail, Gloriana and Benjamin were soon hur-
rying along to the Old South, which was quite near



by. Abigail only peeped into the desecrated meet-
ing-house, though Benjamin was eloquent in urg-
ing the grand view from the gallery, which he
assured her had been fitted up in fine style for
spectators; and refreshments too, of prime qual-
ity, had been sold up there !
Abigail stopped her ears and hurried out in
horror. Seeing her face of distress, a bold-faced
boy sidled up to her and announced, glibly:
Deacon Hubbard's pew, silk curtains and all,
was carted down behind our wood-shed and made
into a pig-pen. Want to see it ? "
"You're a naughty Tory boy!" flashed out
Abigail; and gathering up her little quilted home-
spun skirt, she pattered off over the flag-stones,
followed by her laughing brother.
"Let's go and look at the Province House.
Our flag is hoisted there. Thirteen stripes It
looks gay, I can tell you."
Let's," said Abigail, stamping her foot as if
the hated British colors were under her heel.
So, with their heads in the air and their admiring
eyes on the flag, they sauntered over the Province
House lawn, and then climbed the twenty steps
that led to the grand entrance. These steps they

remembered gay with gayly dressed gentlemen
and officers coming and going from the governor,
who lived there in great state. But the governor
had vanished, and not a red-coat did they see.
They were all gone together.
Hoorah Good-by to the lobster-coats !"
shouted Benjamin, swinging his cocked hat.
Hoorah !" shrilled little Abigail, swinging
Gloriana till fragments of her wig and petticoat
powdered the stones.
Just at this patriotic explosion, the Old South
struck twelve, and with a parting glance at the
bronze Indian above the cupola, gazing down at
them with his glittering glass eyes, the children
hastened home to dinner.
"Where have you been, Abigail?" said the
prim lady, who was crossing the hall as the small
people closed the door behind them.
Abigail explained. Then, for going out without
permission, she was obliged to thrust Gloriana
back into the panel closet with the moldy frag-
ments of last year's feast; then to come down and
sit in her straight-backed chair, and stitch diligently
on her sampler one hour by the tall clock in the



,--. Fi-- -- '-

BUZZY Buzz, Wuzzy Fuzz, Dippetty Flop,
All flew up to the cherry-tree top.
" Pooh !" said Buzzy Buzz, "this is n't high
Let's keep on till we get to the sky."

Upward they went, and they never would stop-
Buzzy Buzz, Wuzzy Fuzz, Dippetty Flop;
"Ah, how jolly!" they started to say-
When ev'ry one of them fainted away!

The next they knew they were down on the
Three dizzy bumble-bees, frightened but sound;

Never a mortal had heard them drop-
Buzzy Buzz, Wuzzy Fuzz, Dippetty Flop.

Humbled and tumbled, and dusty and lamed,
Would n't you think they'd have been quite
ashamed ?
But "No, sir," they buzzed, "it was n't a fall;
We only came down from the sky, that is all."

And now, whenever you see three bees
Buzzing and pitching about by your knees,
You'll know, by their never once venturing high,
They're the very same bees that flew up to the sky !






THE lead-pencil, as we have it, was unknown to
the ancients, and even to the moderns before the
reign of Good Queen Bess," as the English love
to call their Queen Elizabeth. Just think how in-
convenient it must have been to those old Greek
and Latin authors, and to the writers and scholars
of Europe from the earliest times down to within
about three hundred years, to have no lead-pencils
with which to write or to rule their paper-or what-
ever they wrote upon. They often used a piece of
sheet lead, cut as any boy could cut it, into a flat
disk, with the edge sharpened all around so as to
make a fine line, but of course this was not to write

with, but only to rule lines to write on. And then
again, what did artists and designers use to draw
and sketch with? Almost all of them used the old-
fashioned pen (made of the goose or crow quill) and
ink. Some artists, indeed, made use of a kind of
pencil formed of a mixture of common lead and tin,
and as this composition was comparatively hard
and faint in color, the paper was prepared for the
purpose of drawing by giving it a coating of chalk
Others, too, made some very fine drawings with
chalk of various colors. But the article chiefly in
use was the gray goose quill."
With what delight, then, must the world of artists



and writers of all kinds have hailed the invention
of the black-lead pencil, as we have it to-day I
said black-lead, but although the metallic part of
this little implement is universally called black-lead,
there is not a particle of lead in it. This black,
smooth, soft and glossy substance is properly called
plumbago, and is a compound of carbon and iron,
or, as the chemists term it, a carburet of iron.
There are several varieties of plumbago found in
the rocks in different parts of the world, some of
which are good for one use, and others for other
uses, and it happens that one of these varieties is
fine-grained, soft, nearly free from grit, and well
adapted for writing with, and this kind has received
the name of grafpite, from Greek words which
signify writing stone.
Some of my readers doubtless remember that in
the time of Queen Elizabeth of England, was born
the greatest of English poets, William Shakspeare.
He came into the world in the year 1564, about six
years after Elizabeth came to the throne, and it was
in that same year that there was discovered in the
county of Cumberland, in the north-west corner of
England, a mine of the best and purest grampite
that had ever been seen. I have put these dates
together so that you will be apt to remember them
all, when either of them is mentioned. This sub-
stance was so solid and firm and strong, and free
from grit or sandy particles, that it could be sawed
into sheets, and these could be sawed again into
little narrow strips without breaking. These little
strips of graphite being soft, and smooth, and black,
were inclosed in round pieces of some soft wood,
grooved out to receive and hold them; and that
was the modern lead-pencil to all intents and pur-
This mine at Borrowdale, in Cumberland, at
once became very celebrated, and of course very
valuable. Pencils made of Cumberland graphite
were to be found all over Europe, and were highly
prized everywhere. The manufacture of lead-pen-
*cils became a very important branch of business,
and in order to keep it wholly within the borders
of their own country, the English government
passed laws prohibiting the export of graphite to
foreign lands. Its value was such, that the average
price in London was about ten dollars ($o1) a
/pound, and the very finest quality sometimes
reached forty dollars ($40) a pound. They took
such good care of it that only a certain quantity,
enough to supply the requirements of the pencil-
makers, was doled out, on the first Monday in
every month; and moreover, the government was
obliged to keep a military force at the mines, to
protect it from bands of marauders and robbers,
who attempted to get possession of it.
England thus supplied the world with lead-pen-

cils for nearly three hundred years. It is true that
pencils were made of an impure graphite in some
other parts of Europe; but they were a very inferior
article compared with the English, and artists and
all others who required good lead-pencils were
obliged to look to England for them.
But there is an end to almost all good things,
and so it proved at last with the graphite mine of
Cumberland. Its exhaustion was only a question
of time, and that time has now passed. It was
clearly foreseen that some means must be devised
for making the impure kinds of graphite available
for the needs of the world, or the world must be
content to give up the use of black-lead pencils.
All sorts of experiments were tried with the graph-
ite to purify and soften it, and at the same time to
give it firmness and cohesion, so that it would not
break nor crumble when sharpened and in use.
They ground up the plumbago to a fine powder,
washed it in repeated waters, so as to separate the
sand or grit from it, and afterward subjected it to a
great pressure to make it compact and firm. But
this did not succeed. They then mixed the pow-
dered plumbago with different materials, such as
glue, isinglass, gum arabic, etc., to give it the
necessary strength; but this did not answer at all.
Then they added to'the powdered material about
one-third its weight of pulverized sulphur, and this
was a partial success, but the marks made with
this mixture were faint, and did not satisfy the
need, and this was, on the whole, a failure.
But at last, as usual, patience, perseverance, in-
genuity and experience solved the problem. Pen-
cils are now made better adapted for all uses,
blacker or fainter, harder or softer, than ever could
be made of the best Cumberland lead by the old
method. The mode of treating the plumbago by
which this result is obtained is a French invention.
It consists simply in mixing the powdered and
purified plumbago with powdered clay, in a certain
manner and certain proportions, moistening and
drying and pressing and baking the mass, varying
the treatment according to the different grades of
pencils required. What is meant by grade in this
connection, will be readily understood if you ex-
amine a case of A. W. Faber's finest and best
polygrade lead-pencils. You will find upon them
certain letters, which indicate the degree of hard-
ness or softness, and the shade whether darker
or lighter. For example, BBBBBB means that the
pencil bearing that mark is extra soft and very
black; BBB, very soft and very black; BB, very
soft and black; B, soft and black; HB, less soft
and black; F, middling; H, hard; HH, harder;
HHH, HHHH, very hard; ItHHHHH, extra hard.
These different grades are very convenient, and
indeed are required by artists; but by the old


method of making the Cumberland lead-pencils,
these nice shadings of softness and blackness could
not have been obtained. So that human ingenuity
and care may make an inferior article answer a
better purpose than the purest natural product,
unaided by human skill.
There is a very grand manufacturing establish-
ment in Germany, where the best lead-pencils are
made; an establishment which a century ago con-
sisted of only one little cottage house by the river-
side, but now comprises large shops and tasteful
dwelling-houses, a garden and grove, a gymnasium,
a fine library, and a beautiful Gothic church, all
provided and supported by the proprietors, for the

use and benefit of the workmen and their families,
whose fathers and grandfathers have worked on the
same spot and for the same family for a hundred
years or more.
If I had space, I might also tell you how a most
valuable mine of graphite, as good as that of Cum-
berland, has been discovered in Siberia, from which
that great manufactory is supplied with graphite.
I could also tell you how the cedar-wood of which
the pencils are made is taken from a cedar swamp
on the western side of Florida, so that this cedar
is transported to the heart of Europe, and there
united with graphite from the mountains of Siberia,
to be used as lead-pencils by Americans.



WHEN young Trotty Derridown went to the
country to spend Thanksgiving at her grandmother's
last year, she happened to get into the great old-
fashioned garret. She was so impatient for dinner
on the morning of Thanksgiving Day, that she
wandered hither and thither inside and outside of
the house (which was very empty and still, because
almost every one had gone to church), trying to see
or smell something which would be at least half as
pleasant as turkey and plum-pudding are to eyes
and nose; to say nothing of being allowed a mouth-
ful of either on one's fork. And so, after opening
a great many doors, and going into a great many
places where she was not expected to go, she at
last opened a door at the foot of such a dark stair-
case that she thought the world had suddenly
turned upside down, and that this must be a fairy
road leading up into the earth !
Trotty stood in the half-opened door-way quite a
long time, unable to decide whether she had the
courage to enter a fairy kingdom after all, though
she had often determined to do so if she got a
chance. Then it came into her head that perhaps
dinner would be served earlier in Fairyland than at
home, which overcame her fears, and the garret-
door closed after her little pink skirt as it whisked
out of the sunlight. When Trot reached the head
of the stairs she knew she was not in Fairyland,
because of a dim light from two windows, which
showed her all sorts of odds and ends of furniture,

and bunches of herbs hanging to the many beams
that spread beneath the roof like huge roots. But
it would do just as well as Fairyland for the pres-
ent, she thought, and help her to get used to queer
things. Very likely there were elves in the dark
crannies on every side; and the idea made her
almost wish herself in the sunny entry again.
"There's something quee-ar! she exclaimed,
as she caught sight of a great black velvet bonnet
a hundred years old, that looked a good deal like
a basket. But it had two long strings dangling
down, so she knew what it was in a minute. Of
course she scrambled into a cradle standing under
the wonderful bonnet, and snuffed out her pretty
face with it, as one does a candle, in a trice. Then
she made a big bow of the strings under her chin,
which took her a long time, as any little girl of five
might know it would. She looked very much like
an hour-glass now, for she was as broad at top as at
bottom, with a little waist in the middle. However,
she could not see herself, and had reason to suppose
nobody else knew whether she was looking her best
or not, since she could not have felt further off from
grandmother and all the family if she had stepped
over to Japan.
"What can you be?" thought the pink skirt
and black bonnet, walking up to a spinning-wheel
higher than two Trotties. When she saw it was a
wheel she thought it ought to go round, no matter
how big it was (and it seemed to her as big as the



duck-pond), so she put a finger on one of the spokes
and gave a push with all her might. What a rattle it
made Something flew up and something flapped
down, and the wheel seemed delighted to have a lit-
tle exercise after twenty years of snoozing, and kept
going round, rattling and banging for some time.
Ho-hoo-oo I heard Trotty all at once from
somebody behind. She was sure it was a crowd of
Brownies or some such fry, for the sound was soft
and strange. She threw her head back very far,
in order to get a good view from under the wide-

took Dinah into her arms and petted her, as she
petted all her dolls. Dinah was on the broad grin,
in or out of trouble. She had red flannel lips and
white cotton teeth and a black cashmere face. Her
dress was red, with a white pinafore, so that she
was very cheering to look at; and she had a sweet
disposition, as one could see directly, for she held
her head on either this side or that, being cloth,
and never was stiff-necked like the Israelites. The
only stiff thing about her was her hair, and that
grandmother had knitted, and ironed, and raveled


I- <.



spreading bonnet, and gazed around. Then she
sat down on the floor and looked under the bureaus
and chairs and sofas. Yes, there was a Brownie,
sure enough, hanging by the foot out of the lower
drawer of one of the bureaus. It looked uncom-
fortable, and Trotty thought it very stupid in a
creature that was first cousin to the Fairies to allow
itself to be in that position. The next moment she
saw it was nothing more nor less than a good old
negro dolly, with lovely frizzly hair standing up all
over its head, as if it were a black thistle.
"Come to me, dear," whispered Trotty, sitting
along the floor till she arrived at the bureau. "Has
the naughty drawer hurt dolly's foot?" and she
VOL. IV.-2.

out, so it was not Dinah's fault if it never lay flat
You pressus doll! cooed Trotty, after looking
at her treasure for a long time ; and she was amazed
to think she could ever have lived without her.
"Ho-hoo-oo!" sounded somewhere again.
Trotty was not much frightened this time, be-
cause she had Dinah for company. She threw her
head back once more, de-ter-mined to find out who
spoke. Mercy on us! She caught sight of two
great yellow eyes in a corner.
"Pussy?" said she, questioningly. But when
Trotty in the big black bonnet, and Dinah in the
red dress and white pinafore, came close to the


corner, behold, there were wings under the eyes,
and only two feet under the wings.
You 're an owl," said Trotty.
And it was an owl; and he looked cross as if he
were biting his own nose, although he was only
curling his beak up under his chin, apparently not
meaning to speak between now and next Thanks-
giving. Trotty was soon tired of having the owl
look at her so hard, with his ears standing up
straight, as though he heard some one saying unkind
things of him behind his back, so she remarked:
"Please shut your eyes a minute. You have no
business to keep them open in the day-time, any-
Always listen to what Trotty Derridown says,
and give her plenty of plum-pudding," answered
the owl unexpectedly, holding up the tip of a wing
as one does a forefinger. But he did not shut his
eyes. Owls are of a philosophic turn; and philos-
ophers are always giving away wisdom (as Trotty's
grandmother does the pears in autumn, lest they
rot on the grass), because they have more than they
can keep. But it is quite another matter for them
to find time to act upon their own advice, or to eat
their own wisdom, because they are so busy grow-
ing it and sending it to their neighbors. Now the
owl in the corner looked stuffed to choking with
"Are you stuffed with wisdom ?" asked his young
visitor, who had heard about owls and philosophers
from her brother Hal.
The owl lifted one of his claws and laid it on the
side of his beak. Goodness !" said he, was
there ever such a clever little girl ?"
Since the question was put to her, Trotty thought
she might as well answer good-naturedly, so she
said she supposed there never had been.
At this the owl shrugged his shoulders even
higher than before, and Trotty was afraid she had
not answered to his taste after all.
"What do you play?" asked the little girl of
the bird, when they had both been silent awhile.
The owl ruffled himself up the wrong way, and
looked like a feather pillow turned inside out, for
about five minutes, till Trotty's legs ached with
"I am the Bird of the Philosophers. I play ball
with them. We throw questions and answers at
each other. Ho-hoo-oo !"
"I could do that. Play ball, I mean," said
Oh, no," said the owl, haughtily. First, all
the philosophers sit round in a circle, each with a
long white beard on and plenty of questions in his
pocket. I stand in the middle with all the answers
under one claw."
"What do you do next?" asked Trot, her eyes

nearly as round as the owl's now. He sighed be-
fore answering.
I try to hit the right question, as it flies over
my head, with the right answer, and this must be
done before any of the old gentlemen can get hold
of it. They wear long beards in hopes that some
of the questions may get entangled in them. My
eyesight has to be good, and that is the reason my
gaze seems, to some people, rather intense."
"Would not you rather play with me than with
those old Sossofphers ?" demanded Trotty.
The Philosophers' Bird smiled, but held its wing
to its cheek and said, "Hush-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh "
She was quite startled by the noise he made
when he said "Hush," so she took several steps
backward and leaned up against something. It
was hard and warm, and she soon discovered it was
the chimney.
That 's where your dinner is being cooked,"
suggested some one; she was not sure whether it
was the owl or Dinah.
However, I must be going," she said. But I
should like to send a message to those old gentle-
men. Will you take it, owl?"
The owl put his beak a great way under his chin
again, and turned his ears forward as if he were
listening attentively.
"Why, you see," continued Trotty, looking
earnestly into the bird's yellow eyes, and speaking
round her thumb, which she had put between her
lips, "I guess they 'd better play snow-balls in
winter, and go a-chestnutting in au/un, and sea-
bathing in summer, and --"
The owl broke into a real laugh at this; but sud-
denly checked himself, drew himself up indignantly,
and looking over Trotty's head, exclaimed:
"All my old philosophers go sea-bathing, for-
sooth "
Just then she heard a deep-toned bell ringing
good-naturedly down-stairs, and soon some one
came calling through the entry-
"Trot! Trot! where have you gone? Dinner
is ready."
How Trot ran! Dinah got a flap on every corner
they passed; but then she was always contented
with whatever happened, and appeared in the entry
with as smiling a face as her new mamma.
There was Trotty's mamma, too, laughing at her
black basket of a bonnet. All at once her brother
Hal stood by her side, and she half believed she
had seen him come out of the garret door.
"Well, Miss Derridown," gasped he, quite out
of breath, "how do you like the Philosophers'
Bird ? and he doubled himself up and went tun-
bling down-stairs. When he was a great way off,
Trotty heard such a shout of merriment I She
does not understand what it all means even yet.





I HAVE heard-I don't know whether
Wide awake or fast asleep-
That the stars once sang together
To some shepherds tending sheep.

So, at night, when they are glistening,
Just before I close my eyes,
I look up, and keep a-listening
For the music from the skies.

And the stars shine out so brightly,
That I cannot think but they,
While I listen to them nightly,
Will repeat the heavenly lay.



A LONG time,-more than seven hundred years
ago, and three centuries at least before Columbus
discovered America,-there was born in England a
little girl to whom they gave the name of Matilda.
This little girl belonged to a very high family
indeed, as you will think when I tell you who her
relations were. For grandpapa, she had William,
the great Duke of Normandy, called "The Con-
queror," because he invaded England and conquered
it. Her father was the king, Henry I., surnamed
Beauclerc, because he was so good a scholar, though
I rather fancy our high-school boys could beat
his learning without trouble. Matilda's mother,
known to history as "Maud the Good," was de-
scended from Harold, the last of the Saxon kings.
Maud the Good was not a very happy Maud.
When she was a young girl, they put her into a
convent, and there she hoped to spend her life,
tending flowers, and telling her beads with the

gentle nuns. But one day, came to the convent
King Henry, to order her to put aside her veil and
become his wife,-an order not easy to disobey,
because in those days kings were very powerful.
People hoped that by thus uniting the royal race of
the Saxons with the conquering Norman race, an
end would be put to the many feuds and quarrels
which made the kingdom restless and unhappy.
So Maud, with a sigh, left the peaceful retreat, and
married King Henry. She had a little son and a
little daughter, the Princess Matilda; but she was
not happy, and died young, feeling, the old chron-
icles tell us, that her sacrifice had been in vain,
and England was no better off than if she had
stayed in the convent.
For in those days England was a sad place
enough; even a poet would never have dared to
call it "merry" then. Everywhere was confusion
of rulers and of languages. The tongue we call

1876. j


English was not yet in being, and people spoke
Celtic, Cymric, Gaelic, Saxon, or French,-accord-
ing to the race they belonged to, and the part of
the country in which they lived. All the materials
for the England of to-day were there, but they were
in separate parcels, so to speak, and only time could
mix and blend them. The Saxons fought the Nor-
mans; the Normans robbed, imprisoned, and tort-
ured everybody they could lay hold of who had
property of any kind. Everywhere-no matter
which party governed-the poor were ill-treated
and pillaged. Multitudes fled across the sea to
other lands, and so general was the discourage-
ment of the people, that whenever two or three
.horsemen only were seen approaching a village or
open burgh, all the inhabitants fled to conceal
themselves. So extreme were their sufferings, that
their complaints amounted to impiety ; for, seeing
all these crimes and atrocities going on without
check or visible rebuke, men said openly that
Christ and His saints had fallen asleep." It is
hard, indeed, to realize that the rich, powerful
England of to-day can ever have been so miserable.
When little Matilda was five years old, she was
married to the Emperor of Germany. A fleet of
vessels sailed with the baby bride to her new home,
and there was a splendid show in London in honor
of her departure. But the people, who had to pay
for the show, did not enjoy it much; and, later,
when Matilda was a woman grown, they remem-
bered against her the heavy taxes of that wedding-
Not long after, a sad thing happened. Matilda's
brother, a young man of eighteen, went over to
Normandy with his father, and, coming back in a
vessel named the "White Ship" was drowned with
all his companions, only one surviving to tell the
tale. None of the courtiers dared to carry the news
to the king. So they sent in a little boy, almost a
baby, who, when he saw the king, knelt at his feet,
and began to cry. The king asked the child what
was the matter, and the little fellow sobbed out that
the "White Ship" was sunk and the prince drowned.
It is said that King Henry never was seen to smile
after that day. Mrs. Hemans wrote some pretty
verses on the subject, which some of you have per-
haps seen :
"He sat where mirth and jest went round;
He bade the minstrel sing.
He saw the tourney's victor crowned
Amid the gallant ring.
A murmur of the restless deep
Mingled with every strain,
A voice of winds that would not sleep,
He never smiled again."
The little Empress Matilda was now the only
child left to the king, and his heart was set in be-
queathing to her the crown of England. Before

his death, in 1128, he called the nobles of the
kingdom together, and made them swear allegiance
to her as queen. The emperor, Matilda's husband,
had died before this, and Matilda was married again
to the French Earl of Anjou. After her father's
death she came to England and was crowned at
Winchester. Daughter thus of one king, mother,
as she afterward became, of another, empress by
marriage, and Sovereign of England in her own
right, you will wonder that I have called Matilda
"no queen." I will tell you why I did so. It was
because all her life long she never learned to reign
over herself, which for man' or woman is the high-
est and most necessary form of government. Solo-
mon says: He that ruleth his own spirit is better
than he that taketh a city; and Solomon, as you
know, was a king, and understood what becomes
crowned people as well as those who are not
All her life long,-whether as princess, empress,
or queen,-Matilda showed herself vain, passionate,
vindictive, hasty, arrogant, and inconsiderate of
other people. She had none of the womanly tact
which often subdues prejudice and conquers influ-
ence. She was brave in time of danger, strong of
body, firm-willed, and fearless ; but these are rather
a man's qualities than a woman's. Patience and
sweetness she had none. Her haughty manners
and cruel speeches offended friends as well as foes.
Those who at first were readyfo give all for her
service, became afterward her bitterest enemies.
She exasperated the common people by imposing
heavy taxes and making oppressive laws, just when
she should have conciliated and soothed them.
England had never been ruled by a woman before.
Both the nobles and the people disliked the idea of
a queen, and Matilda did nothing to make her sex
popular. She was ungenerous also. Her cousin,
and rival, Stephen, who afterward became king in
her stead, once surprised and captured her in
Arundel Castle, and instead of detaining, courte-
ously let her go, and even furnished her with
an escort to her friends. Later, she in her turn
captured Stephen; but, far from remembering his
kind treatment and reciprocating it, she loaded him
with chains and threw him into the dungeon of
Bristol Castle. His wife, a princess of great beauty
and excellence, came to beg his release, and Matilda
received her in the rudest manner, heaped insulting
words upon her, and finally dismissed her harshly,
while the poor princess wept and pleaded in vain.
A little longer, and it was again Stephen's turn.
He made his escape from Bristol, gained one battle
after another, and pursued Matilda so hotly, that
more than once she slipped through his fingers
almost as by a miracle. These escapes of Queen
Matilda are celebrated in history. Whole volumes





of romances might be written about them, so strange
and picturesque and astonishing are they.
Once, when the citizens of London rose suddenly
against her, she got off by jumping on her horse
and galloping out of the city only five minutes before
the gates of her palace were battered down. Another
time she fled from Gloucester in the same way, the
Earl of Gloucester and a few gallant knights remain-
ing behind to keep the pursuers at bay. Again it
is said she feigned death, and was carried in a hearse
with a long train of mourners all the way from
Gloucester to Devizes. But, most romantic of all,
and most adventurous, was her escape from Oxford,
as shown in the illustration to this article.
Oxford boasted a strong castle in those days.
Into this the empress-queen had thrown herself,
and for three months had defended it bravely.
Then provisions gave out, and no hope was leftbut
flight. But how to fly? Stephen's army lay on
every side like cats round a mouse-hole. Every
avenue of escape was guarded, and sleepless eyes
watched day and night that no one should pass in
or out of the fortress.
It was in this extremity that an unexpected ally
came to the rescue of Queen Matilda. This ally
was no other than that doer of good turns, Jack
Frost. One December night he went silently down.
laid a cold hard floor across the River Thames,
wrapped all the world in fleecy snow, and then,
flying to the castle windows, tapped with his crack-
ling icy knuckles, whistled, sang, and made many
sorts of odd noises, as much as to say, "All is ready,
come out and take a walk." Matilda heard, and a
bright plan popped into her daring head. She
called four trusty knights, bade them wrap them-
selves in white, put on herself a white dress and
cloak, covered her black hair with a white hood,

and, like spirits, all five set forth on foot. Their
steps made no sound as they crept along, and their
white figures cast hardly a shadow on the whiter
Through the besieging camp they crept, and
across the frozen river. No sentinel spied them;
not even a dog barked. If any lonely peasant
waked up and caught a glimpse of the dim shapes
gliding by, he probably took them for ghosts, and
hid his head under the bedclothes again as fast as
possible. So, sometimes on foot, and sometimes
on horseback, but always unpursued and in safety,
the fugitives sped on, and reached Wallingford,
where Matilda's army lay, and were secure.
For a few years longer the struggle lasted;
then, all hope over, Matilda fled across the channel
to Normandy. Her brief qucenship was ended,
and she never came back to reign in England,
though in later years her son Henry II. became one
of its greatest monarchs. We don't know much
about Matilda's old age, but I cannot fancy that it
was a pleasant one. I imagine that she must have
been a disagreeable old lady, querulous, and exact-
ing. The girl makes thewoman, you know; youth
lays the foundation for after years, and what we
sow we reap. Matilda sowed pride, anger, selfish-
ness, and hard words, and her crop came up duly
as crops will. She could rule neither herself no-
others, and it is not wonderful that England refused
to be ruled by her. I wont draw any moral from
her story, for I know you will skip it, as I always
did with morals when I was a little girl. Besides,
you are bright enough to see the meanings of things,
and make out their lessons without help, and do
not need me to say in so many words that-
"Trust me dears, good-humor will prevail
When airs and flights, and screams and sculdings fail."



WHEN the summer morning in the sky
Opens like a blossom, pink and pearly,
With the bee, and with the butterfly,
And with the bonny birds that sing so early,
Little blue-eyed, yellow-haired Benita
Trips along the shady woodland ways:
Kiss the little maiden kindly, if you meet her-
She deserves your kisses and your praise.

'T is a lonely path the little willing feet
In the early morning have to follow,
To the springthat bubbles, clearly cold and sweei.
Down amongst the mosses in the hollow.
Still behind the trees the shadows darken,
Chill her baby-bosom with a sudden dread;
Timidly she looks about to hearken,
Fancying she hears a wild beast's tread



Where its silver web the spider weaves,
Silver drops like fairy jewels twinkle;
Pushing back the tangle of the leaves,
Face and hands get many a showery sprinkle.
But she does not stop, the little kind Benita,
For her coaties draggled and her dripping shoe;
Only trips along with steps the fleeter,
Smiling at the pretty sparkles of the dew.

Cool and sweet it bubbles in the spring-
Oh, be sure the loving little sister
Hurries back, the healing draught to bring,
Long before the baby can have missed her.
By and by will come a mournful morrow
When she need not rise before the sun;
Then it will be comfort in her sorrow
That she never left this task undone.

,' _


In its cradle-bed, not yet awake,
Lies the baby-sister, wan and sickly;
Every single morning, for her sake,
Goes Benita through the woods so quickly.
For the peevish lips are parched with fever,
The little pale face is a piteous sight,
And the water has no coolness to relieve her .
That the mother sets beside her bed at night.

Grief is sorest when it brings to mind
Bitter memories for heart's regretting,
Times when we were selfish or unkind,
Times when all the wrong was in forgetting.
Like the little loving child Benita,
Let us do our duty every day;
Gladness then will certainly be sweeter,
Sorrow will the sooner pass away.



A- /

I \j- r e" ,
',. i --j :






MARLBOROUGH COLEMAN sat tying his shoes.
They were heavy brogans, and the strings were
strips of leather, greased and waxed. It was well
they had strength, or they could not have borne
the twitching and jerking they received at the hands
of the impatient, angry lad. His face was flushed
and scowling. This was a pity, for the face was a
handsome one when the humor was good.
While he was yet about his shoes, his little sister
Sukey entered the room with eager haste, her blue
checked apron gathered in her hand. She wanted
to' show him some beauties of chestnuts her black
friend Barbary Alien had given her.
Oh, Marley do see --"
Marley interrupted her savagely:
"Don't come oh Marleying me! I'm mad!"
Oh, Marley what're you -- "
I told you not to 'oh Marley' me. Come here
botherin' me, when I'm already bothered to death!"
Aunt Silvy !" Sukey called to the negro woman
who was beating a pile of dried beans on a sheet
spread in the passage. "Aunt Silvy, come in to
Marley; he wants somebody; he's bothered."
"It's so blamed mean," the boy said.
"Hesh, Mahs'r Mauley! Yer mus' n't sw'ar.
'T aint right, kase it's wicket." And, with this
philosophical remark, Aunt Silvy seated herself on
the second step of the stairs, leading from the room
to the attic chamber above.
"I don't care what I do," Marley answered.
"It's enough to make an angel swear, or commit
murder, or cut his own throat. Pa'll disgrace me
forever. But I wont! I wont! I wont!"
"Law, Mahs'r Mauley! what ails yer, honey?
Looks like yer wants ter chaw up dis whole planta-
tion. Neber seed nobody so mad sence I was
bawn. What is it yer.wont, yer wont, yer wont ?"
"I wont tote a bag of corn to mill on ole black
Betts,-lean, lank, gaunt, mangy old mule."
"I would n't nuther ef I wus you, honey; show's
yer bawn I would n't. Sakes alive what would
ole mistiss do ef she wus ter look down from de
New Jeeruslum an' see her gran'son totin' ter mill,
straddle a sack uv cawn, like a missibul nigger?
She'd feel mighty cheap; neber could hole her
head up agin 'fore Sain' Paul an' Sain' Maffer, an'
Pilgum Progess, an' her udder soshates up dar.
'Sides dat, yer 'd dusgrace you' granpaw, too.
Law! we all neber had no sich puffaumances at
you' granpaw Thompson's. Takes a Coleman to
do sich things. A genulmon ridin' a meal-bag to

mill! I'd a heap ruther do it myse'f den hab ole
mistisse's granchile do it."
At the picture of Aunt Silvy's portly figure seated
on a sack of corn on a trotting mule, Sukey laughed
and ran away to tell mamma.
Aunt Silvy had belonged to the wealthy Thomp-
son family, and when Elizabeth Thompson married
Mr. Coleman, Marlborough's father, against her
father's wishes, he had given her the slave Silvy,
and forbidden her his house. Mr. Coleman was a
vulgar man, with little means, whom Aunt Silvy
held in supreme disdain. The Coleman children
she tolerated because of the Thompson blood in
their veins.
But I reckon you' paw," Aunt Silvy continued,
"can't spaw none de han's from de cotton-pickin'
to tote dat cawn ter mill. We all wont git de cot-
ton pick 'fore Christmus, ef we don't hurry; an' ef
we all don't git it picked, we poor black folks can't
hab no Christmus. Mahs'r always makes us pick
cotton all Christmus-day ef 't aint all in de gin-
house 'fore dat. Neber had no sich puffawmances
es dese at you' granpaw Thompson's. But, law !
de -Thompsons is a deffrunt breed uv white folks
from de Colemanses-show's yer bawn dey is."
I've heard you say that a million times," Mar-
ley said, petulantly.
"Kase it's de troof," retorted Silvy. "I neber
knowed no cotton-pickin' gwyne on at ole Mahs'r
Thompson's Christmus-day. But law de Thomp-
son cotton uster be all pick by Christmus, an'
ginned, an' baled, an' sold, an' de money ready fer
de Christmus-gif's. De Thompson black folks wus
smaut. Dey wus a deffrunt breed uv black folks.
Dese Coleman niggers aint wuf shucks; but de
Thompson cotton wus easier ter pick den de Cole-
man cotton; come outen de bolls heap easier; it
wus a deffrunt breed uv cotton den dis missibul
Coleman stuff. Ole mahs'r's plantation was a heap
richer 'n dis yere Coleman faum; it wus a deffrunt
breed uv sile. Law, a heap uv things wus deffrunt;
de losses, an' bacon, an' hom'ny, an' de cawn
"Well, I want some clean socks an' a clean
shirt. If I hang myself before I get to mill, I want
to be found with some clean clothes on."
Marlborough said this in a light, laughing tone,
which pleased Aunt Silvy, as indicating an im-
proved humor; but she little dreamed of the plan
the boy was meditating.
"Well, lem me see now. Whar did I put you'


tuther shirt an' socks de las' time I wash um ? I
mos' fawgits what I done wid um. Reckon I puts
um in one dese yere sideboa'd drawers."
Aunt Silvy crossed the room, and, with her strong
hand, stirred up the contents of said drawers, much
after the fashion in which she beat up her batter-
Aint yere," she announced at the conclusion of
her search. "Reckons I hung um on dem dar
nails hine de door," and she entered upon a remark-
able rooting among the coats, and pants, and hats,
and aprons, and towels, and baskets, and sun-
bonnets, and petticoats, which thronged the said
nails; but among the throng, Marley's shirt and
socks were not.
"Whar did I put dem cloze uv yourn? Can't
fine um high an' low. I jis warren dat dar good-
fer-nuffin, regen'rate, yaller-eyed Jim hes wore
dem dar cloze off, er-totin' dem cotton bales ter
This was Aunt Silvy's next conjecture in solution
of the problem.
Jim was her son, some seventeen years old. He
had gone to the Memphis market with six bales of
cotton. Memphis was seventy miles distant, and a
cotton bale weighs usually three hundred pounds.
But do not infer from Aunt Silvy's remark about
his toting cotton bales to Memphis that Jim was
anything of a Hercules. The word "tote" with
Aunt Silvy was a somewhat indefinite term, as you
might have surmised at learning that Jim had the
assistance of a wagon and six mules in getting those
six bales of cotton to the Memphis market.
Don't reckon," continued Aunt Silvy, "he wore
um off nuther; believe I put um on dis yere mandul-
Candlestick, snuffers, baskets, knitting-work, sew-
ing, dress-patterns, hanks of yarn, hymn-book,
Bible, etc., etc., were moved off the chimney-shelf
to a chair, and left there, by the way, for ten days
I reckons dat regen'rate Jim is got um on arter
all," said Aunt Silvy, when this last search had
proved fruitless.
Marley all this time had been looking from the
window in a meditative way, seemingly uncon-
scious of Aunt Silvy's movements. Now he said:
"Jim could n't get into my shirt an' socks.
Hurry an' find them. If I 've got to tote that corn
to mill, I want to go an' be done with it. It'll take
me all day to do the job. Bri- g along the socks
and shirt. Hurry "
"Law, Mahs'r Mauley, year's so unpatient! Ye
don't gim me no time ter 'member whar dem cloze
is. I mos' memberedd jis now, but yer dun gone
made me fawgit. B'lieve in my soul I laid um in de
big chis, top uv de goober-peas. No, I don't

reckon I did nuther; reckons I put um in de little
red chis. I mos' always does put um in dar. Wait
tell I looks. Law now I 'members all 'bout it.
What a ole black goose I is! I put dem cloze in
de pawler on de sofy; oughter looked dar in de fuss
place, kase I mos' always put um on de sofy. Yer
see, I knowed nobody would n't come to see us,
'kase it's so cole; 'sides, nobody neber comes
No wonder they don't," Marley said. Pa dis-
graces us all; makes me pick cotton, and go to
mill. All the neighbors think themselves above us.
There aint a girl in the neighborhood that wants
me for a sweetheart, an' they aint a boy that wants
Sukey. Now, las' Sunday, at church, 'fore the
meeting' begun, you know, I rolled a May-apple
'cross the floor to Mandy Bradshaw,-the prettiest
kind of one. She looked at it a minute, then set
up straight as a crock with her chin in the air, an'
looked like she would n't tech that mandrake-apple
with a forty-foot pole. Then, pretty soon, Willie
Harnston he rolled her one, an' mine was a heap
better, an' she pitched after it like she was goin' to
break her neck. An' she smelt it, and rolled it in
her hands, an' patted it an' kissed it, an' tied it up
in her handkerchief, an' loafed roun' with it all
sorts of ways, all through meeting An' I 'm better
looking' than Bill Harnston the best day he ever
saw. Folks think we aint any first family."
I '11 let um know better Silvy said, panting,
and the perspiration starting. De Thompsons is
de bery fustis family. Neber wus no sich puffick
lady in dese pauts ez you' gran'ma Thompson, an'
you' maw is a tolerbul puffick lady yit, dough her's
been gwyne ter wrack an' ruin eber sence her
married inter dis Coleman family. I tole Miss
Lizbeth so, but her jis would morry you' paw, an'
dat's jis what's de matter. Laws I wus so shame
uv her, 'cause we wus boff young ladies togedder,
I aint neber helt my head up ez high sence."
"Well, you hold it tolerbul high yet. You walk
into church like you owned the meetin'-house an'
all the congregation and the circuit-rider to boot."
Law, honey, you oughter seed ole mistiss, you'
granmaw Thompson, walk inter church! My
stars! "
Well, go 'long, Aunt Silvy. I've heard enough
about my grandma," Marley said. "I'll never
get dressed."
Law, honey, aint I gwyne? I'sbeen gwyne ter
go dis eber so long, but yer kep talking 'Taint
manners to go while company's talking I reckons
yer better go on ter mill peaceable, 'cause it's right
ter do you' duty. But when yer gits back, come
roun' ter Aunt Silvy's cabin; may be she'll hab
sumpin good for yer."
Of course you will; you've always got some



thing good," Marley said as he shut the door on
her retreating figure.
A half-hour later, Marlborough, seated on a sack
of corn, was mounted on black Betts, jogging along
the mill road, with a manner apparently docile.
But ceaselessly his heart was saying, "I wont! I
wont! I wont do nigger's work "
You understand how it was. Marlborough lived
in a section where labor was held to be disreputa-
ble. It was not, then, the fatigue, or any other
physical discomfort that formed the basis of his
objection to the mill-going. There was not the
bodily hardship connected with it that pertained to
a.'possum-hunt, or a 'coon-hunt by moonlight, or to
a.half-day's fishing, or to a dozen things in which
Marley found exceeding enjoyment. He was fear-
ing what people would think and say. And his
father was not superior to a like feeling. He would
have been glad to have it thought at the neighbor-
ing plantations that his son did not work. There
was a perpetual conflict between this false pride and
his avarice-his desire to overtake his neighbors in
the road to riches. He was a small planter and a
vulgar man; nay, worse than vulgar. Think of a
father sending his son to the cotton-field, and or-
dering him to hide behind his hamper pick-basket,
or among the thick cotton-stalks, if any neighbor
or stranger should chance to pass !
On this occasion, when he was sending Marl-
borough to mill, it was with instructions to avoid
.the big road, and keep to an obscure way where
there would be less risk of encountering members
of rich planters' families.
Marlborough was now traveling this obscure way,
keeping his eye strained ahead and his hearing
strained back, that no one might come upon him
unawares. It was a lonely road, little traveled,
worn by the heavy rains, unrepaired, and impass-
able to wheels. He felt tolerably secure against
encountering any one. But he was determined
that at the sight of a human being, he'd leave the
road and take to the woods; run away, perhaps,
and never come back; he'd go away up North,
where people could work without being disgraced.
He had been on the road some twenty minutes
only, when he heard hoofs behind him. Pulling
his hat quickly over his eyes to guard against being
recognized, he turned his head over his shoulder, and
himself on the bag, and discovered General Brad-
shaw and his daughter Mandy, the young lady who
had disdained the mandrake-apple rolled across the
church floor to her. Marlborough did not think
twice. With both heels he thumped black Betts'
sides, and dashed into the woods.
Burning with the revived memory of the slight
Mandy Bradshaw had put upon him, Marlborough
pressed on and on, heedless of the briars and tan-

gles that pierced and tore him. He got on rapidly,
for it was all familiar ground, making toward the
creek. Bravely old Betts beat through the thick
growth of cane and green-briar, of willow and of
holly gleaming with its scarlet berries. At length
Marlborough described the broad creek. He plunged
into it, and turned the mule's head down-stream,
for the creek must run toward the river, and by
the river he must escape; for at this time he had
made up his mind to run away for good. The day
was now so advanced that he knew he could not go
to mill and back; for all this time he had been
going away from the mill. He knew, too, if he
should return home without the meal, his father
would cowhide him. Altogether, it was a very
bad affair.
As far as possible Marlborough kept to the
shallow waters, but they nevertheless often rose
about the mule's flanks, obliging the boy to climb
to the corn-sack, and cling with hands and knees,
squirrel-like. Again, the faithful animal became
entangled in submerged brush, and floundered in a
fearful way. On one such occasion, the sack went
to the bottom of the stream.
In time, he came to the trunk of a tree, com-
pletely spanning the creek. After some moments
of consideration, he concluded that this was an
advisable point for loosing his mule, for he had
decided that it would but serve to draw attention to
him. He accordingly rode to the farther bank and
dismounted on a log, leaving the mule in the water.
Then he gave the creature the rein, and stood
watching his last friend turn the back on him. It
needed but a moment for the loosed animal to
make the other shore. Like a deer she climbed
the bank, shook her wet flanks, and then started
for the home which the boy was deserting. Tears
came into Marlborough's eyes. He thought of
little Sukey, and his mother, who had ever tried to
stand between him and his father's hardness; of
Aunt Silvy, who always had "sumpin good" for
him stored away at her cabin. Now he was alone
in the wide world.
He stooped over the creek for a drink, dipping
the water with his hand. That he might leave no
tracks, he caught a piece of wood which had drifted
against the trunk, fallen across the stream, threw it
out on the bank, and walked to its end. Then he
leaped up, and, clasping an overhanging branch,
swung himself into a tree. This was one of a
thicket. He passed from one tree-top to another,
leaping and swinging like a squirrel. Reaching a
place where the leaves lay thick on the ground,
and where there was no mire to retain his foot-
prints, he slid to the ground, and pursued his way,
following the creek. Now and then he climbed a
tree for some late grapes the foxes had spared,


or for the scattered persimmons, shriveled with
frost, but very sweet. About noon he came upon
a hazel-patch, where he secured quite a harvest of
nuts. On these he made his dinner, cracking them
between his strong teeth as he walked on and on
through thickets and brambles. The day was warm
and bright, although it was late in the year; but in
the dismal shades of this bottom, the air had a
mean, snaky chill that crept up and down his back,
and made him ask what he could do when night
should come.
The afternoon wore away as he was I, i.. II.. ..

down her beams through the stripped boughs of
the wood. Tired as he was, he determined to pur-
sue his journey. On lie walked, stopping occasion-
ally for a rest. There were frequent startling noises
that made his heart beat fast; but he encountered
nothing alarming until about midnight, as he
judged the hour by the moon. He was emerging
from a thicket, whose passage had engaged all his
energies, and was about to sink down for a moment's
rest, when he caught through the trees a sight that
startled him as the foot-print startled Robinson Cru-
soe. It was the glimmer ofa light. Alight in those


the stream that was to lead him to the great river
and to freedom. The black night closed around
him, and he was alone in the strange, gloomy for-
est. He was too weary to feel alarm; the chill air
made him tremble ; he lay down on the damp
ground, his back to a huge cypress-trunk, and his
thought with his warm bed in the attic at home.
In spite of the cold and strangeness, he fell into an
uneasy sleep, which was haunted by boisterous
interviews with his father. He woke shortly with a
cry that sent a night-bird fluttering through the
branches. He was numb and stiff, and very
wretched. The moon had risen, and was sifting

dreary woods It meant that some human being
was near. Much as he dreaded the lonely shades,
and the cold, and the strange noises, he dreaded
yet more the sight of man. Alas for him who
must hide from the face of his fellows Perhaps
this light meant that he was in the very clutches of
pursuers whom his father had sent out for his capt-
ure; or it might be that he had come upon the
haunt of a runaway negro. He determined to ascer-
tain, if possible, what his danger was. Cautiously
he advanced in a circuit on the light, keeping it
between him and the creek, that he might have an
open chance for flight, should it become necessary.



He was not long in attaining a point from which
his eye commanded a view of the light, and of a
limited open space about it. There, clearly defined,
was the figure of a man-a negro man-poking and
mending the fire. Marley saw him laying some-
thing on the coals, and soon there were borne to
the hungry boy the savory odors of broiled bacon.
How his mouth watered! How he longed to put
his shivering back to the glowing fire How com-
fortable things did look there! How he did envy
that poor fugitive negro How would it do, he
asked mentally, to reveal himself to the black, and
make common cause with him against man and
But he did not yet feel reduced to extremity.
With many a lingering look at the cheerful light,
he passed on, and soon it was lost to his vision.
The moon was his friend during the night, not set-
ting till the dawn ofday. By this time Marlborough
was foot-sore and faint, almost dead, as he verily
believed; but he staggered on till the sun came up
strong and bright. Then he gathered some arm-
fuls of the dryest leaves to be found, and made a
bed, which seemed very soft to his weary limbs.
He might have slept in his comfortable nest all day
had not the pangs of hunger waked him. Nuts,
persimmons, and grapes, these were the only edibles
the stripped woods afforded him, and these were
scant and difficult to find. To-day was hog-killing
-time at home. Thoughts of spare-ribs, and sau-
sages, and pigs' feet, and livers, and kidneys, and
pigs' tails, haunted him. Even the disreputable
chitterlings in which the poorly-fed negroes in-
Sdulged appeared to his thought as tempting dain-
ties; and the crisp "cracklings,"-he felt as if
he could eat a big kettleful of them. A dozen
of them would have bought his birthright, or his
anything else. He made a mental inventory of
Aunt Silvy's good things,-hominy, sweet-potato
biscuit, pumpkin bread, corn-dodgers. Back and
forth they all passed through his thought, tan-
talizing the famished stomach till it felt despe-
rate. He kept himself on the keen watch for any
chance food. He saw a squirrel run out from a
hollow trunk. Perhaps that was Bunny's store-
house. He hastened eagerly to investigate. Alas
for your industry and providence, poor squirrel!
The boy's hungry eyes have discovered your hoarded
A 'possum waddled on its short legs up a winter
huckleberry-tree, whose bright little berries sparkled
in the sunshine like points of jet. It ran out on a
low side branch in pursuit of some stray berries;
but the limb bent beneath its fat proportions, and
it lay quite still, hugging the swaying branch.
Seizing a long stick, Marlborough administered
some sturdy blows which brought the 'possum to

the ground with a heavy thud, where it lay curled
up with eyes shut, playing dead, as 'possums will.
Afew more good strokes, and the poor 'possum's play
became reality. Marlborough slung it across his
shoulder; he scarcely knew why, for he could
hardly hope for a chance of cooking it: He trudged
on as rapidly as possible. In the afternoon, clouds
began to gather, and the air grew cold and search-
ing. It became very dark; the vision could not
penetrate one inch ahead. For a few moments,
the boy groped his way with outstretched hands.
Encountering a tree, at length, he seated himself
at its base, and fell into an uncomfortable doze.
When he woke, it was to find that the clouds were
broken, and the light of the risen moon was strug-
gling through the rifts. Inspirited by this, he re-
sumed his journey. A few hours more of travel
brought him to a coal-kiln.
The coal-kiln constitutes one of the chief mines
from which the slave derives his pocket-money.
The green wood is cut and laid in ranks, covered
with earth, then fired, and allowed to burn slowly.
This makes charcoal, which is sold to the black-
At the kiln, Marlborough warmed his chilled
limbs. Then he determined upon a midnight feast
of barbecued 'possum. With his pocket-knife he
dressed the game, or undressed it, as Aunt Silvy
always insisted the process should be characterized.
Then he dug a hole in the ground, floored it with
coals, and suspended the animal over the glowing
surface. In due time the cooking was accomplished,
and Marlborough ate and ate until he was tired
of'possum. Yet he tied in his handkerchief the
remnants of his feast, hung it on his arm, and
renewed his journey, it being by this time morning.
He still followed the creek, seeing no one but a
negro man at a distance, busily engaged in fishing.
In about twenty minutes he reached a rail fence
inclosing a cotton-field. As he was deliberating
his farther course, Marley heard footsteps, and, by
the path that followed the fence, he saw a negro
man approaching. There was no chance to escape
observation, so Marlborough put on a bold face,
and advanced to meet the negro, who was evidently
the man he had seen fishing.
"Good-day, mahs'r," said the man, lifting his
Howdy, uncle!" returned Marley. "I believe
I'm turned round, so I don't know my way to the
road. How far is it to the road ?"
"Which road you arter, massa? De Turnpike
or de Buzzard-Roos' Road?"
Which is the best ?" asked Marley, feeling his
Boff roads is tolerbul missile, specially dat
Buzzard-Roos' Road, all cut up wid cotton-wagins;



but I reckons, arter all, de Buzzard-Roos' Road is
pefferbulest. I went de Turnpike de las' time I
tuck a load er cotton, an' it look like sometimes
when a wagin got stuck in one dem mud-holes dat
it gwyne ter take a string uv mules a mile long to
fotch her, an' den dey wouldn't fotch her."
How long does it take you to make the trip
with a cotton load ?" Marley asked.
He was satisfied that he was now at no great



fer a quarter of a mile; may be a little fudder,-
'bout a mile an' half, I reckons. Den yer takes
crosst de field; den yer sees a big pussimmons-tree
dat aint got no pussimmons on ter it, dough dar's a
squerl nes' in it. Go a little way to'a'ds dat tree;
den keeps on a little fudder, and dar yer fines a
paff; yer don't take dat paff; yer keeps on ag'in
tolerbul fer ; den yer turns to de lef', an' dar yer
fines anudder paff. Dat las' paff yer takes, an' yer

J z ----- .. .. .. .


: S--

S[ It I L i '!, ,I.1

I1., ,I~- .1 .1

_I ..: I.: ,,

-- Marley inter-
rupted him, not
S-- ---noticing that his
question was yet
unanswered, since he had obtained the information
he desired.
Can you tell me how to get to the road ?"
To be sartain I kin. Yer jis follows dis fence

fun'ral aint neber been preach' yet."
,.l.: r. :L [ |. i.,,:: ,1,. I..., I ..-., I ',-,,_ ,,. h,,,; ,o 'a 'd s

Well, give me the directions again."
fun'ral aint neber been preach' yet."
"Well, give me the directions again."
When the negro had complied with this request.
Marley's bewilderment was complete.
He, however, after a tedious walk, reached the
Buzzard-Roost Road, as a friendly sign-board an-
nounced. He experienced some quaking as he
came upon the busy ground. Before and behind,



as far as the eye could reach, were twio lines of
wagons to the right and to the left. One line
loaded with cotton was moving toward the market,
the other wagons were homeward bound with gro-
ceries for the plantations. He was apprehensive
that among those hundreds of negro teamsters,
tliere might be some neighbor's slave to whom his
face was familiar; and his apprehensions were well
founded. At the neighborhood church, the plant-
ers' families, including the slaves, were wont to
assemble. As the whites were so greatly in the
minority, almost every one was known to hundreds
of negroes whom he did not recognize.
Marley was debating the advisableness of taking
to the woods again, when the thought flashed
through him that Jim himself,-Aunt Silvy's Jim,-
with wagon and mules, was somewhere on this very
road. His father always sent the cotton by the
Buzzard-Roost Road, though five miles farther than
by the Turnpike, to save tollage. Marley kept
along the road, calculating the probabilities of
meeting his father's team, with a fascinated desire
to get sight of it without being himself seen.
Before long, he became interested in watching
the efforts of a group of negroes to extricate a
stalled wagon from a mud-hole. Mules from other
wagons had been hitched to this unfortunate one
until there were ten. Three negro teamsters, with
long, heavy whips, cracking and lashing, were
haranguing the ten brutes with such a volley of
gees, haws, whoas, get-ups, etc., as would have
bewildered the very clearest head under those long
ears. Three other negroes, with fence-rails as
levers, were prying at the front wheels of the
wagon, which were almost lost in the mire.
Now, all togedder, boys !" cried one of these
negroes. "Heave to! Hurray! Her budgedjis
now. Whip up dem mules dar, an' we'll fotch
The mules strained and plunged, but yet the
wagon stuck.
"You all stop dat dar larrypin dem dar mules,"
bawled an outsider. Don't yer see he's a-comin',
an' fotchin ole Boss? Jis put dat mule in de lead,
an' he'll tote you all outen dat dar heap sooner 'n
yer kin say Jack Roberson."
Marley's heart leaped to his mouth. Boss
That was the name of a Coleman mule He had
named it himself, because it would work only in the
lead, and there like a hero.
"Tote 'long dat mule, Jim," called the negro.
Jim Marley stood for a moment, too confounded
to think out a course of action. A kind of fascina-
tion kept him there, straining his eyes for a sight
of Jim. There, sure enough, he was, the identical
Jim with yaller eyes."
A sight of the familiar face acted on Marley like

a shake to a night-walker; it brought back his
senses. He dived behind a neighboring wagon, for
the whole line of teams was waiting on the stalled
vehicle. But he was too late; he was sure of it;
he had seen the "yaller eyes" looking straight
into his face.
The negro, remembering that things were un-
pleasant for Marlborough at home, immediately
conjectured that the young master had run away,
as he had often threatened. He gave old Boss up
to his task of totin' the stalled wagon out of the
mire, and went over to where a pair of legs under
the wagon-body betrayed Marley's whereabouts.
The boy heard a footstep beside him, turned,
and with a great heart-throb saw Jim's face close
beside his own. Would Jim tie him up and carry
him back home? Would he tell everybody that
was Mahs'r Marley, and that he was a runaway?
Or would Jim befriend him and help him forward?
"What yere doin' yere, Mahs'r Marley?" Jim
asked in a low, confidential tone. Is yer bruck
traces ?"
"Yes," said Marley; and then he told Jim all
about it.
Yer looks a heap older dan when I lef' home,"
Jim said. Come 'long to de wagon an' git
sumpin ter eat." .
Marlborough was much comforted in having a
friend with whom to talk over his troubles, and to
advise with.
I don't see what yer gwyne ter do 'less yer hab
some money," said Jim.
"If I only did have some!" Marley replied.
Then he looked at Jim steadfastly, as though
taking his measure. It was true-the boy had
grown old. Three days before, he could n't have
spoken this:
Say, Jim, suppose you go 'long with me. I'll
sell the mules an' wagon, an' we '11 get on a boat,
an' go 'way off, up North somewhere. Then we '11
both be free. I 'm a slave at home as much as
you are."
"I'll tell yer what, Mahs'rMarley. I made up my
min' long time 'go, 'bout running' 'way, an' gwyne
up Norf. I aint neber gwyne ter do it, kase for
why, a nigger don't hab no standing' up dar, an' no
cityt. Dey aint no niggers scacely, an' de white
folks don't soshate wid um, an' it's mighty lone-
some. Den, in de nex' place, it's so cole up dar.
Now dar's Patrick's Sam, he runn'd 'way an' went
to Canady. Den he come back ter somewhars, an'
got cotched, an' wus fetched back to his master.
Yer jis oughter hear dat nigger talk. He says it's
jis es cole dar fouf July es it is yere Christmas.
Goodness gracious an' gracious goodness I don't
wishes ter go ter no sech place. 'Sides dat, he
could n't git nuff ter eat. He did n't hab no


puffession, 'cept ter raise cotton, an' of course he
could n't make no money, 'cause dar aint no cotton
up dar; de white folks work dar, an' don't lebe
nuffin at all fer de niggers ter do. 'Sides dat, ag'in,
I's gagedd ter git married. Lucindy could n't spaw
me. An' I don't want ter lebe mammy, an' Mistiss
nuther, an' Miss Sukey, an' my udder soshates.
'Sides all dat, Mahs'r trus' de mules an'wagin ter
Jim, an' Jim's gwyne ter tote um back ter him,
show's yer bawn."
That's right, Jim," Marley said, cordially;
"but I don't know how I'11 make my way without
Jim ran his hand in his pocket and drew out a
greasy little bag of buckskin, tied with a leather
I puzzents yer wid dis," he said grandly, and
he poured into Marley's hand a silver quarter, three
dimes, and two five-cent pieces."
Marley didn't refuse it. He said, "Thanky,
Jim! You'11 get this back sometime. I'm goin'
to be a rich man one of these days; then I'll buy
you an' set you free."
I reckons I might take up a susscription fer yer
when I gits home, mungg our black folks. Dey all
likes yer. Yer could wait roun' till I gits back.
Moster's gwyne to sen' me straight back wid anud-
der load er cotton. Yer jis wait yere, an' see ef I
don't bring yer sumpin."
They talked this plan over for some time, and
Marley finally agreed to wait, if he found no good
chances offered for getting away to the North. Jim
was to caution the black people to secrecy. Marley
knew he could depend upon them in any plan
against Mr. Coleman. The cotton-shed of James
Savage, Mr. Coleman's commission merchant, was
decided upon as the place of meeting. Then the
two separated, Jim to return home, Marley td go
forward to the city.
I do not intend to tell how he passed the time
after reaching Memphis, waiting for Jim's re-appear-
ance; how he had to economize, that his purse
might not get emptied; how every effort to get
work on the up-river boats failed.
After five or six days, he might have been seen

hanging about James Savage's commission house,
or shed. This was crowded with cotton bales,
piled to the very roof. On some of these he read,
with a strange sensation, his father's name.
Almost his last penny was spent when, one after-
noon, about three o'clock, he saw far up the street
a team that had a familiar look. As it drew nearer,
his hopes were realized; it was his father's, and
there was Jim. Marley's spirits went up like a
balloon; he hastened to meet his ally.
I's got sumpin fer yer," were Jim's first words.
"Mammy sent yer heap er things;" and bundle
after bundle was delivered into Marlborough's eager
hands. He climbed on to a home cotton bale, and
opened them.
They contained, in the main, articles of his cloth-
ing. One bundle, however, showed a collection of
edibles-beaten biscuit, a huge yam potato, and
a half yard of sausage. While asking questions
about home, he made a substantial meal, and then
he crowded between the bales, and changed his
clothes, when he felt more respectable, especially
as he put into his pocket the money which Jim had
raised for him among the black people.
"They all feels mighty bad 'bout yer," Jim said,
"speshly Mistiss an' Miss Sukey, an' Mammy.
Mammy says it's gwyne ter kill you' maw. Her
looks mighty downhearted, an' you' paw does too.
Never seed Mahs'r look so put out sence I wus
bawn; an' Miss Sukey, her cries all ze time 'bout
yer. But I muss go 'long now; got ter git eight
miles to'a'ds home ter night. Reckon Mistiss'll be
more sati'fied when I tells her I seed yer."
"Yes, I reckon so. Tell mother, howdy, an'
Sukey too. An' tell Aunt Silvy, howdy, an' all the
black folks; an' father, if you 've got a notion to.
I don't reckon I '11 ever see any of them any
Marley was crying.
"Law, Mahs'r Mawley ef I wus yer, I'd stop dis
foolin', an' go back home fas' ez ole Boss could tote
me. I wouldn't go up Norf no more 'n nuffin.
You' maw's cryin' arter yer, an' Miss Sukey, an'
Mahs'r '11 be better ter yer, show's yer bawn."
What do you guess ? Did Marley go back?



~; ~fI

2i -;



FOAM of the sea! Foam of the sea!
-_- Stay !-we are weary of calling to thee;
Weary of hearing the ceaseless beat
S Of thy silver-sandaled, unresting feet,
Hither and thither, and o'er and o'er,
Along the level of white sea-floor,
For evermore!
Thy gauzy garments have swept so near
S Our outstretched hand, but to disappear
And slide away
In a silver spray,
While laughter ripples along the shore,
And the broideredd silver is changed to gray.
Sea-foam, rest !
Safe in this circling arm of rock,
Away from the breakers' shout and shock,
Rest, 0 rest!
And tell us the story unconfessed
Through all the ages to mortal ear,
Locked from poet, and safe from seer
In the ocean's breast.
S Tell us thy charmed history;
Unravel the silver thread
Of the glittering tissue of mystery
Veiling forever thy head.
Why art thou wooing forever
The golden smiles of the sun,-
Wooing and winning, yet never
Staying thyself to be won ?
Low is the light in the west,--
S'' Sea-foam, rest!

I---- -:

II -

- fry




', ',


-.- _
- -

- '-. --._


O.L' ,_




BY H. -H.

ONCE there was born a man with a great genius
for painting and sculpture. It was not in this world
that he was born, but in a world very much like
this in some respects, and very different in others.
The world in which this great genius was born was
governed by a beneficent and wise ruler, who had
such wisdom and such power that he decided be-
fore each being was born for what purpose he
would be best fitted in life; he then put him in the
place best suited to the work he was to do ; and he
gave into his hands a set of instruments to do the
work with.
There was one peculiarity about these instru-
ments; they could never be replaced. On this
point this great and wise ruler was inexorable. He
said to every being who was born into his realm:
"Here is your set of instruments to work with.
If you take good care of them, they will last a life-
time. If you let them get rusty or broken, you
can perhaps have them brightened up a little or
mended, but they will never be as good as new,
and you can never have another set. Now you see
how important it is that you keep them always in
good order."
This man of whom I speak had a complete set
of all the tools necessary for a sculptor's work, and
also a complete set of painter's brushes and colors.
He was a wonderful man, for he could make very
beautiful statues, and he could also paint very
beautiful pictures. He became famous while he
was very young, and everybody wanted something
that he had carved or painted.
Now, I do not know whether it was that he did
not believe what the good ruler told him about his
set of instruments, or whether he did not care to
keep on working any longer, but this is what hap-
pened. He grew very careless about his brushes,
and let his tools lie out overnight when it was
.damp. He left some of his brushes full of paint
for weeks, and the paint dried in, so that when at
last he tried to wash it out, out came the bristles
by dozens, and the brushes were entirely ruined.
The dampness of the night air rusted the edges of
some of his very finest tools, and the things which
he had to use to clean off the rust were so powerful
that they ate into the fine metal of the tools, and
left the edges so uneven that they would no longer
make fine strokes.
However, he kept on painting, and making
statues, and doing the best he could with the few
and imperfect tools he had left. But people began

to say, What is the matter with this man's pict-
ures? and what is the matter with his statues?
He does not do half as good work as he used to."
Then he was very angry, and said the people
were only envious and malicious; that he was the
same he always had been, and his pictures and
statues were as good as ever. But he could not
make anybody else think so. They all knew
One day the ruler sent for him and said to him:
"Now you have reached the prime of your life.
It is time that you should do some really great
work. I want a grand statue made for the gate-
way of one of my cities. Here is the design; take
it home and study it, and see if you can undertake
to execute it."
As soon as the poor sculptor studied the design,
his heart sank within him. There were several
parts of it which required the finest workmanship
of one of his most delicate instruments. That in-
strument was entirely ruined by rust. The edge
was all eaten away into notches. In vain he tried
all possible devices to bring it again to a fine sharp
edge. Nothing could be done with it. The most
experienced workmen shook their heads as soon as
they saw it, and said:
"No, no, sir; it is too late. If you had brought
it to us at first, we might possibly have made it
sharp enough for you to use a little while with great
care; but it is past help now."
Then he ran frantically around the country, try-
ing to borrow a similar instrument from some one.
But one of the most remarkable peculiarities about
these sets of instruments given by the ruler of this
world I am speaking of, was that they were of no
use at all in the hands of anybody except the one
to whom the ruler had given them. Several of
the sculptor's friends were so sorry for him that
they offered him their instruments in place of his
own; but he tried in vain to use them. They were
not fitted to his hand; he could not make the kind
of stroke he wanted to make with them. So he
went sadly back to the ruler, and said:
"Oh, Sire, I am most unhappy. I cannot ex-
ecute this beautiful design for your statue."
"But why cannot you execute it?" said the
"Alas, Sire!" replied the unfortunate man,
"by some sad accident one of my finest tools was
so rusted that it cannot be restored. Without that
tool, it is impossible to make this statue."


Then the ruler looked very severely at him, and
said :
Oh, sculptor, accidents very seldom happen to
the wise and careful. But you are also a painter, I
believe. Perhaps you can paint the picture I wish
to have painted immediately, for my new palace.
Here is the drawing of it. Go home and study
this. This also will be an opportunity worthy of
your genius."
The poor fellow was not much comforted by this,
for he remembered that he had not even looked at
his brushes for a long time. However, he took
the sketch, thanked the ruler, and withdrew.
It proved to be the same with the sketch for the
picture as it had been with the design for the
statue. It required the finest workmanship in
parts of it; and the brushes which were needed for
this had been long ago destroyed. Only their
handles remained. How did the painter regret his
folly as he picked up the old defaced handles from
the floor, and looked at them hopelessly !
Again he went to the ruler, and with still greater
embarrassment than before, acknowledged that he
was unable to paint the picture because he had not
the proper brushes.
This time, the ruler looked at him with terrible
severity, and spoke in a voice of the sternest dis-
"What, then, do you expect to do, sir, for the
rest of your life, if your instruments are in such a
condition ? "
"Alas! Sire, I do not know," replied the poor
man, covered with confusion.
"You deserve to starve," said the ruler; and
ordered the servants to show him out of the palace.
After this, matters went from bad to worse with
the painter. Every few days some one of his
instruments broke under his hand. They had been
so poorly taken care of, that they did not last half
as long as they were meant to. His work grew
poorer and poorer, until he fell so low that he was
forced to eke out a miserable living by painting the
walls of the commonest houses, and making the
coarsest kind of water-jars out of clay. Finally his
last instrument failed him. He had nothing left
to work with; and as he had for many years done
only very coarse and cheap work, and had not been
able to lay up any money, he was driven to beg his
food from door to door, and finally died of hunger.
This is the end of the parable. Next comes the
moral. Now please don't skip all the rest because
it is called moral. It will not be very long. I wish
I had called my story a conundrum instead of a
parable, and then the moral would have been the
answer. How that would have puzzled you all,-a
conundrum so many pages long! And I wonder
how many of you would have guessed the true

answer. How many of you would have thought
enough about your own bodies to have seen that
they were only sets of instruments given to you to
work with? The parable is a truer one than you
think at first; but the longer you think the more
you will see how true it is. Are we not each of us
born into the world provided with one body, and
only one, which must last us as long as we live in
this world? Is it not by means of this body that
we all learn and accomplish everything? Is it not
a most wonderful and beautiful set of instruments?
Can we ever replace any one of them? Can we
ever have any one of them made as good as new,
after it has once been seriously out of order? In
one respect the parable is not a true one; for the
parable tells the story of a man whose set of instru-
ments was adapted to only two uses,-to sculpture
and to painting. But it would not be easy to count
up all the things which human beings can do by
help of the wonderful bodies in which they live.
Think for a moment of all the things you do in any
one day; all the breathing, eating, drinking, and
running; of all the thinking, speaking, feeling,
learning you do in any one day. Now, if any one of
the instruments is seriously out of order you cannot
do one of these things so well as you know how to
do it. When any one of the instruments is very
seriously out of order, there is always pain. If the
pain is severe, you can't think of anything else
while it lasts. All your other instruments are of
no use to you, just because of the pain in that one
which is out of order. If the pain and the disor-
dered condition last a great while, the instrument
is so injured that it is never again so strong as it
was in the beginning. All the doctors in the world
cannot make it so. Then you begin to be what
people call an invalid; that is, a person who does
not have the full use of any one part of his body;
who is never exactly comfortable himself, and who
is likely to make everybody about him more or less
I do not know anything in this world half so
strange as the way in which people neglect their
bodies; that is, their set of instruments, their one
set of instruments, which they can never replace,
and can do very little toward mending. When it
is too late, when the instruments are hopelessly out
of order, then they do not neglect them any longer;
then they run about frantically as the poor sculptor
did, trying to find some one to help him; and this
is one of the saddest sights in the world, a man or
a woman running from one climate to another cli-
mate, and from one doctor to another doctor, trying
to cure or to patch up a body that is out of order.
Now perhaps you will say, this is a dismal and
unnecessary sermon to preach to young people;
they have their fathers and mothers to take care of


them; they don't take care of themselves. Very
true; but fathers and mothers cannot be always
with their children; fathers and mothers cannot
always make their children remember and obey
their directions; more than all, it is very hard to
make children realize that it is of any great impor-
tance that they should keep all the laws of health.
I know when I was a little girl, when people said to
me, You must not do thus and thus, for if you
do, you will take cold," I used to think, "Who
cares for a little cold, supposing I do catch one ? "
And when I was shut up in the house for several
days with a bad sore throat, and suffered horrible
pain, I never reproached myself. I thought that
sore throats must come now and then, whether or
no, and that I must take my turn. But now I have
learned that if no law of health were ever broken,
we need never have a day's illness, might grow old
in entire freedom from ..;- and -.1 -,ii. fall
asleep at last, instead of dying terrible deaths from
disease; and I am all the while wishing that I had
known it when I was young. If I had known it,
I 'll tell you what I should have done. I would
have just tried the experiment at any rate, of never
doing a single thing which could by any possibility
get any one of the instruments of my body out of
order. I wish I could see some boy or girl try it
yet; never to sit up late at night; never to have a
close, bad air in the room; never to sit with wet
feet; never to wet them, if it were possible to help
it; never to go out in cold weather without being
properly wrapped up; never to go out of a hot
room into a cold out-door air without throwing some
extra wrap on; never to eat or drink an unwhole-
some thing; never to touch tea, or coffee, or candy,
or pie-crust; never to let a day pass without at least
two good hours of exercise in the open air; never
to read a word by twilight, nor in the cars; never
to let the sun be shut out of rooms. This is a pretty
long list of nevers" but "never" is the only word
that conquers. Once in a while" is the very
watch-word of temptation and defeat. I do believe
that the once-in-a-while" things have ruined
more bodies, and more souls too, than all the other
things put together. Moreover, the "never" way

is easy, and the "once-in-a-while" way is hard.
After you have once made up your mind "never"
to do a certain thing, that is the end of it, if you
are a sensible person. But if you only say, "This
is a bad habit," or This is a dangerous indulgence;
I will be a little on my guard and not do it too
often," you have put yourself in the most uncom-
fortable of all positions; the temptation will knock
at your door twenty times a day, and you will have
to be fighting the same old battle over and over
again as long as you live. This is especially true
in regard to the matter of which I have been speak-
ing to you, the care of the body. When you have
once laid down to yourself the laws you mean to
keep, the things you will always do, and the things
you will "never" do, then your life arranges itself
in a system at once, and you are not interrupted
and hindered as the undecided people are, by won-
dering what is best, or safe, or wholesome, or too
unwholesome at different times.
Don't think it would be a sort of slavery to give
up so much for sake of keeping your body in order.
It is the only real freedom, though at first it does
not look so much like freedom as the other way.
It is the sort of freedom of which some poet sang
once. I never knew who he was. I heard the lines
only once, and have forgotten all except the last
three, but I think of those every day. He was
speaking of the true freedom which there is in
keeping the laws of nature, and he said it was like
the freedom of the true poet, who

"Always sings
In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule,
And finds in them not bonds, but wings."

I think the difference between a person who
has kept all the laws of health, and thereby has
a good strong sound body that can carry him
wherever he wants to go, and do whatever he
wants to do, and a person who has let his body
get all out of order, so that he has to lie in bed half
his time and suffer, is quite as great a difference
as there is between a creature with wings and a
creature without wings. Don't you?
And this is the end of the moral.

-i--- t



ONE night, in the bright, warm summer,
Mother went-oh so far away!
So very far Yet quite near her,
In my pretty bed I lay.

She stood and looked from the window,
In the moonlight cool and clear;
I called her as she stood there,
But mother did not hear.

She did not hear when I called her-
She was gone so very far !
I lay and wished I was only
The moonlight, or a star;

Then she might soon have known it-
How lonely I was for her.
But I waited, and waited, and waited,
And mother did not stir.

At last she turned, and, smiling,
Said, "You awake, little Jack?"
But I only could sob and kiss her-
So glad that mother was back!







"WE sha' n't have much of a Fanksdivin 'is
year," said Sophie to her doll. You know, Hitty,
how we all went to dranma's last year, and now
she's dead and buried up in 'e around, and we
sha' n't see her any more, ever and ever, amen "
Hitty looked up into the little mother's face, with
eyes open very wide, but she did not answer a
word. Perhaps she was too sorry to talk, and per-
haps she was n't a talking doll; at any rate, she
kept still.
Last year," resumed Sophie, "we wode 'way
out into 'e country, froo big woods wivout any
leaves 'cept pine-leaves, and along by a deep wiver,
and 'en we came to drama's house, and Uncle
Ned came out to 'e date and carried me in on his

shoulder, and dranma took off my fings and dave
me some brown bread and cheese 'at she made all
.herself; but I did n't see her, 'cause folks make
cheese in 'e summer, and 'at was Fanksdivin time.
I went out to see Uncle Ned milk 'e cow, and had
some dood warm milk to drink, and mamma put
on my nightie and put me to bed in such a funny
bed, not a bit like ours at home 'at you can roll
over and over in and not muss 'em up a bit; but it
was a feaver bed,-live geese feavers, drama said,
-and I fought 'ey would cover me all up, I sank
down in so. In 'e morning, Uncle Ned built a fire
in 'e dreat bid oven; and when it dot all burned
down to coals, dranma poked 'em wiv a dreat long
shovel, so heavy I could n't lift it; and by and by



she shoveled and scraped 'em all out into 'e fire-
place; and 'en she put in 'e chicken-pie to bake,
and a big turkey wiv stuffing, and a pudding wiv
lots o' waisins in it, and shut 'e door. 'En every-
body 'cept mamma and me went off to church, and
after'at we had dinner.
You'd ought to been'ere, Hitty, to see it; but
you was n't made den, so course you could n't.
There was all 'at was in 'e oven, and bread and
cheese, and cake and cranberry-sauce, and apple-
pie and mince-pie, and punkin-pie and custard-
no, 'ere was n't any custard, for 'e cat dot at it, and
in 'e evening we had walnuts --"
Just here, little Lady Talkative," as papa often
called her, was interrupted by the voice of her
mother from the kitchen, where she and Aunt Ruth
staid most of the time lately, getting ready for
Sophie's uncles and aunts and cousins, who were
invited for Thanksgiving.
In spite of the motherly feelings supposed to be
strong in the breasts of little girls, poor Hitty
landed, head first, in the plaything box, as Sophie
sprang up to answer her mother's summons.
Sophie, I want you to go over to Mrs. Green's
and borrow a nutmeg for me. Go quickly as you
can. I don't believe in borrowing," she added to
Aunt Ruth, "but two of mine proved poor ones,
and the cake cannot wait."
By this time, Sophie's sack was on and her bon-
net tied. She was an active little creature, very
bright for a child of her age, and it was her delight
to be of use in domestic affairs.
Now, what is your errand, Sophie ?"
"Please, Mrs. Dreen," began the child, in ac-
cordance with previous instructions, my mamma
would be much 'bliged if you will lend her a nut-
That will do. Now run."
The little feet trotted as fast as they could across
the two yards and in at the side gate of Mrs.
Green's; but the busy brain went so much faster
than the flying feet, that the child blundered in her
Please, Mrs. Dreen, my mamma wants to
bo'ow a dranma for Fanksdivin."
Mrs. Green's eyes opened so wide, Sophie thought
she looked like Hitty, and wondered if they were
What did your mother send for ?"
"A dran- No, 'at's what I want' mine own
self Oh dear I fordot what she does want, and
she's in an awful hurry."
"What is she doing?"
Making cake, and it can't wait, she said so. I
know what it is, but I can't fink."
Was it fresh eggs ? "
No, ma'am."

Some kind of spice ?"
"No, ma'am."
What is it like ? "
Like a walnut, and you drate it wiv a drater."
"Oh, a nutmeg "
"A nutmeg-'at's it ezactly. Funny I could n't
wemember"-and the blue eyes brightened behind
the gathering tears like the sunlit sky through a
rift in a rain-cloud.
Three minutes later, Sophie picked up her long-
suffering doll, and entertained her with an account
of the affair sufficiently minute to satisfy a New
York reporter, ending by asking Hitty's opinion.
Oh, Hitty, was n't it funny to tell Mrs. Dreen
mamma wanted to bo'ow a dranma? I dest wish
I could, don't you? I want one, more'n anyfing.
Don't you s'pose I could? I'll ask Uncle Ned.
He knows 'most everyfing."
Uncle Ned was in his room writing when he
heard little hurrying footsteps on the stair, followed
by three little raps at the door. He pushed back
the inkstand, stuck his pen up over his ear, and
called out:
Come in, Pussy. Push hard; the door is not
"I'm sorry to 'sturb you, Uncle-Ned," began
the small lady, while she climbed up into his lap
and threw Hitty on the table, "but you must
escuse me, 'cause I dot a very 'portant twestion."
Let us have it, little one."
Can anybody bo'ow a dranma ? "
Borrow a grandma That's a new idea "
"You should n't ought to laugh at me, Uncle
Ned, for I want one
-i weal bad for Fanks-
The tears came into
Uncle Ned's eyes, for
he was the youngest
Si son of the grandmother
Sophie mourned, and
the pain of loss had not
Shad time to soften. He
held her quite still for
a little, and then said,
'"A sad Thanksgiv-
-' '; ing we shall have this
year, my pet, and the
-_ only way to make it a
'-- little less sorrowful will
TOGETHER R" (SEE NEXT PAGE). be to try and make
others happy. That
was always grandma's way. I rather like your idea
after all. Your own dear grandmother is beyond
the tokens of love and gratitude we fain would
set before her, and why should we not make


some other child's grandmother happy to-morrow ?
Whose shall it be ?"
"Let me see. Fanny Turner's one. Her dran-
ma lives in a splendid drate house, and she's dot
lots o' money and servants and everyfing she wants.
I dess we don't want her. Mrs. Allen-'at's two;
but she 's dot lots o' dranchildren wivout us. Oh
my! you could n't count 'em. If 'ey should all
come at once, 'ey 'd fill her little teenty tawnty
house winning over full. Not any woom for we
folks, unlesss 't was in 'e door-yard."
Sophie stopped and thought a moment.
Oh, I know she exclaimed at last, the funny
gravity of the small features chased away by a sud-
den smile which lit up all the dimples. Mamie
Hall! she's dest'e one. She lives all alone wiv
her dranma down by 'e bridge. 'Ey're dweadful
poor, and Mrs. Hall works for 'e rich folks and
leaves Mamie all alone a'most every day; but she's
dood, and Mamie's dood too, and her house is big
enough, only I dess we better carry somefing to
eat, for may be she has n't dot much baked."
Always looking out for your stomach," laughed
Uncle Ned. "We will go and ask mamma about it."
On the afternoon of that same day, Mamie Hall
sat by the window, wishing some one would come,
for she was very lonesome. Her grandmother went
early to help a neighbor, and charged her not to
leave the house till her return, as she expected
some persons to pay her some money, and they
might call when no one was in, and the money was
needed at once. She got along very well till her
knitting-work was done and her story-book read
through, and then she sat by the window and
watched the people passing. Hark! Somebody
surely rapped. Mamie answered the summons,
and was delighted to see her little friend Sophie,
who said she could stay till night, and then Uncle
Ned would come for her again.
"Oh, I'm so glad !" exclaimed Mamie. Come
right in and take off your things."
Uncle Ned stepped inside to charge the children
to be careful about the fire-a charge which Mamie
rather resented, being eight years old and accus-
tomed to responsibility.
"I brought my doll," said Sophie, proceeding
to take off her things too.
That's right. I 'll get Lady Jane, and we will
have a first-rate time playing keep house. What
is your child's name ? "
Sophronia Mehitable Feodosia Caroline," said
Sophie, slowly, and speaking every syllable with
What a long name laughed Mamie. Do
you have to call her all that every time you speak
to her? "
Oh, no I call her Hitty for short, and if she's

cross I call her Hit. Her first name is for me, and
'e next for Aunt Mehitable, and Feodosia was my
dranma's name, and Caroline, my cousin, dave her
to me."
I am afraid she wont want to play with a rag-
doll," sighed the small hostess as she drew Lady
Jane from the rude cradle where she usually slept,
her little mother being too busy generally to attend
to her.
"Oh, no !" cried Sophie. I teach Hitty 'at
when she's dood she 's no better 'an a wag-doll 'at
behaves herself, and when she 's naughty she 's
worser, 'cause she's had better 'vantages."
But she's all dressed up in silk and jewelry,
and Lady Jane has only a calico slip and a white
apron," said Mamie, just to see what her mite of a
visitor would answer.
'At don't make 'e leastest diffunce in 'e world.
All Hit's fine fings were dived to her. She is n't
pwoud a bit. If she was I 'd spank her. I should n't
for anyfing like her to be like Biddy Marty's doll
that lives in the brick grocery-so awzf/l big and
pwoud. It's 'diculous to see 'em together. Youth
child's zactly the right size. And, dear me, how
clean she does keep herself! I dess she don't play
in 'e dirt like my Hit."
"Oh, she is older, and has learned better. But
what ails your daughter's nose ? The skin seems
to be off."
"'At's where she bumped it 'is morning. She
fell wight into my playing box." And then, in-
stead of telling how she threw her there herself, the
small fibber remarked: She is dest beginning to
do alone, and she dets lots o' bumps."
Hitty took all the implied blame very coolly, for
she neither blushed nor winked.
What made you think to come and see me,
little Sophie ? I have been wishing you would ever
since the good times we had the day my grandma
worked for your mamma."
I fought of it long ado, and teased and teased,
but mamma would n't let me, till she had intwiredi
about you to see if you was dood. I knew it all'e
time, but she said she must ask some one who had
known you longer. She lets me play wiv anybody
'at's dood," added Sophie, with startling frankness,
"no matter if 'ey live in little bits o' houses, and
have to wear calico dresses to church. But I came
now to bo'ow somefin. You 'I1 lend it to me, wont
you now ? "
Yes, indeed, anything I can lend. But what
can I possibly have that you have not ?" glancing
inquiringly at her small stock of playthings.
Sophie leaned forward with her fat forefinger
lifted in a ludicrously solemn gesture.
Mamie, you've dot a dranma, and mine is all
dead and buried up in 'e dround."



Yes, I have got a grandma, and the best one
in the world too, but what has she to do with it ?
You surely cannot want to borrow her!" and
Mamie laughed at the very thought.
"' Yes, I do," persisted Sophie, with the utmost
gravity. You can't have Fanksdivin wivout a
dranma, more 'n you can Christmas wivout Santa
Claus. You need n't fink I'm dreedy. I'll lend
you all my nationss to pay,-papa and mamma, and
Aunt Wuth and Uncle Ned, and all 'e cousins 'at
are coming. And here's a letter," she continued,

What is it? asked Mamie.
"An invitation for us to spend Thanksgiving
with Sophie and her friends. She feels so badly
about her grandmother, she wants to borrow me !
Will you lend me, Mamic, just for that one day?"
"No, indeed," replied Mamie, decidedly. "I
should look well lending all the relative I have in
the world to a girl who has got a houseful of
cousins," and she threw her arms about the old
"She can be yours dest the same, Mamie,"


tugging at a tiny pocket until she produced a little
three-cornered note directed to Mrs. Hall.
I don't really know what to make of it," said
Mamie, "but when grandma reads the note, she
will find out, I guess."
So she crowded the corner of it carefully under
the edge of the clock for safe keeping, and the
playing went on. With riding out and visiting,
caring for Lady Jane's fever and Hitty's wounded
nose, as well as eating apples and doughnuts, the
afternoon flew swiftly by. They were surprised
when Mrs. Hall came in. Mamie instantly gave
her the note, which she read with a smile and a
tremor of lip.

pleaded Sophie. Do, Mamie, let me call her so
for just one day."
Oh, you may call her so always, if that is all;
but I must keep her too. I '11 not lend her at all,
but I'll give you half of her to keep for your very
"Oh, will you ? will you ?" cried Sophie, dancing
with delight, never noticing that she held Hitty by
one foot, to the imminent danger of the rest of her
china body.
"You 'd better keep the whole of me, and give
her, at the same time, the whole," said grandma.
" I shall love you none the less for taking this dear
little Sophie right into my heart of hearts."


And so it was. The morrow was a very happy
day. Sophie introduced Mamie as her new sister,
and she was heartily welcomed by all the cousins,
big and little. After dinner, the "new grandma,"
as all called her, told them wonderful stories about
the times when she was young, and Sophie would
not part with her till she promised to spend the
Christmas holidays with them.
But before the Christmas holidays the new

grandma" died. It was sudden. She was sick
only a week. Sophie's friends cared for her ten-
derly ; and just before the end, her father took the
last care from the dying woman's heart by promis-
ing to care for Mamie as if she were his own.
So Mamie and Sophie are adopted sisters now,
and though they are grown-up ladies, they never
forget how the good God provided for the fatherless
through Sophie's childish whim.


BY S. C.

I. -.

r i :la have flowers in
S_ ",..; but flowers in
i- re, to most of us,
treat, only to be
.' ,ll.-.- 1 in occasionally.
", .:r think we need them
I i!,,n, and enjoy them
; \ I, lian at any other
Si....: ,.. our northern win-
S. -" so long and cruel
S r chout flowers we
ni : .ger of forgetting
I I ii. i..:ce ever was asum-
S. bouquet never
'. -.-i :o precious as on
...,- *r lose icy days when
the world is so hopelessly
frozen that it seems as if it never could bear another
green thing. We touch the roses and the pinks
with tender fingers and a feeling which we do not
have for garden flowers, prosperous creatures, who
take care of themselves and require none of our
love and pity. These few sweet winter blooms are
the survivors of a great massacre. Even now their
lives are in danger, for if the window were to be
opened ever so little, winter would slip treacherously

through and kill them as he did their mates. So
we pet and cherish the beautiful things, doing all
we can to make them happy, and they reward us
in their own pretty way by living twice as long as
cut flowers in summer ever do.
There are various recipes for keeping bouquets
fresh. Some people stick them in moist sand;
some salt the water in the vases, and others warm
it; others, again, use a few drops of ammonia. My
rule is, to cool the flowers thoroughly at night.
When the long day of furnace-heat has made the
roses droop and their stems limp and lifeless, I clip
them a little, and set them to float in a marble
basin full of very cold water. In the morning they
come out made over into crisp beauty, as fresh and
blooming as if just gathered. All flowers, however,
will not stand this water-cure. Heliotrope blackens
and falls to pieces under it; azaleas drop from their
stems, and mignonette soaks away its fragrance.
For these I use dry, cold air. I wrap them in
cotton wool, and set them on a shelf in the ice-
chest I can almost hear you laugh, but really I
am not joking. Flowers thus treated keep per-
fectly for a week with me, and often longer.
Many persons who are lucky enough to have
flowers do not at all know how to arrange them so
as to produce the best effect, while others seem
born with a knack for doing such things in just the
right way. Knack cannot be taught, but there are
a few rules and principles on the subject so simple
that even a child can understand and follow them,
and if you ST. NICHOLAS girls will keep them in
mind when you have flowers to arrange, I think



-- -_ -
----- .----

-. -


you will find them helpful. Just as flowers are the
most beautiful decoration which any house can
have, so the proper management of them is one of
the gracefullest of arts, and everything which makes
home prettier and more attractive is worth study
and pains, so I will tell you what these rules are in
the hope that you will use and apply them your-
ist. The color of the vase to be used is of impor-
tance. Gaudy reds and blues should never be chosen,
for they conflict with the delicate hues of the flowers.
Bronze or black vases, dark green, pure white, or
silver, always produce a good effect, and so does a
straw basket, while clear glass, which shows the
graceful clasping of the stems, is perhaps prettiest
of all.
2d. The shape of the vase is also to be thought
of. For the middle of a dinner-table, a round
bowl is always appropriate, or a tall vase with a
saucer-shaped base. Or, if the center of the table
is otherwise occupied, a large conch shell, or shell-
shaped dish, may be swung from the chandelier
above, and with plenty of vines and feathering
green, made to look very pretty. Delicate flowers,
such as lilies of the valley and sweet-peas, should
be placed by themselves in slender tapering glasses;
violets should nestle their fragrant purple in some

tiny cup, and pansies be set in groups, with no
gayer flowers to contradict their soft velvet hues;
and-this is a hint for summer-few things are pret-
tier than balsam-blossoms, or double variegated
hollyhocks, massed on a flat plate, with a fringe of
green to hide the edge. No leaves should be inter-
spersed with these; the plate will look like a solid
mosaic of splendid color.
3d. Stiffness and crowding are the two things to
be specially avoided in arranging flowers. What
can be uglier than the great tasteless bunches into
which the ordinary florist ties his wares, or what
more extravagant ? A skillful person will untie one
of these, and, adding green leaves, make the same
flowers into half a dozen bouquets, each more effect-
ive than the original. Flowers should be grouped
as they grow, with a cloud of light foliage in and
about them to set off their forms and colors. Don't
forget this.
4th. It is better, as a general rule, not to put
more than one or two sorts of flowers into the same
vase. A great bush with roses, and camelias, and
carnations, and feverfew, and geraniums growing
on it all at once would be a frightful thing to behold;
just so a monstrous bouquet made up of all these
flowers is meaningless and ugly. Certain flowers,
such as heliotrope, mignonette, and myrtle, mix
well with everything; but usually it is better to
group flowers with their kind,-roses in one glass,
geraniums in another, and not try to make them
agree in companies.
5th. When you do mix flowers, be careful not to
put colors which clash side by side. Scarlets and

_- .-..--- -

-- -
-- -_'. -

-~ y S 1
--.. ---_---_- -

_- .. -- -

pinks spoil each other; so do blues and purples,
and yellows and mauves. If your vase or dish is a
very large one, to hold a great number of flowers,




it is a good plan to divide it into thirds or quarters,
making each division perfectly harmonious within
itself, and then blend the whole with lines of green
and white, and soft neutral tint. Every group of
mixed flowers requires one little touch of yellow to
make it vivid ; but this must be skillfully applied.
It is good practice to experiment with this effect.
For instance, arrange a group of maroon, scarlet,
and white geraniums with green leaves, and add a
single blossom of gold-colored calceolaria, you will

see at once that the whole bouquet seems to flash
out and become more brilliant.
Lastly. Love your flowers. By some subtle sense
the dear things always detect their friends, and for
them they will liye longer and bloom more freely
than they ever will for a stranger. And I can tell
you, girls, the sympathy of a flower is worth win-
ning, as you will find out when you grow older,
and realize that there are such things as dull days
which need cheering and comforting.

-F 'az-
c` Th ~v




You wonderful little Sunday child!
Half of your fortune scarce you know,
Although you have blinked and winked and
Full seven and twenty days below.

" The bairn that is born on a Sabbath day"-
So say the old wives over their glass-
" Is bonny and healthy, and wise and gay !"
What do you think of that, my lass ?

HIealth and wisdom, and beauty and mirth!
And (as if that were not enough for a dower),
Because of the holy day of your birth,
Abroad you may walk in the gloaming's hour.

When we poor bodies, with backward look,
Shiver and quiver and quake with fear
Of fiend and fairy, and kelpie and spook,
Never a thought need you take, my dear-

For Sunday's child ". may go where it please,
Sunday's child shall be free from harm!
Right down through the mountain side it seec
The mines unopened where jewels swarm

0 fortunate baby Sunday lass !
The veins of gold through the rocks you'
And when o'er the shining sands you pass,
You can tell where the hidden springs may be.

And never a fiend or an airy sprite,
May thwart or hinder you all your days.
Whenever it chances, in mirk midnight,
The lids of your marvelous eyes you raise,

You may see, while your heart is pure and true.
The angels that visit this lower sphere,
Drop down the firmament, two and two,
Their errands of mercy to work down here.

This is the dower of a Sunday child;
What do you think of it, little brown head,
Winking and blinking your eyes so mild,
Down in the depths of your snowy bed?

- a~




TIP was the older of the two. I can't really say
how old he was, and what is more, Tip himself
did n't know. He wore a man's coat and a pair of
very small trousers, but neither fitted him. His
hat was an old felt affair that he had picked up in
a back alley, and his head seemed very much as if
it might have been picked up with it.
Top was the other partner. It was Top who
bought the melon, because he had sold all his
papers but one, and had an uncommon handful of
change. The melon was cheap too, and only a
trifle spoiled, so the partners sat down on a stone
and ate it. Then Tip wiped his mouth on his
coat-sleeve and looked at Top, who had spread'
his last paper over his knees, and was slowly spell-
ing out the news.
There's a row somewhere, but I can't make
out which side is lickin'; it's the Turkeys or the
other fellers. What be the Turkeys, Tip ?"
Base-ball fellers, I reckon; them kind is great
at a scrimmage."
"And a freshet carried off a railroad-bridge.
Tarnado in Dubbs County; blowed all the oats
down. Does oats grow on trees, Tip, or bushes?"
"Bushes, and kind o' limber."
"'Tarrible catastrophe.' What would a catas-
trophe be, Tip ? "
It's a kind o' jumpin' animal. Don't ye mind
the one we seen to the circus ?"
Top folded up his paper with a sigh.
The circus was the beginning of the partnership,
when the two boys, curled up together in a crockery-
crate, had been awakened in the dusk of a May
morning by the long train of circus-wagons rum-
bling away into the country. Half asleep, they fol-
lowed on, keeping pace with the great brown hulk
that strode with swaying trunk after the wagons,
and glancing half fearfully at the awkward camels
that bared their great teeth viciously, as if they
would not at all mind making a mouthful of the
two little vagabonds. Once a driver noticed them,
and cracked his long whip at them ; but they only
fell back a few steps.
I say, Tip, le's go on till it stops," whispered
Top; and with a nod the bargain was concluded.
It was ten o'clock before the circus stopped, and
the boys, footsore and hungry, hung around the
wagons, getting plentiful kicks and abuse, which
was no more than they were accustomed to at
home, but rewarded by a glimpse of the animals
as they were fed, and making a rare breakfast on a

loaf of bread that a girl in a dirty spangled dress
snatched from one of the wagons and tossed to
Top had risen in the world since then. He had
left rag-picking and gone into the newspaper busi-
ness, and even picked up a little learning at the
night class in the newsboys' home. But he was
loyal to his partner, and often shared his good
fortune with him. He had a plan now for them
I say, Tip, le's you and me go to farming. "
Tip looked at Top, took off his hat, turned it
over as if looking for an idea in it, and then put it
on again, and said nothing.
There's a chap comes down to the home told
us fellers if you go out West a bit, the Guvment
would let ye have a farm free, jest fer livin' on 't.
Best kind o' ground, too. We could raise things
to sell, besides havin' all the melons and stuff you
could smaller every day."
C'm' on," said Tip, his mouth watering at the
thought. Is it fur, out West, do ye reckon ?"
A good bit; but I've got some money, and we
can walk it easy. Git yer other shirt, an' we 'll
start to-morrer morning. "
That night Top drew all his money from the
deposit at the newsboys' home-three dollars and
sixty-five cents. The first thing he did was to buy
two clay pipes and a paper of tobacco. Then he
laid in a store of provisions, in the shape of a sheet
of stale buns, a triangle of cheese, and a dozen
herrings. Tip was on hand promptly, with his
other shirt in a wad under his arm, and the two
partners started "out West."
May as well ride ten cents' worth," said Top,
paying fare for the two on an omnibus that ran to
the city limits.
Afterward, they walked on toward the open
prairie, breakfasting as they went, and adding to
their stores a turnip and a couple of tomatoes that
had jolted from some laden market-wagon. Miles
and miles of market-gardens, where women and
children were hoeing and weeding and gathering
vegetables. They stopped at one house and asked
for water, and a woman in a brown stuff petticoat
and white short gown offered them some milk in a
big yellow bowl, and a piece of black bread. A
boy was washing long yellow carrots by the pump.
Tip bit one, and liked it. Tip was always hungry.
Then they went on, and by and by they came to
the end of the gardens. There were great stubbly


fields and a stack of yellow straw. They sat down
by this stack to rest, and then Top thought of the
pipes. The men whom he knew always smoked
when they rested at noon, and so he and Tip tried
it. They had tried it before with ends of cigars
that they picked up, and once Top had bought a
new cigar, a fifteen-center, and smoked it all, though
it made him fearfully sick. The pipes did not seem
to agree with them. Tip felt particularly uncom-
fortable, and wished he had not eaten that carrot.
They did not make any remarks about it, but pres-
ently they put away the pipes and went to sleep in
the sun. When they waked it was sunset and
growing chilly.
No use to go any furder to-night," said Top;
and they burrowed into the straw and were as snug
as two field-mice.
In the morning there were only a herring and two
very dry buns for breakfast; but the partners had
seen much smaller rations than that in their day.
They asked for water again when they came to a
house, but the old lady who opened the door must
have been deaf. She only shook her head and
shoo-ed them away as if they had been two stray
chickens. Next time they had better luck. A fat
little woman with rosy red cheeks gave them a big
basket to fill with chips, and when it was full she
brought them each a thick slice of bread and butter
and a great puffy brown doughnut. Afterward,
they drank at the well out of a sweet-tasting dipper
made of a cocoa-nut shell, and the woman looked
up from the bread she was kneading to nod and
smile as they went out of the gate. Next came a
long strip of woods, without any houses, and be-
yond that, open prairie again.
I think this is about fur enough, said Top,
sitting down on a log. I should kind o' like to
have our farm nigh to the woman that give us the
doughnuts. She's a good one, she is."
Well," said Tip, "seems to be lots of land,
and mighty scarce of houses. Le's take it half an'
half, woods and perrary."
Now that the farm was located, the next thing to
be done was to build a house. Never did Western
emigrants find things more convenient, for near
the roadside lay a pile of rails that had once been
a fence about a hay-stack. These they dragged
into the woods, and proceeded to build a hut against
the trunk of a great tree. The result was not ex-
actly a palace, but at least it was clean and airy,
and they had slept in much worse quarters. They
made a bed of green boughs and spread Tip's other
shirt over it. Everything went well until Tip un-
dertook to climb a tree after some wild grapes. A
country boy would have known better than to trust
the old dead limb from which they dangled; but
Tip never suspected that a tree could wear out,

until he found himself crashing headlong through
the branches to the ground. He lay there so quiet
that poor Top might as well have had no partner
at all. Top was frightened, but he did n't give it
up. He shook Tip and slapped him on the back;
he even lighted a pipe and blew tobacco smoke in
his face, all of which remedies he had seen used
with success, though not upon people who had
fallen out of trees. After a while, Tip began to
breathe again in a jerky fashion, and then he got
strength enough to groan dismally.
Is it yer head ?" asked Top, anxiously. Are
ye all right in yer bones ? "
It's me laigs, and me spines is all smashed to
flinders," moaned Tip.
Top managed to drag his unlucky partner into
the hut; but the bed was anything but luxurious,
and Tip was no hero to suffer in silence.
Is it as bad as a whalin' ?" asked Top, meaning
to be sympathizing.
Wuss," groaned Tip; but, after all, the sug-
gestion had some comfort in it.
Tip," said his partner, presently, "be ye sorry
ye come out West ?"
No, not if I die," moaned Tip. "I seen a
feller die oncet, falling' down a elevator."
Tip tried to get up, but fell back with fresh howls,
Don't you give up the farm, Top; and you
can have all my clothes and my other shirt."
Top would have cried if he had known how,
but just then a man coming down the wood-road
stopped a moment to look and listen, and then
strode up to the queer little hut, saying:
What in cre-a-tion "
He's hurt," said Top, briefly nodding his head
at his partner.
Hurt I should think so! Who are you?
and what are you doing here ?"
We're partners, and we've took up this farm,"
began Top; but the man looked at the pair of
beggars and laughed in a fashion that threatened
to bring the rails down over his head.
Well, well," he said at last, wiping his eyes on
his shirt sleeve, if that aint the biggest joke."
Then he sobered down a little, and felt of Tip's
bones-and, in fact, Tip was not much else but
"No more meat 'n a ladder Well, well, well !"
And he picked up poor Tip and marched away
with him, while Top followed meekly. It seemed
to him the man had on seven-league boots, he got
over the ground so fast, while he could only limp
after, for Top was getting sore and stiff from tramp-
ing. By and by, they turned into a green lane
and came to the back-door of a house. The man
laid Tip on a bench, and a shaggy dog came and
sniffed at him.



"Molly Anderson called the man, and some-
body came trotting briskly to the door, saying,
"Well, John long before she came in sight.
It was the woman who had given them the dough-

himself on a clean bed in a great breezy garret,
with the pleasant little woman darning stockings
beside him. The man was there too, and he said,
in a cheerful voice: They're made of cast-steel

-. '. i t Z

l / Ne.
'9 -. ,- I :
L r .,

,, 41


and whip-cords, them
youngsters. He 'll be
right as a top in a day
or two."
"The other one is
Top," Tip tried to say,
but his voice was so
queer he did not know
it, and wondered who
had spoken.

In the end, the part-
ners concluded to give
up the farm; but the
man who had be-
friended them gave
them both work for a
few weeks, and when
one day they rode back
to the city in a great
loaded market-wagon,
they felt far grander
than the Lord Mayor
for whom the bells
rang Turn again,
Whittington "
It was grander yet
riding back again at
night, with the new
delight of returning
to a home and a wel-
Tip," said Top, as
they crept into bed, "I
aint never going' back
to the city. When
they wont keep us
no more, and nobody
wont keep us, I 'm

nuts; Tip cried when he saw her, though he did n't going' to start along the road, and keep on till I
know why, for he felt wonderfully glad. come to somewhere. Roads is better'n streets;
Things were mixed up after that for a good many they always goes to somewhere that they did n't
days, and Tip had queer fancies of going on and start from "
on, trying to find the best kind of a farm to settle Top's voice died away, and Tip only answered
down upon, until at last he waked up to find with a snore. The partners were asleep.




DEAR me, what a wonderful hat feathers and
fine things; just a pile !"
Yes," whispered Felice, trying not to look, yet
giving a little glance, for all, at the wonderful hat
on the majestic Mrs. Pendilly's head as she moved
up to her pew.
"She must be very thankful; don't you think
so, Felice?"
"Why?" whispered Felice, glancing up the
She has such a lot to thank for," said Tinsie,
looking down with a bit of a sigh at her own faded
dress. I just wish I had a hat exactly, precisely
like that."
"Why, Tinsie Treppet! don't you know you
would look like a fright with a hat like that !"
But she checked the smile on her lips, and the
words she was just going to say, for she had not
come to church to talk to Tinsie Treppet, and so
she edged down closer to the pew door, and looked
on the other side of the church.
"Felice," whispered Tinsie, slipping after her,
' do you think I ought to thank for such mean
Mother says it is sometimes because God loves
us that He does not give us fine things, and that
He is good; oh, so good to give us any at all."
It 'pears to me He might have given them a
little better-even like Tebitha Brady's -- "
Please don't, Tinsie," whispered Felice with a
worried look in her eyes; God is so good, and
He hears you every word."
Sure and true I never thought of it," said
Tinsie, involuntarily glancing around; "but may be
He did not hear because so many people are talking.
But here comes the minister to begin to thank, and
I don't know what to thank for, in my heart, you
know, unless it's for my new shoes."
"For George's getting well," suggested Felice,
not quite sure if she ought to talk for Tinsie's bene-
fit or be silent.
Sure and certain, I forgot that !"
"And your father's getting work."
And the lady being kind to your mother, and
giving her sewing, you know."
I forgot."
And your having something to eat every day
since last Thanksgiving."
Yes, only we had n't many pies."

And don't you know how you were lost, and
they found you, and brought you back ?"
Yes, but I thanked the man for that, Felice."
Mother says God put it into the man's heart to
be kind to you and to bring you back again."
Well, I never would have thought of that!
Let me see how many things that makes ; and oh,
if I'm to thank for all things like that, I can keep
on counting a heap ; there 's "
"Hush," whispered Felice softly, and drawing
Tinsie down on her knees.
"There's the pumpkin pie the baker sent for
dinner," continued Tinsie, unwilling to be sup-
pressed, but the next instant folding her little brown
hands tightly over her eyes, with a new resolution
to be still as well as thankful.
Felice tried to follow the service and be 11, '1
about the blessings; but in spite of herself, thoughts
arising from Tinsie's question as to thanking for
such shabby clothes kept ringing in her head, and
every little while the feathers of Mrs. Pendilly's
vwouzld bob up so high and so fine that it was in-
possible not to be attracted by them from tce
preacher and set to thinking about lots and lots (if
things which, at another time, would have been no
harm at all; but just now, in the middle of the
preaching, the praising and the praying, were very
distracting, and out of place altogether.
I do so much want to be good to-day," sighnd
Felice to herself; I do so much want to think
only about the praises and the prayers; and tears
were quivering in her eyes before she knew it.
" My dress is not nice, I know, but then it will do;
and my hat-oh, if mother could know the wicked
thoughts I had been thinking about my hat, she
would say I never, never could expect any better;
and yet I am thankful, too, for what I have," and
she turned aside that Tinsie, by her side, should
not see the tears, and whispered a little prayer,
quite apart from the prayers the minister was say-
ing, begging to be forgiven her thoughtlessness,
and helped to do better.
"I've been saying them all over," whispered
Tinsie as they arose from their knees; "every single
bit of a thing I could think of; but say, Felic.,
don't you hope you '11 sometime have a hat like
Mrs. Pendilly's to thank for?"
Tinsie Treppet! I'11 never, never bring you io
any m ore T- .... :.1 ,_...!"
Why, I've been thanking every minute of the



prayer, except just when I'd peep up, you know,
and then it was I got to hoping about the hat."
Felice frowned and shook her head, and gave

"See the feathers, Felice," she commenced
again; were there ever any such before "
Felice looked again in spite of herself, and, as



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Tinsie a very gentle nudge, by way of reminder of she looked, the proud, vain face of Mrs. Pendilly
her duty; but Tinsie kept straight on with what turned quite around within view.
she was saying, and then sat leaning back, gazing I see the whole that mother was telling me
up at the windows of the beautiful church, and then now i It is having such fine bonnets and things
again at the wonders of Mrs. Pendilly's hat. that give people such faces !" thought Felice, quite
VOL. IV.-4.



~--~-F~P2 i


startled with the thought, and, in an instant, en- minute, the vain, proud face under the fine fixings
tirely content with her own plain attire. "Iremem- turned around again, Tinsie leaned eagerly for-
ber just what mother was saying about fine things; ward to take in at one view the whole of the un-
she said they make the heart proud very often, and pleasantness ; then, suddenly clasping her hands
a proud heart always spoils the face." over her little calico-covered heart, exclaimed just
So glad was Felice to find herself quite content under her breath:
after the struggle she had passed through in try- "Felice Felice I rather wear a hood or a sun-
ing to be truly thankful, that she whispered her bonnet forever than to have a hat and a face precise
thoughts to Tinsie Treppet, and when, the next like Mrs. Pendilly's!"



THIS pen-wiper is not warranted to last a hun- face neatly, leaving some of the card-board over
dred years, nor is it so fine that it can be used-but the head and on the shoulders as a support, to
once in a century ; but it well deserves the digni- which the hat and vest may be secured when the
fied name of "A Centennial
Bass-relief Portrait," even
while it lies upon papa's
library table in the humble
capacity of a wiper of pens.
And just now, while prep-
arations for fairs and gift-
making" are the order of
the hour, the readers of ST. -
NICHOLAS may be glad to
learn how to make one. +
The first thing required is
an oval medallion of broad-
cloth, large enough to hold \n 6 \ + est'
the figure and leave a suit-
able margin. If it is to be a
pen-wiper, the edge of the I
oval should be neatly pinked
or notched with a scissors,
and there should be several
duplicate layers of soft black- / I
cloth under it, all secured
together by a stitch in the --
center of the oval. f
To make hare soup, first
catch your hare," is a safe
recipe, and perhaps I should
have said, first get your Sait
face, a photograph nearly or
quite in profile-Washing-
ton, Adams, Jefferson, any
honored representative of the
olden time, or else a smoothly shaven face of the proper time comes. The hair, which should be
present day will answer the purpose. Cut out the sewed on after the figure is put together, is a flow-
See "Letter-Box" of present number.-ED.



ing wig of flax, or soft white wool, or cotton batting.
If a queue is desired, it may be braided at the
back and tied with a very narrow black ribbon.
Now come the various parts of the figure, the
patterns of which can readily be obtained from the
accompanying diagrams. These patterns are to
be cut out of card-board and covered neatly on one
side, so as to present a proper effect when the com-
pleted figure is laid upon the cloth background to
which it is finally to be. secured.
First comes the vest of buff satin, or merino,
basted over the card-board pattern. This and the
coat sleeve must be trimmed with very fine narrow
white lace, as shown in the picture. The knee-
breeches are of buff or satin, the hose of white silk,
basted on the card-board pattern, with a garter of
black or some good contrasting color to hide the
joining. The black velvet shoe is cut around
the ankle to the shape indicated in the diagram,
pasted over the silk stocking on the card-board and
trimmed when dry. Make the hat of black velvet
in the same way. The dotted line of the diagram
shows where a card is to be sewed on to represent
the flap of the hat when turned up. After the legs
are adjusted and firmly sewed to the vest, the coat
is to be put on. This is of bright-colored silk velvet,
maroon, brown, or green; black would do nicely if
the centennial hero is intended only for a picture,
provided you have a light background; for that
matter, it might be, for a picture, mounted on white
or pearl-colored Bristol board. The coat is not
lined. Put the sleeve in place, adjust the hand,
which is cut out of fine white card-board, and your
figure is completed. If the face and hands have
been skillfully colored, so much the better., Gilt or
silver beads may be used for the buttons, knee and
shoe buckles, and the star in the hat; or little
metal ornaments from old fans can be employed
instead of beads. A stiff broom straw will do for a
cane; stain it dark, and head it with a bit of tin-foil;
then cut the pasteboard piece representing the end
of the sword, and cover it with foil, and hang it as
shown in the picture.
When your centennial portrait is finished and
laid upon its tinted card, or its pen-wiperbackground
of cloth, you will be surprised to see how really

* -I-. F %7- -- *

effective it is. Of course great care and neatness
are required for getting the best results; but what






Ii <


t .' i-




-5 -1 ~jr


girl is not glad to take pains in making a pretty
present to hand to some loved friend or relative on
Christmas morning?



2 >
ii'> ~ '7

i r~k.~l: A

. .-_'. .. .. -"

:., f ""

J ACK- iN-THE-P U Li'I r.

A NEW year begins for us this month, my chicks,
and we '11 greet it heartily, wishing it joy and use-
fulness and profit. According to the Little School-
ma'am, there are calendar years and solar years,
and I don't know how many other kinds; but your
ST. NICHOLAS year is a thing by itself. It begins
when the forests are shaking down their red and
yellow leaves and the children's hearts are begin-
ning to stir with the coming Christmas,-in the
grand old November when the winds start a won-
derful serial story, to be continued next month."
Talking of serial stories, I 'm told, though I
hardly can credit the wonderful news, that Mr.
Trowbridge-"Jack Hazard" Trowbridge, "Young
Surveyor" Trowbridge-is to give you a great long
one this year, full of adventure, called
So look out for it, my chicks. Deacon Green says
the name is enough in itself-and he means to read
every word of it.
Now you shall hear about
NOT Montgolfier, nor any other man, invented
this balloon; but a tiny insect which makes no
noise in the world. A friend of mine watched her
at work making a balloon, then saw her take her
children and begin a journey in it. She was a
mother spider, whose family name I do not know.
Apparently she had become tired of her old
home and wanted to move elsewhere. So she spun
a little gossamer balloon, shaped somewhat like one
of the natural divisions of a walnut-shuck. As it
grew in size it would have floated away without her
had she not fastened it by ropes of gossamer to
the branch of a tree.
By and by, when all was done, she seemed to

be saying something to the cluster of tiny baby
spiders that were clinging to her, probably assuring
them that there was no danger. Then she again
examined her balloon, to make sure that all was
right, and then broke off the gossamer rope. .The
little balloon gently rose before the breeze. My
friend wished the skillful maker and bold naviga-
tor of the air a successful voyage, as she sailed out
of sight, and'he never saw her more.

L' '


IN the beautiful valley of Cashmere, among the
Himalayan Mountains, lies a lovely lake called Dal.
Floating about on its surface, sometimes carried by
the winds from one end of the lake to the other,
are numerous small islands, on which grow the
fairest cucumbers and the most luscious melons
known. The way in which these floating gardens
are made is very curious. All about the main shores
of the lake grow quantities of reeds, sedges and
water-lilies. When these grow very thickly to-
gether, people cut them from the roots which hold
them near the shore. The leaves of the plants are
then spread out over the stems, making a sort of
trestle-work to support the soil with which it is next
to be covered. After this has been done, the seeds
are planted and the floating garden is left to care
for itself until the fruits are ready for picking.
THE children in my part of the world come out
now and then with beautiful new dresses. I used
to think such things grew in houses just as flowers
grow on bushes, but I know better now, and I've
been told what they cost too. Yes, and I heard
the Little Schoolma'am reading out of a book,
that in the time of James the First (of course
you know who he was; I did n't once) gentlemen
wore suits of clothes that cost from one hundred
thousand, to four hundred thousand dollars. The
best way to get a good idea of this sum is to imag-
ine every dollar a daisy, and then scatter them, in
thought, over a field. One that was mentioned
was made of white velvet embroidered with dia-
monds; and another of purple satin, embroidered
with pearls. Ladies' gowns to match these were
embroidered, and cost two hundred and fifty dol-
lars a yard. The fashionable embroidery was a
border of animals, filled in with spiders, worms,
rainbows, fountains, and other dainty designs.
Lovely, was n't it ? I fancy ladies were n't so afraid
of a "horrid bug" in those days as they are now.

You don't eat nails? Well now, what do you
call those round headed, little black things that you
sometimes nibble so contentedly? Cloves? Clove,
according to the Little Schoolma'am, came from a
French word that means a nail; and they do look
like a small nail, you must admit. By the way, do
you know the very cloves you ate last were pretty
pink flower-buds when they were picked in tropical
regions, and dried in the sun ? They were never
allowed to blossom, poor things!


DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: As your children
had a picture of Old Abe, the Wisconsin War-
Eagle," last month, it occurs to me that it would
be well to show them the portrait of another regi-
ment pet. Here he is, a superb creature, and well
worthy of the kindness and favor shown him. He
belonged to the Forty-second Highlanders (a
British company), and he always marched in front
of their band. His quick, sensitive ears generally

would twitch at the slightest sound, and yet he shoe
could bear unmoved the din of his dear regiment's half a
drums and trumpets. Indeed, so proud was he of wood,
this band, that he would become very angry if, body
during a parade, a stranger attempted to pass be- chopil
tween it and the main body of the regiment. He Ho'
was a brave, daring fellow in some respects, and about
yet, strange to say, he at last was driven to his Schoo
death by fright. One day, an angry cat suddenly daisie

her back at him, and, seized with a strange
he jumped over a precipice and was killed.
Yours truly, SILAS GREEN.

HAPS all snakes do not wear them, but that
kinds do I can testify. You know that snakes
their lives crawling about among brush-wood
iorns, and it is essential that their eyes should
otected in some way. So kind nature has
given them strong
spectacles made of
horn, as clear and
transparent as the
best of eye-glasses.
S1 have myself seen a
You must know
that at certain pe-
4 riods a snake casts
off the skin which
has served him for a
coat until he has out-
grown it, and makes
his appearance in a
i ,brand-new suit. This
di'..., ,' morning I had a
good chance to ex-
Samine the cast-off
coat of a snake which
was left very near
me, and attached to
it I saw a pair of the
spectacles such as I
have described. So
I suppose his snake-
S ship has a new pair
with every new coat.
S- Can you' tell me
anything more about
these spectacles ?


iCOPPER toes? Oh,
no These are new
Affairs. The shoes I
.' allude to are very
of Queen Bess (how
long ago was that ?).
They were a sort of
clog or slipper, worn
under the common
to set ladies up in the world. They were
Syard high sometimes, and were made of
painted and gilded. InVenice, where every-
wore them, the greatest lady wore the highest
ie, as these tip-top shoes are called.
w awkward they must have looked, walking
on such clumsy things. I am glad the Little
lma'am does n't wear them, if only for the
s' sake.


ThICKOM HA'q A 1-lflAT

Words by "ALBA."
:& A llegero Mloderato.

I. Dick on has a boat That will sail,
2. way o'er the seas We will glide,

yo, ho \. 111r ly shewill float
yo, ho ... ly by the breeze

that will sail;
we will glide;

Music by F. BOOTT.

Dick on has a boat, yo,
A -way o'er the seas, yo,

__-- -- -1 -- _____ --- __-- -- A _--_. .

In the gale, the gale; Light ly she will
And the tide, the tide; Borne swift -ly by the

1 i i e ras.

-f e -=z_ a --sf -Fine.

float, yo, ho yo, ho yo, ho Her sides they are made of the good pine wood, Her
breeze, yo, ho yo, ho yo, ho l She curt sies and dips as she dain t- ly skims, The
Her helm it is true to the steers man's hand, And the

f col canto. sf _ ie. a en'o. imf

-o- --0
... ..e----+- ...- -- -i-- ,---. .- -

sails of white lin en fine; She broad- ens at the beam as a good ship
wave like a belle at a ball; She's full of ca pri ces, and fan ces and
foam ris es white in her track, As she bounds to dis cov er some gold en

.. . .-


4. , D. S. :S al Fine.
-- -- _---

d, And nar rows at the prow to a line. A way, &c.
s As the sau ci est flirt of them all. A way, &c.
And bring all its bright treas-ures back. Dick on, &c.

A_ -- A i LD_______. -O------G---_-


~II~, 1~ l~v121

---- i-




HALF a package of Coxe's Sparkling Gelatine, one cup of loaf sugar, one cup of cold water, juice and
grated peel of one lemon, a pinch of nutmeg, and the same of ground cinnamon, two cups of boiling
water, and one glass of clear wine or cider.
Soak the gelatine in the cold water for two hours. Put it into a bowl with the sugar, lemon-juice and
peel, nutmeg and cin-
namon. Pour the boil-
ing water over these,
MJL J and stir until the gela-
tine is dissolved. Add
S/1 the wine or cider, and
4rd 4 I' / strain through a thick
flannel bag, without
shaking or squeezing
it, into a pitcher. It
/ requires patience to see the slow drop !
S// drop! of the amber-colored liquid with-
out giving the bag just a tiny squeeze to
hurry it up (or down). But your jelly
Swill be cloudy if you wring out the dregs.
Rinse out a bowl or jelly-mold with cold
water, but do not wipe the inside. Pour
'. into this the jelly from the pitcher, and
set upon the ice or in a cold place until it
is firm. When you wish to turn it out,
SI_ dip the mold for one instant in hot water
lf -not boiling-and turn upside down into
i l a glass dish. Let mamma or auntie show
S1 /j you how to do this, as it is rather a delicate bit of work.
Four pounds of berries, or ripe peaches, pared and
sliced; three pounds of loafor granulated sugar.
Put the fruit into a porcelain kettle, or a very bright
S bell-metal one. Copper kettles are poisonous, if not
i clean. Set this kettle into a pot or pan of hot water
/ Upon the range. Cover closely, and let the water in
Ithe outer vessel boil until the fruit in the inner kettle
is hot and tender throughout. Lift the kettle from
---- lthe fire, and mash the heated fruit with a wooden
spoon. Put it back over the fire, this time directly
upon the range, and let it boil steadily for half an
hour, stirring almost constantly. Put your wooden
/ spoon down to the bottom at each stir, to keep the
fruit from burning. Drain off a quart of the juice at
the end of the half hour. Add the sugar to the fruit
and boil fast for half an hour more. Keep your spoon
busy all this time. Jam should not be allowed to stop
boiling for a moment after it begins to bubble up.
Rinse out some small tumblers or cups with hot
water. Pour the jam in hot, but let it cool before you
cover it. Cut tissue paper to fit the inside of each cup; press it down smoothly upon the jam; pour a
tea-spoonful of brandy upon this; then paste thick white paper over the top of the cup.



How old did you say? Three weeks. Yes, the lit-tle dar-lings are
three weeks old this ver-y day ; and, though I do say it, they are the
fin-est chil-dren of their age I ev-er saw. Why, do you know they re-fuse
to stand up like com-mon dogs! Won-der-ful, is n't it? The way in
which their soft lit-tle legs bend and dou-ble up un-der them is the most
as-ton-ish-ing thing you ever saw And on the end of ev-er-y leg is-
oh such a per-fect lit-tle paw, as soft as vel-vet-just look! At first they
would not o-pen their eyes. Dear lit-tle things Was not that won-der-
ful ? Then in a few days they o-pened them. Was not that won-der-ful?
They go to sleep and they wake up just like oth-er dogs. Does not that
beat all ? And if you put your ear close to their soft fur, you can hear
them breathe. Yes, breathe! And they are MY PUP-PIES!
I am not proud, but I do say they are five love-ly pup-pies. I am
ver-y care-ful of them, too; but I will let all you good lit-tle girls and
boys look at them, if you will be ver-y gen-tle. Don't make a noise and
wake up Snow-ball-he is the sleep-y one. Black-ball, here, is wide
a-wake. You may touch his nose soft-ly, if you wish. You will find it
quite nice and cool. I am so glad they are well and strong! They take
af-ter me. Now, my dear friends, if you will please go a-way, I shall be
o-bliged to you. My lit-tle ones need rest and qui-et at first, or they
will be spoiled. Any-thing but nerv ous, fret-ful pup-pies for me!

LITTLE Joe Clacket, he made such a racket
While shelling some corn at the barn,
The Hebiddy crew, the chickens they flew,
All coming to eat up Joe's corn.

While Joe was shelling his corn in the barn,
His mother was spinning some double-twist yarn.
She made such a buzzing and whizzety whuzzing,
She could not hear Joe at his corn in the barn;
He made such a racket and clicketty clacket,
He did not hear her at her double-twist yarn.



: .... -- ..... "

Id r~


7-. iFfi
., ._ I 4 1 p. .
.? .__ .. a[ ', _. .- __

Alm- -1,, :1, dl._.

W ..3V Al

-h -
I ,T
",... '
- -_ , ...-: -", ,!' ; '
;I' -- -: i --

',. .- _" j. .




THE child that is born on the
Sabbath day
--Is blithe and bonny, and good
'f and gay;
Monday's child is fair of face;
Tuesday's child is full of grace;
'. Wednesday's child is merry and
-. glad;
S'7' Thursday's child is sour and sad;
-- .I Friday's child is loving and giv-
-' And Saturday's child must work
/ for its living.

[See .etter-Bo."
I, I' I,.

,_ ; _. 9 / .. --f.' ---.. 1'
[SeeS <'LterBx"



Moreland, Oct. 12, 1875.
CHrIPP, old boy, it seems to me that I never had such fun in all my
life as 1 had last summer. It was at a place called Woodbury. You
wont find it on any map, I guess; but that is the real name. When
school was out in June, we staid about home for a week or two, and
then a letter came from Uncle Jacob and Aunt Hannah, asking us if
we didn't want to come and stay the rest of the summer on the farm.
W e got the letter about dinner-time; *.. I ,.,.'r ..-. ,.. .r
Mother wouldn't let me go and tell .. ... -.. I. .
We didn't have anything extra; but it did take them the longest
time to get through.
Well, you can bet that Walt was glad when I told him, and we
began to get ready at once. Walt's old rifle had to be got down and
cleaned; then we had to lay in some powder and shot.. I had to get
me a new pocket-knife, and then there was a lot of other things we
got ready, which I have forgotten now.
It took us two days and one nighttr i --'e were both of
us pretty tired and both of us pretty !. :.' of that second
day. Tom was at the depot with the horses when we reached Wood-
bury, and after a drive of a mile we stopped at the front door.
There, on the steps, stood Uncle Jacob, and Aunt Hannah, and
Aunt Mary, and Cousir TH--- rnd Sarah, and Hannah; and Walt
and I had to kiss all of .... ii. said we must when we came
away from home. I guess it wasn't very nice for them, with our
'"Ses r-cer.crt ith dust and cinders.
i i ,.... this house is a hundred yefrs old; but it ought to
be, it's such a good one. It is n't painted, and it was n't built all at
once. When Uncle Jacob came here to live, they built the low part.
There's 7-. ....'.. .. It's a splendid room, I can
tell you. .. I .i .. .. .. .I have some of the good things
to eat we have in there three times a day. What would you say,
Chippy, if you could pass your saucer the third time for apple-sauce,
and have it heaped the last time, without having them tell you not to
i i,-..: .... I lounges, one in the dining-room and one in the hall
-and it's a splendid long wide hall, with a door at each end. Did
you ever see a t ,1. ., J..1 1" it a time-the upper half, and
then the power? 1. .. ''., -, arehere Well, afterbreak-
fast, and dinner, and supper, Walt and 1 lie down or. ,-. 1 ..... I
spoke first for the one in the hall; so that is mine. ii... '".. a
great deal softer. I don't know why we lie down always then.
Tom says it's because we have been working hard; but that's some
of his fun, because we don't work at all. All we do is to have fun.
There's a boy here that we call Smutty. Walt named him. He'll
do anything you, tell him if it is for fun. He would go in swimming
a hundred times a day, if Walt and I would go in with him, but he
don't like to bring in wood.
Nobody has to churn out here. It's the dog. There's a big wheel
hitched to another wheel, and then there's a crank; so when the dog
walks, the dasher goes just as it does when anybody churns up and
down. I can see him chum every day. I'm glad I aint Uncle
Jacob's dog.
There is a big brook runs down through the valley, and Tom and
Uncle Jacob have fixed a place so all the water runs through a box
with holes in it. That's for catching eels. You ought to have seen
what whopper we caught the other morning I had two big pieces
at breakfast; and it was good, I can tell you. 1 like eels.
Walt and I made a water-wheel, and you should see how it goes !
The water comes rushing down through the holes into a trough we
made for it, and when it leave i .1. .. oodjump for
our wheel. Doesn'tit whirl I .. I I that, we got
a little trip-hammer to work; and, quite a little ways off, you can hear
it go-rap-rap-rap !
The day we finished the trip-hammer, we had a good time. It was
about ten o'clock, and we got hungry. Walt said he v 1....I..
first, and that made me feel so, and I said I was. Then '.. It ..-.
" Let's tell Smutty to tell Aunt Hannah we want something to eat."
Then I said, "Let's." So Walt hollered to Smutty, and Smutty said
he'd go if we'd give him some, and we said we would. Well, what
do you think? Aunt Hannah sent us two slices of bread apiece,
buttered thick with butter, and lots and lots of apple-sauce on it. I
felt sorry that we promised to give a part to Smutty when I saw how
good it was. We get hungry now every day at ten o'clock, and we
don't always havebread and butter either. Oh, you'd like to be here
-such times !
I've kept the best till the last. We go bare-footed when we want
to, and we don't have to wear any collar or neck-tie.
'I can't write any more now, because it is dinner-time, and Walt
and I don't like to trouble Aunt Hannah by being late.
Your affectionate school-mate,
P. S.-We have clam fritters for dinner, and Walt likes them like
everything. So do I.



A ROBIN swayed to and fro
On the old green apple-tree;
He caroled a lovely song,
And this song he caroled to me:

Oh, maiden fair,
I 'm glad I aint you;
I am glad, I am glad,
For you've nothing to do.

The leaves they do grow,
And the grass grows too,
And the apple-tree blooms,
But you 've nothing to do.

The goslings all swim
In the lake so blue,
And the hen lays eggs,
But you 've nothing to do.

"The little birds chirp,
And the dove says 'coo;'
The chanticleer crows,
But you've nothing to do.

"The smoke curls up
From the chimney's flue,
And floats to the sky,
But you've nothing to do.

To the green of the grass
The flow'r lends its hue,
And blooms in the sun,
But you've nothing to do.

The clouds roll on
In the distant view,
And form the cool rain,
But you 'vc nothing to do.

But now to my nest
I my way must pursue,
And leave you alone
With nothing to do."

Then he spread his wings,
And away he flew,
:;. a.- nd caroling,
SI... to do "

I rose from the grass,
And the long hours did rue
Which I'd spent lying there
With nothing to do.

On my chair were the socks,
Full of holes it is true;
But I said to myself,
Here is something to do !" CROCUS.


MOST children like pets. I do, I know. I have had kittens, and
birds, and puppies, but I have liked none so well as my beautiful
little gray squirrel. I reared him from a baby on milk from a bot-
tle Our house is in the country, with woods all around, and our
bed-room is very large, and on the first floor. My dear father is
very infirm, and rarely ever leaves the house, and the window-sashes
are always kept down. In this room Bunny has passed his first
year of life; he has his cage and bed, but he has never been con-
fined, and his whole time, when not asleep, is spent in mischief and
romping. In the morning he is up first, and wakes me by rui!-l-.U
his nose in my face and purring like a cat, evidently saying,
up, lazy bones! He then examines every chair, table, wardrobe
and box; whatever he takes a fancy to he carries to certain hiding-
places for future use; my mother's work-basket is always inspected,
and her thimbles and spools of thread are carefully hidden away.
We know his places of deposit, and whenever anything is missing
we say at once, "Bunny has hidden it." When he is ready for a
romp he jumps on my shoulder or head, and nips my ear gently
with his teeth; then he scampers off, and we play hide-and-seek for


THE RIDDLE-BOX. (Novamiusa,

an hour; and the cunning and sense he shows in this play father
says is greater than that of most children. He is the most playful
and active animal I ever saw,-far ahead of a kitten. If father is
asleep on his lounge, Bunny teases him until he sometimes gets a
flogging; he pulls father's hair, bites his ears, pulls the newspaper
from his face, nips his fingers, and I and mother look on and laugh.
In warm weather he slips between the sheets of my bed and coils
up exactly in the middle of the bed. He knows a stranger as soon
as he comes in, and will snarl and quarrel and scold like an old
woman if strange children come in. If I leave the room he runs to
the windows to watch me through the glass. He will put up with
the roughest treatment from me without minding it, but a stranger
must take care of those needle-like teeth; he can jump ten feet from
one table to another. He is fed on nuts, bread, fruit, or almost any-
thing that we eat; is constantly hiding away things to eat. When
any of us have to write, we are obliged to shut him up; he snatches
the pen from the hand, scratches at the paper, upsets the ink, and for
mischief he never had his equal. I could write all day, and then
not tell all about him. To see him take a nut, run and jump on top
of mother's head, sit there and eat it, and then hide the shell in the
folds of her hair, is real funny; he has found out that the door is
opened by turning the knob, and he often tries to turn it himself; he

keeps me laughing half my time; but when he takes my poor dollies
by the head and drags them over the floor, then he makes me mad.
I am keeping him to take to New York next summer to a little boy.
cousin of mine. A. C. w.

ONCE on a time--t was long ago-
There lived a worthy dame,
Who sent her son to fetch some flour,
For she was old and lame.

But while he loitered on the road,
The north wind chanced to stray
Across the careless youngster's path,
And stole the flour away.

Alas! what shall we do for bread?"
Exclaimed the weeping lad;
The flour is gone the flour is gone!
And it was all we had 1" MINNIE NICHOLS.


WE give this month, on pp. 50-51, directions for making a "Cen-
tennial" fancy article for a Christmas gift. Our readers will find a
few other timely hints in the present Letter-Box;" and, for further
information on the subject of home-made holiday gifts, we refer them
to One Hundred Christmas Presents, and How to Make Them," in
ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1875.

Brooklyn, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Can any of your readers tell me why two
small c's are placed at the foot of the eagle on half and quarter dol-
lars ? Sometimes there is an s instead of the c's, and on coins of
dates previous to 1875 I have never noticed anything. On some
dimes I have seen two c's, but I don't remember ever having noticed
an s on a dime. If some one will tell me what this means, I shall be
much obliged.-Yours truly, JESSIE J. CASSIDY.

The two small letters c c, and the single letter s, sometimes seen on
our silver money, mean Carson City and San Francisco, and are put on
the coins to show that they were struck at the mints in those cities.
Coins from the mother mint at Philadelphia have nothing, and the
absence of the letters shows they were made there. By means of
these marks the examiners at the Assay Office are enabled to trace
the coins if they find any defects in the work.

ADELE sends this pretty song which she has translated for ST.
NICHOLAS from the German of Goethe:
A dear little bluebell,
On one gladsome day,
Sprang forth from the dark earth
In brightest array.
There soon came and sipped,
A little brown bee;
They were for each other
Created, you see.

THE picture of the "Children of the Week," in our department
"For Very Little Folks," was printed some years ago in Hearth
and Home, but we reproduce it, not only because it is such a good
picture, but because it is the very first drawing on wood ever made
by our charming artist, Addie Ledyard. The poem in this number,
"The Sunday Baby," will give additional interest to the illustration.

Grand View, Texas.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Brother Harry and I have been taking the
ST. NICHOLAS two years. We are all happy when it comes; it is so
interesting, I want to write you a letter to thank you for making us

such a nice, sweet bobk every month. I am ten years old, and
brother Harry is twelve. We are both studying United States his-
tory. We would so much enjoy a visit to the great Centennial at
Philadelphia, but we live many hundreds of miles away in North-
western Texas, and never saw a city, nor a railroad, nor many of the
wonderful things we read of in ST. NICHOLAS. KATY GRANT.

Litchfield, Illinois.
EDITOR ST. NICHOLAS: As I am about to begin the study of Eng-
lish literature, I have written an answer to the first of the Harvard
University questions published in the September S
my information from "Chambers' Cyclopadia of Er.- -1. i -. .
(1847) and the "American Cyclopaedia." I would like you to say
how it would be received as an answer to the question if it was given
in an examination. I did not feel sure whether I should go further
back than Layamon, or whether to include the Scotch writers or int.
-Respectfully, MARY L. HooD (aged 14 years).
Question: What are the principal writings in the Eniglish language
before Chaucer?
Answer: The beginning of English literature is generally accredited
to the latter part of the twelfth century, when .i... I..- .; Saxon tongue
began to be modified by the Norman-Fren I. i-.. oldest known
book considered English is Layamon's translation of Wace's Roman
de Brut." This writer is considered the first of a series known as
the "Rhyming Chroniclers." Among them, Robert of Gloucester
wrote a rhyming history of England, and Robert Manning translated
several French books. Besides these were metrical romance
ally reproduced from the Anglo-Norman, among which -
Tristram," "Sir Guy," "The Squire of Low Degree," "The King of
Tars," "Morte Arthure," etc. Among the immediate predecessors
of Chaucer were Laurence Minot. a ballad writer, and Robert Lang-
lande, the author of Piers Plowman." Contemporary with Chaucer
were Sir John Mandeville, who wrote an account of his travels; John
Wickliffe, the reformer, who translated the Bible and wrote several
controversial works in English; and John Gower, the author of
"Confessio Amattis."
We consider your answer a very good one.

"AN OLD GRANDMOTHER. "-Thanks for the leaves of the "Ife-
plant." They are flourishing finely, and we have sent some of them
to the Little Schoolma'am.

Zanesville, Ohio.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I received you yesterday. My grandpa
gave me you for a Christmas gift. Don't you think I have a .
grandpa? I see many letters in the "Letter-Box," but none ,.
Zanesville. Zanesville is a smoky old town, but I like it because it is
my home. We have two rivers here, the Muskingum and the Lick-
ing. I am eight years old, and never went to school until last spring.
I have two pets, a dog and a squirrel. I have so much f-' rpl-'t;,
with my squirrel. He is very tame, and eats out of my .i. --
little reader, EFFIE W. MUNSON.



x8. TH ET E -B X

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Please let me give your young readers a
hint for fancy-work for the coming holidays.
Shagreen paper, or egg-shell board, is a new, useful, and pretty ma-
terial for handkerchief-cases, card-baskets, wall-pockets, etc. It may
be bought for twenty-five cents a sheet at framing establishments,
where it is used in making passe-partouts. It is white on one side,
and gray on the other. The gray side will be found more effective
for fancy-work. The edges of this paper may readily be pinked.
The parts of any fancy article can be fastened together by running
ribbon -1 ...1. 1- 1. inched in the center of each pinked scollop.
Pretty I ..! '.. wreaths, leaf-sprays, etc., such as are sold in
the fancy stores for children's albums, may be pasted on the surface,
if desired. ALICE DONLEVY.

Beverly, New Jersey.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : A young friend, now at Princeton College,
sent as a New-Year's gift your magazine to my little girls in 1875,
and has continued it for this year. The pleasure he has given them
in the enjoyment of its pages has led me to suggest, through your
"Letter-Box," to other young men desiring to present a birthday or
holiday present to a little friend, sister, brother, or cousin, that they
should follow his example and send them a year's subscription to
the ST. NICHOLAS. It would be, as my little girls say, "a new pres-
ent every month." Its pure pages can safely be put in the hands of
our children, and relieve a parent's anxiety as to what they will read
in them, while we have so much to dread from many othei periodicals,
books, etc.
We have made use of several of your charades, pantomimes, &c.,
with success, in our little school entertainments, and thank you for
them.-Respectfully, MRS. FANNIE M.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have tried making candy according to
John F. H.'s plan. The candy turned out to be real good. Please
Sput me down as a Bird-defender.-Yours truly,

Brooklyn, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read you and like you very much, and
seeing that the other boys and girls write to you, I thought that 1
would too. Winter before last, I went to Florida for my health, and
while I was there the hotel folks used to go alligator-shooting, and
they brought in several pretty good-sized ones. They are nice-look-
ing allows, so I thought, but ugly to tackle.
Aside from this, I had a pretty good time there, and when I was
coming home I brought a little 'gator with me; but when I got to
Savannah, on my way home, he got lost in a fountain that was in
front of the hotel; and a few days after, he got out and crawled into
the cellar of the hotel, 1.-:. ... ...- i killed him.
But after that I got -.. -... ~ i .. I better, and he did
not get lost or die, but has since then traveled with me wherever I
went; and last winter I got a turtle to keep him company, and they
get along nicely together. Besides them, I have a gray squirrel that very much, and now I am trying to get a young 'coon.
Hoping that you will not get tired of my long letter, I remain,
yours truly, CLARENCE H. NEW.

Yorkville, Sept., '76.
SDEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please tell the girls that they can
make a real pretty Christmas present for their fathers, brothers or
uncles, out of a child's slipper. You take a pretty little blue or red
kid slipper, or bronze if you like it better, and glue a little round glass
inkstand fast to the inside of the heel, so that as it stands in there it
reaches the least bit beyond the top. Then in the toe you fasten in a
frill of fine black merino or cloth, gathered just as full as can be.
This fills the toe out nicely, while the pinked edges of the frill stick
out loosely about three quarters of an inch toward the inkstand, and
form a pen-wiper and ornament at the same time. I ought to have
told you to put this in before the inkstand. If another girl will go
halves with you in buying a pair of slippers, it is better, as you may
not want to make two presents so much alike.
My brother saws cocoa-nut shells in two, then cleans and smooths
them inside and out, and sets them on rustic stands or legs, which he
makes out of twigs and roots. He varnishes the whole, after putting
arim of acorns and leather oak-leaves around the top of the cocoa-
nut part; and you don't know what a pretty flower-stand it makes.
Sometimes he trims the rim with a rustic twist, and finishes with rustic
handles. He lines them with red or blue velvet, if they are to be
used for knickknacks or cards in them. Some boys like to make
these for Christmas presents.-Yours truly, ROSETTA F.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I went on the coast survey with Uncle
Odin. I was thirteen'years old then. We -"--e dl-t-ed at Panama,
and Uncle Odin gave me a long, bright .. ....... specimens
for my cabinet. He had been there before, and so he knew what to
look for. We went to an old mine that has not been worked for more
than a hundred years, and found some curious specimens. Up among
the hills we found garnets and a shiny black crystal that I persisted
in believing was a black diamond; but down in the warm, wet valley

between the mountains, the loveliest flowers were growing, and
...... .... .... ich I want to tell you about.
I1.. -*..-. .. .r was an orchid, but the pretty Spanish name for
it is "Laflor del EsAiri Santa," which, being i
means "Flower of the Holy Spirit," though it i ,. i..-.. ,i.. I
the "Holy Ghost flower." It grows very much like a tuberose, with
fibrous, bulbous root, from which rises a tall stem or stalk. The
leaves are long and pointed, wrapping sheath-like about the stalk,
and then bending away from it to show the beautiful flowers. They
are just as pure white as a water-lily, cup shaped, and about as large
as a tulip. Each flower grows on a short stem that droops a little
from the main stalk, so one can look straight into the open cup, and
there lies a pure white dove, with slightly raised wings, tinted a faint
lavender or dove color, and a delicate pink beak on its pretty round
head. It is about an inch long, I guess, and as exquisitely formed as
though carved from the finest alabaster.
I wanted to bring a root home with me, but Uncle Odin said it
would not live if disturbed in the flowering season; that late in the
autumn, or early in the spring, the bulbs might be taken up and dried
like tulip-bulbs, and then they would bloom again. So I told the
I .. i .11 and leftit therein the wilderness of swamp.
I- .. i. ncle Odin called it an orchid when I asked him
what kind of a flower it was, just as though that explained the whole
matter. Now, what I want to ask of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, or some of
your wise people, is-What is an orchid ? Do they all bloom white,
and have they all doves in their dainty cups ? Please tell me some-
thing about them, and much oblige your friend,
The orchids are a large family of flowers, found throughout the
year in almost all parts of the world. They are noted for the peculiar
form which one part of the flower assumes, making it resemble some
insect, reptile, or bird, as in the case given in the above letter. The
orchids are very singular, beautiful, and flagrant flowers. A common
specimen is the "lady's-slipper."

DOWN in the valley, so cool and green,
The lily's head is to be seen.
Beautiful lily, so fair and sweet,
White and pure, you lie at the traveler's feet.
Darlingest lily, I love you so,
I dare not to part with you, dare not to go.
Beautiful lily, so pure and white
Lies in the valley, lies there all night.
"LITTLE MAY" (five years old).

Two lovers, with very bad colds in their heads, hid away when
they heard somebody coming. When that somebody halted close by
the spot, the lady called out archly the name of a famous mythological
rod. What was it ?

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little. :.l : : .;old, and my name
is Mlinnie Blaisdell. I am an only j-I, i. .. 1 I. not even a cousin
or uncle or aunt, for both papa and mamma never, had a brother or
sister, and papa's father and mother died when he was a baby, and
his aunt took care of him. I wonder if there is any other reader of
ST. NICHOLAS who has no cousin.
I am not very strong, and mamma says my health is delicate, so I
have to stay in the house a good deal, and can't play as much as
most children can; and as I have no one at home to play with, I get
lonesome. I am very fond of kittens, and want one very much, but
mamma wont let me have any, for she thinks it is not good for me.
Do you think it would hurt me?
As I can't have a kitten, papa got me two dogs. One is a great
black Newfoundland, and his n .. h.. .... i ; i. 1-.
littlestbit ofablackdoggieIev i- : th .-.II I. a: o
doors I put him in a pocket on '" '
just see his little head peeping out. He has very bright eyes, and
looks very funny, for he almost always has his little r.- 1 i .. ,: 1
ing out I call him Tom Thumb, because he is so -.... ... I
fill of mischief. He likes to tease Hero, who does not think such a
little fellow is worth minding. At meals the dogs come and sit one
on each side of me, but mamma wont let me give them anything at
the table. Hero never asks for it, and if Tom does, Hero takes him
by the collar and walks him out of the room, and wont let him come
back. But when I feed them, Hero gives Tom the best; and when
any one .-- him anything, he gives Tom the biggest share. He
always 'I i>m have the softest and warmest seat. Is n't he kind?
Mamma says he teaches us a good lesson, and I try to be as kind
and generous as Hero, for I surely ought to do better than a dog.
Hero is very gave and dignified, and never cuts up capers as Tom
does. If Tom does n't mind me, Hero gives him a good shaking or
boxes his ears. Sometimes Tom hides things, and then Hero makes
him bring them back. So when Tom is naughty, I tell Hero to
punish him, and he does. But he is very kind to Tom, and lets him
pull and bite his tail and ears, or do anything he pleases to him.
When they go out with me, and Tom gets tired walking, he makes




Hero carry him on his back Hero saved my life once, so we think
he deserves his name, don't you ?
Besides my dogs, papa got me the prettiest little black pony, for
Dr. Lyon said I ought to ride horseback. He is very small; jet
black, with a white star on his forehead and white feet, and a long
flowing mane and tail; and I named him Charlie. I have a little
carriage that holds two, and every pleasant day I ride out in it or on
horseback, with Hero to take care of me. Sometimes I take Tom in
my pocket. Papa is n't afraid to let me go anywhere if Hero is with
me, for he wont let anything hurt me.
Grandpa and grandma live with us, and grandma helped me write
this. if you can, will you please print this, so that the others can
hear about my pets. I must tell you papa says Tom will never grow
any larger. He got Sr. NICHOLAS for me, and I like it ever so
much.-With ever so much love to you and all your readers,

Brockport, N. Y.
DEAn ST. NICHOLAS: I send you an answer to the question of
H. E. B. : "When did Great Britain acknowledge the independence
of the United States, or American Colonies, as it was then called? "
A final treaty of peace between Great Britain and the United States
was signed at Paris, on the third of September, by David Hartley,
Esq., on the part of the King of England, and by John Adams,
Benjamin Franklin, and John Jay, on the part of the United States.
The independence of the colonies was acknowledged by Sweden on
the 5th of February, by Denmark on the 25th of February, by Spain
on the 24th of March, and by Russia in July, all in the year 1783,
before it was formally acknowledged by England.
The question of Ruel L. S. about birthdays on the 29th of February
I have often thought of myself, but never have been able to find an
answer to it. I should think though, that as all i... i ,1 -
365 days after the last one, this one would be on ti. ;. I .
all years but leap-year.
I have taken you (does n't it seem funny to say "you "?) for almost
a year, and I mean to go right on taking you, you are so splendid.
I have a little sister, six years old, who was so delighted with "Bobby
and the Keyhole," that she has made me read it over and over until
I know it almost by heart. I think "The Boy Emigrants" is very
interesting, and "Talks with Girls" just as nice as can be; only I
wish you came oftener and staid longer.-Your loving reader,
Several others of the boys and girls have answered H. E. B.'s
question correctly.

Rocky Brook, Rhode Island.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Can you not hit a ball twice in croquet,
even if you have not been through your wicket, provided it is a
different turn ? ROLONG REDMAINE.
In every turn, at croquet, you begin afresh, as far as the balls are
concerned, and may hit a ball the second time even if you have not
gone through a wicket since you hit it the first time.

South Pueblo, Colorado, le 26 Juillet.
CHER ST. NICHOLAS: Nous sommes deux petites filles, agrees Ba
peu pres six et sept ans; qui demeurent en Colorado. Nous sommes
toujours si heureuses quand ST. NICHOLAS arrive.
Maman nous a lu l'histoire de Piccola qui atait trbs triste, parce
qu'elle n'avait point de cadeau de Noel.
Nous avons gard6s nos habits et nos bottines pour elle. Dites, s'il

vous plait M Aldrich de nous dor .. .. ......
que celui de la comtesse de la (-.. .. 11.
France, un de cesjours, nous esperons voir PicCola.
Vos petites amles, GERTRUDE ET ANNE LEMBORN,

Newsboys' Home, New York.
DEAR ST. NICHOLS : About six weeks ago I was up to Cooper'.
Institute, and happening to pick up the ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1
came across an article headed The Poor Boys' Astor House," apd
as I am an inmate of that institution, I eagerly examined its contents.
which I think was very nice; in fact, I was enraptured with all I
read, especially about Gilbert Stuart.
I am a poor boy without home or friends, and had it not been for
the Home, I do not know what I would do. My father died about
one year ago, and my mother is in the Insane Asylum, and I have to
live at the Home.
I have written several pieces of poetry, and as there is a depart-
ment for amateur contributors, 1 take the liberty of : 1:.. you the
following piece, which I leave to your approval; .... i : is fit fot
publication, it would please me very much to see it in print.
LIFE 't is but a little garden-flower,
Growing on a rough and rugged road,
Ready to drop off at any hour,
As if weary of its load.

First in infancy it dangles,
In the gentle summer winds;
Then in youth gets entangled,
And no rest it ever finds.

Now in manhood's happy bower,
In peace and comfort it still grows;
And at old age it lost its power,
Drove by chilly wind that blows.

See now, with death in every zephyr,
Time, its dreadful scythe in hand,
Sweeps from this wicked world forever,
To a far but better land.

Norristown, Pa., June 28, 1876,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like your magazine very much. I thin
it is the best magazine that has ever been published. I have just
commenced "The Story of Sevenoaks," bound in a book. I am very
much interested in the story of "The Boy Emigrants." My friend,
J. Craig Crawford, showed me my name in the list of Bird-defenden
in the July number. I was very glad that my letter had been re-
ceived. I thought the "Eight Cousins and The Young Surves or"
were elegant. Every piece in ST. NICHOLAS interests me. A friend
of mine has had the ST. NICHOLAS for r875 beautifully bound for me,
with my name at the bottom.
I was sitting in father's study, and I thought I might as well write
to you. I am ten years old to-day. I was born at exactly half-past
one in the morning on the 28th of June, 1866. We have only six
days to wait before our country will be one hundred years old; but
there is no need of me telling it,'for everybody knows it. Please put
this in the "Letter-Box." I shall watch to see itin print. I will now
close.-Yours truly, HYLAND C. MURPHY.


i. A YELLow flower. 2. An ingredient of soap. 3. An aromatic 1. SYNCOPATE a word meaning to unite, and leave a girl's name
plant. 4. A large animal. 5. A young woman. 6. A custom. 7. A 2. Syncopate a word meaning fortunate, and leave a girl's name. 3
black bird. 8. A silver coin. 9. A measure of length. io. A useful Syncopate the name of an opera, and leave a girl's name. c. D.
The initials and finals form two of Dickens's characters. REVERSALS

ANAGRAMS. 0. I Do not of wearing the prison 2. There is plenty of
on the -. 3. What a of words about a 4. as
AMERICAN cities: I. A philanthropic city-Sob not. 2. An enter- that the in ancient -- I sent a which he will receive
prising city-On, we kry. 3. A river-spanning city-Crost here. 4. at 6. We must get a new for this block at one of the
A noted city-In shag town. 5. A seaport city-Let's anchor. 6. Southern 7. Could you describe the correctly as being
A hot city-Boil me. 7. A new city-Up last. oswY. covered by -. RUTH.




I. BEHEAD and syncopate an article of food, and leave a color. 2.
Behead and syncopate an evergreen tree, and leave a part of the
body. 3. Behead and syncopate a mournful song, and leave anger.
4. Behead and syncopate a noted epic poem, and leave a boy. 5. Be-
head and syncopate a precious stone, and leave a fish. 6. Behead
and syncopate a forest tree, and leave a malt liquor. 7. Behead and
syncopate a relative, and leave a luxury in summer. 8. Behead and
syncopate a tropical fruit, and leave a falsehood. 9. Behead and syn-
copate a part of the body, and leave an article of food. To. Behead
and syncopate a kind of grain, and leave an article of clothing.

(A large and renowned city.)
My first is in plum, but not in peach;
My second is in oak, but not in beech;
My third is in stone, but not in rock;
My fourth is in door, but not in lock;
My fifth is in old, but not in new;
My sixth is in rain, but not in dew;

G. D. D.


I. A NOTED ancient city. 2. A means of rising in the world. 3. A
spicy plant. 4. One of a certain Eastern tribe. 5. A church benefice.
6. A small leaf. 7 A musical instrument.
Diagonals-From left to right: A degree of honor. From right to
left: A badge of the honor. P. B.


MY first has a large throat, and sometimes swallows,
Though never in the winter, I believe;
And sometimes it gets choked, and then it follows
That only active remedies relieve.

My next you have when anything is broken,
Nor is it often then a welcome sight;
Though sometimes you esteem it as a token,
And give or take it with a small delight.

My whole, when glowing from a light beneath it,
Seems radiant with a warmth it cannot give,
And helps to emphasize a pleasant welcome
In homes where open-hearted people live. J. F. B.


I. A metal. 2. A city in Europe. 3. To leave out. 4. Used in
fishing. J. w. H.

1. POSITIVE, an insect; comparative, a beverage; superlative, an
animal. 2. Positive, an instrument used in a certain out-door exer-
cise; comparative, a dull companion; superlative, an expression of
vanity. 3. Positive, payment for services; comparative, apprehen-
sion of evil or danger; superlative, a festive meal. 4. Positive, a
timid animal; comparative, a loud sound; superlative, cooked meat.

'T was yesterday that you made game
Of me, you stupid bat!
To-day somebody trod on me,
And kicked me, and all that.
Well, well, my troubles last not long!
In spite of every kind of wrong,
I'm bound to have my cheerful song. L. w. H.

I. APOCOPATE a knot'of ribbon, and leave a fowl. a. Apocopate to
perplex, and leave meat. 3. Apocopate a toy, and leave an animal.
4. Apocopate a candle, and leave a plant. 5. Apocopate sorrowful.
and leave a plant. CYRIL DEANE.



)LE-BOX. 63


(Of the seven objects shown, arrange the names of five so that the
initials and finals shall form the names of the other two.)

I-.- "-

-. .


. I --

S I I _-

-P ,S a

A/r r

A a, 2, 3 saw a 4, 5, 6 in the 7, 8, 9 yard in i, 2, 4, 5,, 6, 7, 8, 9.

I PRY out a secret,
Devour a book;
I guide the hunter,
And aid the cook.
I 'm drilled at the needle,
And "cute" at a hook.
In short, I'm a wonderful creation,
Worthy your study and admiration,
Albeit I'm naught but a perforation.
Faster and faster,
The cruel master
Waves me in air.
Agonized crying
Follows me, dying
In sobs and prayer.
Crying he heeds not,
His hard heart bleeds not
For such despair.
Lifting so lightly,
Drooping so slightly,
On tender hinge.
Dusting and sweeping
When I'm not sleeping.
Deepening blue tinge,
Height'ning the sparkling,
Soft'ning th..- I. 1 ..,
Yet I'm ..., i,...'

L. W. H.

A CONSONANT. 2. A negative. 3. A noted lover. 4. A num-
ber. 5. A vowel. NEtO.

COMPOSED of seventeen letters. The 2, 4, 8, 8 is a part of the
body. The 4, 12, i6, 3, 17 is a sign of the zodiac. The To, 7, 2, i3,
9 is a kind of tea. The 15, Ir, 5, 5, 7 is an aquatic flowering plant
The I5, 9, 5, 6, 14 is a girl's name. The whole is a natural phenom-
enon. ISOLA.


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


NJr: 1?

4.155 '..

I i :~

2'-11 '



INCOMPLETE SENTENCES -I. Model, ode. 2. Samples, ample.
3. Apathy, path. 4. Slater, late. 5. Earth, art. 6. Eager, age.
A HIDDEN TOUR.--. Bremen. 2. Hanover. 3. Tivoli. 4. Ham.
5. Lyons. 6. Rhine. 7. C-1-lne 8. Bonn. 9. Coblentz. ro. Frank-
fort. I. Mannheim. 12 ... 13. Baden. 14. Stutgard. i5.
Munich. 16. Tyrol. 17. Verona. 18, Venice. 19. Prague. 20. Dres-
den. 21. Eisleben. 22. Wittenburg. 23. Berlin.
s c
RIDDLR.-Looking-glass-Loo, 0, loo, look, kin, king, in, gee,
lass, as, ass.
CONSONANT PuzZLE.-Tennessee, Nevada, Alabama, Kansas,
Arkansas, Alaska, Massachusetts, North Carolina, Mississippi, Vir-
EASY METAGRAM.-Kate, date, fate, gate, hate, late.
ABBREVJATIONS.-I. Elegy, leg. 2. Grape, rap. 3. Jewel, ewe.
4. Larch, arc. 5. Pasha, ash. 6. Snipe, nip. 7. Steam, tea. 8.
Black, lac. 9. Coney, one. o1. Crate, rat.
BEHEADED RHYMES.-Caprice, a price, price, rice, ice.

DOUBLE AcrosTIC.-Saratoga, Monmouth.
S -ache- M
A -rg- O
R -obi- N
A -r- M
T -omat- 0
0 -rmol- U
G -oa- T
A -s- H
EASY ENIGMAS.-I. Bobolink. 2. Grasshopper.
PUZZLE.-Notable, no table, not able.
SYNCOPATIONS.-I. Aloe, ale. 2. Aunt, ant. 3. Carp, cap. 4
Coat, cat. 5. Colt, cot. 6. Lead, ]ad 7. Plea, pea. S. Reed, red
9. Rose, roe. io. Tome, toe.
CHARADE -Kettle-drum.
GEOMETRICAL TRANSPOSITIONs.-Grandiloquent, Entertaining.
C .1 .' .-. .1. Quarantines, Connive, the Rubicon, Parsimon),
d .- ..I msideringly. .

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, previous to September i8, from Willie Dibblee, Nettle A. Ives, Jame
A. Montgomery, Amy R. Carpenter, Virginia Davage, Lucy Allen Paton, "Juliet," Jennie Fine, A. J. Lewis, Frieda F T irret -, "
Elliott, Ida M. Bourne, 1. T.. T- Hodges, Lucy Davis. Johnny Kenny, "Alex," Nellie J. Thompson, C. M. Trowbridge, : i- :;
B. P. Emery. Howard S. I l Carroll L. Maxey, Bessie McLaren, Helen Green, Clara L. Calhoun, W. C. Delanoy, R. L. Groendyckl

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